Chapter Twenty-One

Those Old Shackles

It was an eerie, ghoulish sound that came not from a single place, but seeped from the very air itself. As if molecules were splitting, combusting with torturous applause.

Wesley’s father raised his wand, spinning it in a tight circle over his head. A blistering ring of fire erupted just outside the dome shield spell, cutting off the high pitched sound.

But the chill it had brought in those few seconds, lingered around Wesley’s spine.

“What the hell was that?” Alaster asked, his body tensed.

“A beacon,” Wesley’s father replied. “The little shite called for help.”

No one said a thing, watching, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did and the brief silence was then broken by a hiss as Alaster leapt at the Nocturne, his feline body uncoiling for a blow, his blade raised to strike.

The sterling silver sword cut into the Nocturne’s cloak and…shattered.

Alaster stared at the broken metal in shock and raised his hand instead, claws gleaming.

“No, Alaster,” Wesley’s father shouted. “Do not touch him.”

The vampire’s claws were mere millimeters from the Nocturne’s chest. “And why not?”

“There’s a spell on him. You will likely end up the same as your blade.”

Alaster’s hand fell and the Nocturne laughed.

“Clever, old fools,” the Nocturne said darkly. “These shackles are so very old. I can feel the bones in the cold iron. It will not last.”

“Ceceila, how long do we have?” the lord asked.

There was a half second silence before the girl said, “Five minutes, give or take.”

“Who has any ideas on how to kill the bastard?” his father asked.

Wesley almost laughed before he realized it wasn’t a joke, then he wheezed from the pain in his side.

Cecelia shot him twice in the head and three times in the heart, the sounds making his ears ring. The Nocturne only chuckled.

“Come now, little mouse. Don’t you think if a bullet could do it I would have been dead long ago?”

The bits of lead sizzled against his cloak and armor. Some kind of magical bullets. A hiss of annoyance came from the man for the first time.

Cecelia smirked at the Nocturne. His darkened shadow of a face tilted its head. “That was annoying. Well done.”

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There was the screech of metal as the Nocturne strained against the chains.

How strong was he?

It struck Wesley that not only did they not know how to kill the Nocturne, they didn’t even know the full extent of his powers. He was more than a man and possessed more knowledge of dark magicks than almost anyone alive. He had tested and tasted those dark waters and made himself into something darkly foreign. Neither a particular magical creature nor a man.

He had the sickly feeling that those five minutes Cecelia had predicted would not be enough for them.

The Nocturne had taken decades to make himself. A mere five minutes would not be enough for him to be unmade. They had come into this fight unprepared.

For all of them, vengeance had clouded reality.

They were never going to roll over…but this…it now felt like a fool’s errand.

But there might be something that could save them…

“We must search his mind,” Wesley said. “See his memories and thoughts. If we can find a way to kill him. Then it will be in there.”

“There isn’t time,” Cecelia said. “We’ve four minutes. Those shackles won’t hold forever.”

“We don’t need much time. Everything in the mind takes only seconds,” he replied.

“He will see into yours too, then,” Alaster said.

“He’s already done that.”

Slowly, he walked up to the shackled Nocturne and stared into the black pit face. He could already feel the distant presence of the man’s mind. They had done this dance before.

“Careful, son,” his father said from behind him, but already the sounds of the world were fading.

With his wand by his side, he murmured, “Vide in mente….vide in mente…”

The basement of the crumpled manor fell away as he stared into the swirling chasm of darkness.

***

Wesley found himself standing in a summer meadow. Picturesque as a could be with a slight whispering wind sliding through the grass and the pungent smell of fresh flowers. Tall, dark trees lined the edge of it and high peaked, snow capped mountains sat in the distance.

He blinked around until he saw the stone monolith at the center.

Words were carved into it.

Beware all ye who enter here.

“Very funny,” Wesley said, his voice carrying in an odd echo.

“I thought so,” said a voice from behind him.

There was a man sitting crossed legged in the grass just two meters behind him. He wore a white robe Buddhist style, long hair down to his shoulders, an eye patch over his left eye. And for his right eye…well, it was clouded with a bluish hue.

But Wesley had the feeling he wasn’t blind at all.

“You are quite right, I can see perfectly well,” he said, his voice a velvety vibrato. “One does not need eyes to see things in this place.”

“You are not the Nocturne,” Wesley said, somewhat stupidly.

“Quite right, I am but a sliver of the being you call the Nocturne.”

Wesley furrowed his brow in confusion. He’d expected to meet apparitions, violent ones, even. Created by the Nocturne and his imagination to fool and mislead him. But this…it was all too odd. This thing was too real. It spoke as though it had its own consciousness.

“How do I know you are not an apparition?”

The man got slowly to his feet. “I am many things and I have been many more things. I am sure I will be many things in the future.”

“Cryptic.”

“Indeed. I am a monk, after all.”

“You know why I am here,” Wesley said. “I have come for answers.”

“And answers you shall have, Wesley Barstow. But heed this warning: venture forth into this mind at your own peril. It is a wicked and distraught place with mere corners of peace and beauty.”

Wesley wasn’t sure what that meant but he knew he was wasting time. This pristine prairie was like the lobby. He needed the basement. Or perhaps the vault.

He started across the field toward the wood.

“You, more than most, have reason to beware the memories of this mind. Remember that I warned you, Wesley Barstow.”

With that, Wesley delved into the dark wood.