Without A Heartbeat
Chapter 13

Faru was a patient person, but he could feel himself growing frustrated.

He was convinced that his theory of a Guardian committing the attacks was correct, however, replaceing evidence to support that theory was proving elusive. It had been twelve days since his arrival and he was not much closer to catching the culprit.

In total there were twelve Vampires operating from Sciath Outpost. Seven of those were human hybrids – or Bloodlings, as they were more commonly known. Five were Bloodseekers; the sentient leaders of any given Pandemonian hive pack, who could control the rest of his or her brood with telepathic commands. He had interviewed all Vampires repeatedly throughout his time at Sciath – as well as all sixty other Guardians so as not to draw suspicion - paying close attention to their words and mannerisms. Regardless of their origins, when questioned they had acted like exemplary Guardians. It was growing harder to make it seem as if it was all part of a routine progress check.

Faru closed the door to one of the research rooms, which had been re-appropriated as an interview room at his request. His last interviewee of the day had been Cassandraya, a Bloodseeker who acted like a poster child for the Alliance. He cursed his bad luck - if the traitorous Guardians were Chosen, he could use his gift of Mind Merging to delve into their minds and uncover the secrets they had hidden there. However, Pandemonians and their derivatives were unreachable with that ability. Indeed that aspect of his telepathic gift itself had only manifested itself after he had first passed through the Veil into Earth centuries ago.

Faru walked down corridors that were lit by bulbous lamps fuelled by electricity. The surrounding walls were the colour of old copper and intersected with large bolts that held everything together. It felt as if he were moving through the internal workings of a vast clock. An Outpost Guardian walked the other way and saluted Faru. The Huntmaster returned the greeting, but his heart was not in it. He was too distracted.

Even with his incredible gift for intuition, he simply could not comprehend which one of those he had interviewed was the guilty party. Rather than convince him his theory was wrong, it had provided him with what he believed was a further clue.

He was now almost certain the culprit was a Bloodling.

The simple fact that he had been unable to note any hesitation, any behavioural alterations at all, when he had asked blunt questions that would have had any other traitor trembling was a tell-tale sign as far as Faru was concerned. From this he had deduced that whoever was committing the crime felt that their actions were so just; it would cause them to be utterly unperturbed when lying to protect them.

That degree of delusion can only come from one who has been brainwashed by another who maintains an incredible power over them.

A clear example of that level of power was apparent between a Bloodling Vampire and their Bloodseeker creator. The subservient idolisation that a Bloodling formed for their unnatural parent was well known in the Alliance world and quite unique in its efficacy. Faru had no doubt that if a Bloodseeker told their protégé to mask their activities, they would hide it with such perfection it would be as if they genuinely believed their own innocence. Faru nodded to himself as he walked down the corridor towards the living quarters.

Yes, the culprit must be a Bloodling. That leaves seven suspects.

Sage Blackwood was getting impatient for results. He had expected the case to be solved by now and Faru to be back where he belonged. As he had so bluntly explained, it was not like his best Guardian to be so ineffectual. As much as the Huntmaster found the Sage irksome, he could not argue with his agitation. Faru wanted to get things done quickly and get his Guardians back home.

If the hallways of the Outpost were like being inside a clock, then the door to the Huntmaster’s room was like staring at the central mechanism – a dizzying number of cogs and pistons were cramped together within the frame. As he approached, a latch at the top snapped open and he was bathed in blue light. A green panel opened on the right and pale letters appeared on a flickering green surface.

Identification required.

Faru tapped a sequence on a set of keys that looked as if they had been removed from a Hansen writing ball. A few seconds later there was a series of clanks and groans, and the door sprang into action like a machine breathed to life. The cogs spun and whirred around themselves, lifting levers and pushing pistons. It winched open and he stepped inside, waiting while it slowly closed itself behind him. The door technology was yet another new development at the research base and one that was being rolled out across the Alliance. Capable of withstanding an Ion blast – although only one – capable of recognising a voice and containing a self-locking system. Faru personally felt it to be somewhat unnecessary. A simple lock and a competent individual behind the door was all he felt necessary to keep a room secure.

The room within was like something stolen from the distant future. Black tiles shimmered like mirrors. Lighting controlled by electricity, a box that played a selection of orchestral music when switched on, and a bed that was as sleek and angular as anything Elves could create. A domed light descended from the ceiling above, giving the room a warm, orange glow.

Faru moved over to a coat rack and removed his cloak. Underneath he wore the garb of a Huntmaster, a more ornately styled version of the Alliance uniform. It consisted of a leather jacket emblazoned with the motto of his order, a collarless black shirt, black chap trousers and a set of shin-high boots that contained hidden sections for emergency apatropes and weapons.

He removed his shirt, exposing a pale body rigid with muscles. It was a canvas for countless scars and burns, each one a macabre souvenir collected from his time on the battlefields of Pandemonia. Faru hung his shirt up in a wardrobe set into the wall itself. He knelt down and slid out a discrete panel at the bottom to check the contents were still there. As expected, nestled within was the holster that sheathed his twin red swords. Through his eyes, he saw them as two shimmering beams of crimson light, with ancient symbols hovering within. The words written on the blades remained elusive to him, regardless of his constant efforts to decipher them. Perched at the ends of each hilt was a Dragon with two tails, which wrapped around the handle and formed the grip. They hummed with life whenever he held them. They were the most deadly close combat weapons he had ever seen.

They were also a mystery.

Faru had been given the swords by one of the Reapers of Knowledge. The enigmatic species that had once existed in Pandemonia but had vanished without a trace and become one of the world’s greatest mysteries. The species people did not like to recall – the quiet ones who had documented but never participated in the Ageless War.

The species who had watched and remembered.

The masked figure had appeared after a vicious battle - as they always did, ready to record the information in their old books. Instead this one had been carrying a box. The Reaper had beckoned to Faru, calling him over without ever using words. As the Seelian had grown closer, he had seen its soul – as he could all living creatures – but it was too weak and its colour wrong, as if something dark had been feeding on it. The Reaper had offered over the box, which had been as red as the battlefield ground. Unlatching the locks and flipping open the lid had revealed the identical swords in all their glory. When Faru looked up again, the masked figure had vanished. That moment was the last time he saw a Reaper.

It was the last time anyone saw a Reaper.

The mysterious race had once been the subject of much debate and speculation. Now they were nothing but crumbling ruins and memories scattered on the wind, their knowledge sealed away for over a century.

Faru fixed the panel back in place and closed the wardrobe. He sat down cross-legged on the bed and closed his eyes, letting the kaleidoscope of colours within his mind wash over him like a blanket.

He rarely slept.

Firstly, it was almost unnecessary as he could survive on as little as an hour a day. Secondly, horrible visions waited for him in his sleep. The awful things he had done for the sake of his people…for his world. He had lived by a specific philosophy his entire adult life.

The one who keeps others unscathed must carry their scars for them.

The scars were psychological as well as physical. It was slowly catching up with him, all the violence and horror of the Ageless War. The Seelians were considered nobility and thus revered by the Luminar peoples. While his kin had hidden away - using their status as a shield - Faru had fought and killed, bled and wept. He abhorred violence, however, he understood it was an unavoidable facet of war. But those necessary acts lay etched within his mind, and as such sleep was something he avoided as much as possible.

Instead he meditated.

A gift of his race, Faru could take his mind to another plane of existence. It was a world where he was the creator, where his thoughts could be organised as something tangible, and he could think with a clarity that was like a church bell ringing out on a silent night. Most of all it gave him the peace that sleep could not.

In the dim light of his room, Faru let his mind drift. His vision slewed sideways and he stepped over to the world that was his own. His recent memories were spread out around him at all angles – chaotic – as if an explosion had been frozen at its most devastating moment. He moved between the objects – people he had met, the places he had visited - as if he were walking through a floating museum. As he did they drifted around one another, repositioning and reorganising until they became a cohesive and chronological narrative. As he moved, a deep sense of calm washed over him, like the lapping waves of a peaceful sea. He pointed at moments he didn’t need – the journey from London to Ireland on the Iron Whale, interviews with those he didn’t suspect – and they vanished into deeper sections of his mind, ready for later retrieval. Those memories he did want – the interviews with the Bloodlings - he pulled close until they surrounded him. He waved his hands in front of specific conversations, and they played again – verbatim. It was here in this absolute state of clarity that he hoped to replace the next elusive clue that he had missed in his conscious mind, the single giveaway twitch that not even the guilty party was aware they had made.

The one thing that would catch them out.

A loud crackle of static snatched him from his reverie. He blinked and frowned over at the source of the noise. It came from the Speakergram, which was a wired – or occasionally wireless – communication system that allowed people to talk over large distances.

“Huntmaster Solignis, respond.”

Faru allowed his mind to come back to the present on the physical plane, taking a moment to adjust. Then he stepped off the bed and lifted a silver disk punctured by several small holes off the nearby shelf. A black wire ran from the base, going through a hole in the shelf and right into the floor. He pressed down a button on the top and spoke.

“This is Huntmaster Solignis.”

“Ah you’re there. This is Outleader Kodessa.”

“Evening Outleader, how may I be of service?”

“Bad news I’m afraid. We have another victim and another potential kidnapping.”

Faru let out a sigh before clicking the button again. “Have you done a Vampire headcount?”

“All have reported in as requested. Those out on patrol were in the areas they were supposed to be.”

Faru coiled his hand in frustration. “What area of the city did the attack occur?”

“That’s the strange part, it didn’t happen in Belfast. It was only a few miles from here.” He paused. “The attack was on one of Oakley Manor’s ground staff.”

The information took Faru by surprise and it was a moment before he responded. “You are referring to the same Oakley Manor that belongs to Richard Clarke?”

“The one and only.”

“Interesting.”

“I am preparing a Scrub team to head over with me now to recover the body. What would you like to do Huntmaster?”

Faru took a moment to think. “I will join you. We should meet in the Strategy Room in five minutes.”

“Agreed.”

There was a crackle of static and then the Speakergram fell silent. Faru closed his eyes and thought for a moment. He was trying to work out if it was simply a coincidence that the latest attack had occurred at the home of a major HASEA benefactor.