by Graeme Lyon
‘Brother-Chaplain,’ he said as he pulled close to Sentina. The Chaplain walked alone at the head of the party. ‘I tire of Lentulus’s censure. Would you care for company?’
‘I’ve not long managed to get that irritating priest to leave my side and tend his flock,’ replied Sentina. ‘But your company is more welcome, Darin.’
Aeroth fell into step beside the Chaplain and the pair walked together in silence for a time.
‘What troubles Lentulus?’ asked Sentina eventually.
‘My use of the grav-cannon to cushion our fall,’ said Aeroth.
‘He would have preferred that we were killed?’
‘I think he would consider that preferable to breaking the tenets of the Codex, yes.’
Sentina shook his head. ‘He knows as well as any that the Codex is but a guideline.’
‘Not something I expect to hear from a Chaplain. Isn’t your role to enforce discipline?’
‘I am not a commissar of the Astra Militarum, Darin. My role is to ensure the spiritual wellbeing of the company. I leave decisions of doctrine to those more qualified.’
‘Such as?’ pressed the sergeant, looking down at Sentina from the cradle of his warsuit.
‘Such as the Masters of the Chapter.’
‘Men like Galenus?’ scoffed Aeroth. ‘He is a vainglorious fool, as this expedition shows. We should have a company at our backs, not a squad.’
‘That is not for us to decide, sergeant,’ cautioned Sentina, his voice hard. ‘Or have you learned nothing from your demotion?’
Aeroth was stung by the comment, but held his tongue. Riling the Chaplain would serve no purpose. ‘What do you know of my shame?’ he asked.
‘That you angered the First Captain. A fool’s move, if ever there was one.’
‘You know what I did?’
‘No,’ said Sentina. ‘What was done matters not, only what resulted from it.’
‘It should matter,’ said Aeroth thoughtfully. ‘I refused a direct order from the First Captain.’
‘Not something Agemman would take kindly,’ said the Chaplain.
‘We were fighting rebels on Alakash,’ said Aeroth, remembering the events all too vividly. ‘The First Captain wanted to lead the assault on the enemy command post.’
‘And you deemed it too great a risk?’
‘I did, as is… was my right as the sergeant of his command squad. He… disagreed.’
‘He led the attack?’
‘No. By the time he knew that I had ordered Sergeant Caeros to spearhead the attack in his stead, it was already under way. Severus was… furious.’
‘I can only imagine. His temper is legendary. What happened in the attack?’
‘Heavy casualties. Caeros died. Had Agemman been in his place, he would have fallen. I am certain of that. And without him to strategise, the war would have been lost.’
‘You don’t doubt your decision, even given what resulted?’
‘I do not. I was demoted, but I serve still. And so does the First Captain. That is all that matters.’
‘And we survived the descent onto Orath,’ said Sentina. ‘That is all that matters. It might do for Lentulus to be reminded of that.’
‘Aye,’ said Aeroth. A thought struck him. ‘You asked if I had learned anything from my demotion. You did know what happened on Alakash.’
‘Of course I did,’ said Sentina. ‘But sometimes you need to come to a realisation by yourself.’
Aeroth grunted and fell back to return to Lentulus’s side. If the battle-brother began his harping again, Aeroth would consider the Chaplain’s advice.
Another few hours brought them to the gates of Fort Garm. It was an imposing edifice, a central keep stretching into the murky sky, with a great ring of stone encircling it. There were no signs of life.
‘No enemy targets identified,’ reported Iova, who had been sent in close to get accurate augury readings.
‘And no other signs of life,’ chimed in Lentulus. ‘Wasn’t there supposed to be a garrison?’
‘Five battle-brothers of the Doom Eagles,’ said Aeroth. ‘Iova, any vox-traffic?’
‘Nothing,’ said the Centurion after a brief pause. ‘Fort Garm seems dead.’
‘That doesn’t mean what it should on this world,’ muttered Aeroth to himself.
The four Centurions approached the fort first, marching in lockstep, weapon arms raised and primed. A lack of augury readings didn’t mean a lack of foes, especially with the thrice-damned fog potentially fouling the systems.
Nothing marched out to meet them. No enemies stood upon the walls, weapons ready. And when Aeroth banged on the gate with a great ceramite fist, it opened easily.
He was almost disappointed.
Inside, Fort Garm was as empty as it appeared from the exterior. Silence blanketed its wide stone corridors, the heavy footfalls of the Centurions echoing loudly through the structure. Aeroth thought back to scant hours before when he had looked upon silences as an ideal. What he would give now for some good noisy enemies to kill.
As well as the main keep, the complex contained a large hangar, which upon inspection contained several Rhinos and Stormtalon fighters, and a smaller building, constructed on a human scale, rather than the larger, wider, more open architecture of the buildings designed for transhuman Space Marines. Chaplain Sentina had taken a party from the civilian group into that building, while the Centurions searched the keep.
Aeroth had passed several storerooms, in which were kept weapons, ammunition and ration packs, as well as replacement parts for power armour. For a distant listening post, the fort was certainly well stocked.
‘I’d estimate that there are enough supplies here to withstand about two weeks of siege,’ said Lentulus as they quickly examined yet another small, packed chamber. So far, all but one had been mostly full.
‘Whatever happened to them, the Doom Eagles left most of the supplies,’ Aeroth replied. ‘Curious.’
‘Even more curious,’ crackled Oenomaus over the vox. ‘I’ve matched the manifest to the vehicle pool. All that’s missing is a single Stormtalon.’
‘Not enough to carry a combat squad,’ said Lentulus.
‘All Rhinos accounted for,’ added Oenomaus. ‘Wherever they went, they went on foot, or hanging on the back of a gunship.’
‘And they seem to have left no records, nor set a distress beacon,’ said Iova, who was in the cramped command centre at the top of the fort, skimming through records.
‘So we have a squad of Doom Eagles who disappeared,’ said Aeroth.
‘And what about the serfs?’ asked Lentulus. ‘According to the briefing, there should have been upwards of thirty of them keeping the place in order and serving the Space Marines.’
‘Perhaps the Chaplain can shed some light on that,’ said Aeroth.
‘Quiet,’ hissed Keevan, glaring back at Bragg and Rose. He couldn’t say that he was impressed with their stealth skills, but they were handy in a fight, and the Space Marine leader had asked for a few fighters to accompany him into one of the low stone buildings around the main keep. The building was some sort of servants’ quarters, and it was deserted.
‘Not exactly luxurious,’ muttered Rose as he peered into a spartan cell, a bare cot and small desk the only furnishings. ‘But then, I suppose service is its own reward, and all that.’
‘I’ll take a warm bed and warmer embrace over service, thanks,’ said Bragg. ‘Or a world not crawling with dead men who won’t stop moving.’
Keevan glared at them again, but he couldn’t disagree. He had hoped that, somehow, the arrival of the Space Marines would presage an end to the horror, that they would turn up and fix everything. Ridiculous, he knew, but he was glad that he could still hope.
Ahead of the trio, the Space Marine Chaplain, Sentina, pulled off his grotesque skull-faced helmet and looked around.
‘I see,’ he breathed.
‘See what?’ asked Bragg, peering past the massive black-armoured figure.
Keevan did the same and saw a long wall. Most of it was smooth stone, machine-cut if he was any judge. But in the centre was an area of bare bricks, haphazardly laid.
‘Something’s been blocked,’ he said.
The Space Marine turned and looked at him, his piercing eyes showing something that might have been approval.
‘Stay behind me,’ he cautioned before breaking into a run. He barrelled directly at the bricks, and burst through, showering dust into the room beyond, and onto a pile of human corpses.
The smell was tremendous, even compared to the ever-present stench of rotting plants and bodies that now permeated the air. Keevan gagged.
‘Why would they wall up the serfs?’ the Space Marine murmured. He backed up and turned to look at the humans. ‘We need to clear this out before your party can sleep in this building,’ he said. ‘Set up a detail to dispose of the corpses.’
Keevan wiped tears from his eyes and looked up at the Chaplain. Then he looked past him, at the shambling horrors that were picking themselves from the pile and advancing towards the Space Marine. He didn’t even have time to shout a warning before the huge warrior was in motion, his heavy maul spinning to take the head from one creature before disembowelling another with the backswing. Keevan looked away. Hearing it was bad enough. After a few seconds, the noise stopped. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding and turned back to the Chaplain.
‘The others may attack as well,’ said the Space Marine, unfazed by what had just happened. ‘They must be beheaded and burned. It’s the only way to be sure. See to it.’
‘L-lord–’ Rose started to say, but Sentina cut him off.
‘Burn them,’ he repeated. ‘I want it done by nightfall.’ Pushing past them, he exited.
Alia stood at the entrance to a room at the top of the keep. One of the huge Space Marines in the great clanking armour had told her that she could find the skull-faced Chaplain here. She was terrified. It was ridiculous. She had travelled so far from home, fought walking dead, escaped depraved men, killed… She cut that thought off. She had been through so much. Yet she was scared of entering the room. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
‘I wondered when you were going to enter,’ said the Space Marine. He stood with his back to her, working at some sort of cogitator panel.
‘You knew I was there?’ she asked nervously.
‘Amongst the many enhancements of a Space Marine is improved hearing,’ he said.
‘Enhancements?’
‘We are made… different from the humans we once were. In many ways. Physically and otherwise. We forget that at our own risk.’ He turned, and all Alia could see was the depth of his eyes and the way the light of the electro-flambeaux played off his bald pate. ‘How may I help you… I apologise. I don’t know your name.’
‘Alia,’ she said. ‘Alia Blayke. And I’m here to talk about the bodies.’
‘Is it done?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t smell burning.’
‘No, well,’ she began, ‘that’s what I’m here about. You see, we don’t burn bodies on Orath. Ever. It’s against our faith.’
‘Against your faith?’ he repeated.
‘Well, you see, the way my dad told it, which is how he was told it, it’s all about the crops. They’re so strong because of the Emperor’s blessing.’
‘What does that have to do with not burning your dead?’ Sentina asked.
‘It pleases the Emperor when we don’t waste anything, when we use everything we’ve got. That includes bodies. When they’re buried, their spirits become part of the world, so they can join Him. If they’re burned, then their spirits are burned too. Out there, they all think that if they burn the bodies, it’ll make the Emperor angry, and we’ll never get our world back.’ She was quiet for a long moment. ‘And we must have made Him angry already for Him to have done this to us.’
The Chaplain looked down at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He was both human and something very different, all at the same time.
‘What do you hope for when this is over?’ he asked, curiosity in his voice.
Alia was surprised by the question, but considered it carefully before answering with a single word. ‘Peace. To go back to our homes and farms and make everything right again.’
The Space Marine stared at her for a moment, his face impassive.
‘Peace,’ he repeated. ‘I have often wondered what that would be like.’
‘No you haven’t,’ she said, before realising that she had just contradicted a man who could kill her with a gesture. She hurriedly continued on. ‘You’ve never considered it before.’
‘Very perceptive,’ Sentina said. ‘You are quite right, I have never thought of peace. It goes against my nature. I am a tool of war, and that is well, because war is one of only two constants in this universe. Do you know what the other is?’ He gazed at Alia, his deep brown eyes boring into hers, as if he could see into the depths of her soul. She found herself unable to speak, her voice having abandoned her. Eventually, she croaked an answer.
‘Death,’ she said, trying not to remember.
‘Death,’ the Chaplain repeated. ‘Death and war. And we are at war, Alia Blayke. We will win, or we will die. To win, we do what we must. And what we – what you and your people – must do is to set aside your superstitions and burn those bodies, unless you want to risk having an enemy within this fortress, ready to rise up and attack.’
Alia shook her head. ‘I understand, but it’s a big thing to ask us. We’ve… They’ve already sacrificed too much.’ She hoped the Space Marine couldn’t see her hands shaking as she thought of all that she had sacrificed. She clutched on to the wooden aquila around her neck. Sentina’s eyes followed her hands and he went down on one knee. Gently, he moved her hands away and cradled the aquila in his black-armoured palm. It looked absurdly tiny, like a child’s. Of course, it was.
‘Is this where you found the strength to come and talk to me, Alia?’ he asked. She nodded, and he let it go and pulled himself back to his full height. ‘It was a very brave thing to do. And if that icon gave you that strength, it can give you the strength to do what must be done, and to make the other Orathians do so. I am curious though,’ he said. ‘Why did you come? Why not one of the men, or the priest?’
‘The old man doesn’t understand,’ said Alia. ‘He’s not one of us. He’s nice enough, but he’s not from Orath. He doesn’t know what it’s like to fight for your world, and to watch everything you know and…’ She swallowed awkwardly. ‘And everything you love turn to ruin.’
‘I know what it is like to watch friends – family – die, Alia. I know what it is like to suffer tragedy and loss. That it is what I am made for, and that it is expected, does not mean that I do not feel it. So I understand.’
She nodded dumbly.
‘I also understand the reality of what we face. We will save your world, Alia Blayke, but when all is done and we depart, it will not be the same world it was before. It has been touched by a darkness deeper than you can imagine.’
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Because the universe is random and capricious, and bad things happen for no reason. No matter what you believe, that is a simple fact. And the Emperor, be He a god or simply the greatest man to have ever lived, has no power over that. Now, return to your people. Tell them that the bodies must be burned, and that the Emperor will forgive them. They will please Him by doing what they must to defend themselves and their world. Remind them that He helps those who help themselves.’
She nodded and swallowed. ‘I will. Thank you for listening.’
‘You were very brave to come here, Alia. And it will be brave of you to stand against the beliefs of your fellows. But I do not think you lack bravery or strength. And I think that you will need those again before this is over. So whatever that symbol you wear means to you, keep it with you and stay strong. Stay brave. We shall all need to be so when the storm that is gathering breaks.’
T
hirteen thousand years ago
The tunnel wound down far beneath the surface of Meldaen, and Kharanath had to fight for every step. His weapon was in constant motion. Before him was a pack of bloated creatures, their pallid green flesh dripping with corruption and covered with open sores that wept pus and other vile fluids. As he lopped off an arm that carried a battered and misshapen sword, he saw the blood that oozed from the wound burn into the stone of the tunnel floor with a soft hiss.
‘Don’t touch their blood,’ he called to Althyra. ‘It is corrosive.’
‘Their very being is corrosive,’ she said, twin blades flashing as she split a pair of the plague-beasts apart, sending their bodies slumping to the ground. ‘Can you not feel the way their existence pushes at the boundaries of reality?’
It was true. The daemons didn’t belong in the material realm, and the act of pushing their way into reality warped it. The longer they stood upon Meldaen, the more it would be altered and corrupted, and Kharanath doubted that it could ever be cleansed.
He heard a noise behind him and spun around, spear sweeping low. It was met by a pitted blade that swung up impossibly fast. He reversed his strike and parried the blow then threw himself to the side, ducking beneath the slow swing of a cleaver that dripped with stinking black ooze. He punched his spear through the head of the daemon with the cleaver, the tip piercing its single rotten eye. He tore the blade back out and continued the motion, cutting clean through the neck of another creature.
‘There are too many,’ he told Althyra. ‘We need to keep moving.’
‘You go,’ she said. He looked around and saw her smiling grimly at him even as she parried blows from a group of the beasts. ‘I’ll hold them here. Get to your brother and stop these things. Preferably before they overwhelm me.’
Kharanath wanted to argue, but knew that she was right. If they both carried on, the daemons would simply follow and they would be overrun. He also heard the hollowness of her last words. She would not survive, regardless. The daemons were too many and she was just one warrior, however skilled. He nodded. ‘Khaine be with you,’ he said.