He looked down at his hands. Wide, big-boned, with knuckles white in the pale flesh. ‘I killed them myself, and felt the relief in their souls as they passed into the Emperor’s Peace, out of the reach of the warp forever.’
‘I have felt the warp,’ Elijah said quietly. ‘I have sensed its approach more than once. I have heard the whispers of daemons in my sleep.’
‘Imagine them shouting, screaming, shrieking, laughing in your mind without surcease, day after day, for months on end. The hood helps, but it cannot shield you entirely.
‘In battle with the Great Enemy, Elijah, your torment will be unceasing. You will never know rest, and cannot ever let down your guard. It will come at you even in rare moments of silence, as welcome as a cold drink of water to a parched mouth. It is legion, and can take any form it wishes. Are you ready for that?’
‘I must be ready, some day,’ Elijah said. ‘Whether I stand or fall, there will come a time when I must confront the warp – even as you did, and all the members of the Librarium before me. That is the nature of our calling. You told me that, Brother-Librarian. And, lord, you taught me well.’
Vennan’s stone-dark eyes softened.
‘Know this then, Brother Kass. I am punishing you for your presumption. I will indeed accede to your request, and make you Epistolary Librarian for this expedition. But it is a probationary rank. With you shall go some of our human auxilia, monks of the Lexicanium whom I trust and esteem. They shall counsel you in my absence. And they shall monitor your behaviour. All that you do and say will be reported back to me. What say you to that?’
Elijah bowed, eyes bright.
‘I say thank you, lord, for giving me a chance to prove my faith and serve my Chapter.’
‘Save your gratitude. I send you because my place is here with the Kharne, and your other brethren in the Librarium are even less ready for this than you are. The expedition must have one of us with it. Captain Kerne will need counsel in his dealings with the Great Enemy, and you are well versed in the history of our dealings with them. Also–’ He paused. ‘Captain Kerne himself looks with favour upon your application, and Mortai’s commander is not a man to cross lightly.’
Despite himself, Eijah smiled. At once, a lance of white-cold pain speared through his temples, wrenching a groan from his lips.
You have the strengths and the weaknesses of the young. The worst of those weaknesses is arrogance. Be humble. Among normal humanity you are as a god. To the denizens of the warp you are an insect, to be plucked into the void for their amusement.
Elijah nodded, contrite.
‘Forgive me my pride, lord,’ he whispered.
One last thing, my young Epistolary-to-be. A piece of advice from one who has wrestled with the warp for longer than most.
At the last gasp, when euphoria or despair overcome you, and the warp is as warm and welcoming as the love of your brethren, remember this:
Death is your friend.
They stared at one another, one as bent and gnarled as a wind-warped tree, the other tall and straight with eyes of blazing cobalt, shining with life.
‘I will remember,’ Elijah Kass said.
THREE
Benedictio
The final blessing had been intoned by the Chief Reclusiarch, and the brothers of the Dark Hunters were filing out of the chapel. Almost the entire complement of the Chapter was present, close on six hundred Adeptus Astartes in the midnight-blue robes with the Axe of Justice stark upon the breast.
They filed out in silence, the final notes of the Te Deum hanging in the cavernous air above their heads. Banners and flags from a hundred different campaigns hung from the cantilevered stone beams that supported the chapel’s immense roof, and power-glims dialled low caught the faded colours that swayed back and forth as the Hunters passed beneath.
Jonah Kerne looked up as he passed down the nave. There was a tattered banner hung high inside the west transept of the immense building. Not much more than a rag, even his augmented eyesight could barely make out the device upon it.
Mortai’s Cerebrum et Haliaetum, Skull and Scales, hacked and pierced and burned, and stained with old blood. His blood, and Fornix’s, and Kharne Al Murzim’s. They had stood together under that banner at the Last Stand of the Third Company, and had held their ground in the ruins of this very chapel, until their brethren in the Brazen Fists had landed. They had started the day with sixty Adeptus Astartes, and by evening there were eighteen of them still standing.
How glorious it had been.
He entered the side-chapel, exchanging wordless nods with the faces that lifted to him as they passed.
There was Finn March of Primus, steady as a stone; Orsus, sergeant of Tertius Squad, the strongest Space Marine he had ever known. Nureddin of Secundus, his scalp-lock grey as hoar-frost, who had lost an arm in the Border battles two years before. Apothecary Passarion, his blue robe edged with saffron, the twisted snake-staff of his calling tattooed on his massive face. If there was a reason why Mortai had not missed having a Chaplain these last years, it was because of Passarion, whose piety went hand in hand with the skills of his calling.
And lastly there was Fornix, who smiled at Jonah as he brought up the rear of Third Company.
Mortai Company, the Fated Ones.
‘I will see you tonight,’ Kerne told his first sergeant, ‘after the Orders Conclave. We arm at sunrise, and embark straight after.’
‘It’s all in hand, captain,’ Fornix said.
‘Ambros’s new recruits?’
‘Distributed through the squads. We’ll shake down the company on the voyage.’
Kerne took Fornix by the arm, his pale face stern. ‘You spoke to the Forge-Master?’
‘Breughal will see the thing done handsomely. He is even seconding us some of his gun-servitors. And there is a small manufactorium on the Ogadai which he assures me is up and running.’
Kerne nodded, and was about to turn away when Fornix caught his eye.
‘What is it?’
‘Captain, Breughal is willing to embark a detachment of heavy armour if the Kharne will allow it.’
Kerne raised an eyebrow. ‘Generosity indeed. But it should not be necessary.’
‘Are we so sure of that, Jonah?’
‘The Kharne’s manifest has already been implemented, and Castellan Rubio carried it out to perfection. Besides that, the Chapter is so short of vehicles that it has been decided to conserve their use for emergencies.’
Fornix frowned. ‘The Kharne’s caution is–’
‘It is wisdom, Fornix. Phobian must retain the ability for a strong counter-strike after we depart.’
‘You think history is about to repeat itself?’
‘I think you need not worry about the Kharne’s strategic reasoning. Concentrate on Mortai.’
Fornix’s mouth twisted in a rueful grin. ‘At times like these I am glad to be a mere sergeant.’ He bowed his head and walked on.
The side-chapel was octagonal, and in the middle of its stone floor a raised plinth stood, intricately carved and run through and through with the sinuous snake of insulated cabling.
Pockmarks in the stone spoke of the long-ago battle for Phobian which had passed through here like a gale, and higher up in the vaulted ceiling the acid scars shone pale. They riddled certain flagstones of the floor in rounded depressions, as though the stone had been showered with molten tears.
When that battle had been won, all the surviving battle-brothers of the Chapter had congregated here to be blessed by the sole surviving Reclusiarch, Jord Malchai, for the rest of the chapel had lain in ruin.
There had been room for them all, because fewer than two hundred of them had remained.