Fallen Angels

by Mike Lee

  ‘But you didn’t listen.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Daviel said heavily. ‘I and another knight succumbed to our curiosity. We pored through some of the oldest books as we readied them for packing. Towards the end, we spent more time reading than working to tell the truth.’

  ‘What was in the books?’ Zahariel pressed.

  ‘History. Literature. Art and philosophy. There were books on science, and medicine, and… forbidden things. Ancient, occult tomes, many of them written by hand.’ He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t understand most of it, but it was clear that the Knights of Lupus had been studying the great beasts – and the Northwilds itself – for centuries. They knew about the taint, though they didn’t fully understand it. They seemed to believe it was a force that could be summoned and controlled. I saw grimoires that purported to contain rituals for that very purpose.’

  His voice trailed away, and his face paled at the recollections. Zahariel watched him raise a hand to his ruined cheek, as though the old wound pained him once more. After a moment, the knight gave a shudder and shook his head roughly, as though waking from a vivid dream. He blinked his eyes a few times and focused on the Astartes once more.

  ‘Afterward, once the books were crated away and we were allowed to make the journey home, we tried to forget the things we’d seen.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Strange, of all the horrors we witnessed at that place, it was the memories of those books that haunted us most of all. We would talk about them sometimes, late into the night, trying to understand what it all meant. I believed that they heralded the next stage of our crusade; that once the great beasts had been destroyed, Jonson would dedicate our Order to driving the taint from Caliban once and for all.’

  Daviel’s face turned solemn. ‘Then the Emperor came, and everything changed. We traded one crusade for another, and I couldn’t understand why. If what was in those books was true, then Caliban was still in terrible danger. That, more than anything else, was why I left.’

  ‘Why?’ Zahariel asked.

  Daviel paused, struggling to find a way to put his thoughts into words. His hand reached up to absently rub his scarred temple.

  ‘I had to know the truth,’ he said at last. ‘The books had vanished, but the memories of what I saw stuck with me, like… like a thorn in the mind. I tried to tell myself that they were just fables – peasant myths, like the Watchers in the Woods – but guilt ate at me day and night. Because if the taint was real, the great beasts would just rise again, and everything we’d suffered would be in vain.’ The old knight sighed. ‘So I left the Order and embarked on one last quest – to find the surviving members of the Knights of Lupus.’

  Zahariel blinked in surprise. ‘But there were no survivors,’ he said. ‘Lord Sartana had summoned the entire order back to their fortress in the Northwilds. They died to a man in the final assault.’

  ‘So we were led to believe,’ Daviel replied. ‘Lord Sartana sent out the call, to be sure, but the Knights of Lupus were famous for sending their knights out to the farthest-flung parts of the world on strange and secretive quests. Not all of them could have made it back in time for the siege, or so I believed.’

  The Librarian frowned, trying to think back to the days immediately after the siege. Hadn’t Jonson made a statement of some kind about hunting for outlaw members of the Knights of Lupus? He couldn’t recall. A faint sense of unease stirred in his gut.

  ‘For the first few years I waited near the ruins of their fortress, waiting for the errant wolves to come home,’ Daviel continued. ‘I expected the survivors would try to return and see what they could salvage of their order. When none appeared, I began to search the frontiers for signs of their passage.’

  ‘Were you successful?’ Zahariel asked.

  Daviel nodded grimly.

  ‘As best I could tell, there were five Knights of Lupus who weren’t present at the siege,’ he replied. ‘I found the bones of three of them in the deep wilderness, where they’d tried to live for months after the destruction of their fortress. The fourth one I tracked to a half-ruined tower near Stone Point, on the other side of the world from the Northwilds. He fought me like a cornered animal, and when he realised that he couldn’t best me he leapt from the top of the tower into the raging sea rather than give up his secrets.’

  ‘And the fifth?’

  Daviel paused, casting a questioning glance at Remiel. The old master gestured for the knight to continue with a wave of his hand.

  The old knight sighed. ‘The last one was the hardest to track of all,’ he said. ‘He never stayed in one place for too long, passing like a ghost from one village to another. No one could remember for certain what he looked like, and he wore a great many names over the years. For a long time I couldn’t be sure if he was even real – until I turned up his horse and tack, still marked with sigils of his order, in a trade town at Hills End.’

  ‘What had become of him?’

  Daviel’s good eye narrowed. ‘According to the horse’s new owner, the man took his coin, bought some new clothes from a merchant, and then presented himself to a brother knight of the Order who was passing through the village in search of new aspirants.’

  The news stunned Zahariel. He looked to Master Remiel. ‘Surely someone would have realised—’

  Remiel arched an eyebrow at his former pupil. ‘How so? If he were a young knight, with no reputation and no sense of honour, he could claim to be a woodsman’s son and no one would be any wiser.’ His eyes bored into Zahariel. ‘With his skills and experience he could rise through the Order’s ranks quite rapidly, in fact.’

  Zahariel frowned. ‘What are you getting at?’ he demanded. Remiel’s expression turned bitter – and then the Librarian understood. Remiel saw the realization on Zahariel’s face and nodded. ‘Now you begin to see.’

  ‘No,’ Zahariel protested. ‘It’s impossible. Jonson would never have allowed—’

  ‘But he did,’ Remiel snarled, his voice sharpening with long-suppressed anger. ‘Did you never wonder why Jonson named an unknown young knight as the new Lord Cypher, entrusting him with all of our traditions and secrets?’

  Zahariel shook his head. ‘But why… what possible reason could he have for such a thing?’

  ‘Think, son,’ Remiel said, once more an impatient tutor instructing an obstinate pupil. ‘Put aside your damned idealism for a moment and think in terms of tactics. What would such a choice give Jonson?’

  Zahariel swallowed his shock and irritation and considered the matter in cold terms. ‘He chose someone with no ties to the Order’s senior knights or masters, whose loyalty was to him alone,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘Someone who could be counted on to act in Jonson’s best interests above everything else.’

  ‘And would keep his secrets, regardless of the consequences to everyone else,’ Remiel said.

  The Astartes considered the implications and felt a cold surge of horror. ‘I can’t believe this,’ he said, his voice hollow.

  ‘Can’t… or won’t?’ the old master said. ‘Do you imagine this was any easier for me to accept? I helped raise Lion El’Jonson when Luther brought him back from the wilderness. He was like a son to me.’

  ‘But why?’ Zahariel protested. ‘Why all the secrets and deceptions? We were sworn to him, Remiel. He already had our oaths. We would have followed him into Old Night itself if he asked.’

  Remiel didn’t answer at first. Zahariel watched the old master’s anger fade, like heat from a dying ember, giving way to anguish, and then finally, to an empty, barren sadness.

  ‘It’s not that any of us lost faith in Jonson,’ he said softly. Tears glimmered at the corners of his eyes.

  ‘Somewhere along the line, he lost faith in us. Wherever he and the Emperor are headed, we aren’t meant to follow. All we can do now is reclaim what was once ours.’

  The thought stung Zahariel, like a knife pricking at his heart. He tried to gainsay Remiel, to find some fault in the old master’s bleak logic. They spent th
e last few minutes of the flight in silence.

  WHEN THEY REACHED Aldurukh, Zahariel cased himself in his armour and took up bolt pistol and staff before leading Remiel and Daviel to the Grand Master’s chambers. He found Lord Cypher there, as he expected he would.

  Cypher glanced up sharply from the reports piled atop the desk. His eyes widened as he saw the rebel leaders. It was the first time Zahariel had ever seen the Astartes taken by surprise.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Cypher demanded coldly.

  ‘Take us to Luther,’ Zahariel demanded. ‘Now.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ Cypher replied, regaining some of his inscrutable poise. ‘As I’ve told you many times, brother, Luther is in meditation and does not want to be disturbed—’

  ‘He will when he hears what we have to say,’ Zahariel shot back. ‘Caliban’s survival is at stake.’ His hand tightened on his staff. ‘If you won’t take us to him, then tell us where he can be found.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ Cypher replied coolly. ‘My orders are from the Master of Caliban. You haven’t the authority to countermand them.’ ‘Surely Luther expects to be informed in the event of an emergency,’ Zahariel persisted.

  Cypher smiled thinly. ‘Why, of course. Give me the message and I’ll relay it to him immediately.’

  Zahariel felt a surge of anger. Before he could reply, however, he heard heavy footfalls behind him. He turned to see Brother-Librarian Israfael and Chapter Master Astelan standing just inside the doorway. Israfael eyed Daviel and Master Remiel with wary surprise, while Astelan’s eyes flashed with irritation when he caught sight of Zahariel.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Astelan said. ‘I’ve been searching for you all over Aldurukh!’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Zahariel asked, already fearing what he might hear. If Astelan hadn’t used the vox to contact him it could only mean one thing.

  ‘Half an hour ago we began hearing of wide-scale rioting at the Northwilds arcology,’ Astelan said grimly. ‘Mobs of panicked civilians have rushed the barricades around the hab levels. Many of them are claiming that the Imperials are secretly in league with sorcerers who mean to sacrifice them to the warp.’

  Daviel let out an angry groan. ‘Thuriel’s behind this,’ he said. ‘That short-sighted idiot has damned us all.’

  Zahariel felt a chill race up his spine. ‘What about the Jaegers?’ he asked. ‘I ordered General Morten to open the cordon and begin relocating the civilians.’

  Astelan shook his head in exasperation. ‘We’re getting wildly conflicting reports,’ he said. ‘We’ve heard that some units have opened fire on the rioters, while others have thrown down their arms or even switched sides. The Administratum officials at the arcology have contacted Magos Bosk, and she is demanding to know what we’re doing about the situation.’

  ‘I told you that we couldn’t keep this a secret from her,’ Israfael interjected angrily. ‘She’s probably drafting an urgent report to the primarch right now, accusing us all of negligence. And she would be right to do so!’

  ‘That’s not the worst of it,’ the chapter master said, cutting Israfael off with an angry glare. He turned back to Zahariel. ‘There’ve been fragmentary transmissions from Jaeger patrols on the lower hab levels, reporting that they’re under attack.’

  ‘Under attack?’ Zahariel echoed. He eyed the rebel leaders. ‘By whom?’

  ‘By the dead,’ Astelan replied.

  The words hung heavy in the chamber.

  ‘It’s over,’ Remiel said, putting a voice to their thoughts. ‘We’re too late.’

  Zahariel shook his head stubbornly. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not yet.’ He turned back to Cypher, his face pale with anger. The hooded Astartes started to say something, then recoiled with a gasp of pain as Zahariel sent a probe of psychic energy into Cypher’s mind.

  ‘The time for dissembling is past,’ Zahariel said, his tone as cold and sharp as ice. ‘Take us to Luther. Now.’

  Cypher gritted his teeth under the psychic onslaught. ‘I won’t…’

  ‘Then I’ll dig his location out of your brain,’ Zahariel said, ‘along with any other secrets you’ve been keeping. I can’t say there will be much left of you afterwards, though.’

  Zahariel drove his probe deeper into Cypher’s mind. The Astartes went rigid. A thin trickle of blood seeped from one nostril. ‘Stop!’ Cypher said in a choked whisper. ‘I’ll do it! I’ll take you to him! Just—’

  He slumped with a groan as Zahariel released him. Cypher’s head drooped for a moment, his shoulders heaving. When he looked up at the Librarian, his expression was savage.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re trifling with, you fool,’ Cypher snarled. ‘The primarch—’

  ‘The primarch isn’t here,’ Zahariel said coldly. ‘So I’ll trifle with whatever I must. Now get up. We haven’t any more time to waste.’ Cypher got up from behind the desk without another word. They followed him from the room, hovering at his shoulder like ravens.

  CYPHER LED THEM into darkness, deep within the bowels of the Rock.

  From the Circle Chamber, they descended through a secret stairway at the top of the Grand Master’s dais that Zahariel never knew existed, yet at the same time seemed tantalisingly familiar. Try as he might, he couldn’t reconcile the two notions; the more he concentrated, the more his head began to ache. Finally, he decided to let the matter go rather than compromise his already frayed concentration. The pain in his skull subsided, but didn’t entirely vanish.

  The stairwell ended at a low-ceilinged room that might once have been a meeting space in times past; now the ancient brickwork was pierced by modern archways of fused permacrete that continued even further into the depths. Cypher led them through the dimly-lit passageways without hesitation, threading his way through a labyrinth of tunnels that began to tax even Zahariel’s genetically-enhanced memory. Deeper and deeper they went, down into the very heart of the mountain, until it felt as though they had been walking for hours. Zahariel reckoned they were more than a thousand metres down when Cypher turned down a narrow, vaulted corridor that abruptly ended at a tall, arched doorway. The doors themselves, Zahariel noted with surprise, were plated with adamantium, and set in a reinforced frame. Anything powerful enough to breach that portal would also incinerate anything on the other side, his trained mind noted.

  Standing before the doors, Cypher dug a sophisticated electronic key from within his robes. With a last, furious glance at Zahariel, he held the key up to the portal and touched the actuator. Bolts drew back into the frame with an oiled clatter, and the tall doors swung silently inward.

  The library within was built vertically, its packed shelves rising on eight sides to a vaulted ceiling fifty metres overhead. Long, thin lumen strips set into the stone at the corners of the eight walls filled the space with pellucid light. The air smelled faintly of ozone and machine oil. High up along the walls Zahariel could see four small logo-servitors waiting unobtrusively in the shadows, clinging to the walls with their spindly limbs and watching the Astartes with small, red eyes.

  Zahariel reckoned the floor of the library was perhaps thirty paces across, covered with thick rugs to combat the subterranean chill. Reading desks and heavy wooden tables were arrayed haphazardly about the room, piled with open books and ancient, musty scrolls. More books were scattered in drifts across the floor, between and beneath the tables. There were so many that the Astartes were forced to pause just beyond the threshold, afraid of treading upon the fragile tomes.

  The air in the library was utterly still, heavy with the dust of ages. The only sound Zahariel could hear was the soft whirring of servomotors overhead. A current of invisible energy, faint but palpable, sent tendrils of ice spreading through his skull.

  He drew a breath and spoke into the cathedral silence. ‘Luther? My lord, are you here?’

  A figure stirred in the shadowy depths of a high-backed chair near the centre of the room. Zahariel could just make out the head and shoulders of a man, li
mned in the faint, bluish-silver light.

  ‘Zahariel,’ Luther replied. His voice was rough, as if from long hours of exertion. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

  Lord Cypher took a cautious step forward, distancing himself from the rest of the Astartes. ‘I beg your forgiveness, my lord,’ he said with bowed head. ‘They would not honour your wishes.’

  Zahariel glared at Cypher’s back. ‘This has nothing to do with anyone’s wishes,’ he snapped. ‘This is a time of crisis. Caliban stands upon the brink of disaster, my lord. The Legion must act, now, or all is lost.’

  Luther rose slowly from the chair and stepped forward into the light. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks hollowed, as though from the ravages of a terrible illness, and there were dark ink marks on his hands, wrists and throat. The Master of Caliban paused, his cracked lips working as he peered at the figures standing at Zahariel’s shoulder.

  ‘Master Remiel?’ he said. ‘Is this a dream? I thought you long dead.’

  ‘I continue to confound my enemies, my lord,’ Remiel answered with a faint smile.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Luther said. His expression turned sombre. ‘But I see you travel in the company of rebels these days,’ he said, pointing to Sar Daviel. ‘Is it me you seek to confound now, master?’

  Remiel didn’t flinch from the accusation. ‘No loyal son of Caliban is an enemy of mine,’ he answered coolly.

  Zahariel studied Luther with concern. ‘My lord, when did you last eat or drink?’ he asked. Though an Astartes could go for many weeks with minimal nourishment, he knew that Luther’s body hadn’t received the full suite of metabolic enhancements. By the look of things, Zahariel feared that he’d been fasting for weeks.

  The Master of Caliban ignored the question. ‘What is going on here, brothers?’ he asked, his voice regaining some of its strength and authority.

  ‘The truth has become known,’ Israfael said grimly. ‘Rumours have spread through the Northwilds that the Imperium is in league with sorcerers,’ he spat angrily. ‘Riots have broken out, and the Administratum is up in arms.’