The staff head dims as he takes one more look around, casting his eyes skyward for a few seconds before the lenses fall on me.
‘It is not random that the World Eaters landed here,’ the warrior proclaims, booming voice echoing back from the cloister walls. ‘We must divine their purpose and how it fits within the scheme of the great ritual.’
I know better than to ask stupid questions at a time like this, but mention of ritual makes my skin crawl. The Space Marine nearest me lowers his boltgun and reaches a hand up to his helm. With a twist and a hiss, he frees the seals, pulling the helmet clear. The face within is flat, broad-nosed and utterly black. Eyes of red with penetrating black pupils watch me curiously. I gasp, unable to hold in my shock at the stark reminder that these are Space Marines, not to be confused with us poor mortal humans.
The fierce gaze softens and the Space Marine hangs his helmet from his belt. With a clang he mag-clamps the bolter to his thigh armour and turns towards Canoness Erasmisa.
‘I am Brother-Sergeant Ohuak of the Salamanders Chapter. We detected the launch of the Traitor Astartes and moved to intercept but were unable to arrive before they landed.’ He glances back at the gatehouse rampart, where Sisters Hospitaller are moving among the heaped dead, pulling a few lucky survivors from the wreckage of bodies. His gaze sweeps over us and back to Erasmisa. ‘The Sisters of the Argent Shroud have paid a high price for the Emperor today. As have… your allies?’
‘Mongrel strays attracted by our beacon,’ the canoness declares.
Ohuak pauses before replying, his expression distant for a moment. I work out that he must be listening to a vox-implant.
‘Brother-Librarian Afahiva thinks you should not be so quick to dismiss these strays,’ the sergeant says.
‘Librarian?’ I can’t stop a laugh blurting out. I look around, trying to see who he’s talking about. ‘You brought a Librarian with you? What are they going to do, read at the enemy?’
The warrior in blue strides across the cloister, his shadow falling over me with a chill. I see myself looking back from the dark of his eye-lenses, but for the briefest of moments I’d swear I see a skull where my face should be.
‘I am Afahiva,’ the Space Marine says. I babble apologies, overwhelmed by the immensity of the warrior that stands over me. I flinch as he reaches out a hand, but he rests the massive gauntlet gently on my shoulder and I can hear amusement from the address system. ‘I do read a lot of books, Lieutenant Kage.’
He straightens and lifts his hand, moving to point towards Schaeffer.
‘I saw your face in a waking dream.’ A finger beckons and the Colonel comes forward, brow furrowed. ‘Who are you?’
‘Colonel Schaeffer of the 13th Penal Legion.’ Schaeffer darts an angry glare at me. ‘I was ranking officer of the team that executed Overlord von Strab. Perhaps you saw my face in a bulletin or briefing?’
‘No.’ Afahiva turns his hidden stare to me again while the sergeant approaches; Old Preacher and the canoness edge closer too, trying to become part of the conversation. The Librarian’s hand moves over my head, staying there for a few seconds. I feel heat on the back of my neck and have to fight the urge to pull away from his scrutiny. Memories flicker on the edge of awareness and then the Librarian draws his hand back sharply.
‘The Burned Man?’ He looks at Ohuak. ‘One that has passed through the flames.’
‘It may mean nothing,’ the sergeant replies, his scarlet eyes regarding me for a moment before moving to Erasmisa and then Schaeffer. ‘Who is your military commander?’
‘Sister Superior Aladia leads in combat,’ Erasmisa replies. Her gaze roams around the courtyard for a moment, her expression turning even more sour. ‘If she has survived.’
Sergeant Ohuak turns away and heads across the cloister, I guess to find the Sister Superior.
‘You have our thanks, as I said,’ says Old Preacher. ‘I will send prayers to the God-Emperor for guiding you to us in timely fashion.’
‘I thought it was simply a scanner that drew our eye to this place, but there seems to be a greater matter resolving itself through this abbey,’ says Afahiva. ‘I can sense it still.’
The Librarian stiffens suddenly, his head snapping to the left, past the Colonel, hand moving to the hilt of his sword.
‘You!’ The other hand points accusingly. I turn to see that Oahebs has crept forward from the cluster of fighters gathered halfway down the cloister. ‘I feel your emptiness. Stay back. What brings you here?’
‘I did,’ the Colonel says quickly, fingers flexing in agitation at his sides. ‘He was one of my team.’
‘Yes, you went to Acheron to fetch this one.’ Afahiva glances at me before he continues. ‘The memories are raw and strong. The orks, they drove you out. In the wastes you joined forces.’
‘It is not permitted to–’ The Colonel stops the instant the helm of the Librarian turns towards him, silenced by the featureless glare.
‘I am not some sanctioned psyker of the Astra Militarum picking for scraps in your thoughts, Colonel. You are subject to my inquiry in whatever way I choose until I am satisfied that you have no malign involvement with the arrival of the infernal rift.’
At mention of the hole we all look up in reflex. It’s there still, churning the upper heavens, glinting with arcs of silver power.
‘Is it bigger?’ I whisper.
‘The breach is widening,’ Afahiva confirms. ‘The heretics that attacked you are attempting to draw down a far greater power than we have yet seen. Their master. The Red Angel, lord of the World Eaters.’
‘That sounds bad,’ I murmur, feeling a bit dizzy at the thought of something even worse than we’ve already seen arriving on Armageddon. Unbidden, a memory of the shadowed, winged nightmare from the underhive flashes through my thoughts. Like a hawk spying prey, Afahiva’s attention snaps back to me.
‘Indeed, Lieutenant Kage, something worse even than the bloodthirster.’
‘Bloodthirster…?’ I whisper the title, my skin crawling in recollection.
Sister Superior Aladia arrives with Sergeant Ohuak. Her armour is rent from the middle of the breastplate to her left shoulder, bloodstained down her side. There are bolt-impact scars across the silver, pits of grey and white in the metalled enamel. She has removed her helm, revealing a slender, pale face framed over the ears by hair dyed red, the outline of a red skull tattooed around her features.
She stops a few paces away, keeping her distance from the Space Marine psyker, expression tense.
‘The abbey has been secured, Brother-Librarian. There is no reason to delay your departure.’
‘There is cause to remain a while longer, but do not harbour any fears over our presence. It is in alliance that I wish to proceed. Are we not all warriors of the Emperor here?’
‘You are,’ Erasmisa says sternly. She looks at the ruined gate. ‘I am not, but I can see that our abbey is no longer secure.’
‘We will not abandon our duties,’ Aladia says harshly. ‘The Order of the Argent Shroud remains true to its oaths of protection. Now more than ever we must resist the darkness.’
‘As do the Salamanders,’ says Ohuak. ‘Do not judge the commanders of the Astra Militarum too harshly, Sister Superior. Several companies of the World Eaters threaten breakthrough south of here. If not for the withdrawal to the fresh lines their army would storm out of the Acheron pocket.’
‘It is not of grand strategy that we must speak,’ says Afahiva. ‘A more arcane purpose guides everything that passes on Armageddon these last few days, and I think your Sisters will be pivotal in helping us thwart the World Eaters in their diabolic intent.’
‘How so?’ says the Colonel. ‘If there is anything I can do to aid your efforts, you have my word I will provide it.’
I recognise that look in his eye. Purpose. Excitement, even?
Here it come
s, I think. Another Last Chance.
Fourteen
BLOODY RITUALS
Our little conclave breaks up while measures are taken to bolster the defences of the battle abbey. One of the Rhinos is brought out to stand across the ruined gateway, not much of a barrier but better than nothing. Sisters of Battle stand guard at the walls and towers while the Space Marines patrol outside, checking the rubble of the outer barbican for survivors and ensuring there are no more World Eaters nearby. The gunship rises to provide cover overhead, its shadow occasionally passing over the grey walls and bloodstained courtyard as it circles, the roar of engines closing and then receding with it.
‘Kage!’
I turn at the Colonel’s shout. Erasmisa, Aladia, Old Preacher and Schaeffer are standing by the doorway leading up to the chapel. He lifts a hand to beckon me over. As I make my way across the cloister, heavy footfalls catch up with me from behind, Afahiva and Ohuak passing me with long strides.
The Librarian has hung up his helm also, revealing coal-black features, younger than I would have thought. A livid pale scar cuts him from the bridge of his nose down both cheeks. Deliberate, not a battle wound. Which is impressive, given I’ve heard that Space Marines usually heal as good as new.
‘A mark of honour,’ he says, voice deep and resonant even without the suit’s address system. I realise I’m staring. There are metallic cables set into his bald scalp, connected inside the collar of his armour. A golden nimbus plays along the wires now and then. He reaches out with a finger and traces it around my face without touching. ‘Remember the teaching. The Emperor will not judge you by your medals and diplomas, but by your scars. You have honour too.’
‘Why is he here?’ Erasmisa demands, her scorn directed at me. ‘This is no discussion for criminals.’
‘Attend your own sin first, Sister,’ Old Preacher says sharply. ‘Kage risked his life on the wall when I did not. Which of us is more proper to attend a war council?’
Erasmisa gives him a look that suggests that perhaps the priest shouldn’t be attending either, but she says nothing as she turns towards the great doors leading to the chapel tower. The Space Marines duck beneath the lintel as they follow her, the stairwell within soon filled with their bulk and the noises of their armour. Afahiva’s staff thuds on the steps every few seconds, each impact like a tomb slamming shut.
Aladia motions for us to follow and I climb up the steps beside the Colonel, returning to the chamber where I discovered I might be a living saint. I definitely don’t feel like a saint beneath the unliving gazes of the tapestries and statues within.
But then again, why not? There have been saints from the Imperial Guard, like Macharius and Vesta, all the way back to Ollanius Pius himself, first and greatest. I mean, dress me up in some gold armour and wave a big flag behind me and maybe I would start to shape up a bit better against the images depicted in the hangings around us.
I join in as the Sisters and priest bow before the altar, making the sign of the aquila across my chest. The Colonel dips his head in respect, the Space Marines watch us with silent patience.
‘May I say a few words?’ says Old Preacher.
‘If you must,’ replies Erasmisa.
‘We do not have the time to indulge in the luxury of prayers,’ interrupts Ohuak. ‘The threat escalates while we delay.’
The priest looks put out but does not complain, withdrawing behind the altar with arms crossed.
‘As I spoke before, the attacks of the World Eaters are not random violence, but part of a carefully choreographed campaign of destruction,’ Afahiva tells us. ‘I believe that they came here to desecrate this abbey, to turn the faith imbued in the stones to a darker purpose.’
‘And though they have been thwarted, they may return,’ adds the Space Marine sergeant, eyes narrowing. ‘We cannot remain here to protect this place.’
‘We will hold until we are dead,’ says Erasmisa. She glances at Aladia. ‘If the Emperor wills it.’
‘It is not enough to defend ourselves against these attacks,’ the Librarian continues. ‘The slaughter of your Sisters is the desecration. Your blood is the unholy anointment of their ceremony.’
‘We need to take the battle to the World Eaters,’ the Colonel says, with more relish than such a suggestion really deserves. ‘An assault to disrupt their ritual at its source.’
‘That is our thinking,’ says Afahiva, smiling grimly. ‘And it is the intent of my fellow brothers of the Librarius. There is no physical victory that can be won here. This is a war of the soul, for every drop of blood spilled by either side strengthens…’
He falls silent, exchanging a guarded look with his sergeant.
‘The enemy ritual depends on bloodshed,’ Ohuak finishes. ‘All bloodshed. That is all you need to know.’
Need to know.
I remember the conversation with Orskya and think about what might have happened on Armageddon before. The ‘eaters of worlds’ she mentioned, stories of blood. This isn’t the first time. The thought of it, the ruthlessness to let a whole planetary population die to keep a secret… And what happens this time?
Nobody needs to know.
I keep my mouth shut, even though I want to ask all of the obvious questions. No need to remind our fine company that the lower beings like me aren’t meant to talk about warpborn. It explains the hesitation by everyone, nobody wanting to mention by name the thing that everyone has on their minds.
‘How do you stop them?’ I ask instead. ‘There’s got to be a way of disrupting the ritual, apart from not letting them kill anybody, I mean.’
‘The rift above the world is the opening through which their power flows,’ explains Afahiva. ‘Not just the… The heretics draw down this energy to fuel their ceremonies, and in turn their ceremonies widen the breach so that more immaterial force pours into our reality.’
‘We have isolated a few significant sites, where the World Eaters are concentrating their efforts,’ continues the sergeant. ‘Acheron is one of the most active but there are others across the continent of Armageddon Secundus and elsewhere.’
Afahiva draws his staff through the air, leaving a mist of gold in its wake. A wavering image of a world appears, showing the landmasses of the planet, pinpricks in eight different places glowing brighter. My mind plays tricks as I look at them, somehow imagining them as the outline of a geometric skull, though when I blink and look again they don’t seem to make that shape at all.
‘If we can disrupt the ritual at enough of these locations,’ says Afahiva, ‘the spiritual links between them will be broken and the psychic connection to the rift severed.’
‘Or perhaps break the link utterly at one site, if that is possible,’ says Ohuak. ‘That should begin a chain reaction that disrupts the entire ritual network.’
The image shimmers into dust and then disappears.
‘So, where do we attack?’ asks the Colonel.
‘The Librarius and forces drawn from the entirety of our Chapter are preparing to make strikes in the next two days,’ says the Librarian. ‘Our arrival here is a diversion from the objective where I have been assigned. Sister Aladia and her companions would be a welcome addition to our force.’
The Sister Superior nods, still not looking too comfortable with the whole idea.
‘The plan has much merit, but we cannot simply leave the abbey. There are Sisters from other orders here, lay adherents of the Ecclesiarchy we have to protect.’
‘Yes, the Brother-Librarian and I have discussed that,’ says Sergeant Ohuak. His gaze moves to the Colonel and then to me. ‘We believe we have a solution that will suit the capabilities of everyone assembled here.’
It’s mid-morning and the wind picks up, scattering the pollutant fog and the smoke of battle that was hanging around the abbey. Into this clear air stream the exhaust plumes of Rhinos and Immolators, their engines vib
rating the gatehouse where I’m standing with the Colonel, Orskya and a few others. Old Preacher, swathed in priestly robes, his staff of office in a gnarled hand. The straight-backed, severe figure of Canoness Erasmisa, mostly concealed beneath a dark green eco-cape and hood. Robed in black, Sister Superior Korinth, ranking member of the Sisters Hospitaller from the Order of the Torch.
About a hundred metres away the gunship of the Salamanders lifts up, plasma thrusters throwing out a wall of dust and ash that washes towards us. A fine dusting coats the wall and our clothes as it passes over, leaving everything patterned with drab browns and greys. I wipe a gloved thumb over the lenses of my goggles and watch the dark bulk of the Thunderhawk lift higher and higher until it disappears into the cloud layer.
Sister Superior Aladia mounts the steps of the gatehouse rampart and approaches. She carries herself as though approaching the canoness but Deniumenialis intercepts her, staff thudding down onto rockcrete still stained with the blood of Battle Sisters, hivers and wasters. The Sister Superior stops, lowering her bolter to her side, the light catching on the jewelled hilt of the power sword in its ornate scabbard on her right hip.
‘I cannot order you to comply with my wishes, Aladia, but I will make representation one more time,’ says Old Preacher. ‘The Sisterhood serves the will of the Imperial Creed, not the whims of the Adeptus Astartes.’
‘At present, I speak the will of the Ecclesiarchy,’ says Erasmisa, stepping forward to stand beside the Battle Sister.
‘Technically, this is no longer a military situation. Sister Superior Aladia does not have seniority.’
‘Technically?’ The canoness raises a hand towards the boiling break in reality that mars the heavens. ‘The anathema of the Emperor gains form and this world will be overrun within days. Heretics of the Traitor Legions wage war upon us, using our blood and faith to open a doorway for the most infernal of masters to bring destruction to this world, beings whose coming will be a beacon to thousands more of their depraved kind. I think we are in a military situation, revered preacher.’
Armageddon Saint - Gav Thorpe Page 19
