by Darius Hinks
Glutt studied the bizarre landscape in awe. His power was now so great that it had even transmuted the Blackstone Fortress. The walls and floor had split as the eggs multiplied, softening the hard-edged geometry of the space station, turning it into a lumpen, sagging garden. Where the red liquid had spilled from the sore-pools, it had summoned weird protuberances from the Blackstone’s floor, sending spirals of growth up into the air and draping the doorways with tendrils of fleshy, purple vines. The growths burned with a vivid luminescence, driving back the Blackstone’s darkness with pulsing, emerald spores. It was a glorious sight, made all the more delightful by the impotent fury of the Blackstone. He could hear it from here, pummelling the cage Fluxus called the cancrum, unable to break through as Glutt’s work took root.
Glutt heard splashing and grunting as something stirred in the pool next to him. He assumed it was an egg hatching and crouched down to look, his tongue unfurling, forgotten, as it slapped down into the glistening mass. As he expected, one of the eggs was bulging and shifting. He plucked it from the pool with his talon and let it roll onto the floor. Rather than breaking, it started to grow, stretching over the shape that was trying to force its way out.
Glutt had seen countless eggs hatch, but none of them had behaved like this. Perhaps, finally, this was the one.
‘Fluxus!’ he cried.
The egg continued stretching until it was nearly a foot wide. Its shape distorted and, as the shell stretched it grew thinner, it revealed the thing that was twisting and bulging beneath the surface. Glutt gasped as he saw that it was a face – a human male face, fat and jowly and grinning with excitement.
‘Are you ready?’ the man cried, his voice muffled by the skin-like shell that was stretched over his mouth. ‘Are you ready to be judged?’
Glutt recoiled, feeling a deep sense of unease, just as Fluxus came splashing through the pools towards him. Just like Glutt, the daemon had changed during its time in the cancrum. It was now a mountain of flesh – an olive-green sack of blubber and sores that waddled towards him on legs that were hidden beneath rolls of puckered fat.
Fluxus loomed over the pool, its cavernous mouth hanging open as it watched the face in the egg.
‘We’re close now!’ cried the face.
Glutt knew, intuitively, what the man was talking about. Panic gripped him and he plunged one of his talons into the egg. It burst with a moist squelch, revealing heaps of wriggling grubs, but no sign of a face.
‘You said nothing could reach us in here!’ said Glutt, turning to face the daemon.
‘I said the Blackstone would not break through.’ Fluxus shook its head. ‘I did not say men would not break through.’
Glutt looked past the daemon to the ranks of hooded soldiers that were trudging around the pools, watching for any sign of newcomers.
‘Then I have to make sure they never get here. He said they were close, did you hear him?’
Fluxus smiled. ‘We are prepared. Remember?’ He waved at the silent, shadowy figures dotted around the garden. They were hazed by the banks of flies and spores, but Glutt could still see that they were ready, guns loaded and gripped in their clammy fists. It was only now, as the plants bathed them in diffuse, pallid light, that he saw how numerous they were. There were hundreds of masked Guardsmen waiting beneath the dripping boughs.
Glutt nodded. ‘No one must get close,’ he muttered.
‘No one will,’ smiled the daemon.
22
Isola tried her vox-bead again, wincing at the screech that sliced into her ear. ‘Captain Draik,’ she called, ‘can you hear me?’
The Blackstone answered. Its deafening, voiceless howl ripped through the bead, forcing Isola to deactivate the unit and slump back against the wall, gripping her ear. Taddeus had demanded a halt so that he and Pious Vorne could pray. Standing still in the Blackstone was lunacy but Isola had no option. What could she do without Taddeus as a guide?
They were in a hexagonal antechamber, thirty feet across, pitch-dark and bitterly cold. Each of the six walls was built around an archway that opened onto rimy, confusing shadows, but the preacher was confident he knew which one to take. All Isola could do was sit and wait. They had placed a lumen at the centre of the room and it pierced the thick pall enough for her to see her companions. She had ordered the two remaining House Draik guards to watch the archways, lasguns at the ready. Taddeus and Vorne were kneeling at the centre of the chamber, their faces lit menacingly from beneath by the lumen as they read from Taddeus’ journal. Audus was pacing back and forth across the chamber, toying with her pistol and casting irritated glances at the priests. Her usual loutish sneer was gone, replaced with an anxious grimace. Isola could guess the reason. For the last hour or so, the whole group had become increasingly distracted. The psychic wards projected by the Navigator’s cawl were quickly wearing off. Without his presence, the madness was returning. One moment Isola would see Audus and the rest of the explorers, the next she would see figures from her past – parents, childhood friends, even long-dead enemies. She could see from the panic in Audus’ eyes that they had little time left.
‘We have to move!’ snapped Audus, twitching and glaring at the kneeling priests. ‘The madness will only grow worse. Do you understand?’
‘Do you understand?’ said Draik’s father, studying Isola across the polished walnut of his desk. They were separated by a galaxy of armillary spheres and star charts, but she could still see a warning in the old duke’s eyes.
‘My lord?’ She hesitated at the doorway of his study, clutching the contracts he had just handed her.
Even in his advanced years, Coronis Draik was a powerful man. His thick pewter hair had receded, but that only lent him a more imposing, scholarly air, with a heavy brow and an intense gaze. His muscular frame was draped in ducal finery, his uniform starched and hung with rows of medals and orders of merit, and his hand rested on a gilded cane, its grip cast in the shape of a dragon’s head, the symbol of House Draik.
‘Janus must never know the full details of the agreements we brokered with House Numa.’
Isola nodded, but she could tell from the duke’s uncomfortable manner that there was something specific he needed to tell her. She closed the door and walked back into the study, halting before his desk.
‘They wanted his head, Isola. He murdered their most beloved son. It was all I could do to keep him alive.’
She nodded. ‘Of course, I understand, Lord Draik. You have assured them that Janus’ Warrant of Trade will take him far from Terra. He will not attend the usual functions and he will not return to Terra unless–’
‘He will not return to Terra,’ interrupted the duke, ‘at all.’ He grimaced, massaging his temples, then looked at Isola with pain in his eyes. In all her years of service, she had never seen him show such naked emotion. ‘If Janus Draik sets foot on Terra, our contracts with House Numa will all be cancelled – unless I hand him straight over to the Novator and let him avenge the death of his son. The matter is out of my hands. The Paternoval Envoy himself has made assurances to House Numa to that effect.’
Suddenly, Isola understood the stilted, strained conversations she had observed between Draik and his father. ‘Janus does not know.’
The duke shook his head, looking at the maps on his desk. ‘Nor must he.’
She nodded. ‘It would kill him.’
‘Quite, Isola.’ The duke was rigid with anger. ‘Quite.’ He was gripping the dragon’s head so hard it looked like he might crush the metal. ‘All I have ever taught him is that he will one day sit at this desk, commanding the Draik empire, ruling in my place when I am gone. Terra is in his blood, Isola. He must not know that he will never see it again.’ The old man’s voice was tight, strangled by his anger. ‘And that I will never see him again.’
Isola could think of nothing to say. The sight of the old duke displaying such emotion unnerved
her. She was keen to leave. ‘He will hear no such thing from me, my lord,’ she said finally.
The duke nodded, took a deep breath and regained his usual, magisterial demeanour. ‘I will ensure that his contracts take him so far from here that he need never guess the truth. The galaxy is vast, Isola, and the warp is fickle.’
She saluted and turned to leave.
‘Isola,’ said the duke, and she halted at the door again. He was looking out of the window, his back to her. ‘Keep him alive.’
‘My lord.’
‘Let me go!’ howled Audus, jolting Isola back into the present.
The pilot’s face was ashen and she had gripped her laspistol in both hands, pointing it at one of the House Draik guards.
Both of the guards raised their lasguns and pointed them at Audus. Their expressions were as harried and panicked as hers.
‘Stop!’ cried Isola, jumping to her feet. ‘Remember where you are! The Blackstone.’
The soldiers glanced at her, confused and wary, but they held their fire.
‘Audus!’ snapped Isola, rushing towards her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘It’s a mistake!’ cried Audus, staring at her, wild-eyed. ‘Stop the bombing!’ She lowered her gun and grabbed Isola’s shoulder. ‘He lied! Save Sepus!’
‘You’re on the Blackstone,’ whispered Isola, leaning close to her.
Audus froze and stared at Isola.
‘You were in the past,’ said Isola, still gripping her shoulder.
The priests had halted their prayers. Everyone was staring at Audus.
‘What did I say?’ she said, her face still horribly pale.
‘You talked about someone called Sepus. Or a place called Sepus.’ Isola frowned, recognising the name. ‘There’s a Sepus Prime, isn’t there, in this sector? Is that where you come from?’
Audus looked more horrified with every word Isola said. She shook her head, but she looked so anguished it was clear Isola was on the right track.
Isola held up her hands. ‘It doesn’t matter now. I’m not interested in whatever crime you’re running from, but we need to stay in the present or we’ll all gun each other down.’
Audus glowered. ‘The crime was not mine.’
There was an awkward silence as the various members of the group considered whatever memory had just gripped them. Isola was still dazed by the vision of her final conversation with the duke. His one request had been that she keep his son alive. And now, if she managed to survive the expedition, she would have to contact Terra and inform them that she had failed.
Taddeus slammed his book shut and the two priests stood.
‘Hold true, my children.’ He tapped the cover of the book. ‘We have reached the holy fire. Soon we shall be bathed in the Emperor’s flame.’ He waved his mace at one of the archways. ‘One last antechamber, then we stand at the gates of deliverance.’ He looked at each of them in turn. ‘Be ready to bow, naked, before the God-Emperor’s gaze. Once humanity is cleansed of taint it can stand, unafraid, against the horrors of Old Night. Are you ready? Are you ready to be judged?’
No one replied, but Taddeus did not seem to notice.
‘To enlightenment!’ he roared, pounding his mace against his deep, barrel chest and striding off into the darkness.
Vorne rushed after him, gripping her flamer, and the rest followed at a more cautious pace, weapons raised and swinging from side to side as they entered the passageway.
The corridor was narrow to begin with, but gradually grew wider. After half an hour or so, they began to hear a low, oceanic crashing sound, like waves breaking against a cliff.
‘This is it!’ gasped Taddeus. He was sweating, despite the cold, and he paused to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.
‘What’s that?’ asked Audus, glancing back the way they had come.
Isola listened. There was another sound, approaching from behind them. This one was not a colossal roar, but more like the crunch of grinding metal – like a vehicle being smashed to pieces. And there was something else: a voice raised in song, a gentle, simple melody – a child’s lullaby. It sounded utterly absurd in the bleak confines of the Blackstone.
They all paused and peered back down the dark corridor, shocked as much by the music as the sound of rupturing metal. Flashes of light shimmered across the walls, like sparks from an angle grinder, tumbling through the air. Isola nodded to her guards and they pointed their lasguns at the clouds of embers.
Then they all flinched as an explosion ripped through the wall. The air filled with flames and shattered fragments, and the guards were thrown from their feet. Isola helped them up and everyone raised their guns, trying to see through the smoke and flames.
‘That was a grenade,’ cried Audus. ‘We need to go!’
Taddeus nodded and rushed on, with Vorne hurrying after him.
Isola hesitated, peering back into the fumes, intrigued to know who else had managed to get so deep into the Blackstone. Perhaps they had seen Draik.
A trio of hulking silhouettes pounded through the blaze. Even through the smoke she could see that they were huge, built like pit-fighters and draped in bulky weapons. One of them had a cage on his shoulder and that was where the singing was coming from.
‘Throne,’ muttered Audus behind her, backing away. ‘Bullosus.’
One of the men paused and pointed a weapon. It was hard to see clearly, but the gun was so big he had to use both hands to lift it.
‘Go,’ said Isola, waving the others down the corridor and then sprinting after them.
There was another ear-splitting blast, close enough to lift Isola from her feet and hurl her through the air. Shrapnel clattered off the walls and whistled past her ears.
She landed with a painful jolt and turned to fire, her laspistol kicking in her hand as it spat a blind barrage into a wall of flame. Audus grabbed her by the shoulder and wrenched her to her feet. They sprinted off down the corridor, chasing the rest of the group.
They emerged into a circular hall crowned with a domed ceiling, but Isola did not have time to study the details. The rest of the group had halted in the centre of the hall and raised their weapons as dozens of shapes rushed towards them from the shadows.
‘Guardsmen?’ gasped Isola.
The newcomers were human, and even half-hidden in the darkness she could make out the shapes of Astra Militarum uniforms and weapons. There was something odd about them though: they were shambling and lurching, as though drugged, and there was an odd, liquid hissing sound coming from them.
Vorne spewed an arch of fire up into the air, lighting up the chamber.
Isola grimaced as the light revealed the men staggering towards them. They were rotten husks, their flesh grey and mottled and sagging from their bones. They looked like old rags that had been soaked in water for so long they were disintegrating. Where their flesh was falling away it revealed nests of pale grubs, fidgeting and burrowing in their innards. Most of the men had hidden their heads in mouldering hoods, looking out through crudely ripped eyeholes, but a few of their faces were visible. Their eyes were blue-grey sacks and their mouths were toothless and drooling.
Isola and Audus opened fire. The blasts sheared away chunks of the Guardsmen’s flak armour and ripped through their putrid muscles, but did nothing to stop their advance. They staggered slightly but otherwise showed no sign of noticing they had been shot. As they continued lurching forwards, they raised their guns and took aim.
Taddeus raced at them, bringing his mace down into the face of the first one he reached. The Guardsman’s head became holy flame as the priest’s weapon burned a fierce, sapphire blue.
The Guardsman fell and Taddeus crushed a second, creating another flash of blue flames. The holy fire caught, lighting up the sodden Guardsmen as if they were kindling. The front row reeled back, convulsing, engulfed in flames.
&n
bsp; Vorne rushed to her master’s side and fired, drenching the Guardsmen in rippling flames and sending more of them to the floor.
More Guardsmen were flooding out of other doorways, approaching from every direction. Isola and Audus joined the priests and the House Draik guards and formed a circle, standing back to back as Guardsmen rushed at them from all sides.
‘We need to reach that exit!’ cried Taddeus, pointing his mace at a doorway on the far side of the chamber.
Vorne fired again, drowning the Guardsmen in more flames, but Audus had noticed something dreadful – their charred, blackened remains did not lie still when they fell. The burnt bodies rose and rejoined the fight, trailing smoke and ash as they lifted their lasguns and took aim.
There was another blinding explosion, hurling pieces of Guardsmen through the air.
Grub-infested meat landed all around Isola.
‘Don’t touch it!’ cried Taddeus. ‘They are corrupted!’
Another blast ripped through the crowd as the Bullosus brothers waded into the fray, hurling more grenades.
Grusel Bullosus saw Audus and jabbed a finger at her. ‘Wait there!’ he roared, before lunging at the Guardsmen, swinging a blade that was attached to his elbow. The blade sliced through the undead as though they were not there, splitting them into ever-smaller pieces as Bullosus lunged and hacked. The blade burned with a cool, inner light, slicing through the Guardsmen so savagely that there was nothing left to rise – just mounds of butchered meat.
As Bullosus chopped his way towards Audus, more of the shambling figures were pouring from the shadows, crowding the chamber and firing. Most of their shots were wild and untargeted, but a few hit home. One of the Bullosus brothers fell, hit through the neck, gasping as the mob fell on him and tore him down. Then one of the House Draik guards slammed into a wall, his chest torn open by a blast, blood arcing from the wound.
Vorne filled the chamber with fire again, but the blackened figures just lurched on, dripping ash and flames, surging towards her.
