Lovett beckoned Valens over, and the little creature flew over their heads, settling on the gem. Unlike Malachi and Azura, the Mite’s shell was a boring dark brown. As if she could read Fletcher’s mind, Lovett smiled at him knowingly and stroked the beetle demon’s carapace.
‘Valens is well suited to his job. He won’t look pretty on my shoulder, but he will be harder to spot if a hungry demon comes by in the ether.’
Fletcher had a brief recollection of Ignatius eating a brown beetle when he had first summoned him, but that thing had been much smaller than any of the Mites he had seen. It was probably a different species.
‘Right, let’s get this show on the road. You must push the mana through the demon and into the stone like this,’ she said, laying her free hand over Valens.
The gemstone turned black. As she removed her hand the colour changed again. At first, Fletcher thought the gemstone had become a mirror, finding himself staring at an image of his own face. But soon the image flicked to Seraph’s.
‘You are now looking through Valens’s eyes. It is a technique that we call scrying, very useful for scouting and controlling your demons from afar. We can already sense the demon’s thoughts. Now we can also see and hear what they can in the crystal. It is essential to check what is on the other side of the portal with your least important demon before entering the ether. Should there be something dangerous on the other side when he comes through, it will be Valens at risk rather than Lysander. Because a Mite is smaller and more agile, he is less likely to be noticed and can escape more easily.’
The image shook as Valens buzzed into the air and hovered just in front of the spinning blue orb. Lovett clicked her tongue, and with that, the demon whipped into the orb like a gunshot.
The first thing Fletcher saw in the stone was the red-tinged ground. Fine grains of rusty sand swirled above it, churned into dust devils by a seething wind. The sky was the orange of sunrise, yet it held no warmth, nor was there a source of light in the sky. Stunted trees dotted the landscape, their sparse branches contorted in rigor mortis. There was no life here, just a dry husk of a land long dead.
‘Perfect,’ Lovett said. ‘We have emerged in the deadlands.’
‘Deadlands?’ Rory asked in an awestruck voice.
‘Entering the ether is not an exact science. There is a large margin of error in where we might come out. The deadlands come with positives and negatives, depending on your purpose. There will be nothing to surprise you here, but if you are trying to capture a demon, you will have to drag it quite a distance to get back to the portal. If I was hunting, I would close this portal and open a new one, but for the purposes of this exercise it is ideal. The deadlands are between the void and the outer circle of the inhabited ether.’ Lovett’s voice was strained. Fletcher could see a vein pulsing in her forehead. Entering the ether must take a lot of power and concentration.
Valens turned and flew away from the portal, his altitude rising steadily. It was silent in the room, the only sound Lovett’s heavy breathing, as the minutes ticked by. The landscape seemed to get even more desolate, with fewer and fewer trees until all they could see was flat, raw earth.
‘How do you know where to go?’ Tarquin asked. ‘It all looks the same to me.’
Fletcher realised that was a good question. The young noble was a lot of things, but he was not stupid.
‘The portal always faces the centre of the ether when your demon comes out, so you are orientated as soon as you enter. Additionally, all demons are drawn to the centre instinctually and they have an internal compass that tells them where it is. I can guide myself using this, but it takes practice and is not very accurate. That is why it is always risky entering the ether. I can only hold the portal open for so long and if I close it before Valens gets through, our bond will be broken, and I will lose him,’ Lovett lectured back. Tarquin opened his mouth to ask another question but Fletcher got there first.
‘What do you mean by the centre? Does that mean the ether has a shape?’ he asked, trying to understand.
‘As far as we know, the ether is disk shaped. The weaker demons tend to stay in the outer rings, with more powerful demons gravitating to the centre. There seems to be a rudimentary food chain, with low-level Mites on the very bottom, closest to the deadlands.’
Tarquin began to speak again but Lovett held up a hand to silence him.
‘Save your questions for later. It is hard enough holding the portal open and guiding Valens without thinking of answers for you.’ Even as she spoke, the pentacle flickered. She grunted and it glowed a steady violet once again.
Despite the intensity of the lesson, Fletcher felt himself relax, perhaps for the very first time. Everyone was learning something here, even Tarquin. It all made so much sense to Fletcher, as if he were remembering something long forgotten. He was meant for this.
The horizon began to fall away, darkening dramatically. The glow of the sky faded into a pure, starless black, yet the little Mite flew higher and higher. Finally he stopped and turned his view downwards once again.
‘Look closely. You will see them,’ Lovett said, her voice taught with exertion.
The land cut off in a neat line, creating the perfect precipice of a cliff that fell away into murky darkness below. Fletcher could see that the cliff line stretched on far into the distance, almost imperceptibly curving as they faded out of sight. He realised that the disk must be enormous, larger than a thousand Hominums. This would not be a good place to get lost, he thought grimly.
His line of thought was broken as he saw something stir in the abyss. As the beetle demon’s eyes adjusted to the dark, a seething mass came into view. It twisted and writhed tortuously, a tangled chaos of tentacles, eyes and jagged teeth.
‘Ceteans,’ Sylva breathed in quiet horror.
‘Aye, Ceteans. You’ve done your homework, Sylva,’ Lovett uttered darkly, wiping sweat from her brow. ‘Some call them the Old Ones. They starve down there, cannibalising each other as they wait. The Ceteans will snatch any demon that wanders this far, usually the sick or the injured trying to find somewhere to recover. That is why we must fly so high. This is the one and only time I will risk coming near them, so learn this lesson well. Stay away from here.’
Valens turned and flew back the way they had come. This time there were no questions as the group mulled over the nightmarish creatures they had just seen. The giant monsters were grotesque and tortured beings, of that Fletcher was certain. Though he could not hear anything, he could imagine their tormented screams in his head.
The blue orb that was the portal hovered beneath them, but Valens flew over it. With his current height, they made good time, the land rushing underneath like fallen leaves in a river. Fletcher wondered what it was like for Lovett, riding on a Griffin over the battlefield, then felt a pang of jealousy when he realised he would never be able to ride Ignatius.
‘I will quickly show you where the hunting grounds begin, then I must get back,’ Lovett spat through gritted teeth. ‘Normally I can go for much longer, but I am not yet recovered from the capture of Atlas’s Lutra a few days ago. I was lucky that Provost Scipio was there to harness it.’
‘Harness?’ Rory asked. Lovett ignored him, instead pointing at the gemstone.
The world had turned green. Valens was looking over a forest, though the vegetation was not one Fletcher recognised. Above it, he saw flocks of flying demons in the distance, swooping and turning like starlings. A swarm of tiny Mites flew low above the trees, before scattering as a large Mite not unlike Valens snatched one of them from the air. Far in the distance, ash clouds stained the sky. Below them, lava-tipped volcanoes spewed pillars of smoke, hanging in the air like columns supporting the heavens.
Something hit Valens with brutal force, knocking him out of the sky. Lovett cried out in pain as the image spun like a kaleidoscope, trees rushing up to
meet them.
The stone turned black as ink.
35
The group stared at the black stone in horror, holding their breaths. Lovett was clutching her tether with a white knuckled grip as the pentacle spat violet sparks, sizzling and smoking on the leather around them with the stench of burning hair.
The Oculus flickered into life. The image was fuzzy and unfocussed, but it panned slowly as Valens looked at the iridescent treetops above. The little demon was alive!
‘I was afraid of this,’ Lovett muttered. ‘This is the time of year that the Shrikes migrate across our hunting grounds. In previous years I would wait until next month to begin with your lesson in the ether, but with you first years taking part in the tournament I had to move it up. Damn Scipio and his rush to get you on the battlefield! In his day, there were five years of study before graduation. He should know better!’
She cursed long and hard, her tirade blacker than a Vesanian sailor’s. Fletcher’s ears reddened at her colourful language, but he smiled to himself. Lovett could swear with the best of them!
He tried to picture a Shrike from his studies, but could only remember that it was a dangerous, birdlike creature that visited Hominum’s hunting grounds in the ether seasonally.
‘The Shrike will be coming back, but I can feel Valens has hurt one of his wings. He’s going to have to race to the portal. There’s no way he can fight a Shrike; it is three classes above him. Maybe five if it’s the matriarch in their flock.’
The last sentence meant little to Fletcher, but he wondered what class ranking Ignatius would fall under. As the Mite buzzed into life and jerked into the air, his thoughts turned back to the task at hand.
The poor demon flew slowly, hampered by his injured wing. He skimmed over the barren desert, buffeted by the low winds that spun the dust across his vision. As the minutes ticked by excruciatingly slowly, Fletcher noticed something ahead of them. It was a shadow, though of what he was not certain.
‘There’s something above us,’ he said, pointing at the black shape on the stone.
‘I know. It has been with us since the forest. Shrikes like to injure their prey with a surprise attack, then follow the victim from above until it collapses from its wounds. It is an effective technique, but it will work to our advantage today. Wild demons have an almost instinctual fear of portals, so it is rare for one to come through unless we drag it in. If we can get Valens to return through the portal, the Shrike will leave him alone. Then I can infuse him, and he will heal just fine. I just hope he can make it,’ Lovett replied, pushing a sweaty strand of hair from out of her eyes.
Finally, the portal appeared on the horizon. It was not a moment too soon, for Valens’s flight was becoming jerky and the Oculus’s image was dimming with worrying frequency.
‘Just a little further,’ Lovett hissed, her brow furrowed in concentration.
But the Mite had gone as far as he could go. Valens tumbled to the ground a few feet from the portal, landing in a puff of dust. He lay motionless, the only sign he was still alive was the glow of the stone, still showing the plumes of dust as they twisted in the wind’s eddies.
‘Quick, get me the ether gear, now! It’s in the last cupboard on the far wall. I don’t know how long we have left!’
Seraph was the first to react, sprinting to the back of the room and heaving out a bulky package.
‘I need help, it’s heavy!’ he shouted. Othello hastened to his assistance and together they hauled it to Lovett. Fletcher continued to stare into the stone. The shadow had swooped by again.
‘Can’t I send Ignatius in to get him?’ Fletcher asked.
‘No, our manas would merge if your demon entered through my portal. Mixing manas is difficult to master. If you fail on the first attempt, the portal will close, and we will lose Valens for good.’
Lovett was struggling to get into what looked like a bulky one-piece suit. It was made of heavy leather with steel-capped boots at the bottom and a metal ring around the neck at the top. Once her feet were in, Lovett attached the long leather tether that powered the pentacle to another that extended from the back of her suit, several metres in length. There was a long, empty hose connected to a helmet on the floor, coiled in several loops.
‘Stretch my air pipe out, Seraph. I need a clear airway,’ Lovett demanded, lifting the helmet. As Seraph unravelled the hose, she clicked it into place above her neck.
‘It needs to be airtight!’ she shouted in a muffled voice. ‘The ether’s air is poisonous to us. If I get a hole in my suit, pull me out immediately using the tether, whether I have collected Valens or not!’
‘It’s just a Mite. Why risk your life for something you could capture another of tomorrow?’ Tarquin asked, his voice filled with scepticism.
Lovett turned towards him, her face barely visible. The helmet was made of copper, with a round pane of thick glass on the front. There was a cage built over the small window to keep it from shattering.
‘A demon is not an item to be tossed aside like an old shirt,’ she snapped. ‘When you have battled side by side with yours, maybe you’ll understand.’
With those parting words, she stepped into the portal.
They saw Lovett step out on the gemstone, a hazy brown figure swimming into Valens’s view. It was so strange, to see her move from the blue-tinged gloom of the summoning room to the scorching sky of the ether in just a few seconds. Yet there she was, stomping through the dust towards the Mite with slow, measured strides.
Soon her gloved hand scooped up Valens and brought the demon to the front of her helmet. They could see her grey eyes flashing through the glass with equal amounts of fear and concern, before she turned and trudged back to the portal.
‘Why is she moving so slowly?’ Genevieve whispered.
‘She’s wearing a heavy suit in a scorching desert whilst maintaining a portal to another world and controlling a dying demon simultaneously. It’s a miracle she is still standing at all,’ Tarquin said in a lofty tone. ‘If that portal closes she will be trapped there for as long as it takes for the poison to kill her after her air pipe gets snipped in two. Foolish woman.’
‘She’s going to make it,’ Fletcher murmured, willing her onwards as she took step after staggering step.
It was Othello who saw it first, a small black spot in the sky, growing larger by the second. He pointed at it with curiosity then wide-eyed horror as a feathered demon expanded into view. Lovett had seemingly noticed too, for her pace quickened and the pentacle crackled dangerously as her concentration slipped.
The Shrike was a giant bird with long black feathers. The wingspan was as wide as Fletcher was tall, the endmost feathers tipped with bleached white. Its lethal beak was hooked cruelly, with a bright red wattle underneath its neck and a red ridge along the top of its head like that of a rooster. It reminded Fletcher of an enormous, ugly vulture.
The bird demon dived towards Lovett, its bright orange talons outstretched. She ducked down, but it was too late; the talons scored along her helmet with brutal accuracy. They caught in the helmet’s cage, dragging her over on to her back. The hooked beak stabbed down again and again, yet all it did was dent the copper helmet.
‘Pull her in!’ Fletcher yelled. ‘She has Valens in her hand!’
He grabbed the tether and heaved, stretching the thick leather until it creaked under the strain. The others soon followed suit, even Isadora daintily clutched the lead and pulled with the others. They made fast progress, extracting several feet of it through the crackling portal. Fletcher glanced back at the scrying stone, but could only see flashes of feathers against the bronze sky as the demon continued to peck violently.
The strain on the leather lifted as Lovett managed to stumble to her feet, then she fell through the portal in a tangle of limbs. Even as the group began to cheer, their voices caught in their
throats as realisation dawned. She was not alone.
The Shrike emitted a harsh caw, then spread its wings wide and stepped on to the ground, standing almost as tall as a man. It squinted its fierce yellow eyes in the dim light then advanced in a strange, hopping motion, like it was playing a macabre game of hopscotch. Lovett lay motionless on the ground – something was terribly wrong.
‘Stand back!’ Tarquin yelled, putting himself squarely in the Shrike’s way. Fletcher may have disliked the boy, but he was impressed. Tarquin had some courage.
The young noble kneeled quickly and put his hands on the ground, powering up the nearest pentacle. In moments a demon formed above it, then charged at the Shrike without hesitation.
Tarquin’s demon was a Hydra, with three reptilian heads on long, powerful necks, like a trio of snakes attached to the body of a monitor lizard. They weaved and snapped at the Shrike, darting this way and that as the bird demon was driven back towards the portal. They were well matched, since Tarquin’s demon was large enough to ride, though much of its height comprised of neck. The Hydra’s legs were short, but each foot was equipped with thick black claws that tore into the leather with every step.
‘Nothing can stand against Trebius!’ Tarquin yelled as the Shrike squawked with confusion at the three pronged attack.
Fletcher ignored the fight and circled around to Lovett. She must have been conscious, as the portal was still open, but her body was as still as a corpse. Valens was twitching in her open hand, buzzing as the Shrike battled Tarquin’s demon. The little Mite wanted to help, but did not have the strength.
‘I’ll get a teacher!’ Genevieve yelled, then ran out of the door.
Fletcher kneeled beside Lovett and dragged her out of harm’s way, then removed her helmet with care. His eyes widened at what he saw beneath. Her mouth was foaming with froth and both eyes were rolled so far back that all he could see was white. The poor woman’s head bounced punishingly on the leather as her body was wracked with convulsions. Fletcher had no idea how she was still holding the portal open.
Summoner: Book 1: The Novice Page 19