by Gav Thorpe
Thirianna recognised them immediately and was terrified. They were lesser daemons, servants of She Who Thirsts, embodiments of the Great Enemy.
She tried to flee but was surrounded.
The daemonettes paused and looked around, themselves frightened in turn.
Trailing crystalline threads, the warp spiders descended upon the webway, tens of thousands of the tiny creatures. In a pale wave they swept over the daemons, miniscule mandibles biting deep, covering the creatures from clawed feet to crested scalps. The daemons fought back, slashing with their claws, raking great furrows in the mass of the white guardians.
More figures appeared from the gloom, shining white silhouettes bearing swords and spears. As blazes of pure light they struck into the daemons, shattering them, leaving blossoms of fading sparks as they cut and slashed at the immaterial creatures.
Thirianna felt the light folding around her, forming a cocoon of energy, gentle yet strong. The light infused her, seeping through her spirit, transforming her into pure energy. She felt the touch of another presence upon her thoughts, wordless yet reassuring.
She allowed the light to lift her and in moments she was away, flashing across the webway, leaving the battling apparitions far behind.
With a gasp, Thirianna opened her eyes. She swayed for a moment and then collapsed, her hand falling from the infinity circuit node.
She did not lose consciousness, but felt weak and dizzy, her vision swimming. It was not her body that ailed but her mind. Images from her experience flashed through her thoughts, disorientating her further. She struggled to compose herself and between the visions half-glimpsed a ring of other eldar around her, five in all.
She recognised Kelamith, his face contorted in a fierce scowl of concentration. His fingers twitched at his sides, while several runes spun around him, whirling about on eccentric orbits.
In a few moments the nausea passed and Thirianna was able to sit back against the curve of the wall, catching her breath. She shuddered at the recollection of what happened and her waystone burned bright upon her breast, glowing blue, hot to the touch.
She had been so foolish, so naive. What had she been thinking, to dare the webway alone, inexperienced and helpless? She started to sob, realising how close she had come to being trapped by She Who Thirsts. She had risked not just death, but an eternity of torment devoured by the creation of the eldar’s own hedonistic past.
Still shuddering, she flinched as a hand touched her shoulder.
Looking up, she saw Kelamith. She expected a rebuke, but his face was kindly, his lips curved in the slightest of smiles. Taking his hand, Thirianna allowed herself to be helped to her feet.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, burying her face in the cloth of his robe, more tears flowing.
‘It is I that am sorry, child,’ said Kelamith, holding a hand to the back of her head. ‘I should have been more watchful.’
Thirianna pulled back and looked at the farseer.
‘I put all of us in danger,’ she said. ‘What if those… things had taken me, turned me to their cause?’
‘They did not,’ said Kelamith, patting her hand. ‘That is a credit to you. You are stronger than you think; not every person can resist their wiles. Yet I apologise again, for I had seen that you would venture forth on your own. I did so, when I first started, and I thought it would be good for you to find your own way. I did not see how much peril awaited you, and I should have done.’
‘You knew I would get lost?’ said Thirianna. ‘You allowed me to wander free, knowing what it might have led to?’
‘Heed this warning,’ said Kelamith, now with a stern expression. ‘Of the many possible outcomes, only this one put you at risk. I judged it worthwhile to let you have your own time, thinking the chances of disaster were remote. Yet no matter how unlikely an outcome might be in regards to all of the others, while it remains possible it must be considered. Had I known for sure that this would happen, I would have intervened. As it is, I did not think you powerful enough to travel so far and become so embroiled in the eternal matrix.’
‘The eternal matrix?’ said Thirianna. She had not heard the phrase before.
‘It is the realm that binds together the infinity circuits of all the craftworlds, part of the webway and part of something else,’ explained Kelamith. ‘It is as close to the unbound skein as any artifice of ours can be, made of the raw stuff of the ether. A novice such as yourself cannot usually travel far upon it.’
‘And what will you do now?’ said Thirianna, casting her gaze at the marble-like floor. ‘I suppose I have proven myself very short-sighted. I will understand if you do not wish to be my teacher any more.’
‘I think that more than ever I wish to be your teacher, child,’ said Kelamith. ‘You show great potential, not just of psychic power, but of curiosity, resolve and self-belief. These are vital attributes if you are to reach the full extent of a seer’s abilities. I would be more worried if you had not explored on your own.’
Thirianna looked around and saw the other seers nodding in agreement.
‘Return to your chambers. You have had an ordeal that would test the greatest of us,’ said Kelamith. ‘Think on what has happened to you, and with the next cycle come to me again and we will continue with your training.’
REUNION
The Twin Birds – Hawk and Falcon. All runes work in conjunction with each other, but there are several pairing and sibling runes that can only facilitate a true reading together. The most prominent of these are the Twin Birds, formed as one and divided only upon the skein. In many cases the two fates of different individuals may be deeply entwined, seeming as one; in such circumstance the Hawk and Falcon are able to discern points of digression, each following its own path to highlight possible divides and moments of reunion.
After her dramatic first foray into the eternal matrix, Thirianna was content to roam the more orderly confines of Alaitoc’s infinity circuit. Areas previously seen as staid and safe were now sanctuaries of stability for the seer, refuges she attended constantly to maintain her sense of self and a degree of mental balance.
She progressed well under the tutelage of Kelamith, using the infinity circuit to open up the vistas of the wider skein with greater control and focus. Her wanderings became more concentrated, though she lacked the true ability of free navigation and frequently required the guiding spirit of Kelamith to show her the way.
For some considerable time this continued and Thirianna honed her powers every cycle, growing again in confidence, the dark memories of her near-capture by the daemons receding.
After her latest session in the infinity circuit, Thirianna was not dismissed by Kelamith. Instead the farseer invited her to walk with him in the gardens outside her residence.
They talked about the lessons learnt and Thirianna’s hopes for the coming cycles, but it was obvious that something else was on the farseer’s mind. The pair of them stopped at the height of an arcing white bridge over a shallow ravine, the shadows of the dome’s towers long across the hills and scattered woodlands.
‘You have come a long way to mastering your psychic sense,’ said the farseer, hands clasped behind his back. Thirianna leant on the rail and glanced down at the thin rivulet of water passing under the bridge.
‘I feel as if I have only stepped into the shallows,’ said Thirianna. ‘The sea of knowledge extends far further than we have travelled already.’
‘That is true, and it is why we must now venture further from the shore,’ said Kelamith. ‘Until now, you have acted as your own anchor. As you experienced in your time upon the eternal matrix, there are limits to our power while confined by our bodily conduit. To see further, to wade further into the sea of knowledge, we must lay before us beacons to follow. In this way we can follow their direction far out into the future, but be assured of the direction home.’
The farseer brought forth a rune from his belt, no larger than the tip of his thumb. It was made of dark blue wraithbone, glea
ming slightly with its own power. The rune spun lazily at the end of Kelamith’s extended finger.
‘The runes are our beacons, our stepping stones into the distance,’ he continued. ‘Until now you have used your mind and body to channel the power of the skein, and there are limits to what we can withstand. The runes provide new avenues of exploration. If you think of the barriers between reality and the future as a wall, the runes open new gates for us to pass through. Each has its own specific purpose, opening up new vistas beyond that wall and guiding our minds to their destinations. They also act as a valve, ensuring that the power we tap into does not overcome us, shielding our thoughts from She Who Thirsts.’
Thirianna shivered at the mention of the eldar’s darkest foe and almost lost the meaning of the farseer’s words. She pushed aside the rising memories of the webway to concentrate on what Kelamith had said.
‘Each rune increases our power,’ said Thirianna.
‘In a way,’ replied Kelamith. ‘In themselves they contain no power, but they enable us to channel more psychic energy. It is a balance. To control a number of runes requires considerable mental dexterity and focus. At first, we begin with a single rune.’
‘You think it is time for me to learn runecraft?’ said Thirianna, excited by the prospect.
‘Certainly it is, child,’ said Kelamith. ‘Each rune is a unique thing, bonded to its seer, an extension of their Form. When you come to me next cycle, I will take you to have your first rune fashioned.’
‘Which shall it be?’ Thirianna asked. There were several hundred that she knew of now, each with its own benefits and challenges, abilities and traps.
‘We all begin with the same,’ said Kelamith. ‘The rune of Self. Our personal rune. It is our incarnation upon the skein and no runecraft is possible without it.’
They arranged to meet in the following cycle and Kelamith departed, leaving Thirianna to think on this next stage of her development. The possibilities intrigued her and the idea of taking this important step gave her a sense of achievement she had not felt since becoming a seer. The image of the rune of the seer and the rune of herself were as one in her mind, inseparable, one the symbol of the other. It was a sign of her progress that she was about to embody that image she held in her mind, and she returned to her chambers full of anticipation.
‘Is this a trick?’ Thirianna demanded, as Kelamith waved for her to enter the bonesinger’s workshop.
‘There is no trickery,’ the farseer assured her.
‘Yet you must know who practices his craft here,’ said Thirianna.
‘I do know,’ said Kelamith, expression impassive. ‘Yrlandriar is one of the foremost bonesingers of Alaitoc. He has fashioned many seer runes.’
‘He is my father!’ said Thirianna, knowing that Kelamith had to be aware of the fact.
‘So you no longer profess to be the child of Wishseer Aurentian? A strange time to make such a confession,’ said Kelamith, his eyes showing intrigue.
‘Aurentian was more my father than Yrlandriar, after the death of my mother,’ replied Thiriama. ‘Yrlandriar is no father to me.’
‘Yes, he is,’ said Kelamith, unperturbed. ‘You are very fortunate.’
‘Fortunate?’ Thirianna almost spat out the word. ‘Yrlandriar is a selfish, cantankerous tyrant. I will have nothing to do with him.’
The farseer’s patient expression did not change. He turned at the high archway and clasped his hands together. A glow of psychic energy lit up Kelamith’s eyes and his voice took on the otherworldly cant Thirianna now associated with the farseer’s forays onto the skein.
‘Yrlandriar will fashion the rune of Thirianna,’ he intoned slowly. ‘With it, she will continue on the Path of the Seer, learning her own fate and that of many others.’
‘There are other bonesingers,’ said Thirianna, unconvinced by this fatalistic declaration. ‘I will have one of them fashion my rune.’
‘That is not what will happen,’ said Kelamith, his voice returning to normal, eyes dimming. ‘Your objections are juvenile, not worthy of a seer of Alaitoc.’
Thirianna stood firm, unwilling to indulge in the farseer’s manipulation.
‘You think that I make this choice out of whim or spite?’ asked Kelamith, a touch of anger now showing in his furrowed brow. ‘Listen to me, child. As a seer you will see many fates that you cannot change. If you cannot accept them, you will be driven mad, tormented by possibilities that never existed. If your father does not fashion your rune, your time with me is finished.’
‘Perhaps another farseer will continue my instruction,’ said Thirianna, crossing her arms defiantly. ‘Surely there is at least one other that sees my potential.’
‘That is pride,’ snapped Kelamith, causing Thirianna to flinch. It was the first time the farseer had raised his voice to her, and she felt a momentary pang of guilt. ‘No other will take you, I will ensure that.’
‘You are not being fair!’ said Thirianna. ‘It has been many cycles since my father and I spoke last, and I do not wish him to be a part of my life.’
‘If that is the case, you have a difficult choice to make,’ said Kelamith, calm again. ‘You can continue to shun your father and find another Path, or you can become a seer and reconcile yourself to his existence.’
Thirianna wrinkled her lips in distaste, prompting Kelamith to turn away and start back down the passageway towards the grav-disc that had brought them to the Dome of Artificers.
‘Wait!’ Thirianna called after him. She clenched her fists in annoyance, but kept her frustration from her voice. ‘I will speak with Yrlandriar, but only to ask for a rune.’
Kelamith stopped and turned back, waving a hand towards the doorway.
‘That is all you have to do, child,’ he said.
Thirianna took a deep breath and headed through the archway, steeling herself for the impending confrontation.
The chamber beyond was large and semicircular, opening out onto an even wider expanse that ran across a large part of the width of Alaitoc. The room was bare, in surprising contrast to Thirianna’s expectations. A few pedestals displayed small works of art; an open cabinet held various works-in-progress; a central table was home to an assortment of cups, dishes and plates holding the remnants of several meals.
All of this Thirianna took in at a glance; her attention was snatched away by the scene beyond. In the massive nave-like chamber there hung what appeared to be the spine and ribcage of some vast primordial animal. As Thirianna approached the open side of the room she recognised what she was seeing – the central structure of a starship.
Gleaming lights shone from the ivory-coloured wraithbone, illuminating every part of the ship-to-be. It was the first time she had seen such a vessel under construction and it took her breath away. All thoughts of Thirianna’s many disputes with her father were forgotten, swept away by the majesty of the creation before her. It was a large vessel, though by no means the largest, stretching for half of the hangar’s length. The scale was only brought home to her when she saw the tiny figures on the gantries surrounding it.
Though she was not well versed in such things, it looked to Thirianna that the bulk of the work had been completed. The dorsal structure and splay of curving spars towards the prow put her in mind of a shark, front-heavy but delicately poised. The rib-like spurs shortened towards the stern before they abruptly widened into a three-finned tail. Looking up, she could see the massive round apertures where the solar sails would be fitted and in the unlit gloom above she caught the glitter of the panels ready to be lowered into place.
As much as Thirianna saw the starship, she could feel it as well. The wraithbone pulsed slowly with psychic power, barely registering against the background of the infinity circuit, but with its own distinct timbre. The skeletal structure nestled on a cradle of crystalline towers, connecting it to Alaitoc, feeding it the power of the craftworld.
Thirianna studied the details, recognising some of the fluted work along the sides of
the fuselage as settings for gun batteries. It was a warship, and the knowledge brought a hint of menace to the entire affair. She imagined the laser turrets and plasma accelerators that would be fitted, turning this graceful piece of art into a machine capable of dealing unimaginable destruction. The steady throb of psychic power now seemed edged with waiting potential, a beast slumbering, waiting for the command to unleash its fury.
The eldar working on the slender gantries and scaffolding were dressed in light tunics and tight-fitting bodysuits. They were implanting crystal nodes and gem-like energy studs into the wraithbone, coaxing the psychoplastic to accept the jewels with whispered words and intricate gestures.
‘This is… unexpected.’
Thirianna turned at the sound of her father’s voice. He walked from under the crystal cradle to her right, his open-fronted robe reaching to the floor, an intricate set of musical pipes under one arm. His expression was stern, eyebrows meeting in a frown beneath a high forehead. Yrlandriar’s black and purple hair was bound up in an intricate knot fixed with several jewel-headed pins and his hands were encased in metallic gloves, delicately segmented and chased with golden rune designs.
‘Kelamith sent you,’ he said, walking past Thirianna into his workshop.
‘I did not desire this meeting, but I have been left no choice,’ said Thirianna. ‘Kelamith is stubborn.’
‘A trait with which you are all too familiar,’ said Yrlandriar. He gestured and a stool rose up from the blue fabric of the floor, next to the table. As the bonesinger sat down, placing his pipes in front of him, Thirianna noticed he did not offer her a seat.
‘I see you have lost none of your hypocrisy,’ she said. ‘If you could but spare a few moments of your precious time I am sure you could compose a whole treatise on the merits of intractability.’
