False Gods

The power of the wind seized him in its grip and he let it take him, spinning him up into the air and Horus opened his arms as he was reunited once again with his brothers.

The abyss of the warp vortex yawned above him like a great eye of terror and madness.

He surrendered to its power and let it take him into its embrace.

SIXTEEN The truth is all we have Arch prophet Home

For once Loken was inclined to agree with Iacton Qruze when he said, 'Not like it used to be, boy. Not like it used to be.'

They stood on the strategium deck, looking out over the ghostly glow of Davin as it hung in space like a faded jewel. 'I remember the first time we came here, seems like yesterday.'

'More like a lifetime,' said Loken.

'Nonsense, young man,' said Qruze. 'When you've been around as long as I have you learn a thing or two. Live to my age and we'll see how you perceive the passage of years.'

Loken sighed, not in the mood for another of Qraze's rambling, faintly patronising stories of ''the good old days''.

'Yes, Iacton, we'll see.'

'Don't dismiss me, boy,' said Qruze. 'I may be old, but I'm not stupid.'

'I never meant to say you were,' said Loken.

'Then take heed of me now, Garviel,' said Qruze, leaning in close. 'You think I don't know, but I do.'

'Don't know about what?'

'About the "half-heard" thing,' hissed Qruze, quietly so that none of the deck crew could hear. 'I know fine well why you call me that, and it's not because I speak softly, it's because no one pays a blind bit of notice to what I say.'

Loken looked into Qruze's long, tanned face, his skin deeply lined with creases and folds. His eyes, normally hooded and half-closed were now intense and penetrating.

'Iacton—' began Loken, but Qruze cut him off.

'Don't apologise, it doesn't become you.'

'I don't know what to say,' said Loken.

'Ach… don't say anything. What do I have to say that anyone would want to listen to anyway?' sighed Qruze. 'I know what I am, boy, a relic of a time long passed for our beloved Legion. You know that I remember when we fought without the Warmaster, can you imagine such a thing?'

'We may not have to soon, Iacton. It's nearly time for the Delphos to open and there's been no word. Apothecary Vaddon is no nearer to finding out what happened to the Warmaster, even with the anathame.'

'The what?'

'The weapon that wounded the Warmaster,' said Loken, wishing he hadn't mentioned the kinebrach weapon in front of Qruze.

'Oh, must be a powerful weapon that,' said Qruze sagely.

'I wanted to go back down to Davin with Torgaddon,' said Loken, changing the subject, 'but I was afraid of what I might do if I saw Little Horus or Ezekyle.'

'They are your brothers, boy,' said Qruze. 'Whatever happens, never forget that. We break such bonds at our peril. When we turn from one brother, we turn from them all.'

'Even when they have made a terrible mistake?'

'Even then,' agreed Qruze. 'We all make mistakes, lad. We need to appreciate them for what they are - lessons that can only be learned the hard way. Unless it's a fatal mistake, of course, but at least someone else can learn from that.'

'I don't know what to do,' said Loken, leaning on the strategium rail. 'I don't know what's happening with the Warmaster and there's nothing I can do about it.'

'Aye, it's a thorny one, my boy,' agreed Qruze. 'Still, as we used to say back in my day, "When there's nothing you can do about it, don't worry about it" '

'Things must have been simpler back in your day, Iacton,' said Loken.

'They were, boy, that's for sure,' replied Qruze, missing Loken's sarcasm. 'There was none of this quiet order nonsense, and do you think we'd have that upstart Varvaras baying for blood back in the day? Or that we'd have had remembrancers on our own bloody ship, writing treasonous poetry about us and claiming that it's the unvarnished truth? I ask you, where's the damn respect the Astartes used to be held in? Changed days, young man, changed days.'

Loken's eyes narrowed as Qruze spoke. 'What are you talking about?'

'I said it's changed days since—'

'No,' said Loken, 'about Varvaras and the remembrancers.'

'Haven't you heard? No, I suppose you haven't,' said Qruze. 'Well, it seems Varvarus wasn't too pleased about you and the Mournival's return to the Vengeful Spirit with the Warmaster. The fool thinks heads should roll for the deaths you caused. He's been on the vox daily to Maloghurst demanding we tell the fleet what happened, make reparations to the families of the dead, and then punish you all'

'Punish us?'

'That's what he's saying,' nodded Qruze. 'Claims he's already had Ing Mae Sing despatch communiques back to the Council of Terra about the mess you caused. Bloody nuisance if you ask me. We didn't have to put up with this when we first set out, you fought and bled, and if people got in the way then that was their tough luck.'

Loken was aghast at Qruze's words, once again feeling the shame of his actions on the embarkation deck. The innocent deaths he'd been part of would remain with him until his dying day, but what was done was done and he wouldn't waste time on regret. For mere mortals to decree the death of an Astartes was unthinkable, however unfortunate the events had been.

As troublesome a problem as Varvarus was, he was a problem for Maloghurst to deal with, but something in Qruze's words struck a familiar chord.

'You said something about remembrancers?'

'Yes, as if we didn't have enough to worry about.'

'Iacton, don't draw this out. Tell me what's going on.'

'Very well, though I don't know what your hurry is,' replied Qruze. 'It seems there's some anonymous remembrancer going about the ship, dishing out anti-Astartes propaganda, poetry or some such drivel. Crewmen have been finding pamphlets all over the ship. Called the "truth is all we have" or something pretentious like that.'

'The truth is all we have,' repeated Loken.

'Yes, I think so.'

Loken spun on his heel and made his way from the strategium without another word.

'Not like it was, back in my day,' sighed Qruze after Loken's departing back.

It was late and he was tired, but Ignace Karkasy was pleased with the last week's work. Each time he'd made a clandestine journey through the ship distributing his radical poetry, he'd returned hours later to find every copy gone. Though the ship's crew was no doubt confiscating some, he knew that others must have found their way into the hands of those who needed to hear what he had to say.

The companion way was quiet, but then it always was these days. Most of those who held vigils for the fallen Warmaster did so either on Davin or in the larger spaces of the ship. An air of neglect hung over the Vengeful Spirit, as though even the servitors who cleaned and maintained it had paused in their duties to await the outcome of events on the planet below.

As he walked back to his billet, Karkasy saw the symbol of the Lectitio Divinitatus scratched into bulkheads and passageways time and time again, and he had the distinct impression that if he were to follow them, they would lead him to a group of the faithful.

The faithfuclass="underline" it still sounded strange to think of such a term in these enlightened times. He remembered standing in the fane on Sixty-Three Nineteen and wondering if belief in the divine was some immutable flaw in the character of mankind. Did man need to believe in something to fill some terrible emptiness within him?