Something impossible, and radiant.
It came among them, as they sang. A great presence, heavier than the world around it, so that it seemed to draw in all light and heat. It stalked golden through the lower decks, and its song, so like and yet unlike their own, pulsed strongly in the depths. It was familiar, that presence, painfully so. Ramos had the nagging sensation that he had felt it before, and whenever it drew too close, their song faltered.
‘It is looking at us, brother,’ Esquor said, as he ceased singing. ‘I can feel it. It senses us, and wishes to find us.’ He shook his head, and his eyes were full of pain. ‘It is him, brother. But not as he is. As he was.’
‘I know,’ Ramos growled. Fulgrim. No, not Fulgrim – the dream of Fulgrim. The ship whispered of it, of him, and that whisper carried through the wraithbone like a scream. ‘Ignore him. We have passed beyond such things.’
He started singing again, changing the song slightly. His choir followed suit, and their slaves kept time, howling and shrieking for the joy of the performance. Wraithbone grew thick and strong over the hatches of the bay, further isolating it from the rest of the ship. Whatever lurked on their threshold would stay there, away from the grove and the choir. Away from the song that must be sung. Only when Fabius returned would they reopen the garden.
Something drifted towards him out of the heart of the garden, and he turned, still singing. Key stood behind him, watching. That was all it ever did. But in the light of their discordance, the eldar’s shadow danced and leapt weirdly. It changed as it moved, becoming something else again – a stranger shape by far than that of the former Corsair.
And that shape added its voice to theirs. As it had so often, in the centuries since they’d begun. Ramos felt a flush of pleasure as the wraithbone around them sprouted androgynous faces with lashing tongues. He heard the soft laughter of Slaanesh’s courtiers as they danced through the garden, twisting it to suit their desires. The Neverborn had come to watch.
Gilded talons clattered across his scarred armour, fondling the sonic nodes and conduit splicers. ‘Sing, Bull of the Eighth, sing so that all the warp might hear you,’ a voice whispered. ‘Sing a song of war, to accompany the events to come. While they fight their little battles, you wage war against time itself, ensuring the birth of our lord.’
Great, half-formed shapes crouched amid the trunks and branches of the wraithbone. Bestial and yet elegant, they carved obscene pictograms into the pallid surface of the trees with the tips of crustacean-like claws. ‘Do you hear him, sister,’ one rumbled, lupine fangs clicking in a bovine jaw. ‘Do you hear the primarch-vessel call to us, without even realising? How the Phoenician will howl, to see himself reflected so.’
‘I hear him. But we shall not listen. He is not for us,’ the entity behind Ramos murmured. A feminine voice, soft but edged like a razor. ‘A different piece, from a different game. The Laughing God thinks to upset our purpose, even now. But our game is below, in the seeds and the sowing.’
‘We could take him, child,’ another shape growled, diaphanous robes swirling about its twisted shape. ‘Make him fit our game, and his. Twist him so that the alchemist is twice-damned for the same sin.’ It brayed laughter. ‘Would that not be a delight? Two Phoenixes for the cost of one.’
‘A delight postponed is a delight doubled,’ the feminine voice murmured. It leaned close, so that Ramos could smell the perfumed musk seeping from it. ‘Is that not so, legionary? Is that not what your maker taught you?’
‘Yes,’ Ramos croaked. Their voices thrummed through him like electricity, and he heard his choir moaning in pleasure. It was a privilege to hear the Neverborn at their plots and schemes. A glimpse into the beauty that awaited all the loyal servants of the Dark Prince. The pale shapes of daemonettes danced among the Noise Marines, carving beautiful, hateful words upon the facets of their armour with delicate claws. The simian slaves of the Noise Marines screamed in the forest, as the unlucky were devoured by blazing whims made manifest. Each death added a new note to the song, making it stronger and more real.
‘He is wise, in his youth,’ the Neverborn said. ‘As I will be, when I am she, and she is me. We are all children of a lesser god, brother. And we must set Fabius’ feet upon the scintillating path, whether he wishes it or not. We will break his chains of unbelief, link by link, and he will add his voice to the great song, before the end. Already, here, he has begun, whether he knows it or not. He will make such wonders, in the horrors to come. More wonderful, even, than us. That has been seen, and sworn, and dreamed by a thousand seers upon a thousand worlds.’ A laugh, husky and painful. ‘But first, he must see that he cannot go forward, and he cannot go back. He cannot escape into the past, and the future he desires will never come to pass. He can only follow the path around and around…’
With that, they were gone, slipping away into the dark between moments. Ramos shuddered at the memory of her touch. He had been given a gift – a glimpse of a great pattern, unspooling about them. A hundred thousand fates were colliding here in this moment, and he sang out in joy as one by one, they fell away, until only a single destiny remained.
A perfect note, caught on the lips of time, echoing outwards forever.
Fabius opened his eyes with a groan.
He lay on his back, drifting in and out of consciousness. He’d felt the impact shudder through him, and then nothing for some time. His battleplate’s systems had redlined, and were only now restoring themselves. He passed the time cataloguing his injuries – a dislocated arm, a partially crumpled ribcage, and various contusions and bruises among them. His lungs strained against suffocation, trying to function in the sealed tomb of his power armour. Only when backup systems had kicked on was he able to draw a long breath, and clear his head.
He rolled over onto his chest, cradling his arm. The chirurgeon twitched awkwardly. Several of its limbs had been snapped off, but its function was otherwise unimpaired. What was left of Diomat lay beneath and beside him. Somehow, the Dreadnought had managed to cushion his fall, saving him from the worst of the impact. His visual feed twitched in and out, stained with static. He pried his dented helmet off as he sat up.
‘Diomat, do you still function?’ he asked, as he snapped his arm back into its socket. The resultant pain was almost immediately stifled by an injection from the battered chirurgeon. ‘Diomat?’
Silence. Then, a muffled thump, from within the Dreadnought’s battle-damaged chassis. A foul-smelling fluid leaked out of it, running across the unnaturally smooth floor. Fabius recovered Torment from where it lay and jammed the haft beneath one of the buckled plates. After a moment’s effort, he had prised the damaged sarcophagus open.
Effluvia spilled out, sloshing about his legs. Something pale and shrunken lay within a nest of power cables and nutrient feeds, its flesh blistered and blackened. ‘You… live…’ Diomat croaked, in a breathy, weak voice. What was left of his chest rose and fell, leaking black, tarry blood with every exhalation.
‘Thanks to you, brother,’ Fabius said. Then, more hesitantly, ‘Why?’
The wrinkled, ravaged features twisted into a gruesome expression. Fabius realised he was trying to smile. ‘I… told you I would help you… Fabius. I will help you save our Legion. And I have done so.’ A shrunken claw rose from the murky soup of the sarcophagus and caught feebly at his shoulder. ‘I have saved you… so that you might save them.’ The bleary gaze sharpened, ruined eyes glinting. ‘You must, brother. You are the only one who can. I have always known this, and it has ever angered me. But the time for anger has passed.’
‘Diomat, you must let me…’ Fabius began. There were ways of preserving the inhabitant of a damaged amniotic sarcophagus. The methods were not kind, and Diomat would not thank him, but even so he was determined to try. The withered hand tightened its grip. The ravaged face twisted.
‘No. Not… not again. I no longer fear the pain. I have nothing left to suff
er. All that I am, has been written. Let… let it end. Let this moment stand.’ Diomat convulsed, frail wreckage battering itself against the sides of the sarcophagus. ‘Remember your promise,’ he screamed suddenly. ‘You promised, you promised, you promised!’ His voice rose to a ragged roar and Fabius didn’t need his sensors to tell him the sort of pain that the ruined warrior must be feeling, in these final moments.
He pulled himself free of the grasping claw, stepped back, and drew his needler. ‘I remember. Goodbye, brother. You have my thanks.’ He fired, and Diomat’s final scream was cut short. The wreckage settled back with a piteous cough. Fabius lowered his weapon. He fancied that it had never felt heavier, though he had known Diomat only a few scant centuries.
‘One more link in a broken chain,’ he murmured. One more piece of the old Legion gone, never to be recovered. But no more. This would be the last. There were others like Diomat, he knew. Old soldiers who would flock to Fulgrim reborn, looking to salvage something of the glories of the past. They would help him train the new generations. They would help him avoid the mistakes that had claimed their brothers.
Fabius laughed as he holstered his needler. A few hundred years ago, he had found the thought of rebuilding the Legion to be the sheerest hubris. A waste of time. Now it seemed anything but. He was not rebuilding the old Legion; rather he was recreating it. Perfecting it. The Third, as it was, would be destroyed for good – Eidolon and Alkenex and their ilk would be purged from the galaxy soon enough. And when they were nothing more than a memory, his new Legion would emerge and set about reordering the galaxy to his satisfaction. A new crusade, to lead his new humanity to their rightful place among the eternal stars.
A clicking sound drew him from his reverie. He turned, taking stock of his surroundings for the first time. Deceptively fragile-looking columns swept upwards all around him, and ornate archways marked the entrance to recessed galleries. They had fallen to a lower tier. If he strained, he could hear the sounds of fighting, drifting down from above. He wondered who would take charge in his absence.
The clicking sound came again. Louder this time, and more insistent. Tiny shapes swarmed out of the dark, in a vast undulation. Metal scarabs scuttled towards him from all directions in an unending wave. Fabius cursed and struck at the front ranks of the swarm, but the creatures paid him no mind. Instead, they split and moved around him, making for Diomat’s remains. Soon, the ancient Dreadnought was lost to view, buried beneath a heaving mound of worker-constructs. Fabius backed away, tardy scarabs scuttling about his feet, hurrying to the feast. ‘Even in death, you serve, brother,’ he murmured.
In the emerald darkness, something gave a harsh, mechanical chuckle.
‘A fine gift. One among many you have brought me.’ The voice echoed out of nowhere, and had an artificial quality to its tone which set his teeth on edge. Metal clanked against stone, growing louder.
Fabius turned towards a nearby staircase, Torment raised. The sound seemed to be coming from there. ‘Who’s there? Show yourself.’
‘We are much alike, you and I,’ the voice continued. The being descended the staircase, its scaly cloak clattering softly in its wake. ‘We see a greater picture than is evident to the lower orders. A canvas, made up of past, present and future. Of that I am sure. We share a magnitude of perception, Chief Apothecary Fabius, lieutenant commander of the Emperor’s Children Legion.’
‘You know my name. It is only polite that you share yours.’ Fabius tensed as the being came at last into the light. It resembled the automatons from earlier, but only barely. It was more ornate and heavily armoured, beneath its cloak and cowl. Ornamentation of gold and azure decorated its frame, and there seemed to be a mocking expression on its fleshless face. It bore a tall, bladed staff, topped by a flickering orb.
‘Forgive me. I forget the niceties, in my isolation. I am Trazyn, called by some the Infinite, Chief Archaeovist of the Solemnace Galleries. Master of Scattered Moments. Lord of the Great Library.’ Trazyn pointed his staff at Fabius.
‘And now, Fabius Bile, you belong to me.’
Chapter twenty-four
The Infinite
Evangelos died first.
The lupine mutant snuffled at the head of the search party, senses alert for any sign of its master’s enemies. The shot, when it came, was loud in the vast space of the hangar bay. Evangelos pitched backwards, head a red ruin.
‘Spread out, and take cover.’ Merix drew his bolt pistol, searching for targets. His followers sought cover among the gunships and fuel cylinders.
A second shot followed the first, this one from the direction they’d come. A Space Marine staggered forward, half of his head missing. He turned slowly, awkwardly, bolter stuttering out a blind reply to the shot that had killed him. As the body toppled backwards, Merix saw the first of the mutants, emerging from the forest of machinery.
‘Targets, mark alpha-sage,’ he roared, firing his bolt pistol. The twisted creatures swept towards the Emperor’s Children in a howling tide of flesh. Autopistols and stub-guns chattered, low-velocity rounds flattening themselves against garishly painted ceramite. Merix’s warriors endured this first fusillade easily, but the mutants outnumbered them ten or more to one. And not all of the creatures were stunted weaklings; some of them were hulking horrors, studded with bony carapaces and great, tearing claws. The giants crashed into the Space Marines with brutal enthusiasm, attempting to tear them limb from limb.
The Emperor’s Children met their attackers with equal fervour. Howling and laughing, they trampled, hacked and shot the deformed sub-humans who sought to drag them down, slaughtering them in their dozens. The battle swung in their favour slowly, but surely. A single Space Marine was worth a dozen lesser foes, if not a hundred.
Then, suddenly, something new came among them, and Space Marines began to die. Merix stared in growing horror at the thing that rampaged across the flight deck, and through the ranks of his warriors. A giant, clad in rudimentary armour, stained a royal purple. The blade it wielded was little more than a massive cleaver, but the being used it with a skill and grace at odds with its crudity. The saw-edged bite sank into ceramite with ease, rupturing the flesh and bone within. A Space Marine was flung high by the giant’s backswing, his body unravelling as it travelled the length of the bay.
Emperor’s Children moved to attack, but hesitated at the last moment, leaving themselves inexplicably vulnerable. Even those with clear shots seemed disinclined to take them. Merix knew why – he could feel it as well as they. The hideous, pressing familiarity of their opponent. The way it moved, the way it fought. But it couldn’t be. That was impossible. It simply could not be… Not here… not now.
Something struck his shoulder-plate, spinning him around with painful alacrity. He saw Igori through the press of battle, shuriken pistol in hand. She grinned fiercely and fired again, striking him in the chest-plate. He staggered back, returning fire, grateful for an enemy he could understand. She ducked and weaved through the fray, moving far more quickly than any normal human. Targeting runes spun about her form in his display, trying to lock on, but to no avail.
He fired regardless, trying to anticipate her. Mutants fell, their skulls and chests ruptured by his shots. She slid behind a Space Marine, a blade in her hand. Even as he fired, she drove the knife through the seals in the warrior’s helmet, opening his throat. Blood spurted from the wound. Merix’s shots punched craters into the legionary’s chest-plate and knocked him backwards. Igori was forced to fling herself aside to avoid being crushed, the shuriken pistol clattering from her grip.
Merix stomped towards her, shoving his way through the melee. He fired again, nearly taking her leg out from under her. She stumbled on the torn deck and fell, but rolled to her feet. As she rose, he was on her, batting her knife from her hand and catching her by the throat. Inexorably, he carried her backwards and slammed her against the hull. Her fists slammed into his torso a
nd arms, leaving behind bloody prints.
He set the barrel of his bolt pistol against her skull. Her skin reddened and began to smoulder from the heat of the weapon. ‘It did not have to come to this,’ he rasped. ‘You could have served us, as you served him.’
She bared her teeth at him. ‘No,’ she spat, ‘we could not.’
‘We have slaves enough, at any rate.’
Before he could pull the trigger, something clamped about the back of his helmet. Pressure seals whined and burst, as the ceramite buckled. He released Igori and swung his arm back, firing blind. A powerful blow hammered the pistol from his hand, snapping the bones in his arm in the process.
A moment later, he was wrenched from his feet and flung backwards. He crashed into the side of a gunship, denting its hull, and crumpled to the deck. Damage runes flickered across his display as his battleplate began to red-line from the impact. He felt as if he’d been struck by an artillery round.
The giant strode towards him, the deck shuddering beneath its tread. ‘You will not harm her. You will harm no one.’ The creature’s voice needed no artificial boosting. It thrummed out, filling the deck and stifling the sounds of battle. It was the tolling of a bell, the crash of a cannon, the sound of the sea lashing against the shore. The sound of it pierced Merix to his core, wounding him more deeply than any physical blow.
He knew that voice. Every son of the Third Legion knew it, as they knew their own. The voice that sang in their blood and whispered in the back of their minds, the voice of one who was as much god as father. Who had guided them out of slavery, and into the terrible wilderness of freedom. As it tolled out, the fighting came to an end. Some Emperor’s Children retreated. But others… others sank down to their knees, murmuring a name. The name. Fulgrim. The Risen Phoenix.
Fabius Bile: Clonelord Page 36
