Gabriel and Jonas shared a glance, silently impressed and surprised by the dangerous and composed grace of the Sister of the Lost Rosetta. Gabriel smiled and then vaulted down into the pit to join the group, leaving Jonas standing on his own for a moment, looking down at the unusual assortment of Imperial servants collected into his excavation. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It could have been residual concerns about his last experience down in the pit, especially since he still couldn’t quite remember what had happened, but there was something in the air that made him feel uncomfortable. It was a smell. It was the faint stench of—
“Gabriel!” Jonas launched himself forward as his staff burst into life, sending a crackling blast of blue fire flashing down against the lava flow on the far wall. The lightning strike blew clear through the molten cascade and punched into the rock behind it, sending showers of stone and lava spraying over the floor.
As the librarian landed in the pit, he broke into a run, pounding across towards the point of impact with a continuous stream of energy pouring out of his staff and crashing into the far wall. Meanwhile, the rest of the group had already started firing, filling the confined space of the pit with volleys of bolter shells. But they were all firing in different directions, as though tracking separate targets around behind the veils of fire.
All at once, great streams of warp energy lashed out from behind the molten cascades, flaring from different points around the circular wall, arcing and cracking through the sulphurous air in the pit, converging on the group in its centre like jagged spokes in a giant wheel.
Gabriel threw himself against Ptolemea, pushing her to the ground as a sheet of raw energy flashed over her head. He saw the Celestians diving for cover, striving to avoid contact with the treacherous energies of the warp. Only Jonas stood firm, slicing his force staff through the streams of power and disrupting their flow, redirecting them and parrying them off into the boiling lava.
After a second, a number of shrouded figures stepped out of their hiding places behind the cascades of molten rock, walking slowly through the sheets of falling lava as though they were little more than waterfalls. All the time, huge pulses of warp fire lashed out of their finger tips, stabbing out towards the besieged figures in the centre of the pit, as Jonas strove to protect them all. From their positions on the ground, Gabriel and the Celestians snapped off volleys of bolter fire at the advancing warlocks, but their shells just seemed to bounce off the energy fields that surrounded the cloaked eldar.
“For the Great Father and the Emperor!” yelled Jonas, spinning his staff above his head and letting intense shards of power spiral off around the chamber.
Then everything started to spin. The shards of light from Jonas’ staff seemed to be caught into a kind of vortex, and they began to whirl around the perimeter of the pit. For a moment, Gabriel wondered whether this was Jonas’ intention, but then he saw the librarian lowering his staff in disbelief. At the same time, the channels of warp-fire that were flooding out of the fingers of the eldar warlocks started to twist and spiral, as though curdling into a whirlpool. Very quickly, the alien psykers stopped their attacks, watching in amazement as the products of their passion were whipped into a spiralling gyre.
After a couple of seconds, the flecks and lines of energy that whirled around the room started to draw in towards the centre, as though sucked into the heart of a vortex. It was only then that Gabriel realised what was at the heart of this: the mysterious black pyramid was drawing in all the loose warp energy in the pit, drinking it in as though thirsty for the power.
In a blinding flash of darkness, the last remnants of the energy trails vanished, sucked into the pyramid like matter into a vacuum, leaving the Marines, the Sisters of Battle and the eldar standing motionless and silent.
Stop. The command was firm, reaching directly into all their minds.
He couldn’t believe that it was really her. Despite their encounter on the battlefield in the desert, Gabriel had still been reluctant to believe that Macha had followed him to Rahe’s Paradise. Hell has no fury like a scorned eldar witch, it seemed, and he had certainly scorned her back on Tartarus.
The slender, elegant figure of the female farseer emerged from the veils of lava and flame, pushing them apart as though they were curtains and stepping out into the bottom of the pit. She did not look around the scene, but instead she focussed her unmoving, sparkling, eyes only on Gabriel as she walked towards him.
Gabriel. The name pushed through his head, gently working its way into his mind. Gabriel—I know that you understand me.
The warlocks had fallen back, regrouping behind the farseer like an organic and lethal wake. Meanwhile, the Marines and Sisters were back on their feet with their weapons primed and ready. Gabriel stepped forward, aiming to intercede in the farseer’s advance towards the group, letting the others fall in behind him. He could sense Jonas’ unrest at the sudden ceasefire, and he could hear the weapons of the Celestian Sisters snapping back and forth as they held targeting beads on each of the warlocks. But nobody fired.
“What are you doing here, farseer?” asked Gabriel, his hands twitching distrustfully over the bolter in his holster.
I might ask you the same question, Gabriel, replied Macha, using his name like an old friend.
“You might, but you won’t and you don’t need to,” snapped Gabriel, aware that his companions could hear his voice but not the focussed thoughts of the eldar witch.
Yes, I do know what you are doing, human. It is you who seems oblivious to the consequences of your actions. There was something self-satisfied and smug in the tone of the thoughts, leaving Gabriel’s mind slightly nauseated by the sickly intrusion.
Gabriel stared at her, unsure of how to proceed. He had trusted her once before, during the battle for Tartarus. He had trusted her enough to place his soul on the line at the feet of the Inquisition and the daemons of Khorne. But he knew that trusting an eldar once did not mean that he should trust her twice, especially since it was he who had betrayed that trust last time. Gazing into her complicated and fathomless emerald eyes, he wondered whether she would hold a grudge.
“Do not play with me, Macha,” he said, speaking her name. Behind him, he heard the disturbed and uncertain movements of Ptolemea. “You know what your secrets did to the galaxy last time.” There was no reason why he had to stay on the defensive.
There was a moment of silence, but Gabriel couldn’t tell whether it was caused by exasperation or amusement.
Secrets are never a problem, and they are never kept. They are always revealed to those who are in a position to know them. This is the nature of knowledge, Gabriel, as you, of all people, should know well. The problem lies in the choices made by those without knowledge and, even worse, in those made by those for whom there are no secrets at all. Knowledge and understanding are seldom the same.
“What does that mean?” asked Gabriel, his face contorted in failed resistance as the thoughts curdled through his brain.
It means that you should leave before you do anything stupid, Blood Raven. Before you do anything more stupid than you and your kind have done already. Macha’s tone had changed. She was no longer playing. It was as though she were shouting into his mind, filling it with carefully restrained and controlled violence. If she were to raise the volume any further, she might kill him in an instant.
“We will not be leaving, farseer,” replied Gabriel, forcing a calmness into his voice. “This world is part of the Imperium of Man and it is a home for the Blood Ravens. If you want it back, then you will have to take it from us.”
As he spoke, the Celestian Sisters racked their weapons and stepped up alongside him. Jonas strode forward and planted his staff between his feet. Only Ptolemea was left behind Gabriel.
You think that we want this planet for ourselves? There was some amusement in the thought.
“Was Rahe’s Paradise not an Exodite world, before it was cleansed of the stench of the eld
ar by the righteous fury of the Blood Ravens?” challenged Gabriel, sensing the desire of his comrades to do battle there and then. He may as well test a theory.
Then Macha laughed. She actually laughed out loud. It was a gesture that made her look even more alien, if only because it was such a human action.
Yes, the eldar were here once, and now you are here, Gabriel. Things change—such is the nature of time. Now the eldar have returned, so we are here together, again.
Gabriel was confused—did she want to reclaim this planet for the lost eldar empire or not?
This was once a beautiful planet, Gabriel, cloaked in jungles and forests. The eldar used to protect its beauty. Now look at it. It is ruined, and the Blood Ravens are here. We were only ever guardians, standing sentinel over the Yngir, keeping the planet free of the taint of unclean or uncontrolled minds. Now such minds are everywhere—although we have done our best to remove them.
Macha’s mind seemed to direct Gabriel towards images of Ikarus and Prathios, conjuring up memories of the suspected psykers amongst the aspirants in the Blood Trials—the green-eyed youth with blond braids. Involuntarily, he turned and glanced at the defiant figure of Jonas by his side, and Ptolemea shuffled uneasily behind him.
Yet you persisted. We gave you this planet, Gabriel. We gave it to the Marines who came here ten millennia ago. After our own defeat, we left it in trust. There was a war, the skies were shattered and the heavens fell, leaving the sons of Asuryan broken and too weak to stand vigil over this world. So we left. But the echoes of that time live on, resonating in the sensitive and undisciplined minds of the more receptive of your kind, where they incubate, breed, and amplify.
“The Blood Ravens were here ten millennia ago?” asked Gabriel, trying to make sense of the farseer’s story. It seemed incredible.
She laughed again. The Adeptus Astartes were here. They came and built a monstrous fortress—your little monastery is but a pale imitation of that ugly edifice. It was destroyed before you were born, when the forests were burnt and the desert emerged from the ground, but you were destined to be here even then. It was to them that we left this world in trust—but your memories are short, it seems.
“But, were they Blood Ravens?” persisted Gabriel, his mind racing off on a tangent, suddenly intrigued by the chance of discovering something new about his mysterious Chapter. He had never even heard legends that placed the Blood Ravens so far back in history.
Macha looked at him, her eyes suddenly flickering with doubt. Blood Ravens. She paused. This is the name of your Marines? She paused again, as though realising something. There are many types of Adeptus Astartes?
“Yes, many.”
I did not know that—you all seem the same to me.
“The decision is yours, captain. We will follow you,” stated Jonas firmly, although he lifted his gaze to check on what the eldar were doing on the other side of the pit. He didn’t trust them. Just because they had agreed a temporary truce so that Gabriel could explain the situation, it didn’t mean that he believed they wouldn’t attack. As it was, they were standing exactly where they had been for the last half an hour—the warlocks arrayed behind the farseer in a perfect V, utterly motionless.
The Celestian Sisters stood in a line between the two Marines and Ptolemea, and the eldar, forming a glittering human shield. They would not contribute to the discussion, and had signalled their willingness to follow Ptolemea’s lead.
“I do not think that it would be wise to trust the aliens,” continued Jonas, almost contradicting himself. “But the decision is yours.”
“I have trusted Macha before,” murmured Gabriel, thinking out loud and avoiding Ptolemea’s eyes. “If she is right about this, then we have no choice. We must work with them to prevent the ascension of these Yngir, or to confront them if they are awake already.”
“But it told you that it was responsible for the deaths of Ikarus and the aspirants. And you yourself saw what they did to Prathios. Is not vengeance a more suitable response than trust?” queried Jonas.
Gabriel was silent. “Perhaps, Jonas. Perhaps. I do wish that Prathios were here. His guidance would be invaluable. But he is not, and we must act in a manner worthy of his memory.”
“Why did she claim that the death of your librarian was necessary?” asked Ptolemea. Her thoughts were all over the place. Before he had died, Librarian Isador Akios had warned the Ordo Hereticus that Gabriel had been consorting with the eldar farseer on Tartarus—it had been one of the most damning piece of evidence that had convinced the authorities on Bethle II to dispatch Ptolemea to investigate him. They had hypothesised that his unusual visions might be linked to his odd relationship with the farseer. Now, however, having collaborated with an eldar ranger to translate an ancient artefact and having suffered what may well have been visions herself, Ptolemea’s righteous certainty was dwindling. She felt that her soul and Gabriel’s travelled a similar road, and she still clung to the hope that it was not the road to damnation.
“Ten millennia ago, the eldar left a device on this planet that regulated the psychic field around its surface,” explained Gabriel. “The device was designed by a powerful farseer, who understood that the Yngir would sleep for as long as they believed that the eldar still dominated the stars. The psychic field synthesised the presence of the eldar on this planet, even after they left. It seems that the excavations of Father Jonas disturbed the device causing it to malfunction. The result was an emission of the psychic echoes of the original battles between the eldar and the Yngir on this planet, which would be picked up and amplified by receptive minds on the planet’s surface—”
“—minds like those of a librarian?” asked Jonas, finishing the thought.
“Exactly, but not only librarians. Other people with latent psychic potentials or sensitivities might also be affected. People like the local aspirants in the Blood Trials, or…” Gabriel trailed off, not wanted to finish the thought out loud in front of Ptolemea and the Battle Sisters. However, Ptolemea nodded slowly, as though expressing an unspoken solidarity, as the images of eldar fighting in a jungle swam back into her mind.
“The eldar had to remove those minds lest they disturb the slumber of the Yngir?” concluded Ptolemea, realising that the explanation fitted exactly with her own experiences.
“How could it be that the Blood Ravens have been here all this time and not realised what was under our own monastery?” asked Jonas, still reluctant to be persuaded by the alien’s story.
“We have not been here all this time, Jonas,” said Gabriel, knowing that it would come as a shock to the old scholar. “The fortress on whose remains we built our outpost was not a Blood Ravens facility. Another Chapter was here before us—a Chapter that seems to have made some kind of pact with the eldar to stand guard over the slumbering evil under the planet’s crust. But the fortress was destroyed or abandoned, perhaps at the time when the forests were scoured from the face of this world. Whatever Chapter was here, it left the planet to die. But it did not die, and the Blood Ravens discovered it, making it our own, ignorant of the promises made by the servants of the Emperor before our arrival, and ignorant of what lay beneath the tectonic plates of this ruinous world.”
“Knowledge is power,” muttered Jonas, bitterly reciting the motto of the Chapter. “The eldar farseer knew that we would be here,” he realised, “even after all this time—it knew that it would be the Blood Ravens, not any other Chapter—the wraithbone tablet was written with us in mind… We must make amends for our ignorance.”
“And we must stand by the word of the Adeptus Astartes, in the name of the Emperor of Man,” concluded Gabriel.
CHAPTER TWELVE: CATACOMBS
“What is it, Loren?” asked Kohath. After the unfortunate incident with Reuben, the Blood Ravens sergeant had been forced to learn the name of another serf, and he was trying to use it whenever possible. The crew on the command deck had been on edge since the still-untraced attack shortly after Captain Angelos and the othe
rs made landfall. Using their names seemed to settle their nerves.
They had been watching the faint signature flicker on the edge of the Ravenous Spirit’s scopes for the last few minutes, since it had emerged from the warp and entered the edge of the system. It was moving fast, and seemed to be heading directly towards Rahe’s Paradise.
“I’m not sure, sergeant,” replied the serf without lifting his head from the screen on his console. “It will be within range of the resolution sensors in a few minutes, then we will be able to get a better fix on its signature.”
Despite the fact that Loren was not looking at him, Kohath nodded his response and didn’t say a word. The silence was shattered almost immediately by the sound of a warning claxon.
It was a proximity alert.
Kohath spun and punched one of the controls on the main view screen. The image on the screen spun, leaving the dull red of Rahe’s Paradise and wheeling through space, dragging the stars into parallaxes of motion. But he couldn’t see anything that might have triggered the alarm.
“What in the Emperor’s name was that?” barked Kohath, turning back to his command crew. The claxon was still sounding, and a ruddy red light was pulsing on the deck.
Nobody replied, as all heads bowed earnestly over their terminals, frantically searching for some sign of a vessel that had managed to slip past all of the Ravenous Spirit’s long range sensors.
“I have nothing,” responded Loren at last, looking up from the glowing screen on his terminal with an expression of consternation on his face. “There’s nothing there,” he paraphrased, as though repeating it would make it seem more plausible.
“Of course there’s something there!” bellowed Kohath. “Look harder! You—” He pointed at one of the other serfs, sitting just beyond Loren at one of the terminals that had just been repaired. There was still the faint stain of blood on the floor around his seat.
[Dawn of War 02] - Ascension Page 25