Uriel remembered the pain of watching his former captain die on Thracia, obliterated in the explosion that destroyed a vital bridge to save the flank of an Imperial assault.
He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
Uriel studied Idaeus face, following the grooves of age, the scars of war and the pitted burn mark on the side of his neck where a rad-burst from a breached engine core had almost killed him.
Idaeus was just as Uriel remembered him.
Was that what this was - a memory given form?
Had his mind retreated into fantasy to spare him from...
From what?
A skull-faced monster looming over him.
Wicked blades and blood.
The image faded, and he felt himself take Idaeus' hand, feeling the calluses on his captain's palm, the ridge line of a scar where a greenskin grenade fragment almost cost him three of his fingers.
None of this is real.
Uriel knew that with deep certainty, but the emotions clogging his throat and constricting his chest felt very real.
'Am I dead?' asked Uriel, finally able to speak.
'I don't think so,' said Idaeus. 'At least, not yet.'
‘So what is this?'
Idaeus strolled to the edge of the cliff.
'I told you, this is Calth-that-was.'
'The Archenemy murdered Calth thousands of years ago,' said Uriel. 'They poisoned the sun and burned all life from the surface.'
'That they did.'
'So how is this possible?'
Idaeus turned and spread his hands wide 'I don't know, Uriel. Perhaps you are dreaming? Perhaps you are dying, and this is a last gift of beauty from the universe? All I know is that I am happy to see you, my boy. You've come a long way since Thracia.'
Uriel smiled, happy - despite the strangeness of this meeting - to see Idaeus.
'A great deal has happened since...'
'My death?' finished Idaeus. 'I know. I died in service of the Emperor, so there is nothing to regret. Did we win on Thracia?'
Uriel nodded. 'We did. The rebels were routed and the Pax Imperialis restored.'
Idaeus grinned and slapped a palm on Uriel's shoulder.
'Most impressive,' he said. 'And then? I presume you took the captaincy?'
'I did, though your legacy shaped everything I did.'
'Then I trained you well, Uriel. It's every leader's job to train their replacement.'
They stood together at the edge of the cliff, and Uriel saw a path heading down the mountain, a switchbacking route leading to the plains below. He hadn't noticed it before, but in this place, in this time... he should not be surprised at such things.
A white-walled structure lay at the foot of the cliff, a sprawling barracks, with training courtyards at each compass point and a punishingly brutal fighting ring at its heart.
'You remember that place?' asked Idaeus.
'I do,' said Uriel. 'Vividly. But the Agiselus Barracks are on Macragge, not Calth.'
Idaeus shrugged. 'This is not the real world, Uriel. Here we are not constrained by logic or planetary geography.'
Uriel's eyes narrowed at Idaeus' words. 'That sounds like you know more than you are telling me.'
'There's some truth in that my boy, but shall we venture downhill? I'll wager there are some familiar faces who'll be pleased to see you.'
'My memories of Agiselus beg to differ.'
The route down from the cave was treacherous and filled with heart-stopping moments where Uriel felt sure he would slip and fall from the cliff. Sharp stones scored his bare soles, and loose shale cascaded downhill in mini avalanches.
'If this is not real, can we not simply... appear at the bottom of the cliff?' asked Uriel.
'Maybe,' laughed Idaeus, relishing the challenge of their descent. 'But where's the fun in that? The nature of the risk defines the reward.'
Uriel was about to answer when he heard crunching footsteps behind them. He turned to see a group of boys running over the ridgeline above them. Twelve of them ran as if a host of genestealers were hot on their heels, legs burning and arms pistoning hard as they sought to win the race.
At the head of the pack was a powerful, strong-limbed boy with close-cropped hair and the hard-edged features of someone who had never known second place.
'Learchus,' said Uriel.
At the sound of his voice, the boys turned and raced downhill, following the path he and Idaeus had taken. They leapt and tumbled towards them, determination making their features older than their years.
Uriel saw the stocky form of Cleander, a bully who had made his life a misery at Agiselus. Cleander was inseparable from Learchus, but he had become a heroic warrior of the Ultramarines, finally meeting his end honourably on Pavonis.
Behind him, Uriel saw a dark-haired youth with a serious face he barely recognised. Gulfs of time and experience separated them, but he could not fail to know his own youthful Calthian features.
Behind his younger self came the lumbering form of Pasanius. Even at this young age, his body was already enormous. Upon his elevation to the line ranks of the Adeptus Astartes, the Chapter's Techmarines had been forced to fashion his armour from Tactical Dreadnought plates.
'Hard to believe you were ever that young,' said Idaeus.
'I can barely believe it myself,' agreed Uriel as the boys raced towards them, apparently oblivious to their presence. 'If I could tell him the things I know now...'
'What would you tell him?'
Uriel thought for a moment, watching the flinty eyes of his younger reflection focus on Learchus' back.
'I would tell him to remember the teachings of the Codex Astartes, to trust that doing the right thing will always be doing the honourable thing.'
'Don't you think he knows that already?'
'He knows the words, but not the cost.'
The boys were almost upon them, and Uriel looked for safe ground to stand aside and let the boys past. The path was narrow, and there was nowhere to step with confidence.
He looked back in time to see the young Uriel pick up the pace to overtake Learchus. Learchus looked over his shoulder, cocking his arm back. Uriel knew what was coming next. Learchus slashed back with his elbow.
And blinding light burst before him as pain exploded in Uriel's face. He stumbled, hands flying to his face in surprise as fiery agony seared through him.
He staggered, the pain swimming his vision with red.
Too great for so insignificant a blow.
It felt as though his skull had been cracked open, as if rusted nails were scraping the interior of his skull.
Uriel blinked away the pain and turned away.
White light filled his vision, but when it cleared, he saw they were no longer on the mountainside. The running boys, too, had vanished.
Instead, the gates of Agiselus loomed before him; dark steel and banded adamantium.
'I remember approaching these gates many times,' he said, looking down at his hands to see the skin of his knuckles was split and bloodied. 'Each time, the gates were closed.'
'Do you remember why?' said Idaeus.
Uriel saw his former captain was also bloodied. The scar on his neck had expanded to his face. The left side of it was ridged and dark, one eye milky and white.
'No matter what hardships we'd suffered, we had to work together and push them open.'
Idaeus placed his hands flat on the gate 'Shall we?'
Uriel joined him, pushing hard on the black metal. It felt hot to the touch, like placing his palms on the blade of a sword fresh from the forge. He felt it burning, but kept up the pressure.
Heat spread up his arms, as though molten fire was pumping through his veins and burning them from the inside out.
The heat coiled around his bones, fusing them and turning the marrow to magma.
He gritted his teeth and pushed harder, fighting through the pain. His fingers blackened, the flesh peeling back as the awful, intolerable heat filled him.
>
Uriel screamed and gave one last surge of anger-fuelled strength. The fight to get back into Agiselus every night had never been this painful, never this desirable. Finally, a vertical sliver of torchlight grew between the halves of the gate. The sight gave Uriel strength, and he pushed through the pain, drawing it inwards and using it.
The gates swung open, and Uriel fell forwards onto his knees.
He looked down at his hands, the skin rough and textured from decades of war, but unburned and whole. He exhaled deeply and looked up as Idaeus offered him a hand up.
He took it, and Idaeus hauled him to his feet. The captain's face was worse than before.
His chiton was almost entirely gone, the fabric burned and ashen. The cataracted eye was now molten and glutinous, its fluid dribbling down a burn-scarred cheek.
'What is happening?'
Idaeus' mouth was gummed with scars, and it took him a moment to respond. When his words came out, they were wet and bubbling, forced up through a throat thick with blood.
'No decision is without consequence, Uriel,' said Idaeus. 'Remember that.'
'What decision?'
'This one,' said Idaeus, tapping a blackened finger against Uriel's chest. 'The one you're making right now.'
For a moment, it felt as though Idaeus' finger pressed beyond the barrier of flesh and muscle, through the ossified bone shield protecting the myriad super-organs beneath.
The moment passed, and Idaeus turned away, limping through the open gateway.
Uriel felt a mix of emotions surge through him as he followed Idaeus within, gripped by a strange sense of events spiralling beyond his control.
Inside the courtyard, the day transformed into night.
The pale blue sky darkened instantly to sable-black. Torches flickered in iron sconces, and a full moon bathed the hardpacked earth in silver.
Arrayed in uniform ranks were a hundred Space Marines, each armoured in the cobalt blue of the Ultramarines, their shoulder guards edged in the vivid green of the Fourth Company.
Uriel held himself taller at the sight of these titans in gleaming war-plate. He was so proud of these warriors, and loved every one of them, though he had the sudden, sinking sensation that this might be the last time he would see them.
Suffocating grief touched Uriel, threatening to overwhelm him. His eyes misted with a sudden swell of emotion.
The image of his warriors wavered, and it seemed to Uriel as if decades were passing with every breath. The ranked-up Space Marines remained unmoving and unflinching as creeping stains of rust spread across cracked and aged surfaces of once-inviolable war-plate.
Uriel blinked, and his warriors were once again as he remembered them.
He forced down his emotions.
This was not a time for grief.
What is it then?
He didn't know, but as the familiar smell of lapping powder and the tang of sacred oils caught in his throat, the memories they evoked returned with physical force.
Physical and mental exhaustion, pride and - above all else - a ferocious determination to win a place within the hallowed ranks of the Ultramarines.
Hard times, to be sure; but entirely worthwhile.
All the pain and suffering Uriel endured had forged the steel in his soul, moulded the fire of his youth and tempered him into a weapon to serve the God-Emperor.
Movement drew his eye, and Uriel saw shafts of moonlight catching the woven metal of the clenched gauntlet upon the company standard. Ancient Peleus held the mailed fist banner aloft, and Uriel's heart filled with deserved pride at all his warriors had accomplished.
'The Swords of Calth,' said Uriel.
His command squad stood with Peleus, heads held high and their numerous honour markings and purity seals bright in the moonlight.
Brutus Cyprian, a warrior so powerful he had once ripped open a t'au battlesuit with his bare hands.
Petronius Nero, the company champion and slayer of the legendary blade-dancer, Xiomagra.
Livius Hadrianus, with his battered, heat-patterned meltagun held across his chest.
Apothecary Selenus, who had saved the life of every man in the company more than once, and preserved the legacy of the fallen.
These heroes had come together during the t'au invasion of Pavonis, a war that now seemed a lifetime ago. Uriel knew each man's heart as well as his own, and he could have picked no finer brothers to fight at his side.
A warrior stepped from the ranks, his bearing noble and his power unmistakable. His helm was the muted crimson of a sergeant, but as Uriel watched, the colour bled out of it becoming the same blue as his armour. A golden wreath appeared at his brow and captain's insignia faded in on his shoulder guard between his squad markings.
'Learchus?' said Uriel.
The warrior turned towards him, the red lenses of his visor accusing him with their steely gaze. In their youth, Uriel and Learchus Abantes had been rivals, enemies even, but years of battle had wrought a bond of brotherhood between them. 'You left us,' he said, his tones clipped and precise.
It took Uriel a moment to understand Learchus' meaning. 'The Death Oath...' he said.
'Death Oath?' said Idaeus. 'You went on a Death Oath?'
Uriel nodded. 'A long time ago. I took your teachings a little too literally and believed I knew better than the Codex Astartes how to act.'
'You left us,' said Learchus. 'You are leaving us right now.'
'What? No,' said Uriel, stepping in front of Learchus and gripping his shoulder guards. The gold of the wreath at his brow reflected the moonlight. 'I am your captain, Learchus, and I will be until the Emperor takes me to His side.'
Learchus shook his head.
'You left us,' he repeated. 'We are left behind.'
With that, Learchus snapped hard to attention and spun on his heel until his back was to Uriel.
As Learchus completed his about-face, the rest of the company followed suit. A hundred heels slammed down in unison as the Fourth Company turned their backs on Uriel.
'Learchus, what are you doing?' cried Uriel.
He turned to Idaeus. 'I endured this once before, walking in exile from the Fortress of Hera to an uncertain future. I have no wish to relive that moment. Why does my mind conjure a vision of my greatest shame?'
'I don't know, Uriel,' said Idaeus. 'Everything here has meaning, but it is for you to understand its significance.'
In desperation, Uriel turned back to Learchus and put a hand on his shoulder guard.
No sooner had he touched his comrade's armour than Learchus crumbled to dust, his form disintegrating in the blink of an eye. The wind that blew the company standard carried the ashen remains away, and Uriel watched in open-mouthed horror as a wave of dissolution blew through the company.
As if formed of mist, every warrior of the company blew away until only one remained.
He, too, wore the colours of a sergeant but one of his arms was the gleaming metal of a cybernetic replacement. His armour was colossal, crafted from the remains of damaged suits of Terminator armour.
'Pasanius! Emperor's mercy, it's good to see you.'
'Mercy? The Emperor has no mercy,' said Pasanius. 'His sons learned that. The warriors of the storm, they knew it, and soon we'll have to accept it. A new era is upon us. Upon you. Isn't that why you came here?'
'I don't know why I'm here,' said Uriel. 'Is this a dream? A vision of the warp? I don't know.'
'It's you,' said Pasanius. 'This. It's all you. What's past is prologue, and what awaits at the end is up to you.'
'I don't understand.'
'I know you don't, but you will,' said Pasanius, and he placed his augmetic hand at the centre of Uriel's chest. Uriel felt the heat of his old friend's hand through the thin material of the chiton.
'The Noctis Aeterna has fallen, Uriel, and only the strongest will survive the coming war. You have to be strong. You have to endure. Remember that.'
Burning heat flowed from Pasanius' palm, and Uriel dropped to
his knees. Pasanius came down with him, keeping his hand pressed tightly to Uriel's chest.
The pain was indescribable. Uriel's primary heart pulsed like a newborn star within his flesh, and furnace heat spread from the treacherous organ, surging along his limbs like liquid metal in a mould.
'Pasanius? What are you doing?' gasped Uriel between breaths that felt like drawing shards of glass into his lungs. 'What's happening to me?'
'What happens to all living things that seek to survive,' said Pasanius. 'Change.'
'Please, make it stop!'
Pasanius shook his head and lifted his other arm to the night sky.
'Time to go,' he said, and an awful sensation of dread settled upon Uriel as Pasanius vanished, and he saw the hues of moon and sky reverse.
A creeping shadow slid over the surface of the silver moon, as a bleached, lifeless white bled into the sky.
The walls of Agiselus peeled away, pristine marble flaking like cinders lifting from charred timber. Veins of rust spread through the white walls as the stonework crumbled to reveal its bones of corroded iron mesh.
With the disintegration of the walls, Uriel saw the lush landscape around the barracks wither. The forested mountains blackened to become vast slag heaps of industrial debris as the city on the horizon reassembled itself into a series of skull-mouthed manufactoria, belching toxic fumes and poisonous waste from soaring flare-stacks.
What had once been a landscape of natural beauty was now a smog-wreathed hellscape, a devastated wasteland threaded by sluggish, rainbow-sheened rivers of petrochemicals.
'No,' said Uriel, recognising the dead sky and the hateful black sun presiding over this nightmarish landscape 'By the Emperor's mercy, no!'
'Weren't you listening?' said Idaeus, except the voice was no longer that of Idaeus. 'The Emperor has no mercy. He's a monster and a madman. I told you that before, but you didn't listen then either.'
Uriel had not heard that voice for decades, but its mocking cadence and bitter tones were forever etched in his mind. He knew it as well as his own.
Idaeus looked up, but the burned face of his former captain was gone.
In its place was the face of a warrior in burnished war-plate, steel-dust grey and chevroned with yellow and black. One arm was ebon black and cursed, the other held a monstrous axe.
Black Library Events Anthology 2018-19 Page 12
