[Dawn of War 03] - Tempest

by C. S. Goto - (ebook by Undead)

  “What happened to the book, Jonas? Is this also hidden away in some secret chamber of the Order Psykana?”

  “We destroyed it, of course, Gabriel.” Jonas’ voice betrayed genuine surprise at the question. “Why would we keep such a thing? The quest for knowledge of alien sorcery was explicitly forbidden by the Edicts of Nikaea, as you know. We are not sons of Ahriman, Gabriel, we are the children of Vidya. We seek truth, not merely knowledge for its own sake.”

  “I see,” nodded Gabriel, not entirely convinced by this logic. “Then the book is gone.”

  “I said it was a copy, Gabriel. It was a hand-written copy. Another sorcerer from the Thousand Sons, possibly Ahriman himself, must have one of the originals. Whoever found Arcadia knew that the webway portal on Lorn V would lead them here. Whoever these Prodigal Sons are, it seems likely that they have seen a copy of The Tome of Karebennian, and they are probably here for more than the Sword of Lanthrilaq.”

  Stepping back inside the librarium and forcing my shoulder past Ahriman, I flipped Vairocanum back into its holster on my back. Sitting into one of the stone chairs, I pushed aside the other books that Ahriman had collected onto the desk in front of the window, sending a couple of them fluttering heavily down to the ground. The sorcerer did not protest against my actions, but he watched me carefully with an amused and patronising smile playing about his face.

  Gazing down at the cover of the book, I saw the now-familiar insignia of the Blood Ravens emblazoned on the ancient boards. As I had noticed before, the script on the cover was eldar in origin, and it sported a number of runes that I could not recognise.

  As I stared at them, wracking my brain for memories that could be of help, Ahriman drew up a chair and sat down opposite me, casting a heavy shadow over the book and rendering himself into a stark silhouette against the red light of the suns outside. Quezul’reah.

  “What?”

  “The runes,” he explained, as though teaching a child how to read. “They say Quezul’reah.”

  I looked from the sorcerer to the book and back again.

  “It means the Un-Founding. I’m sure that you have heard of it.” Ahriman’s smile was fixed. “As I recall, your Azariah Vidya once held a copy of this book. If I remember correctly, he even wrote a commentary on it. What was it called?”

  “The Apocrypha of the Un-Founding,” I replied, remembering the name as soon as the sorcerer asked the question. I have seen that book. It is one of the foundational texts of the Order Psykana. “How do you know this?”

  “Ahriman knows all things, son of Ahriman. I knew Vidya better than you might expect, young sword of Vidya.”

  I held the sorcerer’s ghostly eyes for a moment, trying to see through them into whatever semblance of a soul resided within. Something inside me rebelled against his words. He’s lying to me. He can see fragments of my memory and he’s playing with me. But I couldn’t work out why. What does he want from me?

  Just as I was about to speak, the heavy doors to the librarium crashed open and three Prodigal Sons rushed through them. Their armour was scratched and carbon-scarred. One of them was clutching a large, oversized tome, which he slammed victoriously onto the desk in front of Ahriman, utterly obscuring my book beneath it.

  “You will forgive our intrusion, my lord,” muttered the book carrier as he sank into a smart bow.

  “Will I, Obysis?” But Ahriman had already forgotten about the sorcerer-Marine. He was running his fingers over the cover of the book, feeling every crease and crack in its ancient covers, his eyes burning with excitement.

  “It was precisely where you said it would be, Lord Ahriman,” continued Obysis, unphased and still hopeful of reward.

  “Of course it was,” muttered the sorcerer lord, without any great attention.

  “There was some resistance. We lost two battle-brothers.”

  “Indeed,” replied Ahriman, cracking open the cover with intimate care. A broad smile cut across his face as he saw the first page of the book. “Still, some things are worth dying for,” he said, looking up at the bowed Prodigal Sons at last. “Signal to the others, Obysis. We are moving out.”

  “Yes lord.” The three Marines bowed briskly and then ran back out of the librarium.

  I watched the scene unfold before me, the thought of the Quezul’reah gradually and reluctantly fading from my mind. These were the Marines that Ahriman had dispatched to find the webway navigational charts, which were alluded to in the Tome of Karebennian.

  Judging from the size of the tome with which they had returned, and looking at the expression that hazed over Ahriman’s face, they had found the book of charts. Despite my animosity towards the sorcerer and my frustration about the Quezul’reah, I was gradually overwhelmed by the desire to see the book. It has probably never been graced by the attention of human eyes. In the back of my mind there was another thought, silent and secret in my soul: I am the eyes of the Emperor.

  “You are right, friend of Ahriman—never before have we seen a book like this. It is for knowledge such as this that Ahriman has scoured the galaxy for unspoken centuries… for millennia. Even the riddles of that Emperor-cursed Karebennian could not keep me from this forever.”

  Pushing my chair back, I rose and walked around behind the sorcerer, leaning over his shoulder to view the open pages of the book, our eyes gazing onto the same images, as one. There was a slight ripple of tension in Ahriman’s shoulders, as though my presence there repulsed or worried him. Whether he was unaccustomed to allowing people behind him, or whether he was simply unused to sharing the content of his books, the tension dropped away quickly as we pored over the text and charts together.

  The rate of fire from the Prodigal Sons dropped suddenly and Gabriel held up his fist to indicate that the Blood Ravens around the fountain should cease fire. The air was thick with dust, debris and smoke, which wafted through the blood-red atmosphere, reducing visibility to only a few metres. In between wafts of noxious clouds, Gabriel could catch glimpses of the ruined statues that once stood in defiant magnificence before the entrance to the great hall. Little flecks of colour told him that there was movement: moments of blue and gold flashed and dashed between the statues, but their density was diminishing. After a few seconds, he could see no colour at all, just the white of the stone and the dirty pock marks of explosions. By the time the dust had begun to settle, it looked as though the Prodigal Sons had gone.

  Gabriel opened his fist and flicked two signals: one sending Korinth dashing out into the square to the east, curving round and up the steps on that side; the other sending Zhaphel on a mirrored path to the west.

  Once they were in position on either side of the dark entrance into the grand hall, they nodded their readiness and the rest of the Blood Ravens broke cover and charged up the centre of the steps, with Gabriel the first to crest the stairs. Without pausing, the captain burst through the open entrance, dropping his weight into a roll as he crossed the threshold and coming up with his bolter trained into the darkness around him. Behind him, he could hear the solid footfalls of the other Blood Ravens moving in support.

  “Light,” snapped Gabriel as he realised that the darkness was too dense even for his enhanced eyes. There was a single shaft of red light in what he assumed was the centre of the chamber, piercing down out of the ceiling. Immediately, Gabriel assumed that it was running down the heart of the unusual conical spire that protruded out of the roof of the dome. Despite the danger of his situation, he made a mental note about the incredible architectural achievements demonstrated in this alien city.

  There was a murmured whisper from one of the Librarians behind him, and then a faint bluish light hazed into the grand, domed hall. It revealed a wide, circular chamber, with an ambulatory running all the way around the circumference, shrouded in the shadows of the pillars that divided it from the main part of the chamber.

  With the benefit of the faint light that glowed off the tip of Korinth’s staff, Gabriel could make out the shape of a figur
e crouched in the shadows on the far side of the cavernous chamber. As soon as his eyes alighted on the figure, it seemed to realise that it had been seen and rose to its feet, bowing slightly.

  “They ran straight through here, captain,” hissed the voice of Corallis into the vox. “There is a smaller entrance through a passageway to the north,” he explained, pointing a faintly visible arm to one side. “I made it inside just as they were retreating through this chamber, and I decided to wait for you to follow.”

  “Very good, sergeant. How many were they?” Gabriel rose to his feet and began to stride out across the floor towards the scout sergeant.

  “I’m not sure, captain,” replied Corallis. “They moved strangely, making it difficult to assess their numbers precisely. But not many. No more than a squad.”

  “And where did they go?” asked Captain Angelos, reaching the shaft of red light in the centre of the room and passing his own red, gauntleted hand back and forth through the beam.

  “There is an entrance to the tower over there,” pointed Corallis, indicating an area of deeper shadow on one side of the cavernous hall. “They filed through the doors and then bolted them from the other side. I presume that they anticipated that you would attempt to follow them.”

  “They anticipated correctly,” answered Gabriel, smiling weakly. Hunting Traitor Marines was devoid of ethical dilemmas for him, and he enjoyed the rare moment of certainty. “Tanthius. Ephraim,” he added, turning back to the rest of the Blood Ravens as they began to fan out around the chamber to secure it. “See what you can do about the doors. Quietly is better, but open is better than closed.”

  The Techmarine and the Terminator sergeant broke off their sweep, nodded, and then strode purposefully across the chamber towards the large, black doors that barred the way into the tower.

  “Father Urelie,” said Gabriel formally. “Any ideas about this place?”

  Jonas was walking around the circular chamber in a decreasing spiral, his head scanning all of the beautiful architectural features that specked the massive domed ceiling, the pillars that supported it, and the ambulatory that swept simply around the perimeter. “It is breathtaking, captain,” he concluded.

  Despite himself, Gabriel smiled a little. Jonas Urelie had once requested a secondment to the backwater world of Rahe’s Paradise so that he could lose himself in the search for the truth about the origins of the Blood Ravens; he had willingly given up the life of an Angel of Death, arguing that he had grown too old for tearing around the galaxy in pursuit of divine vengeance and righteousness.

  How ironic that his first mission since Rahe’s Paradise was destroyed found him here, surrounded by more archaic knowledge than he might ever have seen before in his long and exalted career as a Blood Ravens Librarian. Of course he would find this breathtaking, reflected Gabriel; his awe was somehow reassuring. It was breathtaking—to take this place lightly would be to fail to appreciate its value.

  “Have you noticed, Gabriel?” continued the Librarian, pointing up at the domed ceiling. “Have you noticed how they have constructed this remarkable roof?”

  Gabriel smiled again and stepped away from the shaft of vertical, red light so that his eyes would not be dazzled as he looked up. As his vision adjusted to the dim, bluish light that lit the curving ceiling, Gabriel’s heart leapt.

  “It’s full of books, Gabriel! This is part of a massive librarium. This is the great hall that leads into the legendary Arcadian Librarium!” The father Librarian’s excitement was undisguised.

  Sure enough, the massive dome was comprised of thousands of concentric rings of book shelves, each packed with so many books that they would defy any attempt to count or catalogue. They were so densely and perfectly organised that a casual observer would not even notice that their spines were anything other than intricately patterned ceiling tiles.

  “How are they prevented from falling?” asked Korinth, who had abandoned his sweep of the huge chamber in favour of sharing the wonder. “The angles are all wrong. The books should fall.”

  The shelves at the very top of the dome—the ones that ran most tightly around the hole through which shone the shaft of red light—were effectively vertical, and the books on those shelves appeared to defy gravity.

  They are held in place because they are in their correct place. Everything tends towards its home, human, as you know. Things can be summoned back to their rightful place, even after an exodus. This is because the galaxy dislikes the out-of-place. It wants returns and homecomings.

  Many things are bound to others—just as wills and souls can be bound into brotherhoods or cabals.

  These books are at home here, and here they stay, whether gravity seeks to relocate them or not.

  The Librarians and Gabriel turned as one, each drawing their weapons and spinning into combat readiness. The thoughts had not come from any of them; they were unfamiliar, cold, insidious and powerful thoughts.

  Standing casually in the shaft of red light, as though spot-lit on a stage, was a figure that Gabriel, Jonas and Corallis had seen before. Although it didn’t appear to be moving, it somehow seemed to swim and shift as they looked at it, giving it the impression of being a hologram or a trick of the red light.

  The last time I saw you, Gabriel, you were in more auspicious company.

  “The seer has gone,” said Gabriel bluntly. He recognised Karebennian from the ice cave on Lorn V, but he had not realised that the Solitaire could communicate in words. It had danced for Taldeer.

  “Captain?” queried Corallis, looking from Gabriel to Karebennian with his bolter drawn. He could only hear Gabriel’s words but was conscious that the Librarians were waiting for something, poised.

  I saw her fall, human. You tried to kill her.

  “No!” Gabriel shouted. “It was not our doing. We brought her here, and your Harlequins attacked us. They attacked her in the desert. You killed her, Karebennian!”

  She is not dead, Blood Raven—no thanks to you. But her fall speaks ill of your intentions, Blood Raven. She fell because you came here. Karebennian’s answer was elliptical and indirect. Gabriel could not tell whether it was a concession or a further accusation. The Solitaire began to shift its weight, as though it was uncomfortable remaining still for so long. The movement made the Ravens twitchy.

  “Her fall speaks ill of your judgement,” retorted Gabriel, hearing echoes of a familiar conversation in the back of his mind. “My intentions are not the issue here.”

  Then why are you here, Gabriel, friend of Macha?

  “We came out of trust, and we ask for the same from you.” Gabriel deliberately said nothing about the appellation. How did this Solitaire know Macha, and what did he know of her relationship with him? A thought struck him. “Is Macha… dead?”

  The Solitaire spun with a sudden release of energy, and then froze into an abrupt and elegant position.

  No, not dead, human. She is waiting for you at Lorn.

  “Macha is in the Lorn system?” Gabriel’s mind raced with the possible implications. “Has she made contact with the Blood Ravens?”

  She has spoken with your servants, Gabriel of the Hidden Heart. They all await your return. Many things are bound to others.

  “Why do they wait for me?” asked Gabriel, myriad possibilities cycling through his confused mind.

  The yngir have returned to Lorn. The souls of the Biel-Tan and the radiance of your infinity pool have drawn them back into material space. They seek to finish their Great Task. Macha awaits your assistance, Gabriel. They need your help.

  What do you mean by our “infinity pool,” alien? Korinth’s thoughts interrupted the exchange with an edge of hostility and suspicion. A visible tension gripped Jonas and Zhaphel. “What does she expect me to do?” asked Gabriel, ignoring his Librarians.

  She hopes that your intentions are pure, human. Then you will do what is required of you.

  There was a pause as Karebennian cocked his head to one side and looked quizzically at the Comm
ander of the Watch. What do you want from this place, Gabriel?

  Gabriel unclipped his helmet and laughed. He looked up into the towering dome of knowledge that swept over their heads. It was almost as though he could see the knowledge and power seeping out of the bindings themselves.

  He sighed. A place like this was a Blood Raven’s dream—Gabriel himself had led countless expeditions into the Eye of Terror and into the bowels of ancient, abandoned planets looking for lost artefacts and forbidden or hidden knowledge. It was through such enterprises that the magnificent Librarium Sanctorum on the Omnis Arcanum had been assembled; it was now one of the finest and most celebrated librarium anywhere in the Imperium.

  The Blood Ravens revelled in their scholarship—in the absence of a clear and concrete story of their own origins, they prided themselves on their knowledge of all other things: knowledge of the other had gradually become a substitute for knowledge of self. It was an unquenchable thirst.

  He looked back down at the shifting and deceitful mask of Karebennian. “We have come for our battle-brother. He was lost to us, and we have reason to believe that he is here.” Gabriel realised that this was the truth. “We are also here because your Taldeer impressed upon us the importance of our coming to this place. There are others here whose wills may not be as trustworthy as ours.”

  I have seen the others. One of them is known to me. His will is simple and clear. I understand it well—I have been aware of him for longer than you can imagine. Are you really so different from these others, I wonder? One who is with them resembles you more closely than you might want to realise.

  “We do not hide from our natures, Karebennian. Those Prodigal Sons want nothing but power from this place. They do not care about the consequences. And they certainly do not care about the plight of Macha or of Lorn. If you see no difference between them and us, then you should stand aside and detain us no longer. You suggested that we were in a greater hurry than even we ourselves had realised.” Gabriel racked his bolter and turned to move away. “Ephraim! What progress on those doors?”