Deathwing

by Neil

  ‘Her thoughts are weakening. I thought for a moment I’d lost them.’

  Valdez waved her forward impatiently. ‘Ride up here with me.’

  Danielle obeyed. As she drew level with the inquisitor she noticed he was sitting lopsided in the saddle, hand braced hard against his side. She sensed pain and Valdez’s stubborn refusal to weaken.

  ‘Let me help,’ she said tentatively. ‘I have… powers. I can—’

  Valdez tugged at the reins, urging his horse on. ‘Don’t waste your spells on me,’ he snapped. ‘Save them for the service of the Imperium. In the Emperor’s name, we may need them yet.’

  TITHE MARSHAL SHARNEY led his visitors to a portal and waved an arm across the expanse that comprised his kingdom. ‘Amazing, isn’t it? Anything grows here,’ he chuckled, ‘and everything tries.’

  He handed them glasses of wine. ‘You won’t taste better than this anywhere.’ He took a sip from his own glass and shuffled into the room, watching the inquisitor as he might a barometer. ‘If it’s the quotas you’ve come about, there won’t be any repeat of what happened last yield-time. You have my word for it.’

  Valdez drained his glass without pausing. ‘Rot your quotas,’ he said. ‘The Emperor doesn’t send me here as a tax collector.’ He leant against the portal rim, gazing down upon the sprawling steel structures below. ‘Somewhere in this settlement there’s a psyker. That’s the cargo we came to collect.’

  Sharney looked doubtfully from the inquisitor to Danielle. His mind was insular, protective by instinct. Before he could reply she said: ‘We know about her. I was picking up her thoughts before we reached orbit.’

  Sharney squinted hard at her and re-filled his glass. ‘You’re one of them too, aren’t you?’

  Danielle nodded. ‘Like, but stronger. The woman we’re seeking may be afflicted by a power she cannot control.’

  Shamey shrugged. ‘All right, we’ve got nothing to hide. We can manage our own affairs, that’s all.’

  ‘Save the sermons,’ Valdez said, patience exhausted. ‘Just tell us where the mutant is.’

  Shamey drew himself up, puffing out his chest self-importantly. ‘I’ll take you there myself,’ he said, ‘but you’ll find you’ve had a wasted journey.’

  THE OLD COUPLE sat hunched by a low wooden bed, heads bowed in the attitude of those preparing for mourning. The room was a grey cell lit only by the dusty beams of light that pierced the curtained windows. A single sheet was drawn across the outline of a figure lying on the bed.

  As Valdez and Danielle entered, the shape stirred almost imperceptibly.

  Danielle stepped forward.

  ‘See?’ Sharney muttered, peevishly. ‘It’s over.’

  ‘Don’t get too close,’ Valdez warned.

  ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  The couple looked up. Without explanation they allowed her to approach the bed.

  ‘She can’t hear nor see you,’ said the old woman. She looked through Danielle, staring into nothing.

  Danielle laid a hand tentatively on the woman’s shoulder. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘She knows I’m here.’

  The head buried deep in the pillow turned towards her. An eye peeled open, a milk-white clouded bead. A voice whispered in Danielle’s mind, a butterfly memory: Sister.

  I hear you, Danielle replied. Can you still speak to us?

  The girl’s face was swollen and dark, as though covered in a massive bruise. Danielle stooped low to hear the word: ‘Gestartes.’

  She looked up. ‘What does that mean?’ she asked the old woman. ‘Is that a place?’

  Unhearing, the woman stared at the wall. Her husband rose slowly and took Danielle aside. ‘Gestartes is her brother,’ he explained. ‘The only one of the family who could stay near once the sickness was on her.’

  ‘When did this sickness start?’ Valdez asked, quietly.

  ‘With the storms,’ The old man bowed his head. ‘We thought it was just a fever. Then she became racked with spasms: violent, terrible. It was as though she’d become—’

  Valdez supplied the word. ‘Possessed.’

  The man looked up, fear mixing with his grief. ‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘Jula fought for her soul. It’s cost her her life.’

  Valdez looked pensive. ‘And where is Gestartes?’

  As if woken from a spell, the old woman spoke. ‘Gone,’ she said. ‘He tended her long into the night, even though he feared the sickness had tainted him. When we woke at dawn he’d gone.’ She repeated the word, slowly. ‘Gone. Both of them gone.’

  Valdez turned quickly to the marshal. ‘Find this man,’ he commanded. ‘I don’t care what it takes, just do it. Go now.’

  Sharney hesitated for a moment, lips forming round a mumbled protest. He caught the look in the inquisitor’s eye, and nodded assent.

  Valdez beckoned to Danielle. ‘We’ll step outside and wait where there’s cleaner air.’

  She followed the inquisitor out into the daylight.

  ‘The storms they mentioned. And the warp storm—’

  Valdez nodded. ‘The same. The warp seethed with energy – perhaps with the energy of one of the Dark Powers themselves.’

  ‘Do you think – the Lord of Decay?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Valdez, ‘and that fool Sharney talks as though a little local quarantine’s going to end his problems,’ He cast a scornful glance towards the departing figure of the marshal. ‘Not this time, my friend. The Emperor alone knows what virulence the warp has set free. Pray that Tchaq gets through to Kar Duniash. Quotas or no quotas, the Imperium may have to dispense with Cabellas.’

  ‘But surely—’ dismay tinged her voice, ‘surely the infestation has waned. The girl’s no harm to anyone now.’

  ‘The girl?’ Valdez chewed the word out contemptuously. ‘One less psyker worm to blight the Imperium. But whilst she still lived she was an open channel for the poisons of Chaos. Now the infection’s running in her brother’s veins. Who can say how fast the seed may spread?’

  ‘And when we find Gestartes?’

  ‘Kill him. That’ll be a start.’

  Danielle had reached into the minds of the grieving family; she knew that they, even Sharney, pumped up with his pompous vanity, were innocent souls. Try as she might she could not approach the cold serenity with which the inquisitor would dispatch them all.

  ‘How can you be sure the infection has spread from the warp?’

  Already, she knew the argument was lost. Valdez closed his hand into a white-knuckled fist and held it under her gaze. ‘I don’t need to be sure,’ he mundered. ‘Doubt, doubt is all I need. Doubt like a maggot burrowed in the fabric of the universe,’ Valdez drew a finger down Danielle’s cheek. ‘And remember: I have doubt of you, too.’

  Danielle flinched away. ‘I’ve been tested,’ she countered. ‘I’ve never faltered in the service of the Imperium,’ She felt intimidated, and despised herself for it.

  Valdez dropped his fist in a gesture of disdain. ‘There’s always a first time,’ he said acidly. ‘And I’ll tell you something else—’

  The vox-comm clipped to the inquisitor’s belt started to flash red. Both of them looked down at it in surprise before Valdez found the presence of mind to free the device and activate it.

  Tchaq’s deep voice was recognisable even over the warbling distortion. ‘How’s that for service?’ he demanded.

  Valdez cheered up immediately. ‘Thank the Emperor! Have you reached Kar Duniash?’

  Tchaq sounded irritated. ‘Don’t expect the Imperium in a day. We’ve been working flat out just to patch local channels together.’

  ‘All right. Keep at it. In the meantime see if you can raise the other raft. Grunland’s a good soldier; he’ll have pulled his boys through if anyone could.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Trouble?’

  Valdez snorted and switched off the device abruptly.

  MARSHAL SHARNEY WAS back within the hour. The little man’s face was flushed with an unaccustomed urgency. ‘My st
ewards have searched everywhere. Everywhere,’ he protested. ‘Not a corner of the settlement’s been overlooked,’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Valdez sighed. ‘The bird has flown,’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t under arrest you know!’ Sharney’s indignation was hollow. He began shuffling from foot to foot as though under sentence of execution. He was spared by a cry from the house.

  Jula’s struggle was ending. Her body writhed in the last throes of battle, blind eyes rolling marble white, searching. As Danielle entered, the young woman grew calmer and sat upright. Clusters of dark tumours were spreading across her face and neck, making her almost unrecognizable. Danielle crouched close by Jula’s side to hear the two whispered words: ‘Gestartes… Mordessa.’

  She died before Danielle could reply.

  Valdez doffed his hat and began to fan his face. ‘Mordessa,’ he murmured. ‘What’s the significance of that?’

  ‘It’s – uh – a ghost town. A derelict,’ Sharney replied, discomfited. ‘We don’t know it by that name any more.’

  Jula’s father rose, anger stemming the tears. ‘We still know it by that name. Tell them what it is.’

  Sharney fiddled nervously with his chain of office. The old woman spoke without looking up: ‘It’s the plague village.’

  Valdez took Sharney by the collar and drew him in until the two men were face to face. ‘Then this has happened before.’

  Sharney was fast getting out of his depth. ‘Maybe,’ he stammered. ‘I don’t know. The girl’s symptoms are similar.’

  ‘Tell us about Mordessa,’ Valdez suggested.

  ‘It was all over long ago. A century at least. There was an outbreak of sickness.’

  ‘Another psyker?’

  ‘Psyker, witch. I don’t know. One with so-called powers,’ He glared defiantly at his interrogators. ‘No, the Imperium never got to hear of it. I told you – we can handle our own affairs on Cabellas.’

  Mordessa. The name stirred in Danielle’s soul. Sharney had told the truth as he understood it, but there was more. Mordessa. An old name; far older than the pioneers of Cabellas; older, perhaps than the Imperium itself. The shadow of a struggle, ancient beyond memory, flickered in her mind, then fled.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘What was done?’

  Sharney sat down and cupped his head in his hands. ‘The colony was new; the first habitation of Cabellas since the Age of Strife. Towns and villages were small, easily contained. Guards were posted; no one was allowed in or out of the village.’

  Danielle kept probing. ‘And then?’

  Sharney shrugged.

  ‘And then—’ the father’s face was puffy, red, ‘then they put the village to the flames. A hundred men, women and children died. No one has lived there since.’

  ‘You think Gestartes may have gone there?’ The old man laughed bitterly. ‘Where else would a leper go?’

  VALDEZ LED SHARNEY, unresisting, back to the marshalry, issuing orders as he thought of them. Far from dismaying him, the news had sharpened his natural instincts of war. For the first time since the crash Danielle saw him invigorated with a sense of purpose.

  ‘I want horses. And you’d better let me have half a dozen of your men, armed. Oh, and one more thing—’ He paused, and glanced at the covered bier. ‘See to it that body’s burned.’

  ‘That’s difficult,’ Sharney mumbled. ‘It’s the practice on Cabellas to bury the dead.’

  ‘Burn it,’ It was not a request. A brief smile flickered on the inquisitor’s face as he walked over to the bier. ‘Or would you care to bury this?’

  A stench of decay filled the courtyard as the inquisitor lifted the shroud. Danielle glanced once at the body and turned quickly away.

  Sharney looked as though he were about to be sick. He summoned guards with an urgent wave of his arm. ‘Burn it,’ he said. ‘Burn it at once!’

  THE TONE OF Tchaq’s voice deepened. ‘That’s bad,’ he said. ‘Could be messy. But there’s some better news. At least we’ll have company.’

  The inquisitor’s features lit up in delight. For a moment, Danielle expected him to drop his saddle-bags and hug her. ‘How many safe?’ he demanded. ‘Grunland among them?’

  ‘Grunland, aye. Franca too; Plovitch and Van Meer. Their raft hit the hills about sixty kilometres north. Took it worse than ours. Brody was aboard but didn’t make it. Rest of them flamed with the ship.’

  Valdez tapped the vox-comm thoughtfully. ‘Not bad.’ Survival rate had exceeded probability; as much as could be expected.

  ‘Get back to Grunland with my commendation. Explain the position and tell him to get his men to the northern approach to Mordessa, and no further. We’ll meet them there. Now, what about Kar Duniash?’

  ‘All the military channels are shot. We’ll have to try and pick up one of the freight circuits. Golun’s working on it. It’ll take time, that’s all.’

  Valdez made a brief inspection of their Cabellan guides. Six thin youths fidgeted uneasily in the saddle, waiting for the order to move out.

  The inquisitor frowned. ‘Tech-priest, are you still needed out there?’

  Tchaq sounded non-committal. ‘I could stay here supervising Golun. Fact is, he can patch in a commnet with his eyes closed.’

  ‘In that case you’ll be more use with us. If you set off within the hour we’ll rendezvous well before nightfall.’

  There was a pause. ‘And how am I supposed to get there, with no transport?’

  Valdez grinned nastily. ‘Then treat yourself to some exercise, tech-priest! Your legs could use stretching. And, Tchaq—’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Well done.’

  THE METALLED ROAD out of the settlement beat a path through scenes from a well-run war. The land was cut into vast squares, fields of cultivated vegetation stretching to the horizons. Where the man-made plateaux ended, legions of alien plant life erupted like a virus, tracing the lines of demarcation, slicing up the face of the land into chessboard squares.

  As the journey wore on, closer to the site of Mordessa, the terms of the battle altered. Men grew sparse in the fields, then disappeared. The hard-fought squares of industry became straggling expanses of thin, untended crops. Even the tangle-weeds had given up. Grey rather than green, they sprouted now in intermittent, limp clusters, as though the land had lost all nourishment.

  In time the idle chatter of the Cabellan troopers gave way to an uneasy silence. By late afternoon, new growths were flourishing amidst the wild corn: strange black fungi like mutated rain-spore. They oozed a scent of death.

  ‘Over here!’

  A sturdy figure was striding through the field towards them, pushing through the crops and rotting fungus. Tchaq was perspiring under the weight of a disproportionately huge field gun that he’d salvaged from the raft. He was propelling himself towards the riders at a brisk pace, powered in equal measure by determination and bitter curses.

  He reached the roadway, keeping a wary eye on the Cabellan troop. ‘What’s this then? More frightened jackrabbits?’

  Valdez laughed. ‘A band of heroes to fight for the Imperium. What news?’

  Tchaq spat against his sleeve and polished the gun barrel with great deliberation. ‘Golun’s got it in hand. He’ll have Kar Duniash for us, soon enough.’

  Valdez nodded, satisfied. ‘Ride up here with me. With luck we’ll reach the village soon after dusk.’

  NIGHT CAME QUICKLY, as though the dark growths thickening in the fields were leeching the light from the sky. The smooth paved roadway had become no more than a rutted, overgrown path. Few travellers had ventured this way.

  Danielle reached out with her mind, beyond Tchaq’s taciturn fatalism and the inquisitor’s sharpening scent for slaughter, into the gathering night. She saw no shadow of living man, but somewhere in the gloom ahead she sensed the first stirrings in a darker well, its epicentre a pool of blackness so deep the universe itself might drown within it.

  Somewhere a clock, long stopped, began to mark
time again. Old wounds began to re-open.

  They had reached their journey’s end.

  At first sight Mordessa could have been just another small colony village. A crop of low buildings nestled together in a shallow valley, a spire visible above the rooftops. But, off to one side, Danielle saw other structures. The remains of walls, fluted and curved, inlaid with strange, spiral patterns. Something in their line and form suggested an older, prehuman presence, as though the pioneers of the Imperium had built their village beside the remnants of another, long departed race.

  Now Mordessa, too, was dead. As they drew closer the village was revealed as a charcoal shell, a skeletal frame of scorched iron and blackened timber. The spire presided over a grave.

  The Cabellan captain shook his head ruefully. ‘This is an unlucky place.’

  Danielle dismounted and followed Valdez down the path to a barricade of rusting razor wire. A signboard, faded and rotten, still clung tenuously to the fence. The legend had been obscured but the crude depiction of a skull was still clear enough. The warning hadn’t been heeded. Just beyond the path, the fence had been prised apart.

  The sound of feet slithering on stones somewhere in the darkness ahead of them. Cabellan fingers sweated on rifle stocks. A voice called out in greeting: ‘Hold your fire. Friend!’

  The inquisitor’s expression betrayed his astonishment. ‘Van Meer?’ He spoke softly seeking corroboration from his companions.

  Tchaq shook his head slowly in disbelief. ‘He’s a better man than I. It should have taken them another hour to reach this place.’

  Danielle stayed silent. The voice was van Meer’s, she needed no special powers to recognize that. And yet – she bit back a warning word as a tall, powerfully built figure dressed in the night colours of the Third Army of Kar Duniash emerged from the shadows.

  Sergeant van Meer strode up the road leading from Mordessa, an unidentifiable load straddling his broad shoulders. The grin on his face was almost as wide.

  Inquisitor Valdez returned his salute. ‘Greetings, sergeant. The Third Army surpasses itself yet again.’

  ‘Captain Granland’s felicitations, your worship. He sends you this little offering,’ He shifted his load over on to one shoulder. ‘Rich pickings.’