Plague Harvest

by Cavan Scott

  ‘Or silenced,’ Vabion admitted.

  ‘Except you.’ The statement was pointed. The Librarian knew where this line of questioning was heading.

  ‘We kept the shrines’ existence secret from everyone, including those charged with guarding them.’

  The sergeant shook his head.

  ‘Listening posts, on a seemingly insignificant agri-world.’

  ‘A useful cover. The information they provide is of use to the Imperium…’

  ‘But they really exist to ensure no one discovers the existence of these Keys,’ Artorius stated flatly, shaking his head. ‘So why tell me? Because of your visions?’

  Vabion extinguished the hololith. ‘Partly. But also due to something I noticed during our journey back from Garm. The crops are…’ He faltered, his head spinning. ‘The crops…’

  When he replied, Artorius’s voice sounded as if it was bubbling up through water. ‘What about the crops? Vabion?’

  But the Librarian couldn’t answer, he was falling forwards, raising his hands to protect his face from the stone table, preparing for the sudden impact; the impact that never came.

  He was flying, soaring over the fields of golden cereal once again, the sun burning the back of his neck, the roar of the wind filling his ears. Vabion threw back his head and laughed, overwhelmed by the experience. He felt alive. More alive than he had for years.

  He swept down, swooping lower over the harvest.

  ‘Look at it. There’s nothing wrong, no sign of blight at all.’

  He threw his arms wide, rising back up into the air.

  ‘The crops are strong, the air fresh. Orath is as bountiful as ever.’

  The words were hardly out of Vabion’s mouth when the chill he had experienced fell over him. He looked up, squinting into the brilliant sun. Clouds were moving in from the east, faster than he’d ever seen, their shadows sucking the colour from the corn below.

  In a second they had smothered the sky, blocking out the sun, plunging the world into darkness. Bitter winds buffered the Librarian, forcing him to a standstill. Vabion hung in the air, unable to move forward, but straining not to be blown back.

  Something crackled far beneath him. He looked down to see channels appearing in the carpet of green, great swathes of the harvest flattening as if trampled by invisible giants rushing this way and that. Stalks snapping, seeds bursting in their cobs, oozing out of the withering leaves like thick, black molasses.

  ‘This isn’t random,’ Vabion realised, watching the trails of disease streak out towards the horizon. ‘There’s a pattern forming.’

  But what? He needed to rise, to gain more height. He looked to the clouds, despairing as he saw they’d been whipped into a broiling maelstrom above his head. Lightning flashed from the churning vortex, a tremulous laugh rolling like thunder across the ravaged plains, the same laugh he had heard before. Deep. Wet.

  Vabion screamed as the first bolt of lightning struck him, frying the flesh on his bones. He tried to escape, to find shelter, but couldn’t move – caught in the web of electricity that blazed from the heart of the storm, surging through his body.

  ‘Vabion!’

  The voice called to him above the din of the storm. He threw out a blackened hand, desperate to be saved, but couldn’t speak, his tongue boiled away.

  ‘Vabion, come back to me! Vabion!’

  It was like hitting an air pocket. One minute there was noise and clamour and pain and fear and then… nothing, save for the buzz of Artorius’s cogitator.

  ‘Cias?’

  ‘I’m here, Appius. I’ve got you.’

  Vabion realised he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling of Artorius’s command quarters in confusion.

  ‘What did you see, Vabion?’ the sergeant asked, not wasting time to enquire after the Librarian’s health or state of mind. Ever practical.

  ‘We need to patrol the area.’ Vabion grabbed Artorius’s arm, letting the sergeant help him back to his feet. ‘Ritan and I did a sweep earlier looking for gaps in the crops.’

  ‘For signs of disease?’

  Vabion didn’t need to reply.

  ‘I will send the Stormtalons on patrol,’ Artorius said, grabbing his helm, ‘have them report anything unusual.’

  Vabion nodded, trying to control the waves of nausea that were still threatening to overcome him. He had never experienced a vision so palpable.

  ‘And I must check on the Key.’

  EIGHT

  Falk cried out as pain surged through his body. Muscles burned. Tendons snapped. Bones shattered, knitting together in forms they were never designed to take, before splintering again a moment later. He could feel his skin bubbling, his mouth full of the bitter tang of blood and bile. It was as if every cell in his body was being torn apart, unseen hands clawing at him from the inside.

  It was heaven.

  You have come far, Falk. You have done well.

  ‘You are pleased with me?’ Falk gibbered, his voice sounding alien in his own ears.

  Most pleased. You are blessed.

  ‘I am blessed,’ the serf repeated, smiling wildly. His parched lips cracked as they stretched over diseased gums.

  Falk had no idea how long it had taken to find this place. Minutes or hours, time had little meaning anymore. There was only pain – exquisite, beautiful pain – and the song, drowning everything else out.

  He hadn’t known where he was going. He’d never seen some of the corridors before, never been permitted to explore the keep.

  They wouldn’t let you. Didn’t trust you.

  He had just followed the song. Every step had been agony, every breath a living hell, but as he’d staggered into the aquila chamber the chorus had swollen to a crescendo. The blithest sound he had ever heard. Rapture.

  How he had laughed when he had been shown how to open the entrance to the staircase. The truth of Fort Kerberos hidden in plain sight.

  ‘They thought they could keep it from me,’ he spat as his spine twisted into a new pattern. ‘Didn’t deem me worthy.’

  They will pay. For their deception, for their arrogance.

  ‘For how they have treated me all these years.’

  Like you did not exist.

  ‘Like I was nothing.’

  But you are everything, Falk.

  ‘I am your salvation.’

  Our deliverance.

  ‘I have joined the song.’

  You are the song.

  ‘I am the song…’

  It had always been there, the song. He knew that now. He had heard it in his mother’s womb, when he was pushed out into the world. When he had pledged his life to becoming an Ultramarine.

  When he had failed the trials.

  No. They failed you.

  The song was never-ending. Eternal. It would be sung long after he had gone to dust.

  No, you will never die. You will sing the song forever.

  ‘Who is there?’

  Falk gasped. Another voice. Gruff. Accusatory. One he thought he remembered.

  ‘Show yourself.’

  Demanding to be heard.

  They want to drown out the song.

  ‘They can’t. The song is everything. The song is all.’

  They want to silence the song. To silence you. They always have.

  Falk snarled. Never again. Things were different now. He was different.

  ‘This is your last warning…’ the voice insisted.

  They must pay for what they have done.

  ‘They must die,’ Falk decided.

  ‘Meleki, where is Kerna?’

  Meleki looked up to see Artorius striding towards the Stormtalons, his red helm tucked beneath his arm.

  Jerius answered for the young pilot. ‘Brother Kerna is offering his thanks for a safe jo
urney.’

  ‘In the chapel?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Meleki replied.

  Artorius nodded. ‘Go and fetch him. Jerius, begin pre-flight checks.’

  ‘We are going on patrol?’ Meleki asked, confused. No flights were scheduled until tonight’s battle practice.

  ‘I need you to perform a sweep of the area around the fort.’

  ‘How wide?’

  ‘A fifty kilometre radius.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘And if that doesn’t show anything, repeat at one hundred kilometres. You are looking for signs of disease in the crops. Any signs at all.’

  ‘In the crops?’ Meleki repeated, intrigued, before Jerius cut in.

  ‘Do not question the sergeant’s orders.’

  Meleki felt his face flush. ‘I am sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect.’

  Artorius waved away the apology. ‘There will be a full briefing on your return.’

  ‘But, if we’re searching for signs of blight...’ Meleki continued, knowing full well that his question would prompt another scowl from Jerius.

  Artorius paused, searching the young pilot’s eyes. Meleki was convinced he’d overstepped the mark and was preparing to apologise once again when the sergeant finally spoke up.

  ‘There have been too many secrets in this place.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘There is a potential rift running through this planet.’

  Meleki couldn’t stifle his reaction. ‘In the warp?’ Beside him even Jerius shifted where he stood, hand dropping to his bolter, servo-arms whirring forward as if ready for attack.

  Artorius nodded. ‘Any disease in the harvest may simply be a natural occurrence, but we cannot take any risks. Vabion is checking his…’

  Another pause.

  ‘…his equipment. In the meantime, I need you both in the air as soon as possible.’

  Meleki nodded sharply, the gravity of the situation only now beginning to sink in. ‘I shall fetch Kerna at once.’

  He excused himself, heading for the Space Marine chapel where he would find the more experienced pilot deep in prayer. As he crossed the courtyard, the Doom Eagle felt a sudden thrill. A breach in the warp, here on Orath. He found himself praying they would find something, rebuking himself immediately. Such thoughts were forbidden. Was he actually hoping to find daemonic activity on this peaceful world? Didn’t he realise what that would mean?

  Meleki couldn’t fight the smile that tugged against the corners of his mouth.

  Defending the Imperium from the forces of Chaos. A chance to serve the Emperor.

  Surely hoping for that wasn’t a sin.

  Ritan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. An alien shrine hidden beneath a Space Marine base. What treachery was this? What desecration?

  He took a step forward, never letting his gun drop for a second. In front of him a shimmering shard of crystal rose from a series of steps in the centre of the vast room, the light of cogitators that lined the unnaturally smooth walls reflecting off its translucent surfaces.

  Suddenly everything slotted into place.

  ‘Vabion?’ Ritan called out, coming to a stop beside the crystal. He felt a prickling across his skin. Emperor only knew what unholy purpose the artefact served. ‘Is that you, in the shadows? Where you belong?’

  Someone moved behind one of the curved buttresses.

  ‘Is this why you engineered your posting to this miserable world? Forbidden knowledge from a xenos temple?’

  There was no answer. He started forward again, slowly, preparing for attack.

  ‘It makes sense,’ Ritan continued, his ocular implant switching to heat vision. Yes, there was someone hiding there. Someone big. ‘You disappear for hours at a time, no one ever asking why.’

  He could hear Kerna now. ‘Do not question a senior officer. Do your duty.’

  Sycophantic fool.

  ‘Kerna is in awe of you, of the Ultramarines. Blinded by past glories. Not me. I see you for what you are.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Maybe he’s involved. Is that it? Is Kerna in league with you? What have you offered him?’

  Another doubt came to mind. If Kerna was part of the plot, whatever it was, what about Artorius? No. He found that hard to believe – although the very fact that the sergeant had allowed himself to be deceived was somehow more disappointing. Ritan had looked up to Artorius. Thought him a good man. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  ‘Won’t you come out and face me, traitor? What is it your Chapter says? Courage and Honour?’ Ritan snorted in derision. ‘You have neither.’

  He was almost at the buttress now, his trigger finger itching to fire. Then he cocked his head, listening intently.

  ‘Are you singing?’ The man had obviously lost his mind. ‘Will you sing when I drag you back to the surface to pay for your crimes? Or will you beg for forgiveness?’

  ‘Will we beg, he asks,’ a voice replied and not the one Ritan was expecting. It was thick with mucus. ‘We are past begging, past bowing and scraping to the likes of him.’ Thick with hate. ‘The real question is whether he will beg, to us. For mercy.’

  That was enough. Ritan wasn’t going to suffer such impertinence, not from Vabion, not from anyone. He stepped around the buttress, bolter steady and sure in his hand. ‘In the Emperor’s name, I demand you…’

  Reveal yourself. That is what he was going to say – but he wasn’t given the opportunity.

  The flail cracked out of the shadow, slicing against Ritan’s face, sending out a spray of red mist. The Doom Eagle staggered against the support arch, pain blossoming across his cheek.

  ‘No more demands,’ the voice bellowed over the ringing of his ears. ‘No more orders.’

  Another lash, splitting the red aquila on his chestplate, gouging the muscle beneath.

  ‘Not possible,’ Ritan wheezed, looking down at his chest in shock, the wounds already begin to fester. ‘What are you?’

  His ocular implant shattered, deep furrows appearing across his cheek, his teeth smashed from his jaws.

  ‘Salvation,’ the fiend screamed. ‘Deliverance.’

  Ritan fired wildly, the thunderous report of his bolter echoing around the chamber, drowning out his assailant’s shrieks – only to be silenced when the flail came down hard on his gun arm, smashing ceramite, shredding muscle. He cried out, his legs buckling, bolt pistol slipping from his grasp. He felt so weak. So helpless.

  ‘Can’t be happening,’ he panted, his entire body shaking as he dropped to his knees. ‘I am. A Doom. Eagle.’

  ‘You are dead!’ the voice exalted, breaking into a peal of manic laughter. ‘You are nothing.’

  Another strike, across his pauldron, into his shoulder, scraping against bone.

  Ritan tried to look up, tried to focus in the dim light of the shrine. He could barely move, his muscles failing, limbs impossibly heavy. He knew his chainsword was still in his hand, but couldn’t even lift it.

  The figure in front of him blurred, then came into sharp relief, causing his already pounding hearts to thud all the faster in his ruined chest.

  ‘You’re a serf…’ Ritan gasped in amazement, the muscles in his neck bunching.

  ‘He recognises us,’ the creature screamed in glee, ‘at last!’

  There was no mistaking the tattered, stained cloak that hung from the monster’s back, or the small human head that sat preposterously on top of a pair of heaving shoulders. The servant’s body was mutating before his eyes, tumours erupting across its chest, muscles clustering beneath corrupted flesh. One arm was withered, hanging limply, while the other had been replaced by the long meaty flail, yellowing bones jutting from ulcerated gashes.

  ‘But can he tell us our name?’ the serf drooled, suddenly snapping the flail across Ritan’s side. The Doom Eagle gagged, unable to whimper, let alone cry
out. ‘Does he know who we are?’

  Ritan tried to feel for his chainsword, but his fingers wouldn’t respond, his entire arm numb. White foam frothed on his slack lips, his good eye slowly closing as his face swelled. Whatever pestilence was swarming through his body, it was too great even for a Space Marine’s superior healing abilities.

  ‘Did he not hear us?’ the serf-thing cackled, delivering another toxic blow. ‘Does he not know?’

  Do I know what? Ritan wondered, feeling his grip on the world slip. He barely knew where he was. Couldn’t even be sure who he was. All he wanted to do was rest, to be free of the pain, of the demented voice, yelling at him. So angry.

  He thought he should pray, but couldn’t remember how. Instead he started humming the song that throbbed at the back of his head.

  The comforting, tuneless song.

  NINE

  ‘No!’ Vabion breathed.

  The fact that someone had found the shrine was enough of a shock. That it was left open was inconceivable.

  ‘Two hundred years,’ The Librarian muttered, stepping cautiously into the aquila chamber. ‘Two hundred years and no one has come close to discovering you.’

  That in itself was a lie. A few had almost stumbled on the secret of Kerberos, but Vabion had worked hard to ensure the truth remained hidden. He had been forced to do some terrible things – but this was different.

  He stared at the staircase, his grip tightening around his force sword, a sickening feeling settling in his stomach.

  The place stank of the warp.

  ‘Something corrupted has walked this way,’ he said, as if uttering the words could somehow protect him from the dark forces at play. ‘Something unhallowed.’

  Vabion dropped on one knee, leaning on his sword, the sharp point pressing into the stone slabs.

  ‘Protect me, oh Lord, as I protect others.

  Deliver me, oh Lord, as I deliver others from damnation.

  You are mighty. Your enemies are weak.

  You are truth. Your enemies are lies.

  You are victorious. Your enemies are lost.

  I will bind them in Your glory,

  Smite them in Your name.

  Your will be done.’