Mark of Calth

by Edited by Laurie Goulding

  But Kor Phaeron’s expression lost all pretence of benevolence as Quor Vondar strode into the room. His dark eyes glittered.

  Vondar approached the table. ‘My brothers,’ he said, though the acknowledgment was brusque to the point of insolence. He stood by one of the three empty chairs, but did not sit. His entrance had ended what little conversation there had been.

  Kor Phaeron stared at him hard. ‘Sorcerer, your power extends deep into the warp, but we expect a little more civility. You will address us correctly.’

  ‘I give such civility as is warranted.’

  Vondar cast a black-bladed knife onto the table. The weapon skittered across the surface inscriptions, and came to a spinning halt in front of the Dark Cardinal himself. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

  Kor Phaeron looked slowly from the blade to Vondar as though he were a teacher who would coax the realisation of an obvious fact from a slow pupil.

  ‘This is none of my doing, Master Vondar. This is the work of the Dark Apostle.’

  ‘Erebus does nothing without your knowledge and your collusion!’ the sorcerer snapped. ‘I am not some lowly menial to be–’

  ‘We are not savages!’ Kor Phaeron snarled, and smashed an armour-clad fist into the table, cracking the surface. ‘Address me correctly, sorcerer. Do me the proper courtesy, or I will do far worse to you.’

  Vondar’s mouth opened. Whatever he was going to say went unsaid. ‘My lord. First Captain. Dark Cardinal. Master of the Faith, I apologise,’ he said, though the words carried little sincerity.

  Kor Phaeron nodded. ‘Now, brother,’ he breathed, ‘I advise you to sit. Sit!’

  ‘My lord.’ Vondar took his place. His comrades muttered, and eyed him as warily as they did one another.

  Reclining in his chair, Kor Phaeron waved a hand dismissively. ‘Besides, you speak of older times, Chief Librarian,’ he said. ‘Now Erebus is a law unto himself. I am not his keeper. I am ignorant of the purpose of these blades, as you are. He would not tell me what he intends.’

  ‘My lord – you have seen him, then?’ said Hol Beloth. ‘Where has he been these last months?’

  Before Kor Phaeron could answer, Vondar spoke again.

  ‘Blades? You speak of many blades?’

  ‘We all carry them, lord,’ said Phael Rabor. ‘Observe.’ He pulled out his own knife and set it upon the table with a click. One after another, the others did the same.

  Foedral Fell regarded each in turn. ‘I thank my lords for allaying my fears,’ he said. ‘I too had believed that I had somehow been singled out.’ Fell gave a wry grin, and rested his gauntleted hands upon the table. ‘To feel noticed by Lord Erebus is to feel as a fly noticed by the spider.’

  They shared a grim laugh.

  ‘Well then, esteemed brothers,’ said Morpal Cxir. ‘It is all of us – all of us who were chosen to lead the assault on the XIII Legion.’ He toyed with his own blade, fascinated by it.

  Rabor frowned. ‘All of us?’

  Cxir nodded. ‘Such a gift. I expect it is meant as a great honour.’ His voice was level, though his gaze did not leave the edge of the knife. ‘Have you not felt the power of them? These are no mere ritual athames, but true tools of the Gods.’

  ‘How came each of you by yours, then?’ Vondar demanded. He stared at the other blades suspiciously.

  Kor Phaeron scoffed. ‘You still fear some unknown conspiracy?’ His aged, gene-forged face moved unnaturally, the skin too tight – a result of his imperfect elevation to the ranks of the Legiones Astartes. ‘My brother’s distrust does not befit one of his rank.’

  Vondar glared. ‘You ask me to honour you among this company, and then offer me nothing but disrespect in return. What of courtesy now, eh? Do not speak to me so, my lord.’

  ‘I will speak to you howsoever I choose, Master Vondar.’

  The Librarian gritted his teeth, and rose sharply from his seat. ‘What gives you the right? You, who are not truly one of us, and can never be. You are no son of Lorgar! Not as we are, nor any other brother legionary, down to even the most lowly novitiate.’

  Kor Phaeron stood, and the shadows around him seemed to deepen. ‘No, you are correct in that. I cannot claim to be your brother as this… rabble can.’ His voice echoed with the thunder of eternity, and his eyes flashed with spectral warp-light. ‘I am not Lorgar’s son. I am his father. You would do well not to forget it.’

  Quor Vondar sank back into his seat, though the Dark Cardinal’s gaze did not waver. The scent of brimstone hung in the air.

  Slowly, the tension faded.

  Cxir cleared his throat. ‘My lords, please. I will answer Master Vondar’s question, for it is one that we have all no doubt considered.’

  He looked to the others before continuing.

  ‘Mine came from nowhere. I was at table, preparing to feast with my chosen veterans. We bowed our heads to give thanks to the lifegiver Nurgle. When we raised them, there it was.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Fell, raising his own blade. ‘As if from the very air.’

  ‘But how can this be?’ asked Rabor. ‘I am not so gifted in the dark arts as many of you, but I confess that I did not believe Erebus either to be capable of such magick.’

  Morpal Cxir shook his head. ‘All that which stems from the Dark Apostle must be approached with caution. He sees things which many do not, and his ways are not always those of the Seventeenth.’

  ‘The writing was his. The summons are his,’ said Vondar. ‘I will not be a pawn in some unrevealed scheme.’

  ‘You saw him enter your chambers then?’ said Kor Phaeron slyly.

  Vondar shook his head.

  ‘Sensed him, at the least, oh great Chief of Librarians? You regale us so often with tales of your arcane might.’

  Cxir raised a calming hand. He did not mock as Kor Phaeron did. ‘And your might is not to be denied, Master Vondar. But how did he gain entrance to your sanctuary without attracting your attention?’

  Vondar’s face wrinkled. He was shamed, but could not say so immediately.

  ‘Come now, sorcerer – it is a vital part of the puzzle,’ said Kor Phaeron.

  ‘My lords, I am forced to admit that I saw and felt nothing. Only a draft of air at the blade’s passing. My senses and my guardians failed me.’

  Kor Phaeron slapped the table and laughed. It was an unpleasant sound.

  Vondar’s face flushed with anger. ‘How then, if I may ask, did the great Lord Kor Phaeron come by his gift, then?’

  ‘Why, Lord Erebus himself walked in through the door and presented it to me, and together we planned this merry little gathering. I am, after all, the primarch’s chosen commander of our next campaign.’

  The First Captain’s implication that the rest of them were beneath Erebus’s respect was plain, and intended to be so. Quor Vondar’s fury was writ equally plainly upon his face.

  ‘Then what are they for?’ muttered Hol Beloth. ‘Surely you, my lord – as first among us – must know.’

  ‘He would not tell me for what purpose these athames are intended,’ admitted Kor Phaeron, waving away his obvious annoyance at the fact. ‘Only which worthy brethren were intended to receive them. Who am I to deny the Dark Apostle his theatrics?’

  Cxir again raised his hand. ‘Let us not bicker, then, but compare them. Perhaps there is some relevance to their differences?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Beloth, his voice resonating with equal parts enthusiasm and wariness.

  They placed the daggers points facing inwards. Although they were all similar – hilts bound in black leather or wire, marked with golden runes and tied with devotional ribbons – the blades were all markedly different. Crooked, or straighter. One forked. Another with waved edges. All were, however, of the same flinty black metal that pained the eyes.

  ‘Six daggers,’ said Fell. ‘If these
are truly tools of Chaos, then there might at least be eight.’

  ‘Lord Erebus will surely carry the seventh,’ said Hol Beloth.

  ‘That still leaves one, captain,’ pointed out Rabor.

  Quor Vondar frowned. ‘All of the Legion who have been chosen to command the coming assault are present, barring the Dark Apostle himself.’

  ‘Indeed!’ said Erebus as he strode into the chamber. The sudden sound of his voice caused Fell and Cxir to rise from their seats. ‘And it is this noble legionary who will carry the eighth.’

  Another warrior walked behind him: Sergeant Kolos Undil, leader of Erebus’s cadre of bodyguards.

  ‘A mere sergeant?’ said Rabor angrily. ‘You disrespect us, Lord Erebus.’

  Hol Beloth frowned. ‘I – unlike my brothers, it seems – do wholly appreciate the honour of these fine athame blades, Lord Erebus. But it seems to lessen the gift, to put a mere sergeant on a footing with a captain…’

  Erebus took a seat at the table. ‘Gifting the faithful with such a weapon, even though he be a mere sergeant, does nothing to diminish the potency of the rest, nor the honour in carrying one.’ He gestured to the last empty space, bidding Undil sit. The sergeant took his chair with unhurried grace, and looked into the eyes of his superiors without fear. ‘Undil is as faithful as any of you,’ Erebus added, taking care to nod respectfully to Kor Phaeron as he did so.

  The others were guarded. Undil was a renowned warrior, as devout as his master and almost as devious.

  ‘I do not like this, Dark Apostle,’ said Fell, finally.

  ‘Nor I,’ said Cxir. ‘There is ambition enough in this room as it is. Do you seek to set us all upon one other in open combat or honour duels?’

  Undil inclined his head.

  Erebus laughed.

  ‘You are all already worthy of this honour, my lords, as is Undil.’ Erebus smiled enigmatically, the scar across his throat a pale pink mirror of it. ‘And now, my lord Kor Phaeron, shall we begin? I believe now is the time to review our strategies for the assault on Calth.’

  Beloth raised his hands, exasperated. ‘Come now – we all know the plan, Dark Apostle, and our parts in it.’

  ‘There is more I have yet to add,’ said Erebus archly.

  ‘Then add it.’

  ‘He will, he will,’ said Kor Phaeron. ‘It is not in the nature of our First Chaplain to employ such drama with no final revelation.’

  Then he turned to Erebus, and his manner became more firm.

  ‘He assured me that he would explain himself, and so he will.’

  Akshub’s face betrayed only a flicker of apprehension when Erebus walked into the nomad camp. To her credit, she alone stood her ground as the tribesmen backed away from him, the giant who came out of the night.

  The locals were wiry, repulsive creatures – devolved dregs of humanity that appeared more beast than man. Erebus despised them, even though they had proven their worth in the past.

  The priestess eyed him as he approached.

  ‘You have found me quickly,’ she muttered. Her widely spaced, dark eyes were unreadable, the reflected flames of the campfires dancing in them.

  Erebus halted. ‘You knew I had survived?’

  The scar on his throat itched as he spoke. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time. He would relish it.

  However, her reply robbed him of any satisfaction.

  ‘I foresaw your return. I have been waiting for you.’

  He reined in his rising anger. Now was not the time for revenge, but he could not resist the urge to dominate her. He loomed over her in the fiery twilight. ‘You tried to kill me.’

  She tilted her head and pursed her lips. Bone beads clicked in her hair. Her appearance was more barbaric than when Erebus had last seen her – in the depths of the Delphos, where she had slit his throat.

  ‘And yet I did not, noble warrior,’ she said. ‘I had to spill your blood for the spell to succeed. This should have been clear to you – the last act of faith.’ She took a step towards him. ‘The war has begun, as you and your masters desired.’

  ‘It has.’

  She shrugged. ‘Then all is well. It is as I told you. Your death was necessary.’

  ‘It was… an unwelcome surprise. You meant to slay me.’

  She was wary, but her pride masked her fear. ‘And now you seek vengeance? All I did was what was asked of me. You should take care when asking favours of the greater powers, warrior.’

  ‘Then I shall be more precise with my words in future, seeress,’ Erebus said. He slipped his pack from his back and set it down in the dust at his feet. ‘I am weary, for I have walked a long way to find you. Can you not offer me some refreshment? Some water, perhaps?’

  ‘You are not here to kill me, then?’

  Erebus folded his arms. ‘If you can see the future, then you know the answer to that.’

  She smiled enigmatically, an ugly expression on so debased a face. ‘What do you know of what I see, my lord? I will tell you what I see. I see that you have grown powerful. You have done well. But know this, hand-of-destiny – there will always be matters of which you will remain ignorant, no matter how great you become.’

  Erebus nodded contritely.

  ‘You are correct, Akshub, and though it pains me to say so, it does not make it less true. That is why I have come – to learn from you. Your power humbled me in that moment, and so in you I recognise a greater knowledge than my own.’

  He sank to his knees and bowed his head.

  ‘Allow me to become your acolyte.’

  He reached for the roll of sackcloth, and untied the cord about it. Reverently, he spread out the black velvet within, and adjusted the contents as it lay on the ground.

  Glinting in the firelight were eight knives: athames of exquisite, brutal craftsmanship.

  Now that surprised her. His satisfaction returned.

  ‘This is – was – the anathame?’ she whispered.

  ‘Shards knapped from the blade by my own hand, in accordance with the old rituals.’ He spread his arms wide, his palms upwards. ‘I grew them in the blood of the Neverborn, and fashioned them into these fine implements – each alike, but no two the same.’

  She looked up, her expression guarded. ‘How did you learn this?’

  ‘The forging was simple, because the gods demanded it should be so. You of all people, mighty Akshub, should know that their will cannot be defied.’

  She wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Their will? Your will, I think. And now you want me to reward you for this sacrilege?’ The bones in her hair rattled as she shook her head. ‘No. Never.’

  ‘The gods willed it, seeress.’

  She stared at him, and let out a long sigh. She scratched at her scalp with a ragged fingernail, and sat down with much grumbling. Her limbs had stiffened since their last meeting. ‘Maybe, maybe,’ she muttered. ‘What would you have from me?’

  He prostrated himself before her once more. ‘Help me. Help me to win the war and bring the light of Chaos to every corner of the galaxy. Mighty Akshub, I beseech you, teach me the way to the paths between worlds.’

  Even as the words left his lips, he smiled into the dirt beneath his face.

  Akshub spent the night in communion with her patron spirits. Her tent she heated to almost unbearable levels, piling the fire high with dung cake. She sealed the space tightly – door and window flaps, and the opening at the peak that would normally let out the smoke. The place was filled with a choking reek long before she began casting her herbs and powders into the flames and inhaling the thick vapours.

  Erebus watched the old witch perform her magic, his eyes streaming. He strove to stay vigilant, to learn what he could, but her chanting invaded every corner of his mind and led him to places he could not later recall.

  He did not sle
ep. Of that he was sure.

  Suddenly, it was light and the fire was out. Erebus blinked. The door flap had been opened behind him. Outside, the dirt was scuffed, with various belongings strewn about. The tribesmen had fled, although how long ago was impossible to tell.

  Akshub jabbed him hard in the shoulder with her finger.

  ‘Very well, noble warrior. We go. I will teach you what you desire. The gods will it.’ She glanced at the velvet roll containing the eight athames, before ducking out of the tent.

  She burned down the remains of the camp, then led Erebus across the savannah for eight days and nights. During the hours of darkness, when the great, sickly moon of Davin hung heavy in the sky, she told him more of the gods’ own realms. She took him into trances, guiding his mind into the fringes of the empyrean, showing him the secret ways by which a mind might pass beyond.

  ‘We are servants of the gods, and so we go more easily,’ she said. ‘But they are capricious, and there are many dark things of lower consequence that dwell within that ocean and hunger for our soul-fire. You must be wary at all times. Trust nothing, think nothing. Feel nothing. All you can imagine can destroy you.’

  ‘Then what protects us?’ he asked. ‘Why was I not devoured when you sent me that way before?’

  She looked away, into the mauve darkness of Davin’s night sky.

  ‘You think perhaps your pretty inks? Your special words? Or do you think yourself favoured, “hand-of-destiny”?’ She turned back to him, almost angry. ‘No, none of these things, Lord Erebus. Not one will protect you. We are protected because we do the work of the gods, and because of our devotion. Our ambition, our will, our determination. These things are pleasing to them. That is why you passed freely before.’

  ‘Will I be able to do so again?’

  She did not speak, but prodded idly at the dirt with a stiff stalk of grass. She glanced again at the roll containing the knives.

  ‘I know what you and the golden one intend to do. I have foreseen that you will attempt to call down the Ruinstorm upon the galaxy and stir the oceans of time into a tempest. This is why you are here – not only to pass the veil that divides. You will gather your ships about you and sail unhindered whilst others founder. That is what you seek to learn.’ She sniffed, and muttered to herself. ‘Mighty sorcery indeed.’