by J. Stone
He crouched down and crept forward, as silent as he could manage and tried to get his eyes to adjust to this new brightness. As Corrigan grew closer, he started to hear words over the crackle of the fire. Words. That meant whatever he’d stumbled upon was intelligent. Not a mindless monster. The figure itself was nothing more than a dark silhouette cast upon the fire though, so he continued forward, all indication of fear fading away.
A bit closer and Corrigan gained a better look at the area where this fire and this orating figure resided. The flames were growing out of a section of sewage trapped within a little dam, while the figure walked back and forth in front of them, spewing echoing but indiscernible words. This individual was not alone, however. A cage sat between the figure and the fire, only coming into view as Corrigan passed a section of the tunnel.
The cage was short and occupied by a small figure of its own. He crept forward a little more and found that there were more than the one. Four cages in total, each occupied by little, unmoving bodies. Each of them lay crumpled on the floor of the cage, so Corrigan couldn’t determine if any of them were Levi. Everything in him told him that this was where his friend was though.
The words of this creature became clearer as he approached as well, and Corrigan stopped just before the chamber, crouching behind a pile of crumbled bricks. He understood a few of the words, but there were strange, unknown sounds interspersed between them. The speech was wild and slurred, and on the whole, none of it made much sense. The pace of it, however, felt like a religious chant, and that made him realize what this was.
Within Alexandria, a group had established a religion some years back. Its name was the Dawning of the Eternal Night. Most everyone recognized it for what it was - a cult. They revered the dark creatures of the night, worshiping them like gods and seeking to bring more monstrous things into the world. They practiced rituals for purposes not clearly understood, but their intentions were clear, causing the vespari to hunt them the same as monsters.
That was when Corrigan realized that he was not hunting a vile monster like he’d first assumed. This was a mortal man, twisted in his mind and hoping to somehow appease the darkness of the world. This strange cultist had used his friend and the other children as part of some ritual that he’d concocted.
The vespari should have been there to stop this mad cultist. That was their role, but Corrigan was the only one there. He had to do something. He had to put an end to this ritual and its practitioner before any more of the children came to harm. The boy gripped the cleaver and crept forward as the robed man moved away from him and toward the cages where he kept one of the children. When the man reached it, he fiddled with a lock, and once he’d unlocked it, he grabbed the child, dragging them back to the center of the room. Corrigan took this opportunity to get nearly within swinging distance, but the man twisted about before he could use that cleaver.
The man glared at him with wild eyes and smiled, showing his missing and rotten teeth. “Have you come for the ritual?” he asked, laughing to himself. “I can always use more sacrifices!”
“I-I-I’ve c-c-come to s-s-stop y-y-you,” the boy replied, his stutter worse than ever.
“Ha!” the cultist shouted. “You are nothing! A timid thing with a knife.” He raised his hands high into the air. “The writhing ancients stand behind me.”
“I’m n-n-not afraid.”
The crazed man’s stare intensified. “You will be! I will sacrifice your blood and youth to them just as I have the others.”
“N-n-no m-m-m-more,” Corrigan said, running toward the man.
He raised the cleaver up and prepared to swing, but the man did nothing more than rear back and cackle. A true lunatic, he didn’t even react when Corrigan sunk the cleaver into his chest. Unfortunately, this didn’t have the effect that the boy hoped it would. No blood flowed from the wound. Corrigan pried the cleaver out from the man’s flesh and saw that the slit he’d carved in the man’s chest was entirely empty. He stared into the blackness of the hole, believing it to be a source of infinite darkness.
The mad cultist finally stopped laughing and stared down at Corrigan. “I told you, boy! You are nothing to me! I am protected by the writhing ancients!”
He reached out and grabbed Corrigan by his neck, lifting him into the air with a strength that didn’t match the frail form. The boy kicked and flailed as his feet left the ground, and he started to choke as the grimy fingers tightened around his throat. Intending to do the same to this man as he’d done to his father, Corrigan swung the cleaver at his wrist. The blade came to a stop at the bone and wedged itself there, however, and the man seemed no more upset by this than he’d been by the gaping wound in his chest.
“You must be impatient,” the crazed man said. “Very well.” He kicked away the unmoving child he’d pulled from the cage. “You will take this one’s place then.”
The man pulled a blade of his own from the folds of his robe and held it to Corrigan’s neck. He, meanwhile, attempted to dislodge the cleaver, and when he did, he continued to hack at the man’s arm to no avail.
“Drop the kid,” a gruff voice demanded behind him.
Both the crazed man and Corrigan looked back to its source to find a man in a long black trench coat, aiming a pair of pistols at the cultist.
“Vespari!” the crazed man hissed. He then twisted Corrigan around, using him as a shield between himself and the vespari. “You won’t stop me! I will do the writhing ancients’ bidding!”
The vespari just scowled and pulled the trigger. Corrigan felt a rush of air above him, as the cultist released him and the knife. The echoing gunshot seemed to only come after. The boy tumbled to the ground, catching himself and stumbling away. When he looked back, he saw the man dead on the ground, a hole in his forehead.
“You’re fine,” the vespari told him, stepping up to the cultist’s body and ensuring he was dead.
Corrigan didn’t reply, just staring at the man.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“I c-c-came for my -- Levi!”
Corrigan ran from one cage to the next, searching for his friend. Only when he got to the last one did he find Levi. He couldn’t tell whether he was still alive, but Levi had clearly suffered down there in those sewers. The cultist had cut into him, burned him, and tortured him in other horrible ways. Corrigan tried to get the door open, but the lock still held tight.
“Hold o-o-on,” he told his friend.
Corrigan ran back to the cultist’s body while the vespari just looked on. He searched for the key in the man’s pockets, and when he found it, he returned to the cage. Using the key, he unlocked the tiny cell and swung the door open.
“Levi?” he asked, pulling his friend out and laying him on the wet bricks.
He didn’t respond. Corrigan couldn’t tell if he was even breathing. He dropped his head down, putting his ear to the other boy’s chest. He tried to listen for a heartbeat, but he heard nothing. He rose back up and looked at Levi’s face. It was lifeless and still.
“Levi?”
Nothing.
He slapped his friend’s face, but the skin was cold. “Levi?”
Still nothing.
“Levi!” he shouted, tears welling up in his eyes.
The vespari approached him from behind and pulled him away from Levi’s body. “He’s gone.”
Corrigan just stared down at Levi, feeling lost and weightless, as though he might float away if he didn’t hold on to something.
“You came down here to save him, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
“Hm,” the vespari muttered. “You might have potential. What’s your name?”
The boy wiped his nose and looked up at the vespari. “Corrigan.”
“Well, Corrigan. I’m Kaelan Lockhart.”
***
“Woah, woah. Wait. Who? Kaelen Lockhart?” Wynonna asked, interrupting and effectively ending the story. “This guy was related to you?”
Lockh
art shook his head. “No. He was the v-v-vespari that went on t-t-to train m-me.”
She gave him a blank stare. “And?”
“And w-w-what?”
“Come on. The guy has your last name. What’s that all about? Just some big coincidence?”
“He d-d-doesn’t have my last n-n-name. I have his.”
His apprentice just shrugged. “What does that mean?”
“When a vespari f-f-finishes training, they take on their m-m-master’s name.”
Wynonna raised an eyebrow and continued to stare at him. “And what? You expect me to take your name too? Wynonna Lockhart?”
“That’s how it w-w-w-works.”
“Nuh-uh,” she said, shaking her head. “Not for me.”
The old hermit smiled. “Well, that was certainly an interesting tale, Mr. Lockhart. I thank you for sharing.”
“So, we can eat?” Wynonna asked, apparently forgetting all about the name at the mere mention of food.
The hermit stood and walked to his pot, which had been sitting on the fire for Lockhart’s entire tale. “The stew looks ready,” he said with his odd little cackle. “You can help yourselves.”
Wynonna sprung to her feet and grabbed a bowl. Using the ladle hanging from the pot, she scooped some for herself and returned to her seat. Lockhart eyed her as she was about to start eating, and she looked up.
“What?”
He said nothing, just staring at her food.
“Not like you can’t get up and feed your damn self,” she said.
He still didn’t reply.
Wynonna rolled her eyes and handed him the bowl. “Fine. Take it.”
Lockhart took the bowl of stew and started to eat, while his apprentice stood up again and got a new bowl for herself. When she sat down and started to eat as well, the old hermit stretched his lanky arms and scratched his scraggly beard.
“You never did say why you’re here,” he said.
“Looking for something,” Wynonna told him.
“Tracking,” Lockhart added.
“Oh?” the hermit asked. “Tracking what?”
“A revenant,” Wynonna replied.
“And a c-c-coven of beldams,” Lockhart said.
“Hm,” the hermit said, sitting down but continuing to scratch his beard. “Can’t say I heard anything about any of that.” He wrenched his head up and looked at the ceiling. “I did hear of some trouble up in Layton from a traveler a day or so back. Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”
“This t-t-traveler say what it was?”
The hermit cackled. “He had some crazy tale, but I can’t say I recall too much of it. Something big, as I think on it.”
“Hm.”
“What are you thinking?” Wynonna asked him.
“Could be one of the b-b-beldams stopped in there.”
“Never been to Layton. You know the way?”
He nodded. “We can m-m-make it there tomorrow.”
The hermit stood back up and scratched his back. “Don’t have no other bed, but the floor might not be too bad. Sleep there if you want.” He turned and started toward the only other room in the little shack. “I’m turning in.”
With that, he left them, closing a wooden door with an abundance of cracks in it. They heard him collapse on his bed and presumed him to have fallen asleep.
“Strange man,” Wynonna said, finishing the stew and putting her empty bowl down. “He didn’t even eat any.”
Swallowing a spoonful of the stew, Lockhart replied, “Maybe, but f-food and sh-shelter. Not even you c-c-can c-c-complain too much.”
“Mm. And all for a story.” She turned to him. “So, that’s how you became a vespari, huh? This Kaelan guy finds you and is impressed with you?”
“Near enough.”
“And he trained you?”
Lockhart nodded. “Him and s-some of the others there.”
“In Alexandria, you mean?”
Another nod.
“Are there a bunch of vespari there?”
“They operate out of a-a clock tower there.”
“Clock tower?”
“Black Tea Tower,” he told her.
She just stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
He shook his head. “Don’t a-ask.”
Wynonna looked down at the floor. “Well, never been to Alexandria either. What’s it like there?”
Lockhart shrugged. “Big. Crowded.”
His apprentice looked over at him. “You have a real way with words, you know that?”
“I kill m-monsters. I don’t n-need words.”
Wynonna sighed. “Fair enough.” She paused for a moment. “One other thing I was curious about.”
“Mm?”
“Your father. What happened to him?”
“Don’t know. N-n-never saw him again.”
“And what happened to your mother? Where was she?”
“She t-tried to protect me. He k-k-killed her.”
Wynonna grimaced. “I would’ve killed him.”
Lockhart shook his head. “He w-w-wasn’t worth my time. I let him s-s-suffer without his hand.”
“I suppose there is that.” Standing up, she continued, “Well, I’m going to get some sleep.”
Lockhart nodded.
“You better get some too. I’m not carrying you again tomorrow.”
He nodded.
She sighed again and lay down behind him. After less than a minute, he already heard her snoring. She must’ve been exhausted, he decided. He was too, and after he finished the bowl of stew, he lay down and tried to get some rest.
***
They couldn’t just leave him alone. While he slept, the beldams called upon him again. He found himself in that cave, hung from those hooks and staring out at all the monsters he’d ever killed. Their numbers were dwindling quickly, and he hadn’t added many to the cages since they placed the curse on him. He couldn’t possibly keep up with the beldam’s appetite. He would have to find them and kill them soon.
“Hello again,” Alviva told him, licking her lips. “We all decided we could use a little midnight snack.”
He just glared at them.
“Why does he never say anything?” Mabilia demanded, grabbing him by his neck and pulling him toward her.
“Maybe he’s terrified of us!” Estrild said, giving a little hop up in the air.
Lockhart directed his glare toward her, causing her to scurry behind Mabilia.
“He’s not afraid of us,” Petronila replied, slithering forward from the back of the group. She uncurled one of her long fingers and pointed it to Lockhart’s forehead. “He’s scheming in there. Still thinks he can stop us.”
“Then we should finish this,” Mabilia said, tightening her grip on the vespari’s throat.
“Not yet,” Alviva told her, grabbing the other beldam’s wrist. “We do this my way.”
“I’m sure Mabilia wasn’t questioning your command, Alviva,” Petronila said, slithering to the back again.
Alviva glared at Mabilia. “That’s exactly what she was doing. I’m sure she knows better.”
Mabilia released her grip on Lockhart’s neck, causing him to swing back on the hooks. “If I was questioning you, you’d know it.”
“And?” Alviva asked, poking Mabilia in the chest. “Are you? Would you dare?”
Mabilia grimaced at the beldam leader but ultimately looked down and backed away.
“Good girl,” Alviva taunted. She turned back to Lockhart. “I hope you didn’t plan on getting any rest tonight, vespari.” The beldam grinned and slapped her fat, jiggling belly. “I’m feeling quite peckish.”
***
Thanks to the beldams keeping him from getting the restful slumber he needed, Lockhart awoke feeling only slightly better than he had the night prior. Some of the mad lotus’s poison seemed to have left his system at least. Wynonna and the hermit were already up, and he could hear their voices outside the man’s home. With a groan, the v
espari forced himself to stand. Using the furniture to brace himself, Lockhart walked to the door and made his way to them.
He found Wynonna sitting cross-legged with a bullet in her lap. She was using the little filing tool to carve the runes into it, making it useful for fighting the monsters that they hunted. The old hermit, meanwhile, was examining the few rows of crops he had lined outside his home and paid Lockhart no special attention when he joined them.
“About time,” Wynonna said, not looking up.
“They v-v-visited me again d-d-during the night,” he replied.
“Mm. Well, this is the last bullet. We’re all set after this one.” She grabbed the other runed bullet and lifted it up to show him.
Lockhart took it and examined it.
“Well?” she asked, returning to her carving. “Good enough?”
“Hm,” he murmured, looking over the runes. “You d-did well.”
Wynonna shrugged and grinned. “Yeah, I’m pretty impressive, I know.”
“Mm. Wouldn’t g-go that far.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, standing up and brushing her pants and poncho off. “We going or what?”
He nodded and then turned to the hermit. “We appreciate y-y-your--”
The old man waved his hand in the air and laughed. “Don’t mention it. I needed a good tale. It’s just too bad I won’t get to hear another.”
Lockhart coughed, feeling the curse slowly wearing him down. “Maybe a-another time,” he replied.
“Come on,” Wynonna said, pocketing the in progress bullet and picking up her things. “I want to get to Layton as soon as possible.”
“W-w-we don’t know w-w-what we’ll find there,” Lockhart reminded her.
“Still,” she said with a shrug. “It’s better than you chewing on that mad lotus again. So, you ready to go or what?”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
