But leading to where?
“I think destroying it out of hand would be a mistake. At least until we know its purpose.”
Ferrus’ levity frosted over and he grew serious. “It hasto be destroyed.”
Vulkan was stern. “We may unleash a greater evil.”
“What has got into you, brother?” asked Ferrus, his eyes narrowing.
“Something…” Vulkan shook his head. When his gaze went to the plinth beneath the arch, he saw a familiar face. “What is hedoing over there?”
Ferrus grabbed Vulkan’s arm to stop him from heading to the plinth. “We set charges and demolish this thing.”
Vulkan pulled free and returned his brother’s glare. “Indulge me, Ferrus.”
The Gorgon scowled but let go.
When Vulkan reached the plinth it was deserted. Verace was gone. He walked the entire vast perimeter. There was no sign of the remembrancer, but he did notice a disparity in the runic pattern around the plinth.
He summoned the Pyre Guard, drawing his hammer.
“Do you see that?” he asked his equerry.
Numeon pulled out his halberd. “I do, primarch. An opening.”
It was little more than a crack, an interruption in the runic formation around the plinth, but definitely a doorway.
The equerry nodded to Ganne and Igataron. “Open it.”
The two praetorians sheathed their blades and pressed their shoulders against the plinth wall. Leodrakk and Skatar’var took up posts either side with weapons ready. If anything came from within it would die a quick death should it choose to attack. The doorway was a rune-carved slab, tall enough to accommodate the Legionaries and fashioned from the same stone as the arch. It ground inwards, stone scraping stone, revealing a shallow stairway leading into a chamber sunken belowthe arch.
“Lower your blades,” said Vulkan.
The praetorians obeyed. Numeon and Varrun were the last to relent and eyed the shadows inside the plinth warily.
“What further horrors await us?” asked the equerry.
Vulkan was reminded of the small chamber beneath the forge, the one under the anvil that N’bel had sealed at his request.
“There is but one way to find out,” said the primarch. “I lead.”
Then he stepped through the doorway and was immersed in darkness.
“I HAVE so many questions…”
“Answers will come, but some only in time. Many you’ll have to discover for yourself.”
They sat together, overlooking the Pyre Desert as the sun set over its hostile sands. It was a barren, harsh land but it was home. Vulkan had believed it so, anyway. Everything he had learned in the last few hours had changed that, or at least it had changed how he thought of it.
He turned to regard the face of the Outlander. It was at once old, yet young; wise, yet innocent. There was benevolence in his tone that suggested understanding, but also a weight to his bearing that was either caused by sorrow or the burden of some great knowledge. Fire blazed in his eyes, not like Vulkan’s; this was a deeper furnace, a flame of will that would drive a great labour to fruition.
How much of this Vulkan perceived on his own and how much the Outlander conveyed to him, he didn’t know. He only knew he was bound for the stars and a life beyond Nocturne. As the hot wind roiling off the desert plain warmed his face and the scent of ash carried on the breeze, he knew he would miss his world deeply. It saddened him to think of leaving it.
“And I have brothers?” he asked.
The Outlander nodded. “You have many. Several are already waiting for you, as eager as I am for your return.”
That pleased Vulkan. Despite the unconditional acceptance of the Nocturne people, he had always felt alone. To know there were others of his true flesh and blood in the galaxy, and that he’d soon be reunited with them, was comforting.
“What will happen to my father, N’bel, I mean?”
“You need have no fear. N’bel and all of your people will be safe.”
“How, if I am not here to protect them?”
The Outlander smiled, and the warmth of it chased away Vulkan’s anxiety.
“Your destiny is a great one, Vulkan. You are my son, and you will join me and your brothers on a crusade that will unite the galaxy and make it safe for all of mankind.” His face fell suddenly to melancholy, and Vulkan felt a sympathetic ache in his heart at the sight of it. “But you must leave Nocturne, and for that I am truly sorry. I need you, Vulkan, more than you know, more perhaps than you’ll ever know. Of all my sons, you are the most compassionate. Your nobility of spirit and humility will keep your disparate siblings grounded. You are the earth, Vulkan, its fire and solidity.”
“I don’t know what you’re asking me to do, father.” It was strange to call the Outlander that, a man, or being, he barely knew and yet felt an undeniable connection to.
“You will. It pains me, but I will have to leave you all when you need me the most, but I’ll try to watch over you when I can.”
“I wish I knew what this all meant and what I am supposed to become.” Vulkan raised his face to the sky and watched the burning sun as it scorched all of Nocturne beneath its pitiless rays.
“You will, Vulkan. I promise you, when the time comes, you will know.”
A golden light suffused the Outlander, radiating from under his skin, as he cast off his disguise and revealed the truth…
HARBOURED BENEATH THE plinth was a vast and echoing catacomb. Something drew Vulkan downwards as he descended the steps in a daze. What he found when he reached the bottom made his fiery Nocturnean blood run cold.
“What is this place?” hissed Numeon.
Strange sigils were daubed on the walls, alien in origin, and there were shrines sunk into alcoves dedicated to aberrant deities. A procession of crude statues, long-limbed and androgynous of gender, lined the edges of a subterranean passageway that fed deeper into the complex. At the end of the passageway shadows were moving in the reflected glow of ritual firelight.
“A temple.” Vulkan’s voice was deep and thick with anger. He drew a gladius.
A susurrus of scraping metal followed as the Pyre Guard each unsheathed their own short swords. None would muddy their chosen weapons on filthy, graven priests.
“Tread quietly and in my wake,” Vulkan told them and began to move towards the flickering light.
A sick feeling took hold in the primarch’s stomach, something that had been growing ever since the boy-child from the jungle had confronted him. Insidious talons had sunk deep into him and were twisting at his resolve. He remembered the thoughts he’d had earlier when he’d considered what must have transpired on Ibsen before the Imperium had arrived to enlighten it.
How far from the Emperor’s light had the natives had fallen?
Vulkan reached the edge of another chamber. It was roughly circular, crudely hewn from the earth and packed with clay. There sigils were drawn upon the wall like before and totems placed at specific cardinal points around the room. In the centre was a ring of fire. A cadre of robed figures cavorted around it, chanting. It was the same lyrical mantras as sung by the female seer. Within the ritual circle, partly hidden by the rising flames, was a figure tied to a wooden column that supported the chamber roof. Runic symbols, alien symbols, were notched upon its surface too.