Part 2 (1/2)
Despite the bright lights in the briefing chamber of the Watchtower Fortress, everything looked dark and sullen. The light sank into the matt, unreflective blackness of the walls, floor and ceiling, falling into the structure of the room as though it had never been there at all. Even the Marines who punctuated the wide s.p.a.ce with their ma.s.sive bulks offered little levity or light, their blackened armour only adding to the oppressive air. The only points of glossy differentiation were the right shoulder guards of each Marine, which displayed the glorious symbols of their various Chapters of origin.
The silence was as striking as the shadow. The Marines stood or sat in perfect stillness, neither interacting with, nor ignoring each other, always aware but never threatening or frivolous. There was a dense aura of respect dominating the atmosphere, but it was not without hints of suspicion and cynicism. The Marines of the Deathwatch were united by the strongest and most powerful of vows to the Emperor and His Inquisition, and they recognised that their battle-brothers were being honoured equally with themselves, but they were also fiercely loyal to their home Chapters and deeply suspicious of all outsiders.
Being seconded into the Deathwatch was one of the most profound challenges that a s.p.a.ce Marine could face. It not only meant that he would be dispatched on the most dangerous of missions to hunt down the alien menace a in many ways that was the simplest aspect of the position a but he would also have to resolve deep rooted and fundamental psychological tensions between his joint loyalties to the Emperoras will as interpreted by his Chapter and the interpretation espoused by the Ordo Xenos. Added to the mix would be the multifarious interpretations of the other Chapters, and the occasionally radical departures made by specific, idiosyncratic inquisitors.
More often than not, these differing world-views fell into a rough harmony; after all, they were all servants of the Undying Emperor. But from time to time the world-views would diverge or clash, and then a Marine was left to resolve the crisis in his own conscience. Joining the Deathwatch may be the greatest honour that could be afforded a s.p.a.ce Marine, but it was also the greatest challenge to his body and soul: victory and defeat, loyalty and heresy could become muddled together or fragmented into myriad aspects. More than any other a.s.signment that a Marine might be asked to take, a secondment to the Deathwatch was a test of his character: duty before all else, but what happens when the meaning of duty is suddenly thrown into question by competing visions?
Sitting in silence on the floor in the corner of the room, almost unnoticed by the others, Ashok folded his well-muscled arms around his knees and let his hood drop down over his face. He was the only Marine in the room who had chosen not to wear his armour for the briefing. Instead, he was clad in a simple black smock that hung loosely over his frame. The hood had been fas.h.i.+oned out of the Shroud of Lemartes, which had been presented to him as a sign of his self-mastery following the incident on Hegelian IX. The rough sensation of its fabric against his skin offered him rea.s.surance, keeping his mind fixed and focused. For that reason, the hood was always folded over his head, casting his fathomless black eyes into deep shadow.
Since being awarded the shroud, Ashok had never worn the elaborate librarianas helmet to which he was ent.i.tled by rank and status. Even in full armour, his head was exposed to the elements and his face was hidden under the shadows of the shroud. But he did not like even to wear his armour. He suspected, moreover, that its machine-spirit did not like to be in his presence. Together, he and his armour were terrible to behold, and Ashok felt that he needed to be rid of it when he was not actually in combat. There was no peace to be found in that ancient spirit of war, and Ashok had to strive constantly for balance in his mind.
Like the other Marines of the Angels Sanguine, who shared the gene-seed of the Blood Angels, one of Ashokas primary concerns was to stave off the insanities of the Red Thirst, the primordial rage that hungered for blood in his soul. Unlike most of his battle-brothers, Ashok had pa.s.sed through the affliction of his brethren and emerged a master of himself and his pa.s.sions. In the process, he had done unspeakable things to his brothers and to the servants of the Emperor, and the scratching irritations of the Shroud of Lemartes ensured that these actions were never far from his mind.
On the other side of the briefing room, a door clicked and hissed open, revealing the outline of another Marine standing dramatically in the flood of light. Ashokas eyes glinted in the rush of light, but he did not look up. He knew who it was already. The other Marines in the room drew themselves up to attention, and awaited the inspection of the great captain. All of them had heard about Captain Octavius of the Imperial Fists during their training at the Watchtower Fortress. Since his exceptional performance on Herodian IV, he had become one of the very few Marines to be given the honour of a permanent secondment to the Deathwatch. The Imperial Fists missed their eminent captain, of course, but it was a great tribute to them that the Ordo Xenos of Ramugan would desire to keep one of their finest sons in permanent service. It was a rare honour, and Octavius was a rare Marine.
Without looking up, Ashok watched the rest of the team a.s.semble. He noted with barely suppressed disdain the presence of the Reviler chaplain who had been sent to Trontium VI to recall him to the Deathwatch, and with disappointment he realised that the Blood Angel was absent from the group. Typical, he thought. He recognised the emblems of the other Marines immediately, including the emerald and gold claw of a Mantis Warriors a.s.sault Marine a the Mantis Warriors were a Chapter with whom Ashok had served before under questionable circ.u.mstances. There was a second a.s.sault Marine a a Black Consul a whose grizzly features and cl.u.s.ter of service studs betrayed decades of service. The half-mechanised form of a Red Talon techmarine was an unmistakable addition to the group.
However, there was one insignia that he could not recognise: it was a black raven on a bone-white background, with a single droplet of blood-red through its heart. For a moment he thought that it might be a Blood Angel cousin, but it also looked like one of the conniving Raven Guard. Whoever it was, he was a librarian and he emanated a latent psychic field that glowed like a star for anyone with the ability to see it.
Octavius strode confidently into the room, letting the door hiss closed behind him, shutting out the light and allowing the eyes of the Marines before him to make out his face for the first time. The face was struck through with a deep scar that ran from the jaw line on his right to his left temple. Fine hair fell loosely over its forehead, partially obscuring a row of golden service studs. However, it was the eyes that caught everyoneas attention: pale blue and startling, as though providing windows into a soul wracked by terror and beauty in equal measure.
aGreetings, sons of the primarchs. You, each of you,a he specified carefully, ahonour this hall with your presence. The hour is dark and our resolve must be swift. We will depart immediately for the Circuitrine nebula, where we will rendezvous with the eldar craftworld of Ulthwe. Once there, it is likely that we will fight alongside the aliens against a common foe a His voice faltered very slightly, as though he found the words that he was speaking distasteful. Ashok looked up at last, fixing his eyes on the captain. More than one of the other Marines s.h.i.+fted uneasily. aWe are not yet aware of the ident.i.ty of this foe, but it seems probable that it is an agent from the Eye of Terror.a Octavius paused, letting the weight of his words sink in as he looked around the faces of the a.s.sembled Marines. He had chosen the members of the team himself, drawing them from those currently stationed at the secret Watchtower Fortress near Ramugan station. He had seen them all complete the elite xenocide training routines, augmenting their already formidable combat skills with specialised alien hunting techniques known only to the Deathwatch. They were primed and waiting for a mission. Only Pelias, the battle hardened a.s.sault sergeant of the Black Consuls had served in the Deathwatch before, but the team was rich with experience and talent nevertheless.
As he scanned the room, watching the expressions of his Marines as his instructions to co-operate with the aliens. .h.i.t home, Octavius caught sight of the hunched figure of Ashok sitting in the shadows of the far corner. The librarianas hood hid his face, and his simple black smock betrayed no markings of any kind, but Octavius recognised him immediately. As the captain stared, a sheen of light glinted across the librarianas eyes, making them flash like those of a wild animal in the deepest jungle.
Greetings, captain. Ashokas thoughts pushed silently and gently into Octaviusa head. It is good to see you again.
The captainas surprise was clear, although his composure was unbroken. He had not expected to see the Angel Sanguine in his briefing hall. Ashok had not been on service at the Watchtower when Octavius had selected his team, and the captain had not included the librarian in his plans. Indeed, he had already selected a librarian for the mission, Atreus of the Blood Ravens a a powerful psyker with extensive experience of the eldar from campaigns on Tartarus and Raheas Paradise. It would be highly unusual for a Deathwatch kill-team to host more than one librarian.
Octavius nodded slightly, returning the greeting with a little reserve in front of the others. His thoughts betrayed him.
Lord Seishon requested my presence, captain, but I am under your command, of course. The Inquisitor Lord felt that the team would need two librarians, given the nature of the threat we face and given the nature of the allies that we seek to aid.
The other Marines s.h.i.+fted slightly, becoming aware that Octaviusa pause had lengthened unnaturally. They looked around, spotting Ashok, some of them for the first time. Atreus, the Blood Ravens librarian whose insignia Ashok had not recognised, was the only one that did not turn. He was already fully aware of what was going on in the room.
aOur mission is vital and our deadline is tight. We are acting to fulfil an ancient pact between the aliens and the Ordo Xenos. We carry the oath of the Emperor on our backs, Marines, so there is no room for hesitation or doubt.a Octavius had antic.i.p.ated the revulsion on Peliasa face, but had been more surprised to see it flicker over the features of Chaplain Luthar, the Reviler. aWe are the Deathwatch, and duty comes before all else.a He who allows the alien to live shares in the crime of its existence. Ashokas thoughts were mocking, but his tone lacked malice. He was quoting the famous adage of Inquisitor Apollyon, the maxim was carved into the centrepiece of the great arch that swept over the a.s.sembly hall of the Watchtower. Every Marine that entered into the service of the Deathwatch in this sector would have those words etched into his soul. Under the deep folds of his hood, Octavius could see Ashokas eyes glint with the suggestion of a wry smile. He knew that the librarian was right: at least some of the Marines in the team would find this mission heretical. They certainly didnat expect to be fighting with aliens when they joined the Deathwatch.
aIt is not our place to question the oaths of the Imperial Inquisition. It is our duty to fulfil them in the name of the Emperor. We act to defend the realm from the greatest threats to the Imperium of Man; it is not the Deathwatch that judges these threats. We are the swords of policy and it is we who execute those threats. We hold in our hands the honour of the Emperor himself, and we will not fail him.a Octavius paused again, looking around the faces before him. He had not convinced them all, but he knew that it would take more than a few stirring words to convince a s.p.a.ce Marine of anything. These men were the finest warriors in the galaxy, wrought from the trials and fires of their different Chapters, each with their own ways. He knew that he could not necessarily make them believe, but he also knew that he could trust in their sense of honour and duty to the Emperor. There was no higher ideal for any of the Adeptus Astartes.
aWe leave within the hour,a he stated simply, turning and striding out of the doors, leaving the Marines alone with their thoughts and each other.
CHAPTER THREE: WYCH-HUNT.
The patterns of light danced over the polished floor like electric serpents slithering through oil. They slipped and slid, las.h.i.+ng into flickers as though convulsing with tension or anxiety. Shariele sat cross-legged against the wall on one side of the room, letting the waves of energy wash underneath him. Three other warlocks were positioned symmetrically around the perimeter, similarly lost in meditation, the bone-white hints of runes glinting off their black armour.
There was a faint chant infused into the air, although none of the warlocks worked their mouths and the room was shrouded in silence. But their minds were alive with song, bringing the psychic resonance in the carefully designed chamber into the realms of symphony. For the warlocks, this divination was a kind of rapture, suspending their souls in the violence of the abyss, letting their essential beings ride the wave of the present, peering constantly towards the horizon, searching for glimmers of the inevitable storms to come. Behind their closed lids, their eyes flashed and burnt with flames, as beacons to their kindred spirits, guiding them home lest they be lost to themselves and each other forever. This ritual could never be performed alone.
As the psychic chanting grew louder, clouds of shaaiel started to condense into the reality of the chamber. At first there were just wisps, just suggestions of cirrus formations taking shape near the ceiling. But gradually the thin mist started to curdle and thicken, drawing itself out into strips and whirling into the suggestions of eddies. The pace quickened and the movement broadened as the little swirls congealed and merged, slipping together and forming a single, slowly revolving whirlpool of shaaiel that spun around the perimeter of the room, skirting around the backs of each of the warlocks, bringing them into the interior of a spinning column of warp energy.
With an abrupt flash of orange fire, the eyes of the warlocks snapped open simultaneously, flames lapping at their irises as though consuming them. They remained seated in concentrated meditation, motionless and silent as their burning gazes converged on an invisible point at the centre of the chamber. The swirling clouds of shaaiel began to accelerate, whipping themselves up into a tornado of warp power, thras.h.i.+ng around the fringes of the room and threatening to rip the chamber itself from the structure of Ulthwe through sheer centrifugal power.
As the maelstrom raged around them, the warlocks remained silent and calm, blazing their vision into the very eye of the storm, their eyes glazed and s.h.i.+nning like liquid stars. In the convergence of their lines of sight, an image started to form, flickering on the edge of existence as though unable to bear the pressure of reality. Figures started to resolve themselves at the edge of the picture. They were running and fighting, firing weapons and spinning blades, each clad in pristine black armour.
Some of the figures were ma.s.sive and ugly, with c.u.mbersome and primitive weapons. There were smaller, more elegant shapes too, dancing and springing around the hazy, flickering combat zone. And there were corpses, dozens of corpses strewn over the ground beneath the feet of the others. Hundreds of corpses, stretching out into the distance as though trapped in an infinite regression of mirrors. There were thousands of eldar corpses, millions, rolling out over the horizon in layers several deep, like the crust of a planet.
The sky above the s.h.i.+mmering images seemed to crack with ethereal lightning, sending souls screaming through the atmosphere and ripping through the thick, viscous clouds of darkness. A sudden crack of brightness flared like a burning spear, but then it was gone.
aHesperax,a muttered Shariele, the single word shattering the vortex of shaaiel like a bullet through an ice sculpture. The images and the clouds of warp dissipated rapidly, repelled by the intrusion of a fragment from the material realm a the artificial purity of the Undercouncil Chamber no longer pristine enough to sustain them. And it was not just any word; the name of Hesperax had not been uttered on Ulthwe for thousands of years. It was a cursed word, as though its syllables carried death to the very tip of oneas tongue.
The other warlocks broke their gazes and lowered their simmering eyes, gradually bringing their minds back into the present and back into the chamber as it appeared in the material realm. They had seen the vision as well, and not one of them wanted to give voice to the sights they had seen. They were more than accustomed to the darkness of their own souls a each had served for a time in the Aspect Temple of the Dark Reapers, immersing themselves in their own thirst for blood and battle a but none of them could ever reconcile themselves to the horrors that lurked in the souls of their lost brethren, the darklings.
Hesperax was a vision of all things unimaginable and unthinkable to them. It was a haven for the forbidden and a deeply suppressed temptation of their souls. There was a reason that the name was taboo on Ulthwe, and it was not simply because of an abhorrence for the horrors perpetrated there.
It was Hesperax, muttered Shariele, sharing his thoughts with the others. He was not looking for confirmation. He didnat need it. He simply wanted to share the burden of the word, pus.h.i.+ng it into the minds of the others as though splitting it into separate runes for each, dividing and conquering the word like a broken enemy force. I must inform the seers.
aLord Aurelius is as concerned as you are, Perceptia, if not more so. After all, it is the responsibility of the Ramugan Ordo Malleus to police the incursions of any daemonic forces into this sector.a Hereticus Lord Caesurianas voice was smooth and low, like dark velvet.
Standing formally in the entranceway to the inquisitor lordas chambers, Inquisitor Perceptia was demonstrably agitated. Her hands clasped and unclasped before her, as though she were nervous. She had old fas.h.i.+oned eyegla.s.ses perched precariously on the end of her nose, and she kept pus.h.i.+ng them restively back up towards her forehead.
aWith your permission, Lord Caesurian,a began the young inquisitor, aI would still like to take a closer look at this matter. It seems unorthodox to me.a Her tone was respectful but frustrated, as though she felt that her superior was holding her back deliberately. Finally losing patience with her errant spectacles, Perceptia s.n.a.t.c.hed them away from her face and clutched them between her tense hands.
Caesurian rose from the comfort of her lushly padded chair and inspected the youthful inquisitor from a distance. She never invited Perceptia into her chambers. The inquisitor lord found the bookish young woman unnerving, and she was keen to ensure that her private s.p.a.ce was not infected by her peculiar brand of nervous energy. Even as an interrogator, the young Perceptia had never been a favourite student. Caesurian would certainly not describe her as her protege. Nonetheless, she could not help feeling a certain responsibility for the woman whose career she had helped to sculpt.
aPerceptia,a she began, letting her smooth voice ease through the shadowy s.p.a.ce between them. aYou are quite right to have faith in your instincts. The Ordo Hereticus needs inquisitors with a nose for the unorthodox, as you call it. However a She trailed off as she turned her back on her visitor and walked deeper into the room. Pausing at an old wooden cabinet that rested against the far wall, the inquisitor lord slowly poured a deep red liquid into a crystal gla.s.s and raised it to her lips. aHowever,a she continued, the gla.s.s poised delicately at her mouth, aRamugan is an unusual and carefully balanced place, as you may appreciate. The Ordo Hereticus is, of course, the paragon of subtlety at all times a Caesurian took a sip of the red liquid before continuing. aBut, we must be particularly a.s.siduous here. Iam sure that you understand?a The nature of the question was ambiguous, and the inquisitor lord turned her head to the side to indicate that she required a response.
Perceptia was not sure what was expected of her. aI understand, my lord,a she said, bowing her head with more resignation than respect. aButaa aAurelius would dispatch the Grey Knights if he felt that there was a reason to do so. To do otherwise would const.i.tute a failure of duty, and I am sure that you do not mean to impugn the inquisitor lordas sense of duty, inquisitor? The fact that he hasnat suggests that there is indeed nothing with which the Emperoras Holy Inquisition need concern itself at this time. Hence, Lord Seishonas previous silence on this issue is not a matter for us to investigate.a Perceptia stared at the back of the inquisitor lordas head, her mind racing and her frustrations bubbling just below the surface. She knew that Caesurian had never liked her. She was certainly not the old womanas favourite, there was no doubt about that. The inquisitor lord was a political animal, which was why she had been left in charge of the Ordo Hereticus facility on the Ramugan station a possibly the most politically sensitive posting in the Imperium. Perceptia, on the other hand, had no flare for diplomacy at all. Her ethical world was a binary system. There was good and, far more often, there was evil.
In her youth, the venerable inquisitor lord had been a das.h.i.+ng witch hunter, a woman of action. Her experience of the best and the worst of the Imperium had given her a sense of perspective. Her world was a mosaic of shadows and shades of grey The bookish, Manichean Perceptia might have been from a completely different planet.
aIs it not possible, my lord, that a Perceptia paused, as though aware that her chain of thought was crossing a line. aIs it not possible that Seishon has some kind of hold over Aurelius?a The wine gla.s.s froze at Caesurianas lips and an icy silence slipped through the room.
aOr perhaps,a continued Perceptia, falling over her words to fill the gap. aPerhaps they have an agreement concerning that quadrant of the Circuitrine sector? Either way, isnat this something that we should be aware of?a Caesurian threw back the rest of her wine and turned very slowly to face the young inquisitor. On the far side of the room, her face was hidden in the shadows, but Perceptia could see her expression vividly in her mindas eye.
aMy dear Perceptia, there is a very fine line between intuition and foolish fantasy. This is not the place to throw about accusations. Ramugan teeters on the edge of a political knife.a Her voice was slow and even, but Perceptia could hear that its usual smoothness was now fighting an undercurrent of anger.
aBut, my lord,a she protested. aPolitics should not be an excuse for heresy. There can be no excuse for heresy.a Perceptia forced the defiant words out of her mouth, despite her own nervousness about the confrontation with her one-time mentor. Her hands clasped together tightly and she wrung them as though trying to force all of the blood out of them.
The inquisitor lord said nothing for a moment and then took a step forward, bringing her face into the light. Her eyes were drawn taught and narrow but her brow displayed no furrows. Her mouth was set in a horizontal line and her jaw muscles were clenched.
aBe very careful, my young Perceptia. If you are pursuing the fires of d.a.m.nation, at the very least you should expect to burn your fingers.a As though to reinforce the point, the inquisitor lord took another step forward and placed her hands over the back of her luxurious chair. One of her hands twinkled with metallic light, and Perceptia saw her augmetic limb for the hundredth time. aBy all means search, Perceptia. But search quietly, and tell n.o.body what you are doing. If you are discovered and you have found nothing, I will offer you no protection from the wrath of Seishon or Aurelius. I will tell them that I knew nothing of your activities. That is how Ramugan will continue.a Caesurian paused, waiting for Perceptia to speak or show some spark of understanding, but the young inquisitor was still digesting the magnitude of the implications of the conversation.
aIf I ever hear from you again, Perceptia, it will be with findings upon which we can act. Without such findings, you will never address me again.a With that, Caesurian nodded imperceptibly and the doors to her chamber slid shut abruptly, leaving Perceptia standing in the corridor outside, her nose only millimetres from the armoured, adamantium panelling of the closed door.
aThe message has been sent,a stated Thaeaakzi simply, meeting the disbelieving gazes of the other council members with unflinching eyes. aLord Ulthran himself made contact. He expects that the mon-keigh are already on their way.a The council chamber seemed to s.h.i.+ver with its own sense of revulsion; little jets of light licked around the walls like the echoes of distant storms. The ambient light was dim, almost dark, matching the mood of the seers.
aLet this council record that I have objected to this move from the start,a snarled Ruhklo, his fierce eyes directed adamantly down into the polished floor in the middle of the circle of seers. The anger simmered around his features and the ground smouldered as though heated by the force of his gaze. aThe mon-keigh are not to be trusted, and they will dishonour us with their presence.a aHad we been better prepared, Ruhklo of the Karizhariat, then there may have been no need,a said Eldressyn softly, enjoying the defeat of the bitter old seer. Her startling blue eyes shone with faintly disturbed tranquillity.