Silver Skulls: Portents

by S P Cawkwell

  ‘What happened on the journey?’ He suspected he knew the answer, but waited for the child to get his churning emotions under control. Dark blue eyes lifted, barely visible beneath the tangle of dark curls that fell into them, and the grief was replaced with utter hatred.

  ‘Xiz.’

  The rogue, cannibalistic tribe who roamed Varsavia’s southern wastes and even strayed north. Known for attacking travellers, they were fearsome fighters. Not one had ever been selected for recruitment. Not one possessed sanity enough to earn the attention of the Adeptus Astartes. They were animals with a penchant for human flesh. Of late, they had become increasingly active and the Silver Skulls had debated moving to deal with them once and for all.

  But Vashiro had communed with the Emperor, who in turn had said that to extinguish the threat of the Xiz would be to interfere with the path of the future. The cannibals were to be left to roam free. In time, their prominence would wane and equilibrium would be restored.

  ‘How did you escape them?’

  ‘My father… dug down. Hid me beneath the snow. I didn’t come out until I couldn’t hear them any more. I was alone.’ The moment of intense hatred bled from the boy’s eyes and a resigned weariness that seemed too old for him seeped in. ‘I came here. I had nothing else. Nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kulle offered a brief smile. ‘You came here.’ He examined the data-slate before him, finally looking up at the ragged child seated opposite. ‘Tell me, boy. You travelled here alone and made your way up the side of a dangerous mountain. You are surrounded by things and individuals of which you have no true comprehension. Are you not afraid? Or do you consider yourself courageous? Above such fears?’

  The dark-eyed gaze was steady and the confidence wavered only slightly. He shrugged one shoulder again.

  ‘Of course I’m afraid,’ he replied. ‘But my father told me that courage wasn’t just a case of not being afraid. He told me that courage is about being afraid but still doing what it is that you must do. Regardless of that fear.’

  With those words, the boy’s future was sealed. ‘He was a wise man indeed,’ said Kulle, nodding slowly as he made a check on the data-slate. He set the object down and leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. His fingers knotted together and he rested his chin on them. ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Gileas. He was a warrior. First warrior of our tribe. But he couldn’t defend us against the Xiz. They were… they were too many.’ The challenging look in the child’s eyes dared Kulle to call his father a failed warrior. Instead, Andreas Kulle noted something down on the data-slate and reached over a huge hand to clasp the boy’s shoulder.

  ‘Then in memory of your father, whose wise words brought you to us… and to honour the traditions of your tribe, I give you a name by which you will be known from this point on. Your name, boy, will be Gileas.’

  And so it was done.

  He had never been in the Chapter Master’s personal chambers before and Gileas felt distinctly overwhelmed by the fact that he had been invited there now. He had stood in the presence of Argentius only a handful of times, and never previously before this particular incumbent. He knew the warrior who bore the rank well, however. They had even fought together on the field of battle.

  It was hard not to let the approval flicker onto his face. The Chapter Master’s quarters were not lavishly furnished, but they were comfortable in a spartan way. The slate-topped table that dominated the room was covered with ledgers and tomes of deepest midnight blue embossed with silver runes. The walls bore no decoration and one side of the huge room opened out onto the training courtyard. From here, the Chapter Master could oversee his battle-brothers undergoing rigorous training below him.

  A thick rug made from the hide of a Varsavian native beast graced the floor and it was on this that Gileas stood before a man he had once stood alongside. He looked across the table at Argentius. In so many ways, they were physically opposite. Although his hair was presently shorn to the scalp, Gileas knew that the Lord Commander was blond and his eyes were a light blue, where Gileas was dark of both eye and hair. Argentius had the pale cast of those born in the northern cities. Gileas’s swarthy skin bore the deep olive tones of a southern-born. Argentius carried himself with the easy assurance that when he spoke, people would listen to him and that was indeed the case.

  Blessed with natural charisma that had seen him rise rapidly through the ranks to where he was now, Argentius – in the days before he had assumed that title – had been well respected and well liked. Space Marines and Imperial forces alike found themselves drawn to his easy manner and quietly commanding presence. It felt as though Argentius never ordered those under his leadership. It felt as though he simply guided and shaped them.

  Gileas wondered wildly if the Lord Commander even remembered him and immediately berated himself for such a foolish thought. The question was answered with Argentius’s opening words.

  ‘Sergeant, please stand at ease. You look so tense that if you moved even a muscle in your face you would fracture. I appreciate the sentiment, but please, brother. Do not stand on ceremony. Not with me.’ His smile was warm and friendly. ‘We have shared enough of our time in service to the God-Emperor as brothers-in-arms not to let a small thing like my promotion to this lofty position come between us now, surely?’

  Gileas had not even realised how straight he had been standing. There was an amused look in Argentius’s eyes and the younger warrior relaxed, but only slightly. Realising that he was not going to put Gileas at ease at all, Argentius shook his head with a wry smile on his face before he moved onto business.

  ‘Thank you for responding to my message with such alacrity, Sergeant Ur’ten. It is often many weeks before a recall to Varsavia reaches a ship of the fleet. You were engaged with the eldar for longer than anticipated.’

  ‘Yes, sir. In the wake of the captain’s… in the wake of Captain Meyoran’s disappearance, we sought out and destroyed as many of the eldar in that system as we could find. We have reason to believe that they will not be back for a good long while.’

  ‘Something which gives cause for satisfaction, no doubt?’ Argentius turned away from Gileas and strode across the floor to the balcony overlooking the inner training halls.

  ‘I am not sure I follow your meaning, sir.’

  ‘Revenge, Gileas, is a dish best served cold – or so they say. You could have fallen back from the assault on the eldar. Gathered together more of a battle force. Yet you did not. Was this on Bast’s advice?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. And if I speak truth, on my instincts as well. It just so happened that our thoughts ran parallel on the matter.’

  ‘As it should be. I would not like to think that you did not listen to the words of your Prognosticator. Where would our Chapter be if we were to forsake our most holy tradition?’ There was a faintly bitter tone in the Chapter Master’s voice, hinting at undercurrents of tension which Gileas did not dare to question. Argentius turned from the balcony and moved back into his chamber.

  ‘I have already seen the manifest from the Silver Arrow. You have brought back a goodly number of recruits. Excellent work… again. But you also return to me missing something vital.’

  ‘Aye, sir. Captain Meyoran’s body was lost during the engagement with the eldar. He was torn apart by one of the xenos’ devices. Not even armour scraps remained. I intend to take a personal pilgrimage to Pax Argentius and speak the Catechism of Remembrance for him as soon as I am able to do so.’

  ‘You have handled the events of these past weeks well, my brother,’ said the Chapter Master, his voice dropping to something softer and entirely more informal. ‘It cannot have been easy on you, being forced to take command of the Eighth Company.’

  ‘I relished the challenge, sir.’

  ‘Of course you did, Gileas – I expected nothing less of you. And you will receive commendation for that in due cour
se, I assure you.’ Argentius looked up as another figure came in through the doorway. ‘Vashiro. Thank you for coming.’

  Gileas took to his knee immediately. Every battle-brother within the Silver Skulls revered their Head Prognosticator with fierce loyalty and a deep, abiding respect. As the old psyker moved past Gileas, he laid a hand on the sergeant’s head.

  ‘Deference noted, boy,’ he said. ‘Please stand up.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Gileas as he got to his feet, his voice choked with awe. To be standing in such august company as the two senior commanders of the Chapter was something that not many achieved. He dared a glance at the Head Prognosticator. The man’s face was lost behind a plethora of tattoos, faded and indecipherable with the ages. He had held his position for as long as Gileas could remember and yet he had not changed much.

  Clad in soft flowing robes of steel grey, his stature was as great as the two warriors who stood with him. He was every bit as broad across the shoulders, every inch an Adeptus Astartes. But he was first and foremost a Prognosticator. He still took the battlefield when duty called him to attend, and fought alongside the Prognosticators. Gileas had not seen him in battle, but the tales were legion. A warrior who moved as silently as a wraith across a field of war, reaping skulls for the Chapter in the tens of thousands.

  ‘Gileas Ur’ten, you have been a difficult man to deal with,’ said Vashiro. A faint smile on his lips removed any stern undertone that might have been implied. ‘I have spent many long hours in communion with the Emperor regarding your future.’

  He stepped closer to Gileas and stared into the sergeant’s dark blue eyes thoughtfully. ‘I mean these words not as an insult, Gileas, but hear me out. I always did feel that you were a complicated boy. Age and experience, it seems, have not robbed you of that honour.’ Vashiro’s eyes narrowed and his next words came out as a snap. ‘Guard your thoughts with more care. A child could read them.’

  Startled by the sudden reprimand, Gileas realised that he could feel the faint sense of tingling that always accompanied the action of psychic powers. Argentius watched the exchange but did not speak. He had decreed that since Vashiro had made the decision, he would be the one to give Gileas the news.

  ‘You have done sterling work leading the Eighth Company in the wake of a tragic loss,’ he said. ‘The Chapter Master and many others here have spoken highly in your favour. Even Kerelan has been involved in the discussions.’

  ‘The Talriktug are presently in residence here,’ interjected Argentius. Gileas moved his gaze with some difficulty from the psyker to glance at the Chapter Master. Vashiro’s lips twitched slightly as he plucked the surface thought that flashed through Gileas’s mind on hearing this news. The Talriktug. First Company champions every one, with First Captain Kerelan at their head. It would be quite the honour to spend time learning from them and this lifted Gileas’s spirits briefly.

  ‘So there have been a great number who have spoken up in favour of you taking permanent command of the Eighth Company. Your battle record speaks for itself. You are loyal and you are honourable.’ Vashiro’s heavily inked face twisted into a frown. ‘But you are still hot-headed and impetuous. Your rage is like a wild thing that is chained and kept in check. It is always there, straining at its bonds, a danger to yourself and your brothers. This is not the way of the Silver Skulls. This you must learn, Gileas.’

  Argentius was watching the warrior carefully, gauging his reaction to these words. Vashiro nodded slowly, once more taking the thoughts from Gileas’s mind as though he had written them down.

  ‘You are correct, of course. The captaincy of the Eighth will not be yours at this time.’

  If Gileas was surprised or disappointed, he did not let it show. Instead, he nodded in understanding.

  ‘If I may ask,’ he said, his voice steady and calm, ‘to whom will I be reporting?’

  ‘Sergeant Kyaerus has received a message to return to Varsavia,’ replied Argentius. ‘Seventh Company have been deployed to support others in a conflict in the Herios system. He will be given the position with immediate effect on his arrival. But I have a special, personal favour to ask of you.’

  ‘My lord?’ There seemed to be a lot of personal favour requests of him today and Gileas was startled for a second time.

  ‘It has been a long time… a very long time since warriors of Eighth Company took their place as defenders of the fortress-monastery. I would consider it a great honour were you to retain a number of your battle-brothers for a term and fulfil that duty.’

  Gileas barely stopped the derisive snort that threatened to explode out of him. Fortress guardianship was called an honour, something that the Chapter Master ‘requested’ of a company from time to time. ‘Honour’ was not the word that the lower ranks used to describe it. A term usually lasted a full Varsavian year, during which they did not go off-world unless terms of engagement dictated otherwise. He had not spent any prolonged period of time on Varsavia in over eighty years.

  Strange, he thought, how he had yearned to return to its chill embrace only that morning. Now it seemed that he would be there longer than he thought.

  ‘There will be many opportunities for your men to train alongside the Talriktug,’ offered Argentius, but he could tell from the look in Gileas’s eyes that even the thought of training alongside the Chapter’s First Company elite was a poor substitution for being returned to active duty. ‘And I am sure that Attellus would appreciate your insight in dealing with the novitiates.’

  ‘As my lord commands, so I will obey.’

  ‘It is the Emperor’s will, Gileas.’ Vashiro sounded surprisingly apologetic. ‘It is the way things must be.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’ Gileas gave Vashiro a careful look. ‘I would never question the Emperor’s will. I would hope that you know that of me at the very least.’

  ‘It is the way things must be, that much is true. But I feel that this is only for now,’ added Argentius. ‘Your time will come, brother. Of that, I am sure.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The rest of the conversation was taken up with logistical detail and Gileas was more than happy to sink his teeth into talk of training schedules and duty rosters for the time he would spend on the Chapter’s home world. But the disappointment was there. It was plain in his posture; the set of his shoulders and the occasional distracted look on his face.

  They saw his disappointment, but they could offer no words to alleviate it.

  It was, after all, the Emperor’s will.

  = Priority Transmission =

  From: Inquisitor Callis, Ordo Hereticus

  +++

  Security Level Maxima Pheta.

  Breach of this code is considered an act of traitoris extremis.

  Any unauthorised individual attempting to view these documents will be dealt with severely.

  ++

  Transmission Begins

  ++

  Thought for the day: A weapon cannot substitute for zeal

  Subject: Mission Alpha Forty Seven

  My Lord

  I trust that this message finds you well and that your burden is not too great at this time. I am sending this astropathic communication to you in order that you may be assured that your task has been taken in hand.

  My recent trip to the gene vaults of Terra was less than conclusive, although I have had long discussions with representatives of the Adeptus Biologicus regarding the matter. A full enquiry has been promised and the results should be available in due course. Fortunately, expedience is not the watchword in this matter, particularly when we need to gather as many accurate facts as we can.

  At the moment, my time is being taken up with matters in the Ultima Segmentum, but I have tentatively scheduled time to visit our mutual friends within a Terran year. In the meantime, I am working to obtain as much conclusive documentation as possible on their history, their planet’s histor
y and specific individuals who may be of interest to us in times ahead.

  I must stress that preliminary checks have revealed much that is good about our subjects. Those who have worked and fought alongside them have little disparaging to report, although the thread of superstition continues to run through everything I have gathered so far. I will consolidate what I have and transmit this to you accordingly.

  You can be assured that I am continuing to extend enquiries into this matter. If and when time allows, we will arrange for a more formal information-gathering process to commence.

  My discretion is guaranteed and my loyalty assured.

  I will contact you again soon.

  Ave Imperator!

  Inquisitor L. Callis

  Ordo Hereticus

  ++

  Transmission Ends

  ++

  Four

  The Emperor’s Will

  It was not going to be easy returning to his squad in the wake of the news, but Gileas was eventually dismissed from the Chapter Master’s presence and it was to them that he immediately returned. He found Reuben first, holed up in the armoury. His oldest friend had stripped back his armour completely and had started work on maintenance. Dents were being carefully hammered out and Reuben handled every piece of the steel-grey plate with loving care and attention and complete concentration.

  Let other Chapters leave the cleansing and repair of sacred battle armour to their serfs. The Silver Skulls, deeply superstitious, considered that bad luck and more than a little insulting to the machine-spirits. Chapter serfs had their place in the process, of course; they were tasked with the job of maintaining armour that was not in use. Once the warriors had painstakingly hammered out every dent and lovingly polished every last inch of ceramite plate, the serfs would maintain regular tests and checks to ensure its battle-readiness.