“It’s true,” Fletcher said, his mind flashing back to Athena’s memory of the night he was left outside Pelt’s gates. How she had felt the wild call of the ether, tugging at her very essence.
“Well, you could have bloody warned us,” Cress grumbled.
Fletcher stood and tried to extricate himself from Ignatius’s embrace, but the demon refused to budge. He sighed and scooted down the shell’s incline to Alice, who was sitting cross-legged, staring vacantly ahead. She had not moved, not even when Lysander had roared. It was only the occasional stroke of her hand across Athena’s back that gave him any hope that she might one day recover.
Fletcher had lost his birth father, Edmund. But he would not lose his mother again. Not now, when they spent so little time together. There had to be a way.
He gazed out at the wasteland, searching for some semblance of hope. But there was no food, no flowers, just mud and drab plants.
“Don’t worry, Ali—Mum,” Fletcher murmured, the word sitting strangely in his mouth. “We’ll get you home. I promise.”
CHAPTER
5
THE LIGHT OF THE SKY changed quickly in the ether, going from golden morning sun to clear gray sky in the space of an hour. The area around them remained desolate, the only sign of life coming from a lone Kappa: a scrawny, green-skinned humanoid that slipped into a pool of murky water as soon as they neared. Fletcher had just enough time to identify it, and see the strange, bowl-like indent on the top of its head, where it stored water when it traveled on land.
In a way, he was glad at the lack of demons nearby—for it made the occasional need to relieve themselves safer. Cress had taken on the role of minder for his mother, guiding her ahead of Sheldon to the bushes at regular intervals, after Tosk had scouted them for safety first. She told Fletcher that she had cared for her grandmother in the same way, when she had become too old to look after herself. He was immensely grateful; he knew he could not bring himself to take that on just yet.
As the hours went by, Fletcher felt oddly drowsy, as if his body could not recognize the rhythms of this new world. He supposed they had spent more time in the ether than any human, elf or dwarf ever had.
He was not the only one who was feeling the effects—Cress and Othello were snoozing, propping themselves up against each other in the center of the shell. Sylva sat below the Zaratan’s neck, her back to him. Her head was tilted forward, as if she was staring at her lap.
Curious, Fletcher settled down beside her.
“What are you reading?” Fletcher asked, seeing an open book resting on her calves. It was not unlike James Baker’s, with sketches of small, insectile demons in the margins.
“That traitor Jeffrey’s journal,” Sylva spat, and Fletcher could almost feel the anger radiating from her like a furnace.
“Sorry,” he said, not wanting to intrude.
He began to get up, but Sylva caught his expression and grasped his wrist.
“No, I’m sorry,” she whispered, her face softening. “For blaming you … when Sariel died. If you hadn’t acted, none of us would be alive right now.”
She lowered her head and looked into his eyes. There was sincerity there and … something else.
For a moment Fletcher’s mind flashed to the moment he had buried Sariel beneath the rubble of the pyramid, along with the enemy demons that were bearing down on them. He’d had no choice … had he?
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Fletcher said, feeling a pang of guilt, despite her words. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost Ignatius.”
He paused, searching for a subject to get her mind off Sariel. Sadly, his first thought was not much cheerier.
“Still, I can’t help but think that all I’ve done is delay the inevitable,” he said. “We’re no closer to finding those yellow flowers than yesterday.”
Fletcher half expected Sylva to grow more despondent, but to his surprise she broke into a grin.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said, flipping forward a few pages and running her finger over the yellow paper. “Look.”
There was a sketch of a flower there, with a delicate stem and large petals that curved around one another in the shape of a conch shell. Below it, Fletcher could read out a short passage, written in Jeffrey’s surprisingly neat handwriting.
Experiment 786—The Three Sister Flowers
Captain Jacoby’s search of the ether bore fruit—or should I say, plants—today. A trio of flowering plants, each appearing near identical but for the coloring of their petals—red, blue and yellow. Clearly, they are related to one another somehow.
From what Jacoby tells us, the red flowers (genus: Medusa) tend to grow near the similarly colored sands of the deadlands—perhaps a camouflage mechanism of sorts.
The blue flowers (genus: Stheno) grow near salt water, which is a shame, as other than the occasional small brackish marsh, the nearest salt water is a sea, some distance from Hominum’s part of the ether. I imagine he may have used a charging stone to keep the portal open long enough for his Chamrosh to travel there and back. Impressive.
Finally, the yellow flowers (genus: Euryale). Apparently they only grow near lava. The batch he brought us was found in the crater of a nearby volcano. It is a good thing those are common near our part of the ether.
Though our dissection of the plants yielded poor results, Captain Lovett has volunteered to consume them in order to determine if they have any medicinal properties. The chances of poisoning are far higher than any positive results, but I say we roll the dice. After all, what else is she good for?
Fletcher clenched his fists as he read the final sentence. How had he judged Jeffrey so poorly? He had pitied the sickly servant boy, had even seen some of himself in him. But appearances could be deceiving. Jeffrey had been as heartless as the Forsyths were.
“Don’t you see?” Sylva asked, interrupting his thoughts. “The flower we’re looking for grows near lava.”
She was beaming from ear to ear, but Fletcher wasn’t hopeful.
“I mean, have you seen any volcanoes?” he asked, gesturing at the lifeless bayou surrounding them. “I know there are some near Hominum’s part of the ether, but we’re probably miles away from there and might not even be heading in the right direction.”
“Well, send Athena out to have a look!” she said, exasperated. “We need a plan, Fletcher. Look around you. Do you really think sitting back and hoping for the best is the right thing to do? I know you’ve just found your mother, but you’re still our leader. So, lead.”
Fletcher knew she spoke sense, but the thought of sending Athena to scout filled him with dread. He was scared of what he might see. An empty skyline, void of the telltale columns of volcanic smoke? A sea of green, with no end in sight? He didn’t want to know the answer. Not yet.