Silver Skulls: Portents

by S P Cawkwell

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Come here, boy. I wish for you to bear witness to this act of remembrance.’

  ‘As you command.’ Nicodemus unfolded his limbs and moved across to join the others. At the earliest stage of his new growth, the young warrior still had a few months of filling out to go through and he felt self-consciously undersized next to Gileas and Akando. But if it made him uncomfortable, he did not let it show.

  ‘What is the tradition, Nicodemus?’ Akando asked the youth directly, and received a textbook answer.

  ‘The blood of the fallen becomes one with the stone. It is a symbolic harmonising of spirit, and the stone tethers the spirit. In accordance with our practices, the body of the fallen is reduced to ash and scattered to the winds of our home world. In this way, none will claim our skulls as we claim those of our hated enemies. One stone is placed within the grave, the other released into the void.’

  ‘The light of the Emperor will guide the spirit of the fallen to His side,’ completed Gileas. ‘In this way, the spirits of the dead find their rightful place in the world beyond comprehension. But the fallen cannot always be retrieved.’ Gileas looked at Akando, that same grief in his expression. ‘I cannot let the captain’s spirit wander without purpose through the ages.’

  ‘Then make the offering, brother.’ Akando stepped back to allow the sergeant to move forward.

  Gileas nodded and drew his combat knife from its sheath in the belt at his waist. The blade was wickedly edged, and he laid it on the altar. He looked up at the effigy of the Emperor and reached up to lay a hand on its cold surface.

  ‘Ultimate Father of us all. Great Primogenitor. I am but one of Your loyal servants, barely worthy of Your attention. But hear my prayer now.’ He closed his eyes briefly and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. ‘I beg that You take the spirit of Keile Meyoran, Captain of the Silver Skulls Chapter, to Your side. And with this offering, I swear to bind myself to the oath of moment. Every eldar who crosses my path will bleed in his name. On the bones of our ancient home world and on the blood that courses through my veins, I so swear.’

  He took up the knife and drew it swiftly across his palm. Moving quickly, before the Larraman cells in his blood could begin clotting and healing, he took up first one rock and then the other. The bright, highly oxygenated blood stained the dull grey stone instantly.

  ‘Well spoken, brother.’ Akando’s voice was approving. ‘With this gesture, you give Keile’s spirit a chance to find its way in the void. He would have been proud of you.’

  Gileas wiped the knife clean on his tunic and slid it back into its sheath. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I will never know. Not now.’

  He touched his uninjured hand to the statue of the Emperor one last time before turning and walking from the Halls of Remembrance. Nicodemus, who had watched the entire situation with eager interest and great solemnity, glanced up at the statue, then trailed after Gileas, his mind filled with questions that he dared not ask.

  The change of the seasons on Varsavia was barely worth noting. Winter and spring were identical, with only a brief spate of warmth to lift the ambient temperatures above freezing. Summer, when it eventually arrived, lasted only a few weeks before the ice returned and fresh snow came.

  For four months, Gileas had served what he still saw as a term of penitence. He yearned to return to active duty, but kept his peace. He threw his exasperated energies into bettering his own combat skills and barely a day passed when he could not be found in the training areas, sometimes with the others of Eighth Company, more frequently alone. When he was not there, he could be found in the heart of the Great Library, absorbed in the Chapter’s sagas, or seeking solace in the Chapel. He was every inch the diligent warrior and at Kerelan’s request had kept himself as much out of Djul’s way as possible.

  The veteran sergeant had acted in exactly the way Kerelan had predicted he would. Whenever he and Gileas crossed paths, the older sergeant found some reason to criticise his younger battle-brother. The way he walked. The manner in which he fought. Always small, insignificant things. Gileas, to his great credit, ignored Djul’s carefully barbed comments with surprising restraint. But Reuben, his closest friend and most trusted confidant, recognised the growing danger.

  ‘You should speak to him.’

  They were sparring together with practice blades when he finally made the suggestion. Gileas lowered his weapon and studied Reuben with a calculating stare.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Djul,’ replied Reuben, stepping back and lowering his own blade. ‘You should deal with this problem now. Before it gets out of hand.’

  ‘I am dealing with it. I am ignoring him.’

  ‘That is not what I mean, Gil. You know what I am saying. Every time he speaks to you, your temper frays one more strand. It is giving him exactly what he wants.’ Reuben altered his stance and set his feet firmly on the ground ready to begin the next bout. ‘I know you, you will snap eventually. You should just get it out of the way. Address this resentment he harbours. You are both excellent warriors. You are battle-brothers, for the love of the Emperor. There is no logic in this hate he holds you. You can reason this out.’

  ‘Reuben, he does not hate me.’ Gileas grinned, but there was no humour in it. ‘It is not personal. Have you not understood that yet? Djul hates what it is that I represent. What I am, not who. Now enough of your endless sermonising.’

  The two warriors resumed their training. Well-matched as they were, Gileas had always been more wily than Reuben and had disarmed him within a few short minutes.

  ‘Your technique is poor.’

  As though talking about him had somehow brought him to their side, Brother Djul stood just beside them on the training floor, watching the bout with an affected air of bored disinterest. Gileas was roused to respond.

  ‘My technique is fine. I took his weapon, did I not?’

  ‘Your technique is poor,’ Brother Djul shrugged. ‘You fight with all the grace of an ork. There is no finesse to what you do and frankly, it is ugly to watch. This is merely an observation, sergeant.’

  ‘Gil.’ Reuben caught his sergeant’s arm as Gileas turned to stare at the veteran. The words left Gileas’s mouth before his brain intervened to temper them.

  ‘I learned very early on that finesse is often a luxury best left to those who are idle enough to practise it.’

  For the first time since he had returned to Varsavia, Gileas saw his poorly chosen words genuinely shock Djul. ‘You would accuse me of idleness, Hathirii?’ He put an accent on the final word, the name of Gileas’s hereditary tribe. This very deliberate choice spoke volumes about his opinion of them.

  ‘Not at all.’ Something dangerous flashed in Gileas’s eyes. ‘It is merely an observation, sir.’

  They held one another’s gaze for an achingly long time. Eventually, Djul nodded.

  ‘Very well then. I see how it must be, Ur’ten. Brother Reuben – give me your blade and step out of the arena. I believe our training together is long overdue, Gileas. I will prove to you that there are ways to fight that do not rely on strength alone.’

  ‘You do me great honour, sir.’ Gileas raised his practice blade in courteous salute. ‘I look forward to seeing what you have to teach me.’ His words were genuine and heartfelt; it was an honour to fight against one of the Chapter veterans. Perhaps it was the honesty in his tone that caused a ripple of annoyance to twist Djul’s perpetually sour face into a full scowl.

  ‘Your veneer of good grace and manners do not hide what you are, boy.’ Djul considered his opponent carefully. ‘A former captain of mine once said that you could clad a savage in armour and give him a weapon, but he will still be a savage. He will just be slightly more dangerous.’

  ‘I request that you cease describing me in this way, brother.’ Gileas lowered the practice sword very slowly, his gaze steady. ‘
The persistent implication that I am little more than an animal is becoming wearisome. I could retort with an observation on the childish nature of your wordplay, but I do not.’

  ‘You are a savage, Ur’ten. That is not your fault.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Gileas and he grinned, baring his teeth. ‘Let us see how much of a savage I am.’ He raised his blade once again and Djul did likewise. The two warriors came together immediately with a clash, their blades meeting and locking. They stared into one another’s eyes.

  ‘Your strength is commendable,’ commented Djul, the closest he was likely to come to a compliment. ‘But you lean too far forward. It will throw you off balance.’ To demonstrate his point, he drove his blade upwards, forcing Gileas to step back to avoid stumbling. Without hesitating, Djul swung his sword towards the sergeant’s torso. Gileas adopted a defensive stance and barely managed to block the attack.

  Djul took advantage of the clumsy defence and pressed his assault more firmly. Before Gileas could renew his efforts to parry the blade, Djul had pulled free, spun gracefully around and brought the blade in with a heavy blow against Gileas’s hip bone. He moved to the side as the sergeant swivelled to strike back and brought the sword round again. This stroke connected with Gileas’s upper arm, and the sound of the blade on flesh was one that caused several of the gathering spectators to nod with approval. The blow had been a fine one. Whilst the practice weapons did not carry an edge, they were heavy and more than capable of causing injury if the trainees did not take care.

  ‘You are losing control of the fight already,’ Djul said and the sneer in his voice was unmistakable. ‘Put some effort into your defence, brother. You cannot rely on an ability to attack indefinitely. Sooner or later…’ Djul dodged an incoming low sweep from Gileas easily, practically dancing out of the way and moving behind the sergeant. He brought his blade down heavily between Gileas’s shoulder blades, sending the younger warrior sprawling. ‘Sooner or later, you will learn that the best attack is a good defence. Assuming that primitive mind of yours absorbs anything of worth.’

  Countless years of training meant that Gileas was back on his feet in seconds. He had still not spoken a word. But his eyes now blazed with a fury that he had spent many years trying to contain. It had been a long, long time since he had allowed his fiery temper to surge to take control of his good sense, but there was a limit and Djul had just pushed him over it.

  ‘I see from your expression that you are desperate to prove me right.’ The veteran sergeant’s jibes were filled with contempt. ‘Bring all that you believe you can throw at me, boy. You do not stand a chance. How can you hope to master an enemy if you cannot master yourself? That you have risen to the rank of sergeant remains a mystery to me.’

  Gileas was acutely aware of the number of fellow Silver Skulls watching them fight and he felt a keen shame at the fact that Djul was doing everything in his power to humiliate him. He should not rise to the baiting. He had promised Kerelan that he would not. But the sneer on Djul’s face, the disdain he could hear in the other warrior’s tone… all of it combined to ignite the smouldering core of rage that he had kept under tight control.

  It blazed forth in a sudden surge of strength. He flung himself at Djul, the practice blade a living thing in his hand. It sang as it cut through the air, connecting with his opponent’s outer thigh with a slap. Djul returned the blow in kind, taking advantage of Gileas’s fury to cut through his minimal defences. The practice sword hit Gileas in the jaw. There was a resounding crack as the bone dislocated, followed barely seconds later by another as Gileas forced it back the other way. Before he could even turn his attention back to the duel, Djul had turned the blade round and smashed the hilt directly into Gileas’s face with not-inconsiderable force.

  ‘We should stop this,’ murmured Tikaye. He had joined Reuben in watching the demonstration. ‘It has gone beyond a lesson, brother. There is nothing being taught here. Djul will kill him given the chance.’

  Reuben nodded and took a step forward. Blood streamed from Gileas’s temple, thickening even as he watched. It would take a sight more than a thump to the skull to bring down his sergeant. He had watched Gileas remain fighting under far more of an onslaught than a single warrior. But Gileas was not fighting back. Reuben willed him to retaliate, but his friend would not give Djul the satisfaction.

  Damn you, Gileas. Reuben clenched his hands briefly into fists. Of all the times to find your pride, you could not have chosen more poorly.

  He did not have a chance to bring the conflict to a halt. A voice sounded across the training floor, amplified with ethereal power that gave it unnatural volume and timbre.

  ‘Enough!’

  Several heads swivelled to watch the newcomer approach. A ripple of recognition rose in a whisper as a dark-haired, battle-scarred warrior strode towards the battling pair.

  ‘Djul, Gileas, cease this foolishness. I believe your audience has seen enough of this display. Leave the arena immediately.’

  Blood crusting on his cheekbones from Djul’s vicious attack, Gileas lowered his head in respect. Djul did likewise, letting his practice blade drop to the floor with a disdainful clatter. He stared at the other warrior.

  ‘First Prognosticar Phrixus. It is not like you to spend time in training with us. We are honoured by your presence.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ retorted the psyker. The scars on his face were unsightly, marring the skin and giving him a fierce demeanour. He ran a forefinger across the longest, which ran from his forehead to his chin in a nearly perfect diagonal line. ‘But I believe you are encroaching on time our brother here promised me.’ Phrixus smirked over at Gileas. ‘It seems that you are learning a hard lesson at the hands of Djul here, lad.’

  Gileas shrugged one shoulder. ‘I have much to learn. I am deeply grateful to Brother Djul for showing me methods to improve my technique.’ His words were filled with carefully pitched diplomacy and more than a hint of sarcasm, which did not go unnoticed by the veteran sergeant. Djul scowled at the younger warrior.

  ‘As well you should be,’ said Phrixus approvingly. ‘And much as I hate to disturb this lesson, First Captain Kerelan requests you attend him immediately, Djul.’

  ‘Of course, brother.’ Djul did not wait for anything further, but turned on his heel and walked away without as much as a farewell. Gileas raised a hand to his mouth and wiped off some of the blood that still drizzled there.

  ‘And you, Sergeant Ur’ten?’ Phrixus turned a piercing stare onto the battered warrior. ‘Lesson learned?’

  ‘I learned something,’ replied Gileas with a grim smile. ‘I am not sure whether it was the lesson Djul intended to impart, however.’

  Phrixus glanced around at the gathered battle-brothers. ‘This is over,’ he said. ‘Attend to your training.’

  The crowd dispersed instantly. Phrixus was not known for his patience. In a few short seconds, only the First Prognosticar and Gileas remained.

  ‘You let him bait you, Gileas.’ Phrixus shook his head. ‘That disappoints me.’

  ‘I had little choice, sir. And if I am truthful, I had thought that he genuinely meant to instruct me on my fighting technique. Before it turned unpleasant.’

  ‘There is always a choice. Kerelan warned you about Djul and his prejudices. We are working to address it, but it seems that your presence here does not please him. Fortunately, he is leaving Varsavia for a short while on a mission. In the time he is gone, I propose you work on those skills with others. Then, when the inevitable happens and he challenges you again…’ Phrixus’s smile was grim.

  ‘I am sorry if you are disappointed in me, sir.’

  ‘I am not really disappointed in you, Gileas.’ Phrixus sighed. ‘I am disappointed in the situation. You understand of course that Djul’s hatred is not truly directed at you but at a lifetime of distrust?’

  ‘Perfectly, Brother-Prognosticar. It feels p
ersonal, but I know that it is not.’

  ‘Good. Now do you feel you have had enough training for one day or is it time for that bout you promised me months ago?’ Phrixus leaned down and picked up the weapon that the veteran sergeant had left behind.

  Gileas reached up and tested his jaw. It was comfortably back in place and whilst it might ache for a short time, his enhanced biology would soon numb that pain. He considered Phrixus for a moment or two. He knew categorically that the psyker outclassed him in every way; that he would be likely to face another gruelling challenge and another solid beating…

  ‘Ready when you are,’ he said, adjusting his grip on his practice blade.

  Six

  Proving Ground

  For days following the humiliating lesson that Djul had delivered, Gileas was forced to deal with the repercussions. Reuben’s response to the situation had been less than favourable and he had engaged in conversation that bordered on argumentative with his battle-brother.

  ‘It was an insult plain and simple, Gileas. You cannot possibly let this go unanswered!’ Reuben was pacing the length of Gileas’s arming chamber. The sergeant sat with his armour, meticulously working on it and occasionally looking up at the other Silver Skull.

  ‘Djul has ever been my adversary, Reuben. I am not going to change his mind with words and argument. All I can hope for is that my actions speak for themselves in time. Kerelan advised me to avoid him as much as I could.’

  ‘It seems cowardly to me.’

  ‘Are you accusing me of cowardice?’ Gileas set down the greave that he was repainting and got to his feet. Reuben shook his head in irritation.

  ‘You know I am not doing that. Cowardly was a poor choice of word, brother. Forgive me. But there is a difference between not rising to Djul’s bait and actively avoiding engaging him in the level of combat I know you are capable of.’ Gileas folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.