by Various
‘I’d estimate that there are enough supplies here to withstand about two weeks of siege,’ said Lentulus as they quickly examined yet another small, packed chamber. So far, all but one had been mostly full.
‘Whatever happened to them, the Doom Eagles left most of the supplies,’ Aeroth replied. ‘Curious.’
‘Even more curious,’ crackled Oenomaus over the vox. ‘I’ve matched the manifest to the vehicle pool. All that’s missing is a single Stormtalon.’
‘Not enough to carry a combat squad,’ said Lentulus.
‘All Rhinos accounted for,’ added Oenomaus. ‘Wherever they went, they went on foot, or hanging on the back of a gunship.’
‘And they seem to have left no records, nor set a distress beacon,’ said Iova, who was in the cramped command centre at the top of the fort, skimming through records.
‘So we have a squad of Doom Eagles who disappeared,’ said Aeroth.
‘And what about the serfs?’ asked Lentulus. ‘According to the briefing, there should have been upwards of thirty of them keeping the place in order and serving the Space Marines.’
‘Perhaps the Chaplain can shed some light on that,’ said Aeroth.
‘Quiet,’ hissed Keevan, glaring back at Bragg and Rose. He couldn’t say that he was impressed with their stealth skills, but they were handy in a fight, and the Space Marine leader had asked for a few fighters to accompany him into one of the low stone buildings around the main keep. The building was some sort of servants’ quarters, and it was deserted.
‘Not exactly luxurious,’ muttered Rose as he peered into a spartan cell, a bare cot and small desk the only furnishings. ‘But then, I suppose service is its own reward, and all that.’
‘I’ll take a warm bed and warmer embrace over service, thanks,’ said Bragg. ‘Or a world not crawling with dead men who won’t stop moving.’
Keevan glared at them again, but he couldn’t disagree. He had hoped that, somehow, the arrival of the Space Marines would presage an end to the horror, that they would turn up and fix everything. Ridiculous, he knew, but he was glad that he could still hope.
Ahead of the trio, the Space Marine Chaplain, Sentina, pulled off his grotesque skull-faced helmet and looked around.
‘I see,’ he breathed.
‘See what?’ asked Bragg, peering past the massive black-armoured figure. Keevan did the same and saw a long wall. Most of it was smooth stone, machine-cut if he was any judge. But in the centre was an area of bare bricks, haphazardly laid.
‘Something’s been blocked,’ he said.
The Space Marine turned and looked at him, his piercing eyes showing something that might have been approval.
‘Stay behind me,’ he cautioned before breaking into a run. He barrelled directly at the bricks, and burst through, showering dust into the room beyond, and onto a pile of human corpses.
The smell was tremendous, even compared to the ever-present stench of rotting plants and bodies that now permeated the air. Keevan gagged.
‘Why would they wall up the serfs?’ the Space Marine murmured. He backed up and turned to look at the humans. ‘We need to clear this out before your party can sleep in this building,’ he said. ‘Set up a detail to dispose of the corpses.’
Keevan wiped tears from his eyes and looked up at the Chaplain. Then he looked past him, at the shambling horrors that were picking themselves from the pile and advancing towards the Space Marine. He didn’t even have time to shout a warning before the huge warrior was in motion, his heavy maul spinning to take the head from one creature before disembowelling another with the backswing. Keevan looked away. Hearing it was bad enough. After a few seconds, the noise stopped. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding and turned back to the Chaplain.
‘The others may attack as well,’ said the Space Marine, unfazed by what had just happened. ‘They must be beheaded and burned. It’s the only way to be sure. See to it.’
‘L-lord–’ Rose started to say, but Sentina cut him off.
‘Burn them,’ he repeated. ‘I want it done by nightfall.’ Pushing past them, he exited.
Alia stood at the entrance to a room at the top of the keep. One of the huge Space Marines in the great clanking armour had told her that she could find the skull-faced Chaplain here. She was terrified. It was ridiculous. She had travelled so far from home, fought walking dead, escaped depraved men, killed… She cut that thought off. She had been through so much. Yet she was scared of entering the room. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
‘I wondered when you were going to enter,’ said the Space Marine. He stood with his back to her, working at some sort of cogitator panel.
‘You knew I was there?’ she asked nervously.
‘Amongst the many enhancements of a Space Marine is improved hearing,’ he said.
‘Enhancements?’
‘We are made… different from the humans we once were. In many ways. Physically and otherwise. We forget that at our own risk.’ He turned, and all Alia could see was the depth of his eyes and the way the light of the electro-flambeaux played off his bald pate. ‘How may I help you… I apologise. I don’t know your name.’
‘Alia,’ she said. ‘Alia Blayke. And I’m here to talk about the bodies.’
‘Is it done?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t smell burning.’
‘No, well,’ she began, ‘that’s what I’m here about. You see, we don’t burn bodies on Orath. Ever. It’s against our faith.’
‘Against your faith?’ he repeated.
‘Well, you see, the way my dad told it, which is how he was told it, it’s all about the crops. They’re so strong because of the Emperor’s blessing.’
‘What does that have to do with not burning your dead?’ Sentina asked.
‘It pleases the Emperor when we don’t waste anything, when we use everything we’ve got. That includes bodies. When they’re buried, their spirits become part of the world, so they can join Him. If they’re burned, then their spirits are burned too. Out there, they all think that if they burn the bodies, it’ll make the Emperor angry, and we’ll never get our world back.’ She was quiet for a long moment. ‘And we must have made Him angry already for Him to have done this to us.’
The Chaplain looked down at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He was both human and something very different, all at the same time.
‘What do you hope for when this is over?’ he asked, curiosity in his voice.
Alia was surprised by the question, but considered it carefully before answering with a single word. ‘Peace. To go back to our homes and farms and make everything right again.’
The Space Marine stared at her for a moment, his face impassive.
‘Peace,’ he repeated. ‘I have often wondered what that would be like.’
‘No you haven’t,’ she said, before realising that she had just contradicted a man who could kill her with a gesture. She hurriedly continued on. ‘You’ve never considered it before.’
‘Very perceptive,’ Sentina said. ‘You are quite right, I have never thought of peace. It goes against my nature. I am a tool of war, and that is well, because war is one of only two constants in this universe. Do you know what the other is?’ He gazed at Alia, his deep brown eyes boring into hers, as if he could see into the depths of her soul. She found herself unable to speak, her voice having abandoned her. Eventually, she croaked an answer.
‘Death,’ she said, trying not to remember.
‘Death,’ the Chaplain repeated. ‘Death and war. And we are at war, Alia Blayke. We will win, or we will die. To win, we do what we must. And what we – what you and your people – must do is to set aside your superstitions and burn those bodies, unless you want to risk having an enemy within this fortress, ready to rise up and attack.’
Alia shook her head. ‘I understand, but it’s a big thing to ask us. We’ve… They’ve already sacrificed too much.’ She hoped the Space Marine couldn’t see her hands shaking as she thought of al
l that she had sacrificed. She clutched on to the wooden aquila around her neck. Sentina’s eyes followed her hands and he went down on one knee. Gently, he moved her hands away and cradled the aquila in his black-armoured palm. It looked absurdly tiny, like a child’s. Of course, it was.
‘Is this where you found the strength to come and talk to me, Alia?’ he asked. She nodded, and he let it go and pulled himself back to his full height. ‘It was a very brave thing to do. And if that icon gave you that strength, it can give you the strength to do what must be done, and to make the other Orathians do so. I am curious though,’ he said. ‘Why did you come? Why not one of the men, or the priest?’
‘The old man doesn’t understand,’ said Alia. ‘He’s not one of us. He’s nice enough, but he’s not from Orath. He doesn’t know what it’s like to fight for your world, and to watch everything you know and…’ She swallowed awkwardly. ‘And everything you love turn to ruin.’
‘I know what it is like to watch friends – family – die, Alia. I know what it is like to suffer tragedy and loss. That it is what I am made for, and that it is expected, does not mean that I do not feel it. So I understand.’
She nodded dumbly.
‘I also understand the reality of what we face. We will save your world, Alia Blayke, but when all is done and we depart, it will not be the same world it was before. It has been touched by a darkness deeper than you can imagine.’
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Because the universe is random and capricious, and bad things happen for no reason. No matter what you believe, that is a simple fact. And the Emperor, be He a god or simply the greatest man to have ever lived, has no power over that. Now, return to your people. Tell them that the bodies must be burned, and that the Emperor will forgive them. They will please Him by doing what they must to defend themselves and their world. Remind them that He helps those who help themselves.’
She nodded and swallowed. ‘I will. Thank you for listening.’
‘You were very brave to come here, Alia. And it will be brave of you to stand against the beliefs of your fellows. But I do not think you lack bravery or strength. And I think that you will need those again before this is over. So whatever that symbol you wear means to you, keep it with you and stay strong. Stay brave. We shall all need to be so when the storm that is gathering breaks.’
Thirteen thousand years ago
The tunnel wound down far beneath the surface of Meldaen, and Kharanath had to fight for every step. His weapon was in constant motion. Before him was a pack of bloated creatures, their pallid green flesh dripping with corruption and covered with open sores that wept pus and other vile fluids. As he lopped off an arm that carried a battered and misshapen sword, he saw the blood that oozed from the wound burn into the stone of the tunnel floor with a soft hiss.
‘Don’t touch their blood,’ he called to Althyra. ‘It is corrosive.’
‘Their very being is corrosive,’ she said, twin blades flashing as she split a pair of the plague-beasts apart, sending their bodies slumping to the ground. ‘Can you not feel the way their existence pushes at the boundaries of reality?’
It was true. The daemons didn’t belong in the material realm, and the act of pushing their way into reality warped it. The longer they stood upon Meldaen, the more it would be altered and corrupted, and Kharanath doubted that it could ever be cleansed.
He heard a noise behind him and spun around, spear sweeping low. It was met by a pitted blade that swung up impossibly fast. He reversed his strike and parried the blow then threw himself to the side, ducking beneath the slow swing of a cleaver that dripped with stinking black ooze. He punched his spear through the head of the daemon with the cleaver, the tip piercing its single rotten eye. He tore the blade back out and continued the motion, cutting clean through the neck of another creature.
‘There are too many,’ he told Althyra. ‘We need to keep moving.’
‘You go,’ she said. He looked around and saw her smiling grimly at him even as she parried blows from a group of the beasts. ‘I’ll hold them here. Get to your brother and stop these things. Preferably before they overwhelm me.’
Kharanath wanted to argue, but knew that she was right. If they both carried on, the daemons would simply follow and they would be overrun. He also heard the hollowness of her last words. She would not survive, regardless. The daemons were too many and she was just one warrior, however skilled. He nodded. ‘Khaine be with you,’ he said.
Turning, Kharanath swung his spear in a wide arc, forcing several of the daemons back against the tunnel walls. Swiftly, he ran through the gap he had created and headed deeper into the heart of the world.
Oddly, the tide of twisted, unnatural creatures lessened as he approached the small chamber where Elthaenneath was working. After the plague daemons, he had encountered only smaller groups of the creatures. Given that the chamber contained one of the openings of the great rift that ran through the heart of Meldaen, he would have expected quite the opposite. It did not bode well.
He dismissively hacked down another pair of the creatures as they stumbled towards him. ‘So slow and clumsy,’ he said. The blood-soaked warrior-beasts out on the plains seemed far more of a threat. He wondered what sort of hierarchy or structure guided the creatures, or if there even was one.
The tunnel widened and opened out into an irregular enclosure. Around the walls were banks of arcane devices tended by white-robed priests. They would maintain the wraithbone seal that was being sung into existence by…
Elthaenneath. He stood in the centre of the chamber before an orb that was composed of both darkness and colours that Kharanath could not name, colours that made his eyes itch and his soul ache.
The chamber was free of daemons. Kharanath didn’t understand why, but he wasn’t going to argue.
‘Elthaenneath,’ he said, reaching out to his twin. ‘You are safe. When you stopped talking, I–’
His brother turned, and the look of sadness on his face broke Kharanath’s heart.
‘You should not have come down here, brother,’ he said. ‘I wanted to spare you this.’
‘Spare me what? What are you talking about?’
‘The ritual, the song. It has power, but so does the darkness beyond,’ said Elthaenneath, gesturing to the orb. ‘The powers of the otherrealm have…’ He paused, as if searching for the right word. ‘…certain weaknesses,’ he finished. ‘They are reflections of reality, of emotion and thought. If done in particular ways, and with particular intentions, mortal actions can stop them from being able to manifest in our world.’
‘What sort of actions?’ asked Kharanath. ‘What are you planning, brother?’
‘Sacrifice,’ said Elthaenneath. ‘Goodbye, my brother.’
And he stepped into the orb of darkness.
Kharanath howled. It felt as though half his soul was being torn away. He doubled over as agony coursed through him, and through his grief and pain he heard another scream as well, the pain-shriek of something that lurked behind creation.
And then it was over. The dark orb was gone, and Elthaenneath with it.
Kharanath was alone.
Six
Alia stood with her back to the wall, shivering, and watched the pyre, the flickering flames dancing and sending sparks into the night sky. Keevan and another man were throwing the last of the bodies onto the fire. The job done, Keevan came and stood next to her. They were silent for a long time.
‘It was the right thing to do,’ Keevan said at last. ‘We couldn’t risk more of them coming back.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t make it any easier though.’
‘Nope. It doesn’t. But life doesn’t always give you a choice. And when we do something that goes against our beliefs, all we can do is make our peace with the God-Emperor and carry on.’
Alia considered that. ‘Do you think this place, this fortress, has a shrine?’
‘It might. I don’t think these Space Marines worship the Empe
ror like we do, though.’
She looked beyond the fire, up to the walls where the Ultramarines Chaplain stood, staring down at the fire. ‘No. I’ll take a look anyway.’
She turned and entered the keep, passing through the huge, forbidding archway. A long passage stretched before her, more huge doors at regular intervals marked with stencilled script. They led to arming chambers, barracks, storage rooms. No shrine.
Alia heard a sound, like soft shoes on a hard floor. From the corner of her eye, she saw something move, disappearing round a corner.
‘Hello?’ she called, turning. ‘Is somebody there?’
There was no response, just the sound again, and something else, like the laughter of a child. ‘Hello?’ she said again. Maybe it was the little girl she had lifted to the roof back in the village, Janae. Dimly, she wondered what had become of her stuffed grox. She rounded the corner and saw a small figure running away from her. It wasn’t Janae.
It was a child, a boy with shock of dirty blond hair. His clothes looked oddly familiar, and in his hand he carried a wooden horse.
‘Felip…’ breathed Alia. ‘Oh, Emperor, no. Felip?’
She broke into a run, following the impossible form of her brother as he delved deeper into the fort.
Chaplain Sentina stood on the walls and watched as the old priest, Andronicus, passed amongst the civilians. Many of the humans stood sentinel around the immense fire, watching as their fellow Orathians burned. Despite himself, Sentina felt some sympathy for them. Going against their beliefs could not be easy, as necessary as it was. Andronicus was offering words of comfort, blessings and other such things. It was the same thing the Chaplain himself did in the quiet moments before battle began. That had always been where Sentina was at his best – one on one, giving a battle-brother some inspirational words. Until…
He made his way down to the courtyard and passed by the fire. Where he walked, humans shied away. Whether they were scared of his size and the visage of death that he wore as a badge of office, or simply angry with him for making them work against their primitive beliefs, Sentina neither knew nor cared.
