THE OCEAN SEEMED ENDLESS, so vast that after an hour of flying all sight of land had disappeared. There was no sun to navigate from; their only guide was the strange inner compass that all demons possessed, which pulled the creatures instinctively toward the center of the ether.
Ignatius and Lysander flew as high and fast as they dared, wary of exhausting themselves but eager to catch up with the Shrikes. Too fast and they might tire swiftly, then drown in the ocean before they found land. Too slow and their only chance of reaching Hominum’s part of the ether would be gone forever … or at least, until the next year. Fletcher didn’t even want to contemplate that.
Instead, he tried to live in the moment and enjoy the exhilaration of flying. His world had become filled with the tang of sea salt, the crash of waves and the dull thrum of Ignatius’s beating wings.
The riders began a game to pass the time, attempting to be the first to spot demons in the dark blue expanse. Fletcher had started it when he pointed out a pod of Encantados, leaping in the waves. They were pink, dolphin-like creatures with webbed claws on their four legs. Their appearance as quadrupedal dolphins was the same as a Nanaue’s similarity to a shark, or the rare Akhlut’s resemblance of a killer whale. Cress had groaned with frustration when she saw the Encantados, for they were beautiful creatures and immensely rare. But there was no time to stop.
They scanned the sea and horizon endlessly as the hours ticked by, but only saw one other demon. Even then, it was just the faint outline of a lone Trunko, a species that had the body of a white whale, except for the long trunk on its snout. It poked it out of the water to take in air, and they had learned in their demonology lessons that the appendage was designed to protect the demons from the flying predators of the ether, so that they did not expose their backs by breaching the surface.
Still they flew, even as the light faded. This was a different sort of darkness, accompanied by the gentle crash of the waves below and tempered by the warm embrace of his mother’s arms. Sleep, apparently so easy in the deepest, darkest Abyss, was difficult now, for he was suddenly beset by the irrational fear of falling. This was compounded by a sudden lurch in the air, as Ignatius briefly nodded off midflight.
So Fletcher dozed and woke in fits and starts, until the sky filled with pink light and morning had returned once more. In the new glow, the Shrikes were nowhere to be seen, but the shadow of a distant land bruised the skyline. It grew larger with every hour, for Lysander and Ignatius beat the air with new purpose, desperate for rest.
But as they neared, Fletcher’s hope faded. This land was not filled with the jungles of Hominum’s territory. It was a desert, stretching out so far that it almost met the horizon, broken only by the thinnest line of green in the distance, where the sand ended and the jungle began. In the far distance, a sandstorm billowed across the blue heavens, staining them a muddy orange.
It felt to Fletcher as if they had left one ocean and entered another, for the land beneath was undulated in dunes that appeared as static waves of fine cinnamon dust. The sky was so oppressively bright and hot that Fletcher’s arms itched with prickles of sweat.
Then, when Fletcher began to think the desert would never end, the green edge of the jungle swam into view, at first a thin strip of green, then an unbroken swath that extended into the horizon.
They saw no Shrikes, but swarms of Mites flew by here and there, and there was even a moment of panic as the shadow of a large demon passed above them. Luckily, it was nothing but a pelican-like Ropen, the leathery-winged, tooth-beaked beast appearing almost comical with a pointy, elongated crest at the back of its head.
Fletcher was pleased to see the telltale columns of smoke in the distance as they made their descent. Volcanoes, just like in Hominum’s territory. He would almost have hoped they had reached their journey’s end, but remembered that there was no desert or ocean near Hominum’s part of the ether. It would be another day at least.
When the team landed, Ignatius and Lysander collapsed in a heap—there was no chance of traveling more, though there was still daylight left. Instead, they set up camp, cutting branches from the trees, then sharpening and staking them in the soil around their camp. It would do little to deter a predator, but it might be enough to keep smaller, more curious demons from approaching them in the night. As such, Athena was summoned to keep watch on a high branch, for the Gryphowl was well rested after being so long infused within Fletcher.
The jerky supply was still plentiful, though it was graying around the edges and tasted like sour, chewy leather. They ate it regardless, toasting it on the campfire on green twigs to give it a better flavor.
Ignatius and Lysander had gone to sleep together, their tired bodies draped over each other like newborn puppies. It was a well-deserved rest, and the demons had been given the lion’s share of the remaining jerky before they passed out. Fletcher only hoped that the two demons would recover by morning.
“We’ll have to move on, first thing tomorrow,” Fletcher murmured, poking the fire moodily. “There’s been no sign of the Shrike flock; it must be farther ahead.”
“Aye, they were definitely traveling in this direction though, and we know they tend to keep along the ether’s edges, which is roughly where we are.” Othello’s words were positive, but his tone was dull and listless.
“It could be a different flock,” Sylva said.
“What?” Cress asked, looking up as if she had only just caught Sylva’s words.
“Another flock to the one that passes through Hominum’s territory. We have no idea if there are different flocks with different migration patterns around the ether. The ether is massive, and Shrikes appear to be relatively common.”
“Why didn’t you say this yesterday?” Othello groaned, burying his head in his hands.
“Did you have a better idea?” Sylva snapped back. “At least we have a direction to go in!”
“Guys, this isn’t helping,” Fletcher said, holding up his hands. “It might not be the same flock, but it might very well be too. We’ll keep following them for now.”
“Following what?” Cress grumbled. “We don’t even know where they are.”
“Sorry it didn’t turn out the way you hoped,” Sylva said, her voice tinged with sarcasm. She stood and went over to the satchel beside Ignatius’s sleeping form.
“I’m going to see if the growth spell still works on these flowers,” she said over her shoulder.
There was a glow of green and a gasp of joy from Sylva. She turned and held up a freshly bloomed plant, which she plucked and showed with her hand.