Angron's Monolith - Steve Lyons

by Warhammer 40K

  There were other Librarians in the Relictors Chapter, more in almost every fortress-monastery across the Imperium. Their presence was tolerated – no, more than that, they were relied upon – and the same was true of the Imperium’s Navigators and astropaths. As Sergeant Divolio had asked, Why should this be any different? Perhaps he had been right, after all.

  If Decario, or the Chapter Master or Inquisitor Halstron, had the strength and courage of will to pick up a daemon weapon and turn its power back against the Emperor’s enemies, then how could that be anything but a good thing?

  And that power was making a difference.

  The feral orks’ front line had crumpled. A third of them were down already, without having confirmed a kill between them. As Tarryn had feared, however, they had psykers lurking among them. The first of them was foolish enough to trade lightning bolts with the Chief Librarian and quickly ceased to be a problem.

  The second was more cunning, hiding in the midst of its own forces. Tarryn could barely see it from where he stood, but vox-reports from his brothers kept him informed of its actions. They said that whip-like energy tendrils emerged from the psyker’s head. Instead of punishing its enemies, however, the tendrils brushed against its brutish allies and imbued them with redoubled strength and ferocity.

  Tarryn witnessed the truth of this himself, as an ork he had wounded and left to die found its second wind and set about him viciously with its club.

  For a moment, it seemed the tide of battle might turn. The feral orks, however, were too badly diminished to capitalise on their late advantage. Captain Maegar rallied his command squad to smash through their defences and took the psyker’s head himself.

  Tarryn’s opponent, so bold a moment ago with its sorcerous edge, remembered that it was losing blood and wilted. A moment later, it lost its life too.

  From then on, the battle could more rightly have been termed a slaughter. To the feral orks’ credit, none of them tried to run. They fought and died instead. By the end, Tarryn’s chainsword had six more kills to add to its story, and he had wounded at least two orks in addition, which his battle-brothers had finished off. In such exalted company, he considered that he had held his own.

  Behind him, Inquisitor Halstron had fallen to his knees. He looked like he had at the ambush site last night: exhausted, not just from his outward exertions but from some titanic inner struggle. The obsidian shard, Tarryn realised.

  Chief Librarian Decario hurried to him, knelt awkwardly beside him and spoke to him quietly. Tarryn couldn’t hear his voice, but he saw Halstron respond with a fierce shake of the head. ‘I can control it,’ he insisted. ‘My mind… my mind is strong and I have faith in the Emperor. I will control it!’

  Maegar sent two Relictors to help the inquisitor to stand. Tarryn hadn’t known the man long, but it struck him in that moment that he looked older than he had, older and more weary.

  He concentrated on his own wargear, making urgent repairs to his cracked and battered power armour. He spared a glance for Baeloch, who had fought as fiercely and as well as any battle-brother had despite his evident misgivings. He had nothing to say about it now, though. When Tarryn tried to talk to him, he responded only with a sullen grunt.

  A wounded ork stirred in the trampled undergrowth, straining to reach its dropped weapon. Captain Harkus swung his double-bladed axe and cleaved it through the stomach. Tarryn thought he heard the exuberant cackling of daemonic voices, though he might well have imagined it. Chapter Master Bardane had returned his flail to his belt, but its terrible screams still echoed in Tarryn’s head.

  We won the battle, he told himself. We destroyed the Emperor’s enemies and that is all that matters. The ends justify the means.

  They had won, and it was time to reap the fruits of victory.

  Captain Maegar sent two battle-brothers ahead of them, to scout the final few strides between them and their prize. It took them longer than expected to report back to him, and Tarryn feared, illogically, that the jungle might have swallowed them whole.

  By now, the Relictors had patched up their armour, their weapons and their wounds, and had formed up into lines again, ready and eager to advance. They waited in silence until, finally, the vox-net crackled with a hushed voice. ‘It’s here. We’ve found it.’

  Tarryn’s brothers celebrated that announcement, but in a muted way, it seemed to him. Like him, they were wary of what still lay ahead of them.

  Chapter Master Bardane remained silent. He ordered his force forward with a gesture, and Tarryn fell into step among his brothers, although his stomach and his legs alike felt heavy. He kept his head down and took one step after another. Almost before he knew it, he had emerged into a large, round clearing, from which the jungle seemed to have shrunk in revulsion.

  And, at last, there it stood before him…

  Thirteen

  ‘What can you see?’

  Bardane had stationed his forces – all but for the Chief Librarian, the two captains and the inquisitor – around the edge of the clearing to stand sentry. He had watched as Decario and Halstron had circled their precious find, inspecting it from every angle.

  It was Halstron who stopped before the south face of the edifice and indicated something above his head. Decario and Bardane joined him, and their eyes followed his pointing finger upwards. ‘Is that it?’ the Chapter Master asked. The Chief Librarian nodded and said that he believed it was.

  From where he stood, on the monolith’s far side, Baeloch couldn’t see what was happening; hence his voxed question to Tarryn, who only had to turn his head.

  Tarryn didn’t want to look at the thing in the centre of the clearing. At the same time, he found he couldn’t help himself. He felt as if a spell had been cast over him, one of dreadful fascination. More than once, he tore his gaze away determinedly, to prove that he could, and stared outwards into the jungle, but every time he looked back again.

  The monolith stood about twelve metres tall, half that span long and wide. It was made up of dozens of mismatched blocks of stone, somehow fused together – by the energies of the warp itself, perhaps. Images had been carved inexpertly into those stones: of bloodied weapons, leering mutants and screaming daemons.

  Tarryn recalled the mad Imperial Guardsman’s babblings, about glaring hateful eyes. Whenever he turned his back on the carved daemons, he was sure he could feel their malevolent glares burning into him.

  The monolith bristled with splinters of wood and metal, jammed into the gaps between the stones. They were remnants of weapons: the fractured, rusted blades of daggers, fragments of grenade casings, arrowheads, the mangled stock of an Imperial lasgun. The glint of a small red gem caught Tarryn’s eye, and he saw that it was gripped in a ring of tarnished bronze, perhaps once a sword pommel.

  The stones are bound together by hatred and blood, he thought. There was fresh blood on the monolith too, dark red, smeared across its eastern face, a recent offering.

  ‘What can you see?’ asked Baeloch through his earpiece again, more insistently. So, Tarryn told him. He told him about the long, glistening black sliver that Inquisitor Halstron had spotted, embedded in the monolith’s side.

  ‘How do we get it out of there?’ asked Bardane. ‘Is it safe to touch it?’

  The inquisitor replied that certain rituals might weaken the monolith’s grip upon the shard. He admitted, when pressed, that those rituals were both risky and time-consuming. There hadn’t been a report from the Relictors combat squads in several minutes. That meant they were holding their own against the orks, keeping them from returning to the clearing and discovering the intruders here. Still, as Bardane pointed out bluntly – and Decario agreed – time was hardly on their side.

  ‘I should have brought along a Techmarine,’ the Chapter Master grumbled, ‘with a claw arm on his servo-harness.’

  ‘No, brute force alone won’t suffice,’ Decario advised him. ‘The shard is embedded not only in the stone, but in the solidified substance of the warp itse
lf. To release it, one must possess great strength of arms, yes, but also–’

  ‘Strength of will, courage of will,’ the Chapter Master summarised for him, brusquely. He turned to Halstron. ‘Inquisitor?’

  Halstron shook his head. ‘I have wielded one shard of the artefact today and it near consumed me. I dare not handle a second. Nor would I advise you to do so while you still hold the flail.’

  ‘Then the task falls to me, as I always knew it must,’ Decario stated. ‘I have kept my hands free and my mind clear for precisely this purpose.’

  He took a small step forwards. In his armour, he was significantly taller than Halstron, and he had a longer reach. Unlike the inquisitor, he would be able to get to the shard easily.

  ‘A monument built to a daemon primarch,’ Baeloch snorted, ‘for God-Emperor knows what purpose – what else do they need to know about it? We ought to summon a battle-barge here and flatten this whole sector of the jungle. Destroy the monolith and keep its Chaos taint from spreading any further.’

  Bardane instructed Decario to remove his helmet. ‘I need to see your eyes,’ he explained; and Tarryn recalled how, when Halstron had been in his shard-induced trance, Captain Maegar had stood by with his chainsword readied.

  Tarryn was startled when he saw the Chief Librarian’s face. Decario had served with the Chapter for hundreds of years, but before it had seemed that age had only strengthened him. Now, his skin had the pallor of old parchment, as if he had been sapped of his life’s energy. When had that happened?

  Decario planted his feet in front of Angron’s Monolith. He raised his arms towards it until his gauntlets hovered over the obsidian shard. ‘Try not to touch the stone,’ the inquisitor cautioned him, though the warning was surely unnecessary.

  Decario closed his eyes tightly and recited a prayer.

  ‘What are they doing now?’ Tarryn ignored Baeloch’s impatient question. If the Chapter Master wanted him to know, he reasoned, he would have let him see.

  In any case, it felt wrong to break the silence that had settled over the clearing, even with a voice that nobody else could hear. It felt to Tarryn like an uncommon, almost sanctified silence. In the heart of it, even the Chief Librarian’s voice faded, although his dry lips continued to move.

  Decario drew in a deep breath and grasped the shard with both hands.

  His entire body stiffened and began to convulse. Bardane’s hand went to his belt, but Decario brought the shaking under control. He breathed again. He ground his teeth, the veins in his cheeks bulging, as he pulled with all his strength; but the obsidian shard remained held by the stone, unmoveable.

  After what seemed like an eternity of struggle, Decario’s shoulders slumped and he breathed out heavily. His hands, however, remained stubbornly in position as he girded himself to try again. In a weak, raspy voice, he called for the inquisitor.

  ‘I’m here,’ said Halstron, at his shoulder.

  ‘The shard… We were right,’ Decario whispered. ‘I can feel it, feel the shape of the artefact in my mind. I can feel it… feel its power.’

  Halstron drew closer to him. ‘Then it is as we thought?’

  Decario nodded, eagerly. ‘A shard… Another shard of Angron’s axe.’

  Tarryn felt his throat contracting. Had he heard that right? The shard – both shards, the one embedded in the monolith and the one in the inquisitor’s cloth – they were fragments of a daemon prince’s own weapon?

  Decario’s eyes snapped open, and suddenly they were burning with madness: the same as that with which the inquisitor had been afflicted earlier. He blinked and dampened the flames. ‘We must… must have this…’ he insisted, and he strained and pulled at the embedded shard again, to no avail.

  ‘The shards are stronger in each other’s presence,’ said Halstron. He sounded concerned. ‘I should take mine away.’

  Decario’s eyes had closed again. ‘No. It is the Emperor’s will that I master this relic. It will gift to me its strength, its own strength, the strength I need to work it loose and…’ His voice trailed off and, for a long, agonising moment, he was still.

  It was in that moment that the inquisitor turned to the chained man.

  He was watching impassively, as always, that faint smile playing about his lips again as he met his master’s gaze. Halstron set his jaw and turned away from him, to Tarryn’s considerable relief. No doubt, the chained man could have plucked the shard with ease, but what terrible power might it have bestowed upon him?

  Baeloch voxed him again. His voice sounded leaden. ‘I have made a decision. I am sworn to honour our leaders, but I cannot – I will not – stand by as their actions stain our Chapter’s name. I must do my duty to the Emperor.’

  Tarryn didn’t ask him what he meant by that. He held his tongue until Baeloch prompted him. ‘Do you stand with me on this, Brother Tarryn?’

  ‘No,’ he said, without really knowing where the answer had come from.

  It was a moment before Baeloch spoke again. ‘Some would judge you a heretic too,’ he said at length, ‘because you knew what was happening and said nothing.’

  ‘They may,’ agreed Tarryn, but the prospect didn’t worry him as perhaps it ought to have done. He was more than just a rank-and-file Space Marine now, as proud and noble a calling as that was. Sergeant Juster, in his final minutes of life, had entrusted him with an even higher duty.

  ‘You share their secrets now, and will likely share their fate,’ Baeloch warned. ‘I won’t be able to protect you.’

  ‘You must do as you feel the Emperor wills,’ said Tarryn, calmly. ‘As I must too. I trust my leaders to speak with His voice and to hold strong against the corruption of Chaos. I trust the Chief Librarian to advise them wisely. I will honour my Chapter.’

  Decario was clinging doggedly to the shard, but his eyes were still closed. He hadn’t moved in almost a minute. Bardane gripped him by his shoulder. ‘Open your eyes,’ he barked. ‘Open your eyes and look at me. That’s an order.’

  The Librarian did as he was bidden, with some effort. Bardane snatched off his helmet and glared at Decario fiercely. ‘We must have this artefact. That is what you told me, isn’t it? That is what you have had me believe. We need the shard in our possession if we are to weather the tides to come. Our brothers have died for this, Decario. I sold our souls for this. Would you have all that be for nothing?’

  Decario mumbled something that Tarryn couldn’t hear.

  The Chapter Master persisted, ‘The Emperor chose your path for you, and He granted you all the strength you need to tread it. You have seen the bloody eye and divined the direful future it portends. You have the Emperor’s strength in you and you must follow the path for His sake. For all our sakes.’

  The sermon seemed to be having the desired effect.

  Decario set his jaw grimly. He hauled his chin up to glower at the captive shard, his eyes ablaze as if fixed upon a mortal enemy. His muscles strained and his servo-motors howled as he made a third attempt to yank the shard free. And this time, at last, it gave a little, causing tiny chips of stone to break loose and skitter down the monument’s side. Tarryn’s hearts leapt in anticipation. He’s doing it, he thought.

  And then, Angron’s Monolith screamed.

  Priority level: Magenta Alpha

  Transmitted: Imperial Command HQ, Hive Helsreach, Armageddon Secundus

  To: Adeptus Astartes battle-barge Blade of Vengeance, Armageddon High Orbit

  Date: 3029999.M41

  Transmitter: Astropath Prime Childessa

  Receiver: Astropath-terminus Xhian-Ji

  Author: General Vladimir Kurov, commander of the Armageddon Steel Legion and head of the ruling military council

  Thought for the Day: Nobody is innocent; there are merely varying levels of guilt.

  Lord Commander. I must express my displeasure with the conduct of an Adeptus Astartes Chapter under your command. From your dispatches, it is clear that the Relictors have flagrantly disobeyed orders, to the detrim
ent of our resistance efforts in the name of the Emperor. I have had to divert forces I can ill afford to spare from Hive Acheron to defend Hive Infernus, jeopardising the security of both cities. I name the Relictors and their Chapter Master, Artekus Bardane, as oath-breakers, and demand that they be called to account for their actions before a military tribunal. I trust I have your loyal support in this matter. I have copied my report to the Master of the Administratum on Holy Terra, for his edification.

  Fourteen

  It was a scream of unadulterated rage, and it hit Tarryn like a thunder hammer to the skull. The ache behind his eyes exploded and the world was washed in shades of red.

  He adjusted his auto-senses to filter out the dreadful sound as best they could.

  Chapter Master Bardane jammed his helmet back on, presumably having had the same thought. Chief Librarian Decario had let go of the shard – still embedded in the stone above his head, though its jagged edge protruded further now – and slid to the ground with an uncharacteristic howl. His ears were bleeding.

  Inquisitor Halstron helped Decario on with his helmet. How he was still standing, Tarryn didn’t know. Perhaps his shard was lending him strength again.

  He made out voices now, too many of them talking at once: the voices of the combat squad leaders over the vox-net. They could hear the sound too, though they couldn’t make out where it was coming from. One sergeant remarked that it sounded as if the earth itself were in agony.

  They reported that the feral orks were on the run. Most of them had simply broken off their attacks, even where they had had the upper hand, and fled.

  Chapter Master Bardane’s voice interrupted the babble, his command channel automatically taking priority. He ordered his sentries to close around the monolith. Even as they did so, Tarryn heard footsteps coming towards them and, belatedly, realised the function of the monolith’s scream. It was a call to arms.