CHAPTER SEVEN - DISORDER

Vampire Preceptor Caemorn Losus stared down at the pathetic, sweating Timothy Lane who was on his knees before him. Caemorn’s red silk robes, the robes of his office, the robes that connected him to all past Preceptors, rustled around him even though he sat perfectly still, hands resting lightly on the carved stone arms rests of the Throne of the Order.  

The robes were stitched from material that had been found in a chest in the Spire. They had properties that few could understand and none could replicate. They adjusted to the size of the wearer.  They could stop a knife or a bullet. And some said that they could lead a Preceptor to the right answers if he or she could interpret the slight movements the silk made. He could attest to the first two, but not the third.

Not that Caemorn had ever believed he was not acting in the right.  Not even now when things appeared to be unravelling before his very eyes.

“-- lost contact immediately upon them entering the city,” Timothy was explaining.

Sweat - fat, glistening beads - ran down his face. Vampires did not sweat normally. But the loss of his fledgling could explain that and the pasty white of his complexion.  It had been a long time since a fledgling had died in the Vampire world. The secrecy with which they shielded their actions now and the power that they wielded in the human world ensured that.  So Timothy was one of the few to have experienced it in centuries. But his failure might cause many others to experience his fate.

“They were not to go into the city,” Caemorn’s voice was low, almost agreeable, even though he wanted to reach down and grab Timothy by his sweaty neck and shake him.  “The risks --”

“I know. I don’t know why she went there!  Other than sheer panic that the boys had gotten in,” Timothy answered.

Timothy had a prominent Adam’s apple that made him seem almost turkey-ish. It bobbed up and down as he swallowed convulsively.  He was afraid though Caemorn had given him no reason to be. No outward reason, in any case.

“What did she say to you last?” Caemorn made a graceful movement with one hand. The silk fluttered even though there was no wind at the moment.

“Her last communication with me was that Christian and Julian had gained access to the city and that she was going in after them. I told her not to. I ordered her not to, but over a cellphone … the gift does not always work. Not even on a fledgling,” Timothy was almost bleating now.  

From a turkey to a sheep. What other barnyard animal will he remind me of next?  A mouse? For it isn’t the Eyros gift that does not work over cellphones, it is simply that Timothy isn’t powerful enough to command other than in person and likely when the individual stares into his eyes.

“Please continue. What happened next?” Caemorn asked, almost gently, which placated the turkey-sheep-mouse.

Timothy smoothed his hands down his sweater vest - the man wore a sweater vest, which likely explained why he had never been assumed to do something as daring as spying - and answered, “As soon as she entered the Ever Dark, I could still sense her almost like one can see a light bobbing far out at sea on a moonless night.  But all contact through cell was gone even if she had been able to respond.”

“You need cell towers,” Caemorn found himself gritting out.  Timothy’s mouth opened and shut as he blinked stupidly at Caemorn. The Preceptor enunciated each word carefully as he explained, “In order to get a signal, you need cell towers. There are none in the Ever Dark and I do not believe there are any plans for alternate universe communications."

More blinking. Had Timothy always been so dumb? Had Caemorn simply missed the man’s extreme ineptitude all this time?  It looked like it now. It appeared that he had desperately relied upon a man to do the most dangerous, delicate of tasks when, if he’d had options, he wouldn’t have trusted Timothy to cross the street without incident.  

House Ravenscroft is dregs. What am I expecting?  

“Quite. I’ve been on Earth for so long that I -- I forgot.” Timothy gave a thin laugh that died quickly. He cleared his throat and, without prompting this time, continued, “I … I felt the loss of her Second Life soon after that.” Timothy shuddered. A full body shudder.  “One brief cry, a spark in the darkness, and then … nothing.”  He then pulled himself upright, as he added, “I nearly passed out from the pain.  But I held fast to my faith and came here to you.”

You rabbited here, because you were certain you were going to be gutted by Balthazar, you vile little worm.

“Yes, you came here, breaking your cover as my spy in House Ravenscroft,” Caemorn remarked lightly even though there was nothing light in his feelings about this at all. Really, Timothy had just lost whatever usefulness he’d had the moment he’d stepped foot into the Ever Dark. He’d given him a pass for emergencies only. Now he was sincerely regretting that.

“There was no hiding it!” Timothy’s silver eyes flickered wildly over his face, trying to read emotions that Caemorn would never reveal. But if Timothy tried to read his mind … but he didn’t. There was none of that light brush of thoughts that occurred when an Eyros used their foul gift.  But, of course, there would not be. Timothy was a true believer and he would never use his gift against the Preceptor of the Order, no matter how foolish it was not to.   Timothy continued on, “Heath may have communicated with Elena before he experienced his Second Death. Balthazar would have questioned me and he would have known -- known the truth.  So, you see, I had no choice! And I knew that you would need to know this information immediately.”

Timothy ran a shaking hand through his lank brown hair. He had a widow’s peak that was accentuated each time he did this.  He was turned just over a century ago when standards for beauty were lax. The man had no real skills either considering he couldn’t undertake a simple act like keeping two human boys out of the Ever Dark.  If only Caemorn could have trusted his own people, but that was fraught with peril.  Faith could seem durable, almost unbreakable, but then a thing would happen and it would shatter like the thinnest pane of glass. He feared the latter would occur once Daemon returned to the Vampire World.  But he would stop that from happening.

“Selene was to have stopped them from getting into the Ever Dark altogether. I do not understand how she failed in this task,” Caemorn murmured. He did not allow his voice nor his body to show the flash of rage that went through him. He should have instructed Timothy more thoroughly. He and Selene were of the Eyros Bloodline.  That meant they were notoriously lazy, trusting in their mind control to get them out of trouble in every situation when a simple backup plan would have made all the difference in the world.

“Balthazar sent Heath with her,” Timothy explained and there was a touch of whine to his voice.  “She had to behave as if she was following his orders and not mine.”

“You mean mine.” Caemorn’s silver eyes narrowed.

“No!  I mean yes, yours. Your orders. She was so eager to prove herself to you …” Timothy’s voice fell off and he looked wretched for a moment. Evidently, he had cared for her. It was rare for a weak Vampire like Timothy to be able to spread the gift of Vampirism, but he had once in any event.

“I see.  So Balthazar had some inkling that you were working for someone else?” Caemorn did not acknowledge the erstwhile Selene’s ambitions to please him. She had done anything but and now her Second Death had complicated matters.

And may have woken Daemon.

His fingers flexed almost imperceptibly over the arms of the throne.

Timothy waved his arms frantically in front of him.  “He has no idea where my allegiances lie!”

“Being of the Eyros Bloodline I do not see why he does not.” Caemorn’s brow furrowed. “Why does he not simply demand that you tell them the truth or, at least, stay loyal? Put a compulsion upon you?” A delicate blond eyebrow rose up.  “If he isn’t strong enough to control you, how is he the Lord of the House?”

“He is more than strong enough.”  For one moment, Timothy actually looked guilty over betraying Balthazar. He licked his lips and explained, “That is what our former master Roan Tithe did.  But Balthazar does not believe in -- in such a way of doing things. We are entitled to our free will.”

“How … noble of him. Not very wise, but noble.”

Timothy jerked as if struck. He was having a harder time hiding his emotions than Caemorn even though he should have known that showing guilt was the wrong move.  After all, Balthazar was a heretic. Even when he had been a Vampire in good standing in the Ever Dark, he had never attended any of the Order’s meetings.  Yet despite it all Confessor Arcius Kane had insisted on taking his part after he had slaughtered Roan Tithe. Arcius had used the examples in the Order - of their overthrown of the Ten - to justify Balthazar’s likely naked power grab by eliminating his master. Yes, there were more than rumors about the abuse going on in House Tithe, but there were costs to immortality.  Sadistic masters like Roan Tithe were among them.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Caemorn asked, his voice showing some weariness.

“Ah, no, no, nothing more yet,” Timothy quickly said.

“And nothing more ever after either, right, Timothy?”  Caemorn rose up from the throne. The red silks were whispering to him, drawing him towards the still kneeling figure.  “After all, you are back in the Ever Dark now and your ability to spy on House Ravenscroft is nil. Even going back to Earth is probably out of the question.  Balthazar would find you and … take away your free will, wouldn’t he? He’d make you tell him everything about this and us.”

“Y-yes, he would.  He’s quite fond of Christian and Julian. I think he’d be … cross,” Timothy answered.

“Cross?” Caemorn’s lips twitched in the first smile of that encounter. “Yes, I imagine he would be.  So you can’t go back.”

Timothy was opening and closing his mouth rather like a fish without saying anything again.  Caemorn put a hand on his head, feathering his fingers through the sweaty hair so that he had as much contact with Timothy’s skin as possible.  Timothy thought it was a benediction. He’d likely never seen a Kaly Bloodline Vampire gift. Few Kaly ever left the Ever Dark.

“I can stay?” Timothy gasped.  A smile was dawning on his face.  A hope that he had not quite allowed himself to have.  “My exile is done? I can stay in Ever Dark?”

“Yes, Timothy. You can stay here for the rest of your Second Life.” Caemorn smiled more broadly down at him.

And then took his soul.

Timothy’s mouth, which had been opening, undoubtedly, to thank him for this great honor, fell open all the way with a click.  His skin went from pasty to gray. Cataracts covered his silver eyes. Caemorn removed his hand from Timothy’s rapidly cooling head and the body toppled over in an unmoving heap. A glowing blue ball, rather like balls of lightning that were sometimes seen on the hills before a storm was in his hand.  Timothy’s soul. He held it up to examine it. Timothy could still be useful after all. Caemorn smiled thinly.

Tarn loped over to him at that moment.  The werewolf had been waiting in an adjoining room. Caemorn normally had him and his twin brother Farun flank the throne, but Timothy would have been frightened into silence like the rabbit he was as they stood over seven feet tall in their half-man, half-wolf shape.

Another farm animal!

Caemorn let out a sharp laugh, which had Tarn staring at him out of dark brown eyes. “It’s nothing.”

In his clawed hand he offered a glass globe to Caemorn who sent Timothy’s spirit within the delicate glass ball. It almost looked like a Christmas tree ball.  Tarn sniffed it.

“That’s not to eat, Tarn.” Caemorn reached out and rubbed one of the furry ears.

Tarn growled, his lips writhing back from huge teeth, two inches long, that could slice through flesh like it were butter.  But Caemorn continued to pet him with no concern. Tarn endured it, finally, stopping growling, and even lowering his shaggy head to give Caemorn better access.  He and his twin Farun were enslaved to Caemorn. He had tied their spirits into their wolf forms and tied those forms to himself. They had to obey him or their souls would be like Timothy’s in a nice little glass globe.

“Put it away for me and you and Farun can go hunting.” Caemorn gave the werewolf a final pat. Their fur was really surprising soft and agreeable to touch.  He’d actually had both brothers sleep with him. His naked skin brushing against their huge, furry bodies was a pleasure not to be denied.

Tarn let out a low chuff.  During hunting they could pretend they were free. Besides, the endless forests of Ever Dark were filled with challenging prey and predators.   Tarn turned and loped from the room. Caemorn heard his high-pitched howl, signalling his brother that it was time to hunt.

For his part,  Caemorn walked out onto the balcony and rested his hands on the cold, stone rail and looked out at the midnight drenched fore.  Each city was an island of peace and safety amidst a sea of dangers. But even if one were to brave those dangers and travel on and on, one would never get to another Ever Dark city. The only way to access the different cities of the Ever Dark was on Earth through gates.  It was theorized that the cities were each in an alternate universe of Ever Dark, empty of all other Vampire Bloodlines, but the ruling one. Only four of the original eleven universes were available to the Vampires now. Some of the Immortals had managed to wall off themselves from their progeny before the end came.  Not that it had saved them.

A night bird, the size of a small car, with glowing blue tips on its wings flew overhead, blocking out the light from the  double moons for a moment. He watched it soar away towards the mountains in the far distance. He tilted his head back and bathed his face in the moonlight. The Spire had taken over the Seeyr Bloodline’s city of Solace. The other Bloodlines now divided the other three cities: Lasting, Haven, and Destiny.  In those cities, every Bloodline vied for power while here the Order reigned supreme.

“So … things are going to Hell, I hear,” Vampire Confessor Fiona Darksilver’s cool, analytical voice broke over him.

Caemorn opened his eyes.  “You do not sound surprised.”

“When the stakes are as high as they are here, things are bound to go wrong.  It is almost like the larger the thing intended, the greater risks it entails.”

She lightly placed her elegant hands on the balcony. Her black skin, a deep and almost blue-black tone, glowed under the blue and red moonlight.  The beads in her hair clicked softly as she shook she her head. He should have heard her coming, but she had likely teleported in. Her Wyvern Bloodline allowed her that gift. The delicate tattoo of wings showed on her right wrist.  

“You are not to teleport within the Spire, Fiona,” he chided her.  He was more annoyed that he had not sensed her the moment she appeared than that she had done it at all.

She gave him a small smile.  “Forgive me, I felt that haste was more important than the rules. Rules, which won’t last very long if Daemon is to return.”  She’d turned towards him. The click of the beads in her hair was almost musical. “I thought that our control of her would ensure that this would never happen.  Does she not see the future?”

“One would think, but the future is ever changing. Everything we do makes a different trail. And she would say that she sees the future, but does control it,” he replied coolly, not allowing his jaw to clench as he wanted it to.  He agreed with Fiona. His ace in the hole was ending up being something else altogether.

“And yet we seem to be headed for a future where the very things we do not want - Daemon’s return and our enslavement or destruction - will occur.  Are you sure that she is not misleading you, Caemorn? Perhaps if you allowed someone to accompany you when you speak with her --”

“Like you, Confessor Darksilver?” He used her title to remind her that he was the Preceptor. His judgment was the judgment of the Order. Hers was but a single voice asking to be heard.

She bowed. Her robes were black laced with red and silver as befitted her status as that of a Confessor, a Senior Confessor, but no where near his rank. “Forgive my rash words, Preceptor.  I just wish to assist.”

“All we know for certain at this point is that two human boys got into an Ever Dark city and that Selene and Heath are dead. There is a possibility - a small one - that the boys are the cause of the fledglings’ deaths.” He saw a flash of complete disbelief on her face. He felt the same way. Vampires were superior physically and mentally to humans in every way.  But the boys were clever. The Harrows had been a thorn in his side for long enough to know their son was not to be underestimated. “Or the city’s defenses itself killed them. There were traps in Solace that had to be deactivated.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked thoughtful. “Yes, indeed, I had forgotten that. Just think, a whole new city in Ever Dark, the greatest city, Daemon’s city, is within reach, but ...  If only we could get the knowledge without the man.”

Caemorn understood her lament. Ever since the Harrows had found Nightvallen he had been haunted by what knowledge could possibly be hidden in its walls.  But to go into Nightvallen was to risk Daemon’s awakening. And that might have happened anyways because two brash, idiotic fledglings rushed in where angels feared to tread.

What he needed now was information.  He would get it from the one below, but he needed a figure less conspicuous than himself to go to Earth and investigate. And he had the perfect person though he wondered if she didn’t have a weakness that could lead her to failure, too. It wasn’t stupidity like Timothy’s. No, she was smart. Incredibly smart.  It was something else entirely that threatened her.

“You wanted to be of assistance?” he asked her.

She nodded eagerly. Her beads clacked and clicked. “Yes, of course. What can I do?”

“Go to Earth.  See what you can find out.  Talk to Arcius Kane,” he said.  She did not react to the name of her former teacher but instead looked at him steadily. “Obviously, do not reveal our concerns.”

“He’s still faithful.” She immediately bit her lip as if the words had escaped her mouth.

“He does not believe as we do. He would welcome Daemon. He would not see the danger … until it is too late,” Caemorn reminded her.  Arcius’ fascination with Daemon had painted him as an eccentric at best amongst the other members of the Order. When he took Balthazar’s side, many thought it was good riddance. But others … others saw him as a hero, as a purer priest than anyone else.  Caemorn had quashed those voices quickly enough.

She bowed again. “You are right, of course. I will seek out the information we need and will report back to you.”

“Good.”

Another bow, and then she turned and left the balcony. She didn’t teleport until she was out of his sight at least.  She couldn’t phase to Earth, but she could to the gate. He had to walk. And walk he did. The throne room was luckily only midway up the Spire unlike his quarters, which were at the top.  The place he was going was down in the very bowels of the Spire. The stone grew colder and damper as he traveled deeper and deeper. Finally, he came to an ancient carved stone door. He pressed his right palm flat against a plaque on the very center of the top-most panel.  The leaves that were also carved into the doors shifted back as if living things and there was a clunking sound as the magical lock disengaged.

The door swung open with the lightest press of his fingertips.  Only the Preceptors were allowed inside this room though there were high level Confessors like Fiona who knew what this room held. But the right to step inside was reserved for Preceptors alone, and what was said was never revealed to anyone else.

The only way to keep a secret safe is to make sure only one person knows it.

Caemorn stepped inside the dimly lit space.  There were torches that burned with blue fire around the room that was only twenty-five by twenty-five feet square. In the very center of the room was a cage. And in that cage was a female Vampire with no eyes.  Yet she turned her head to look directly at him.

“You know why I am here, Seeyr,” he said to the original Immortal whose line was named after her.

She had been pretty once, he imagined. Now she seemed to be made out of cobwebs and shadows. He fed her only enough to sustain her existence, but not to regrow the eyes that one of his predecessors had plucked out of her head to increase the power of her visions of the future.  He stood before the cage. She rose from her little writing desk and stood opposite him. He found staring into the open eye sockets disturbing but he made himself do so each time.

“Yes, I know,” her voice was hollow.  

“So you’ve lied to me?”  He allowed a little edge to creep into his voice with her. He could do that with her.

“No.”

“Lead me on a path that will bring about destruction?”

“No.” She shook her head almost violently.  “I did all I could to delay the inevitable, which was all I could do.  Time simply ran out.”

Caemorn’s lips writhed back from his teeth. “Daemon returning is inevitable?”

She smiled faintly. “Yes, Caemorn.  As I have told you and all the Preceptors before you, Daemon will return.” She leaned forward, gripping the iron bars that were treated with magical spells that caused her hands to smoke and blister, but she did not react to what must have been excruciating pain.  “Our king has woken from his sleep. And there will be a reckoning.”

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