The Plagues of Orath

by Various

  Ritan started forward, his bolt pistol held level. ‘This is a stronghold of the Adeptus Astartes. Show yourself and state your business.’

  The Doom Eagle followed the twisting corridor until the sight that greeted him caused him to falter for the first time in his life.

  The hololith shifted in front of Artorius, the planet blurring to be replaced by a sprawling chamber. The high-vaulted ceiling was suspended on impossibly thin buttresses that swept gracefully up from a floor covered in intricate hierograms. Between each column, alcoves were set into the gem-encrusted walls, cogitator screens flashing with a thousand scrolling eldar runes.

  The sergeant’s mouth pulled into a snarl. What might have been beautiful for some was nothing more than blasphemy to the Space Marines.

  The sergeant jabbed a finger towards a tall crystalline structure in the middle of the shrine. ‘What is that?’

  Vabion continued his story. ‘At first we thought it nothing more than a false idol.’

  The Librarian’s fingers played across the controls. ‘Then I discovered these.’

  The image zoomed into the far wall, highlighting a series of simple pictograms. Stylised figures cowered before an arcane sigil – two rings joined by what looked like a jagged bolt of lightning. While the uppermost ring was unbroken, the lower of the two was shattered, as if flying apart.

  Vabion pointed towards the image. ‘I believe this rune represents a rift in the warp – a rift the eldar discovered running directly through the planet.’

  ‘A rift?’ Artorius’s hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of his chainsword.

  ‘Think of it as a fault line running through creation.’ Vabion manipulated the controls and the hololith shifted back to the crystal. ‘The pictograms suggest that the eldar managed to stabilise the rift using these crystals, sealing it by means of technology we’ve yet to understand.’

  The image rotated, giving Artorius a 360 degree view of the structure. The massive crystal shard protruded from a raised dais, flashes of energy coruscating at its glinting heart.

  ‘What is it made from?’

  Vabion shook his head. ‘I’ve studied the Great Keys for two hundred years and still cannot tell you.’

  Artorius glanced up at the name.

  ‘Keys?’ he asked, ‘Plural.’

  The controls beeped as Vabion shifted the image back to a view of the planet. The hololith span so the sinkhole was located at the planet’s uppermost point.

  ‘From what I have deciphered, the eldar called them the Keys of Vaul. The first is here, beneath our feet.’ The psyker indicated the pulsing red dot that represented the shrine. ‘And the second is on the other side of the planet, exactly matching the first.’ Another bead of light began to throb at the bottom of the orange translucent globe.

  ‘Beneath Fort Garm,’ rumbled Artorius, his arms folded tight across his monumental chest.

  The hololith zoomed back into the site of the sinkhole, a three-dimensional representation of Fort Kerberos’s building brick by brick.

  ‘The garrisons were established to protect the shrines, on my recommendation. As soon as I approached the first Key I could feel the darkness it was holding at bay.’

  ‘And if the Keys were removed?’ The question hung in the air for a second as the Librarian met the sergeant’s gaze.

  ‘I am not sure. I volunteered to remain on Orath as permanent custodian of the shrines, charged with studying the Keys, trying to gauge the threat. Two centuries have passed and I am still no nearer to an answer.’

  ‘But the cogitators in the shrine?’

  ‘The glyphs are unlike any we’ve seen before. I have translated scraps of data, but the results are cryptic at best. My best theory is that the programme the network is running is some kind of hex, a charm against the destructive power of Chaos.’

  ‘And, so we have no idea if the rift may be relatively small…’

  ‘…or another Eye of Terror.’ Vabion nodded. ‘We do not know. The ancient eldar took their secrets with them. Certainly the danger was great enough to warrant building the shrines themselves.’

  The Librarian fell silent, letting the sergeant process the information. Artorius’s jaw was set, a solitary muscle pulsing in beat with his anger, but when he spoke his voice was steady, controlled.

  ‘So over time, the shrines were forgotten, hidden away from sight. Everyone who knew of them dead…’

  ‘Or silenced,’ Vabion admitted.

  ‘Except you.’ The statement was pointed. The Librarian knew where this line of questioning was heading.

  ‘We kept the shrines’ existence secret from everyone, including those charged with guarding them.’

  The sergeant shook his head.

  ‘Listening posts, on a seemingly insignificant agri-world.’

  ‘A useful cover. The information they provide is of use to the Imperium…’

  ‘But they really exist to ensure no one discovers the existence of these Keys,’ Artorius stated flatly, shaking his head. ‘So why tell me? Because of your visions?’

  Vabion extinguished the hololith. ‘Partly. But also due to something I noticed during our journey back from Garm. The crops are…’ He faltered, his head spinning. ‘The crops…’

  When he replied, Artorius’s voice sounded as if it was bubbling up through water. ‘What about the crops? Vabion?’

  But the Librarian couldn’t answer, he was falling forwards, raising his hands to protect his face from the stone table, preparing for the sudden impact; the impact that never came.

  He was flying, soaring over the fields of golden cereal once again, the sun burning the back of his neck, the roar of the wind filling his ears. Vabion threw back his head and laughed, overwhelmed by the experience. He felt alive. More alive than he had for years.

  He swept down, swooping lower over the harvest.

  ‘Look at it. There’s nothing wrong, no sign of blight at all.’

  He threw his arms wide, rising back up into the air.

  ‘The crops are strong, the air fresh. Orath is as bountiful as ever.’

  The words were hardly out of Vabion’s mouth when the chill he had experienced fell over him. He looked up, squinting into the brilliant sun. Clouds were moving in from the east, faster than he’d ever seen, their shadows sucking the colour from the corn below.

  In a second they had smothered the sky, blocking out the sun, plunging the world into darkness. Bitter winds buffered the Librarian, forcing him to a standstill. Vabion hung in the air, unable to move forward, but straining not to be blown back.

  Something crackled far beneath him. He looked down to see channels appearing in the carpet of green, great swathes of the harvest flattening as if trampled by invisible giants rushing this way and that. Stalks snapping, seeds bursting in their cobs, oozing out of the withering leaves like thick, black molasses.

  ‘This isn’t random,’ Vabion realised, watching the trails of disease streak out towards the horizon. ‘There’s a pattern forming.’

  But what? He needed to rise, to gain more height. He looked to the clouds, despairing as he saw they’d been whipped into a broiling maelstrom above his head. Lightning flashed from the churning vortex, a tremulous laugh rolling like thunder across the ravaged plains, the same laugh he had heard before. Deep. Wet.

  Vabion screamed as the first bolt of lightning struck him, frying the flesh on his bones. He tried to escape, to find shelter, but couldn’t move – caught in the web of electricity that blazed from the heart of the storm, surging through his body.

  ‘Vabion!’

  The voice called to him above the din of the storm. He threw out a blackened hand, desperate to be saved, but couldn’t speak, his tongue boiled away.

  ‘Vabion, come back to me! Vabion!’

  It was like hitting an air pocket. One minute there was noise an
d clamour and pain and fear and then… nothing, save for the buzz of Artorius’s cogitator.

  ‘Cias?’

  ‘I’m here, Appius. I’ve got you.’

  Vabion realised he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling of Artorius’s command quarters in confusion.

  ‘What did you see, Vabion?’ the sergeant asked, not wasting time to enquire after the Librarian’s health or state of mind. Ever practical.

  ‘We need to patrol the area.’ Vabion grabbed Artorius’s arm, letting the sergeant help him back to his feet. ‘Ritan and I did a sweep earlier looking for gaps in the crops.’

  ‘For signs of disease?’

  Vabion didn’t need to reply.

  ‘I will send the Stormtalons on patrol,’ Artorius said, grabbing his helm, ‘have them report anything unusual.’

  Vabion nodded, trying to control the waves of nausea that were still threatening to overcome him. He had never experienced a vision so palpable.

  ‘And I must check on the Key.’

  Eight

  Falk cried out as pain surged through his body. Muscles burned. Tendons snapped. Bones shattered, knitting together in forms they were never designed to take, before splintering again a moment later. He could feel his skin bubbling, his mouth full of the bitter tang of blood and bile. It was as if every cell in his body was being torn apart, unseen hands clawing at him from the inside.

  It was heaven.

  You have come far, Falk. You have done well.

  ‘You are pleased with me?’ Falk gibbered, his voice sounding alien in his own ears.

  Most pleased. You are blessed.

  ‘I am blessed,’ the serf repeated, smiling wildly. His parched lips cracked as they stretched over diseased gums.

  Falk had no idea how long it had taken to find this place. Minutes or hours, time had little meaning anymore. There was only pain – exquisite, beautiful pain – and the song, drowning everything else out.

  He hadn’t known where he was going. He’d never seen some of the corridors before, never been permitted to explore the keep.

  They wouldn’t let you. Didn’t trust you.

  He had just followed the song. Every step had been agony, every breath a living hell, but as he’d staggered into the aquila chamber the chorus had swollen to a crescendo. The blithest sound he had ever heard. Rapture.

  How he had laughed when he had been shown how to open the entrance to the staircase. The truth of Fort Kerberos hidden in plain sight.

  ‘They thought they could keep it from me,’ he spat as his spine twisted into a new pattern. ‘Didn’t deem me worthy.’

  They will pay. For their deception, for their arrogance.

  ‘For how they have treated me all these years.’

  Like you did not exist.

  ‘Like I was nothing.’

  But you are everything, Falk.

  ‘I am your salvation.’

  Our deliverance.

  ‘I have joined the song.’

  You are the song.

  ‘I am the song…’

  It had always been there, the song. He knew that now. He had heard it in his mother’s womb, when he was pushed out into the world. When he had pledged his life to becoming an Ultramarine.

  When he had failed the trials.

  No. They failed you.

  The song was never-ending. Eternal. It would be sung long after he had gone to dust.

  No, you will never die. You will sing the song forever.

  ‘Who is there?’

  Falk gasped. Another voice. Gruff. Accusatory. One he thought he remembered.

  ‘Show yourself.’

  Demanding to be heard.

  They want to drown out the song.

  ‘They can’t. The song is everything. The song is all.’

  They want to silence the song. To silence you. They always have.

  Falk snarled. Never again. Things were different now. He was different.

  ‘This is your last warning…’ the voice insisted.

  They must pay for what they have done.

  ‘They must die,’ Falk decided.

  ‘Meleki, where is Kerna?’

  Meleki looked up to see Artorius striding towards the Stormtalons, his red helm tucked beneath his arm.

  Jerius answered for the young pilot. ‘Brother Kerna is offering his thanks for a safe journey.’

  ‘In the chapel?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Meleki replied.

  Artorius nodded. ‘Go and fetch him. Jerius, begin pre-flight checks.’

  ‘We are going on patrol?’ Meleki asked, confused. No flights were scheduled until tonight’s battle practice.

  ‘I need you to perform a sweep of the area around the fort.’

  ‘How wide?’

  ‘A fifty kilometre radius.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘And if that doesn’t show anything, repeat at one hundred kilometres. You are looking for signs of disease in the crops. Any signs at all.’

  ‘In the crops?’ Meleki repeated, intrigued, before Jerius cut in.

  ‘Do not question the sergeant’s orders.’

  Meleki felt his face flush. ‘I am sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect.’

  Artorius waved away the apology. ‘There will be a full briefing on your return.’

  ‘But, if we’re searching for signs of blight...’ Meleki continued, knowing full well that his question would prompt another scowl from Jerius.

  Artorius paused, searching the young pilot’s eyes. Meleki was convinced he’d overstepped the mark and was preparing to apologise once again when the sergeant finally spoke up.

  ‘There have been too many secrets in this place.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘There is a potential rift running through this planet.’

  Meleki couldn’t stifle his reaction. ‘In the warp?’ Beside him even Jerius shifted where he stood, hand dropping to his bolter, servo-arms whirring forward as if ready for attack.

  Artorius nodded. ‘Any disease in the harvest may simply be a natural occurrence, but we cannot take any risks. Vabion is checking his…’

  Another pause.

  ‘…his equipment. In the meantime, I need you both in the air as soon as possible.’

  Meleki nodded sharply, the gravity of the situation only now beginning to sink in. ‘I shall fetch Kerna at once.’

  He excused himself, heading for the Space Marine chapel where he would find the more experienced pilot deep in prayer. As he crossed the courtyard, the Doom Eagle felt a sudden thrill. A breach in the warp, here on Orath. He found himself praying they would find something, rebuking himself immediately. Such thoughts were forbidden. Was he actually hoping to find daemonic activity on this peaceful world? Didn’t he realise what that would mean?

  Meleki couldn’t fight the smile that tugged against the corners of his mouth.

  Defending the Imperium from the forces of Chaos. A chance to serve the Emperor.

  Surely hoping for that wasn’t a sin.

  Ritan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. An alien shrine hidden beneath a Space Marine base. What treachery was this? What desecration?

  He took a step forward, never letting his gun drop for a second. In front of him a shimmering shard of crystal rose from a series of steps in the centre of the vast room, the light of cogitators that lined the unnaturally smooth walls reflecting off its translucent surfaces.

  Suddenly everything slotted into place.

  ‘Vabion?’ Ritan called out, coming to a stop beside the crystal. He felt a prickling across his skin. Emperor only knew what unholy purpose the artefact served. ‘Is that you, in the shadows? Where you belong?’

  Someone moved behind one of the curved buttresses.

  ‘Is this why you engineered your p
osting to this miserable world? Forbidden knowledge from a xenos temple?’

  There was no answer. He started forward again, slowly, preparing for attack.

  ‘It makes sense,’ Ritan continued, his ocular implant switching to heat vision. Yes, there was someone hiding there. Someone big. ‘You disappear for hours at a time, no one ever asking why.’

  He could hear Kerna now. ‘Do not question a senior officer. Do your duty.’

  Sycophantic fool.

  ‘Kerna is in awe of you, of the Ultramarines. Blinded by past glories. Not me. I see you for what you are.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Maybe he’s involved. Is that it? Is Kerna in league with you? What have you offered him?’

  Another doubt came to mind. If Kerna was part of the plot, whatever it was, what about Artorius? No. He found that hard to believe – although the very fact that the sergeant had allowed himself to be deceived was somehow more disappointing. Ritan had looked up to Artorius. Thought him a good man. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  ‘Won’t you come out and face me, traitor? What is it your Chapter says? Courage and Honour?’ Ritan snorted in derision. ‘You have neither.’

  He was almost at the buttress now, his trigger finger itching to fire. Then he cocked his head, listening intently.

  ‘Are you singing?’ The man had obviously lost his mind. ‘Will you sing when I drag you back to the surface to pay for your crimes? Or will you beg for forgiveness?’

  ‘Will we beg, he asks,’ a voice replied and not the one Ritan was expecting. It was thick with mucus. ‘We are past begging, past bowing and scraping to the likes of him.’ Thick with hate. ‘The real question is whether he will beg, to us. For mercy.’

  That was enough. Ritan wasn’t going to suffer such impertinence, not from Vabion, not from anyone. He stepped around the buttress, bolter steady and sure in his hand. ‘In the Emperor’s name, I demand you…’

  Reveal yourself. That is what he was going to say – but he wasn’t given the opportunity.

  The flail cracked out of the shadow, slicing against Ritan’s face, sending out a spray of red mist. The Doom Eagle staggered against the support arch, pain blossoming across his cheek.

  ‘No more demands,’ the voice bellowed over the ringing of his ears. ‘No more orders.’