Lords of Blood, page 84
‘What is the problem? Is it exposure to the daemonkin?’ Antargo shook his head. ‘More and more people are being confronted by these nightmares. The whole galaxy is going mad.’
‘What once was secret is now impossible to hide. There was a time in my life when a Chapter exposed to the things of the warp would have been mind-wiped. Worlds have been burned by friendly hands for witnessing less than what we saw aboard the Dominance. But it is not that,’ said Dante. ‘I believe he has the fortitude to survive encountering them. He has a simple case of combat shock.’
‘You’re saying exposure to daemons did him less harm than fighting?’ said Antargo. ‘Incredible.’
‘He made a costly mistake. It haunts him. An admiral must be confident, to the point of arrogance, and a serious error can shake a man like that.’
‘They’re so weak,’ said Antargo dismissively.
‘Tell me, captain, is it a sign of weakness to suffer a grave psychological injury and then recover from it? We are arrogant. We think ourselves immune to human frailties. If that is so, why are there warriors out there, in armour designed by Terran smiths, and with bodies empowered by the Emperor, fighting on the side of the Ruinous Powers? Space Marines are men. Their minds are stronger, but they can break.’
Antargo paused a moment before speaking next. ‘My lord, what if Danakan does not recover? How will you deal with that?’
‘Then I shall replace him, captain. A pity, but if it must be so, then it will.’
They left Dante’s quarters, and went out into the wider ship. All was quiet. They saw no one.
‘How are your men?’ asked Dante.
‘They are fine,’ said Antargo. ‘Excepting those taken by the Rage.’ He became almost angry.
‘Have our Chaplains screen the men for diabolical contamination, never-theless.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with them,’ Antargo insisted. ‘They’re veterans of Lord Guilliman’s crusade. They fought worse creatures than those perfumed wretches when they were Unnumbered Sons.’ Antargo was displeased. ‘I know we are new to the Chapter and the ways of Baal, but I assure you that my men will do nothing to dishonour the memory of the Great Angel. They are pure of heart and spirit.’
‘As were the Legions in the days of Horus, my brother. Monitor them. Have them speak with your company Chaplain daily. The worst enemies come from within. We are exposed to the warp when we travel. We battle creatures of terrible evil. Corruption can take root in the stoutest heart. And now we have this new problem with our bloodline’s curse.’
‘As you say,’ said Antargo. ‘I’ve never seen it in the Mars-born. Four of them fell into madness. They were good warriors, now they are little more than raging beasts.’
‘They have been granted a vision of our lord, the Angel,’ said Dante. ‘In some sense they are blessed. There have been some among the newcomers who feared they could never be true sons of Sanguinius without the Thirst or the Rage. That is no longer the case.’
‘Should I be thankful? They lost everything for this moment of revelation,’ said Antargo. ‘They were good men. A bitter draught to drink.’
‘Indeed,’ said Dante. ‘All hope that your kind was immune has gone. It is a grave development.’ Dante thought a moment. ‘We must get to the bottom of why it happened here and now. If we are fortunate, then its triggering here was a unique occurrence. However, we must also deal with the issue of Mephiston, whatever the truth of the Primaris brothers’ susceptibility to the Rage. Has he become a risk to us all?’
‘The daemon said the curse could be cured, Maybe it did this as a display of power.’
‘Daemons lie, Captain Antargo. Daemons are lies, and we can credit none of what it said as truth until otherwise verified. For now, we can only rely on what we have seen, and what we know. Firstly, as far as we know, no Primaris Marine has ever succumbed to the Black Rage. Secondly, they did so only in the presence of Mephiston. The triggering of the Rage could have been a trick of the daemon, or it could have been an effect of Mephiston’s powers.’
‘Rhacelus will tell us.’
‘Perhaps he will.’
‘You are calm, my lord.’
‘Calmness is a great virtue, captain. Despair serves no man. Even now, at this black hour, I must remain aloof from the implications of this circumstance if I am to understand it.’
They spent the rest of the journey to the Sanctum Psykana discussing the lesser matters of supply, morale among the non-Astartes personnel, and journey times. Seemingly insignificant matters dictate the outcome of all endeavours, and they had to address them, as all great men must, if they wish to remain great.
Rhacelus met them at the doors to the Librarius. Not even Dante could enter the Sanctum Psykana without permission. A pair of acolytes stood guard outside. They had been granted their armour, and this was the celestial blue of the Librarius, but otherwise they retained the basic Chapter heraldry, having not yet been initiated into the mysteries of their sub-order. Dante did not know them. He wondered if they would succeed in earning the moulded badges of a battle psyker. Attrition among recruits to the Librarius was high.
Rhacelus stood proudly at the threshold, his horned skull staff set against the floor, but he had yet to recover. His skin was grey, and the warp light of his eyes dim. There was more white in his beard than before.
‘Lord Commander Dante requests entry to the Librarius,’ Dante said.
‘As do I, Captain Antargo of the Third Company,’ said Antargo.
‘Do you approach free of doubt and mental weakness?’ said Rhacelus.
‘We do,’ the commander and captain said simultaneously.
‘Then I bid you enter,’ said Rhacelus.
The short ritual over, Rhacelus seemed to lose some of his strength, and leaned on his staff for support when he stepped back to allow the officers entry. Dante and Antargo went inside. The Sanguinary Guard remained without, taking up position next to the acolytes.
Dante stopped inside the entrance. ‘How do you fare, Gaius?’ he asked.
‘I am recovering.’
‘Your wounds?’
‘They are more mental than physical, my lord,’ Rhacelus said. ‘My facility with the warp has been reduced, temporarily, I believe, but it pains me yet. I have never been in contact with such power. I was in battle, my mind fully alert, and my gear primed to protect me, and yet – Mephiston’s strength...’ He looked at Dante worriedly. ‘It overwhelmed me.’ He smiled. ‘I have a terrible headache.’
‘You are strong, Gaius. You will recover,’ said Dante.
‘Given time, aye, I will,’ said Rhacelus. ‘Mephiston is another matter.’
‘Where is the Lord of Death?’
‘He is secure. I will show you, come.’
Rhacelus led Dante and Antargo into the centre of the sanctum. The Librarius’ territory took up the entirety of a subsidiary tower attached to the command decks. It was a vast space for so few warriors. Even if all of the Chapter’s psykers had been present they would have been lonely figures in the Sanctum Psykana. Most of its space was taken up by rooms of neatly stacked data crystals. Bloodcaller and the Blade of Vengeance had identical facilities, copies of the Chapter’s archives on Baal held against the originals’ loss. Other chambers were equipped as scriptoria, where the Librarians could record the details of every campaign Bloodcaller took part in. Ancient tradition harking back to the time of the IX Legion dictated that the scriptoria have many stations, though there were not sufficient staff in all of the Librarius to fill even one.
‘You said there are matters that should be discussed,’ Dante said as they walked silent corridors. ‘I would hear them now.’
‘In the years since his rebirth, Mephiston’s power has been growing. Calistarius was powerful, but…’ Rhacelus’ voice trailed away.
‘I am aware of this,’ said Dante. ‘It has disquieted me for a long time. I am sorrowed that my suspicions have proven correct.’
They came to a great door of brass, covered in esoteric symbols inlaid with silver.
‘He is in here,’ said Rhacelus.
‘Open the door, Epistolary. Let me see him,’ said Dante.
Rhacelus bowed his head, and removed a ring of keys from his belt. There were many locks in the door, and he muttered warding cantrips as he unlocked each.
They stepped into a spherical chamber. A sarcophagus hung in the middle, suspended in a contragrav field. Four spinning, nested rings engraved with sigils orbited it. Flexible pipes and wires snaked up from a circular aperture from the floor, feeding Mephiston blood.
‘Do not step over the line,’ said Rhacelus. He indicated a ring of solid salt that ran around the room, the first of several protective circles of increasing complexity, until the innermost became an illustrated wonder, filled with minor works of art. Machines sang under the golden decking. ‘Can you feel his might?’
Dante nodded. ‘I can.’ There was a pressure radiating from the sarcophagus. It was gentle, a dull push against the mind, but hinted at great power.
‘He is warded by every art of the Librarius. This chamber is used to contain the direst of psychic threats. In here, we take that which cannot be destroyed for containment in the Carceri Arcanum.’
‘This is making me uneasy,’ said Antargo.
‘It should, captain,’ said Rhacelus. ‘Mephiston is the most powerful psychic being I have ever encountered. Power such as his is not meant to be wielded by men.’
‘How did this come to pass?’ asked Antargo. ‘Is the Rift the cause?’
‘Mephiston’s growth in strength began before the Rift opened. Do you know the story, Captain Antargo?’
‘Some details. Only the legend, not the true account,’ said the captain.
‘It happened at the battle for Hades Hive during the Second War for Armageddon.’ Rhacelus stared at the stern ivory face on the casket exterior as he spoke. ‘He was Calistarius then, my friend, a fine warrior and worthy psyker. During the battle he went missing, and we thought him lost. He had been caught by a partial collapse of the hive, and buried beneath its rubble. While he was entombed the Black Rage descended on him. For seven days and nights he warred with himself, finally succeeding in overcoming the Black Rage entirely. He is, as far as we know, the only Blood Angel ever to achieve this feat.’
‘Chaplain Lemartes also mastered it, did he not?’ said Antargo.
‘Lemartes still suffers from the Black Rage,’ said Rhacelus. ‘It is only through sheer act of will that he manages to retain his sanity while experiencing the visions of our lord’s end. By any objective measure he is quite mad. Mephiston is different. He has cast out the Rage completely. The changes to him did not stop with this miracle. When he emerged from the wreck of the hive, he was transformed in mind, body and spirit. He was faster, stronger and more deadly than any Librarian before him. But he was also silent where Calistarius was voluble, solitary when Calistarius was gregarious. He does not accept that name any more. Calistarius, he says, is dead. In a sense I believe him to be right. His memory of his earlier life is certainly incomplete. The Sanguinary Priests say his gene-seed was reactivated somehow, rewriting his gene-code into something else, something new. I believe it to be something more profound. A spiritual transformation more than a physical one.’
‘Is this something that exists in all of us?’
Rhacelus smiled grimly. ‘That is a question Corbulo has asked a great many times. He is ever one to seize on a cure to the flaw, but when Mephiston was examined, whatever qualities his gene-seed has were elusive. Corbulo wanted to experiment further.’
‘I denied him,’ said Dante. ‘Mephiston is dangerous. The Black Rage is a part of who we are. It should not be toyed with. Corbulo has been searching for a cure his entire life, but in this case, where the changes wrought on Calistarius were so extensive, and so clearly connected to the warp, I could not countenance their further exploration. Corbulo was being drawn onto the path of sorcerous genomancy.’
‘Then why did you permit Mephiston to live?’
‘He is our brother,’ said Dante. ‘You have seen him fight.’
‘We accepted him back, content that Calistarius had returned to us, only it soon became apparent that he was no longer Calistarius,’ said Rhacelus. ‘He was astonishing. Nobody in the annals of the Chapter is recorded as being able to achieve feats like his. In little time, he had risen to the head of the Librarius, though he was forced to submit to many tests and trials by the Council of Bone and Blood before his appointment was approved. Since then his abilities have been growing year after year. After the attack on Baal, and our deflection of Ka’Bandha from Baal to Baal Primus, these gifts have become greater. In battle he is unstoppable. But there are consequences.’
‘The Black Rage,’ said Antargo. ‘He triggered it in my men.’
‘We cannot say that for certain. The Great Rift has opened,’ said Dante. ‘Many strange things are afoot. Daemons stalk the stars at will. The Astronomican is shrouded. I have received reports of an increased prevalence of psykers in the systems we are in contact with. That is another task to attend to, the finding and the protection of the Black Fleets.’ Dante looked thoughtfully at Mephiston’s casket. ‘Corbulo has notified me of a rising incidence of the Rage among our veterans. The Red Thirst hounds us harder, even those of Cawl’s Gift. Can Mephiston be responsible for all of that? The galaxy is a large place. Mephiston has been at my side since the fall of the Arx Angelicum. He showed no sign of influence on the warriors of the Blood then.’
‘But we witnessed the Black Rage in the Primaris Space Marines for the first time, right in front of us,’ said Antargo. ‘It cannot be coincidence that it occurred when Mephiston lost control of his powers. The psychic shock of it killed his own brothers, decks away.’
‘I doubt it is, but perhaps it has happened elsewhere,’ said Dante. ‘The galaxy is large. Communications are disrupted. There are thousands more Space Marines of our heritage.’ He frowned. ‘I will make no swift judgements, not on any matter. This is a question for the Chapter Council entire – the Red Council of war and the Council of Bone and Blood combined. Let all the great minds of our brotherhood debate what must be done with Mephiston.’
‘The Quorum Empyrric will wish to be consulted,’ said Rhacelus.
‘They shall be included in the council,’ said Dante.
‘Will you kill him?’ asked Rhacelus quietly.
‘If that is what is necessary, I will have to,’ said Dante.
Rhacelus closed his eyes, shutting off the constant glow emanating from them. ‘He spoke to me before he was placed inside the sarcophagus,’ he said. ‘I saw concern in him for the first time, and perhaps, deep in his eyes, a hint of Calistarius of old.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Dante.
‘He said “I fear what may occur should I let myself free, Gaius. I fear what I am becoming.”’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A DIFFICULT COAT TO WEAR
Juvenel had to wait a full five minutes before the admiral’s guard admitted him to the inner chambers. They were big men, faces hidden behind mirror-visored white sallets and their bulging chests covered with bronze-plated plasteel breastplates. They had better equipment than most officers Juvenel knew, high status. The trouble was, they behaved like they knew it. How easy it would be to bypass them altogether. But he would not sneak like a rat.
‘He’ll see you now, sir,’ said the man as the outer doors opened. His tone was less than deferential. Juvenel glanced sidelong at him as he marched through. Too much brawn, not much brain, he thought. They behaved like lords of the galaxy on a ship of the Adeptus Astartes, warriors who could crush them without a second thought. He thought it hubris, but as he walked down the corridor to the admiral’s temporary quarters, he reconsidered. Every human being was the product of its own, self-generated myth. If the guards let themselves be cowed by Space Marines and put aside their pride, they probably would have nothing left.
He stopped outside the door to Danakan’s chambers while its machine-spirits scanned him. He frowned.
‘How much of human endeavour is dependent on the heroic lies we tell ourselves?’ he said to himself.
‘Ignore,’ Juvenel said. ‘Continue scan.’
The door opened. Juvenel stepped into a large room made fusty by an overabundance of ancient, heavy furniture.
The room was lit by a trio of electro-flambeaux and a single candelabra on a massive dining table. It was therefore unpleasantly dark. A large, oval window looked out over the fleet, but was so heavily scratched the view was poor, and let in little of what light there was to be had from the stars.
Danakan stood next to one of the flambeaux. Juvenel’s eye was drawn directly to him. The admiral was in front of a mirror framed by an enormous amount of gilt-work. It was old. Paint had rubbed away from the frame, revealing the wood and plaster beneath. None of the dozens of cherubim worked into the riot of weapons, motifs and acanthus leaves had a full complement of fingers. Several were missing their noses. The silver backing to the glass had tarnished, rendering the reflection dull, and spotting it all over with lead-grey blotches. Danakan was visible in those parts that still reflected, in full dress uniform, fiddling with the fastenings to his greatcoat with obvious frustration.
‘My lord,’ said Juvenel.
