Loken set off down the steps, heading back towards the Thunderhawk. Torgaddon, Vipus and the warriors of Locasta followed him. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he turned to them and said, ‘I need you two to stay here. Keep an eye on the temple and make sure that nothing bad happens.’
‘Define “bad”,’ said Vipus.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Loken. ‘Just… bad, you know? And contact me if you get so much as a glimpse of Erebus,’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Torgaddon.
‘I’m going back to the Vengeful Spirit.’
‘What for?’
‘To get some answers,’ said Loken.
‘HASTUR!’ CRIED HORUS, reaching down to lift his fallen friend from the water. Sejanus was limp in his arms, though Horus could tell he lived by the pulse in his throat and the colour in his cheeks. Horus dragged Sejanus from the water, wondering if his presence might be another of the strange realm’s illusions or if his old friend might in fact be a threat to him.
Sejanus’s chest hiked convulsively as he brought up a lungful of water, and Horus rolled him onto his side, knowing that the genhanced physique of an Astartes warrior made it almost impossible for him to drown.
‘Hastur, is it really you?’ asked Horus, knowing that in this place, such a question was probably meaningless, but overcome with joy to see his beloved Sejanus again. He remembered the pain he had felt when his most favoured son had been hacked down upon the onyx floor of the false Emperor’s palace on Sixty-Three Nineteen, and the Cthonic bellicosity that had demanded blood vengeance.
Sejanus heaved a last flood of water and propped himself up on his elbow, sucking great lungfuls of the clean air. His hand clutched at his throat as though searching for something, and he looked relieved to find that it wasn’t there.
‘My son,’ said Horus as Sejanus turned towards him. He was exactly as Horus remembered him, perfect in every detail: the noble face, wide set eyes and firm, straight nose that could be a mirror for the Warmaster himself.
Any thoughts that Sejanus might be a threat to him were swept away as he saw the silver shine of his eyes and knew that this surely was Hastur Sejanus. How such a thing was possible was beyond him, but he did not question this miracle for fear that it might be snatched away from him.
‘Commander,’ said Sejanus, rising to embrace Horus.
‘Damn me, boy, it’s good to see you,’ said Horus. ‘Part of me died when I lost you.’
‘I know, sir,’ replied Sejanus as they released each other from the crushing embrace. ‘I felt your sorrow.’
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, my boy,’ said Horus, taking a step back to admire his most perfect warrior. ‘It gladdens my heart to see you, but how can this be? I watched you die.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Sejanus. ‘You did, but, in truth, my death was a blessing.’
‘A blessing? How?’
‘It opened my eyes to the truth of the universe and freed me from the shackles of living knowledge. Death is no longer an undiscovered country, my lord, it is one from which this traveler has returned.’
‘How is such a thing possible?’
‘They sent me back to you,’ said Sejanus. ‘My spirit was lost in the void, alone and dying, but I have come back to help you.’
Conflicting emotions surged through Horus at the sight of Sejanus. To hear him speak of spirits and voids struck a note of warning, but to see him alive once more, even if it wasn’t real, was something to be cherished.
‘You say you’re here to help me? Then help me to understand this place. Where are we?’
‘We don’t have much time,’ said Sejanus, climbing the slope to the rise that overlooked the plains and forests, and taking a long look around. ‘He’ll be here soon.’
‘That’s not the first time I’ve heard that recently,’ said Horus.
‘From where else have you heard it?’ demanded Sejanus, turning back to face him with a serious expression. Horus was surprised at the vehemence of the question.
‘A wolf said it to me,’ said Horus. ‘I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous, but I swear it really did speak to me.’
‘I believe you, sir,’ said Sejanus. ‘That’s why we need to move on.’
Horus sensed evasion, a trait he had never known in Sejanus before now and said, ‘You’re avoiding my question, Hastur, now tell me where we are.’
‘We don’t have time, my lord,’ urged Sejanus.
‘Sejanus,’ said Horus, his voice that of the Warmaster. ‘Tell me what I want to know.’
‘Very well,’ said Sejanus, ‘but quickly, for your body lies on the brink of death within the walls of the Delphos on Davin.’
‘The Delphos? I’ve never heard of it, and this doesn’t look like Davin.’
‘The Delphos is a place sacred to the Lodge of the Serpent,’ said Sejanus. ‘A place of healing. In the ancient tongues of Earth its name means “the womb of the world”, where a man may be healed and renewed. Your body lies in the Axis Mundi chamber, but your spirit is no longer tied to your flesh,’
‘So we’re not really here?’ asked Horus. ‘This world isn’t real?’
‘No.’
‘Then this is the warp,’ said Horus, finally accepting what he had begun to suspect.
‘Yes. None of this is real,’ said Sejanus, waving his hand around the landscape. ‘All this is but fragments of your will and memory that have given shape to the formless energy of the warp.’
Horus suddenly knew where he had seen this land before, remembering the wondrous geophysical relief map of Terra they had found ten kilometres beneath a dead world almost a decade ago. It hadn’t been the Terra of their time, but one of an age long past, with green fields, clear seas and clean air.
He looked up into the sky, half expecting to see curious faces looking down on him from above like students studying an ant colony, but the sky was empty, though it was darkening at an unnatural rate. The world around him was changing before his eyes from the Earth that had once existed to the barren wasteland of Terra.
Sejanus followed his gaze and said, ‘It’s beginning.’
‘What is?’ asked Horus.
‘Your mind and body are dying and this world is beginning to collapse into Chaos. That’s why they sent me back, to guide you to the truth that will allow you to return to your body.’
Even as Sejanus spoke, the sky began to waver and he could see hints of the roiling sea of the Immaterium seething behind the clouds.
‘You keep saying “they”,’ said Horus. ‘Who are “they” and why are they interested in me?’
‘Great intelligences dwell in the warp,’ explained Sejanus, casting wary glances at the dissolution of the sky. ‘They do not communicate as we do and this is the only way they could reach you.’
‘I don’t like the sound of this, Hastur,’ warned Horus.
‘There is no malice in this place. There is power and potential, yes, but no malice, simply the desire to exist. Events in our galaxy are destroying this realm and these powers have chosen you to be their emissary in their dealings with the material world.’
‘And what if I don’t want to be their emissary?’
‘Then you will die,’ said Sejanus. ‘Only they are powerful enough to save your life now.’
‘If they’re so powerful, what do they need me for?’
‘They are powerful, but they cannot exist in the material universe and must work through emissaries,’ replied Sejanus. ‘You are a man of strength and ambition and they know there is no other being in the galaxy powerful enough or worthy enough to do what must be done.’
Despite his satisfaction at being so described, Horus did not like what he was hearing. He sensed no deceit in Sejanus, though a warning voice in his head reminded him that the silver-eyed warrior standing before him could not truly be Sejanus.
‘They have no interest in the material universe, it is anathema to them, they simply wish to preserve their own realm from destruction,’ continued Sej
anus as the chemical reek of the world beyond the illusion returned, and a stinking wind arose. ‘In return for your aid, they can give you a measure of their power and the means to realize your every ambition.’
Horus saw the lurking world of brazen iron become more substantial as the warp and weft of reality began to buckle beneath his feet. Cracks of dark light shimmered through the splitting earth and Horus could hear the sound of howling wolves drawing near.
‘We have to move!’ shouted Sejanus as the wolf pack loped from a disintegrating copse of trees. To Horus, it sounded as though their howls desperately called his name.
Sejanus ran back to the river and a shimmering flat oblong of light rose from the boiling water. Horus heard whispers and strange mutterings issuing from beyond it, and a sense of dark premonition seized him as he switched his gaze between this strange light and the wolves.
‘I’m not sure about this,’ said Horus as the sky shed fat droplets of acid rain.
‘Come on, the gateway is our only way out!’ cried Sejanus, heading towards the light. ‘As a great man once said, “Towering genius disdains the beaten path; it seeks regions hitherto unexplored”.’
‘You’re quoting me back to myself?’ said Horus as the wind blew in howling gusts.
‘Why not? Your words will be quoted for centuries to come.’
Horus smiled, liking the idea of being quotable, and set off after Sejanus.
‘Where does this gate lead?’ shouted Horus over the wind and the howling of wolves.
‘To the truth,’ replied Sejanus.
THE CRATER BEGAN to fill as the sun finally set, hundreds of vehicles of all descriptions finally completing their journey from the Imperial deployment zone to this place of pilgrimage. The Davinites watched the arrival of these convoys with a mixture of surprise and confusion, incredulous as each vehicle was abandoned, and its passengers made their way towards the Delphos.
Within the hour, thousands of people had gathered, and more were arriving every minute. Most of these new arrivals milled about in an undirected mass until the Davinites began circulating amongst them, helping to find somewhere that belongings could be set down and arranging shelter as a hard rain began to fall.
Headlights stretched all the way along the forgotten causeway and through the valley to the plains below. As night closed in on Davin, songs in praise of the Warmaster filled the air, and the flickering glow of thousands of candles joined the light of the torches ringing the gold-skinned Delphos.
FOURTEEN
The forgotten
Living mythology
Primogenesis
PASSING THROUGH THE gate of light was akin to stepping from one room to another. Where once had been a world on the verge of dissolution, now Horus found himself standing amid a heaving mass of people, in a huge circular plaza surrounded by soaring towers and magnificently appointed buildings of marble. Thousands of people filled the square, and since he was half again as tall as the tallest, Horus could see that thousands more waited to enter from nine arterial boulevards.
Strangely, none of these people remarked on the sudden arrival of two giant warriors in their midst. A cluster of statues stood at the centre of the plaza, and droning chants drifted from corroded speakers set on the buildings, as the mass of humanity marched in mindless procession around them. A pealing clangour of bells tolled from each building.
‘Where are we?’ asked Horus, looking up at the great eagle-fronted buildings, their golden spires and their colossal stained glass rosary windows. Each structure vied with its neighbour for supremacy of height and ostentation, and Horus’s eye for architectural proportion and elegance saw them as vulgar expressions of devotion.
‘I do not know the name of this palace,’ said Sejanus. ‘I know only what I have seen here, but I believe it to be some kind of shrine world.’
‘A shrine world? A shrine to what?’
‘Not what,’ said Sejanus, pointing to the statues in the centre of the plaza. ‘Who.’
Horus looked more closely at the enormous statues, encircled by the thronged masses. The outer ring of statues was carved from white marble, and each gleaming warrior was clad in full Astartes battle plate. They surrounded the central figure, which was likewise armoured in a magnificent suit of gold armour that gleamed and sparkled with precious gems. This figure carried a flaming torch high, the light of it illuminating everything around him. The symbolism was clear – this central figure was bringing his light to the people, and his warriors were there to protect him.
The gold warrior was clearly a king or hero of some kind, his features regal and patrician, though the sculptor had exaggerated them to ludicrous proportions. The proportions of the statues surrounding the central figure were similarly grotesque.
‘Who is the gold statue meant to be?’ asked Horus.
‘You don’t recognize him?’ asked Sejanus.
‘No. Should I?’
‘Let’s take a closer look.’
Horus followed as Sejanus set off into the crowd, making his way towards the centre of the plaza, and the crowds parted before them without so much as a raised eyebrow.
‘Can’t these people see us?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Sejanus. ‘Or if they can, they will forget us in an instant. We move amongst them as ghosts and none here will remember us.’
Horus stopped in front of a man dressed in a threadbare scapular, who shuffled around the statues on bloodied feet. His hair was tonsured and he clutched a handful of carved bones tied together with twine. A bloody bandage covered one eye and a long strip of parchment pinned to his scapular dangled to the ground.
With barely a pause, the man stepped around him, but Horus put out his arm and prevented his progress. Again, the man attempted to pass Horus, but again he was prevented.
‘Please, sir,’ said the man without looking up. ‘I must get by.’
‘Why?’ asked Horus. ‘What are you doing?’
The man looked puzzled, as though struggling to recall what he had been asked.
‘I must get by,’ he said again.
Exasperated by the man’s unhelpful answers, Horus stepped aside to let him pass. The man bowed his head and said, ‘The Emperor watch over you, sir.’
Horus felt a clammy sensation crawl along his spine at the words. He pushed through the unresisting crowds towards the centre of the plaza as a terrible suspicion began forming in his gut. He caught up to Sejanus, who stood atop a stepped plinth at the foot of the statues, where a huge pair of bronze eagles formed the backdrop to a tall lectern.
A hugely fat official in a gold chasuble and tall mitre of silk and gold read aloud from a thick, leather-bound book, his words carried over the crowd via silver trumpets held aloft by what looked like winged infants that floated above him.
As Horus approached, he saw that the official was human only from the waist up, a complex series of hissing pistons and brass rods making up his lower half and fusing him with the lectern, which he now saw was mounted on a wheeled base.
Horus ignored him, looking up at the statues, finally seeing them for what they were.
Though their faces were unrecognizable to one who knew them as Horus did, their identities were unmistakable.
The nearest was Sanguinius, his outstretched wings like the pinions of the eagles that adorned every structure surrounding the plaza. To one side of the Lord of the Angels was Rogal Dorn, the unfurled wings haloing his head, unmistakable; on the other, was someone who could only be Leman Russ, his hair carved to resemble a wild mane, and wearing a cloak of wolf pelts draped around his massive shoulders.
Horus circled the statues, seeing other familiar images: Guilliman, Corax, the Lion, Ferrus Manus, Vulkan and finally Jaghatai Khan.
There could be no doubting the identity of the central figure now, and Horus looked up into the carved face of the Emperor. No doubt the inhabitants of this world thought it magnificent, but Horus knew this was a poor thing, failing spectacularly to capture the sheer dyn
amism and force of the Emperor’s personality.
With the additional height offered by the statues’ plinth, Horus looked out over the slowly circling mass of people and wondered what they thought they did in this place.
Pilgrims, thought Horus, the word leaping, unbidden, to his mind.
Coupled with the ostentation and vulgar adornments he saw on the surrounding buildings, Horus knew that this was not simply a place of devotion, but something much more.
‘This is a place of worship,’ he said as Sejanus joined him at the foot of Corax’s statue, the cool marble perfectly capturing the pallid complexion of his taciturn brother.
Sejanus nodded and said, ‘It is an entire world given over to the praise of the Emperor.’
‘But why? The Emperor is no god. He spent centuries freeing humanity from the shackles of religion. This makes no sense.’
‘Not from where you stand in time, but this is the Imperium that will come to pass if events continue on their present course,’ said Sejanus. ‘The Emperor has the gift of foresight and he has seen this future time.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘To destroy the old faiths so that one day his cult would more easily supplant them all.’
‘No,’ said Horus, ‘I won’t believe that. My father always refuted any notion of divinity. He once said of ancient Earth that there were torches, who were the teachers, but also extinguishers, who were the priests. He would never have condoned this.’
‘This this entire world is his temple,’ Sejanus said, ‘and it is not the only one.’
‘There are more worlds like this?’
‘Hundreds,’ nodded Sejanus, ‘probably even thousands.’
‘But the Emperor shamed Lorgar for behaviour such as this,’ protested Horus. ‘The Word Bearers Legion raised great monuments to the Emperor and persecuted entire populations for their lack of faith, but the Emperor would not stand for it and said that Lorgar shamed him with such displays.’
‘He wasn’t ready for worship then: he didn’t have control of the galaxy. That’s why he needed you.’
Horus turned away from Sejanus and looked up into the golden face of his father, desperate to refute the words he was hearing. At any other time, he would have struck Sejanus down for such a suggestion, but the evidence was here before him.
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