Nocte Yin: Anti-Villain, Anti-Hero and Anti-Everything Else

Chapter Twenty-Three

They manoeuvred her through the crowd with very little trouble, without the slightest of hiccups or a misplaced sneeze; the only exception was of a werewolf being tackled into their group and breaking their guard briefly. But even then the issue had been resolved in a quick and timely manner, with the werewolf’s death being the result. No hesitation, no blink of an eye and not even a second to gauge that, perhaps, there would be another werewolf nearby to avenge their corpse of a brother.

No.

The Fae — elves — were the perfect assassins and hunters — killers, and the Lady Necromancer could only guess at the elves of Erisire, hidden in the deep and rare forests of Zyrith. They may even best the best magicians Xon had to offer.

She almost grunted when she was forced to duck into a windowless van, nearly falling from the seat when two elves slipped onto either side of her, effectively caging her in. Three others sat facing her, another at the driver’s, one at the passenger’s, and she could feel two more knelt in the trunk, pressing against her seat, no doubt with slitting knives ready for the kill. She was completely surrounded and, as the locks clicked shut, she felt a great wave of trepidation wash over her.

“Calm,” she told herself. “Calm, Nocte.”

She forced herself to ease into her seat, adopting a look of nonchalance that vexed Ciel to no end, not that he could scowl with that broken jaw of his. Satisfied she may be, by such a petty bruise, but she was positively thrilled that he couldn’t seem to heal himself. The others didn’t seem very obliged to help him either, much to her delight.

She almost smirked and kept on smirking as the van drove north, away from the St. Lawrence River and out into the greater outskirts of civilization.

They had curtained the windows to prevent her from noting the change in landscape and time, but she had a good grasp on both regardless. Certainly hours had passed, judging from the way her legs and bum had grown numb, and certainly they were heading out into the countryside, judging from the sudden uneven and gravel roads. The quietness alone, away from the hustle and bustle of city life, was telling enough.

She closed her eyes to rest them, her bleeding hands having long been dried shut. Her body was stronger than the elves, several of them still gleaming with open wounds on their chins and temples. Her superiority was not lost on them, much to Ciel’s chagrin.

Then, finally, the van slowed to a stop. They blindfolded her, not that it prevented her from knowing that they were at the edge of a forest; the scent of grass, trees and wildflowers making it obvious.  A moment of silence where the elves exchanged looks and hand gestures (she could tell from the unnatural and frantic air movements), and then they led her out of the van.

And into the forest.

Without shoes or even socks on, Nocte could feel every grain of dirt and seed of gravel scraping along the bottom of her feet, a dark undertone of weeds and bramble. She held her chin high, back straight — her etiquette lessons of yonder days, even of those quiet lessons contained in the narrow rooms of her childhood home, returning to her like a faded, fond memory. How she missed the way her mother would just fling the door open, interrupting the expensive and experienced tutor she’d just hired, to take hold of her third youngest by the hand and lead her onto a very… straining day of shopping for bathing suits.

Nocte pushed the memory aside with a shudder. She couldn’t say if it had been a happy memory, or a horrifying one. Even at four years old, she had known she was bigger than the other children. She hadn’t needed, and never did need, a two-piece bikini to advertise her incorrigible body shape. Her mother never did understand.