Blood Angels - The Complete Rafen Omnibus - James Swallow

by Warhammer 40K

  He caught sight of the dark hue of a Librarian’s wargear as they set foot on the strike cruiser’s deck. The psyker hovered at the shoulder of a senior Blood Angel who studied them with a hawkish manner.

  Solus tapped his fist to the blood-drop symbol on his chest. “Brother Solus and Brother Rafen, requesting permission to come aboard.”

  The Space Marine returned the salute. “Granted. I am Captain Gallio.” He nodded at the Librarian. “Epistolary Vode, my adjutant.”

  “Your arrival is unexpected,” said Solus.

  Gallio gave Solus a penetrating stare. “I think you know why we are here, brother. I have come on the express orders of Lord Commander Dante himself, to see with my own eyes what has transpired on Shenlong.”

  “You come to venerate the Blessed Arkio, yes?” Solus replied. “I suspected as much.”

  “We shall see who will and will not be venerated.” Vode broke in, his voice thickening. He studied Solus and Rafen with open scrutiny, and both men felt the pressure of his mind upon them.

  “Why did you depart Cybele when orders were sent that Bellus should remain there?” Gallio demanded. The captain wasted no time in cutting to the core of the matter.

  Solus shook his head. “I know of no such orders, Captain Gallio. My commander, Brother-Captain Ideon, followed the directives of Inquisitor Stele to weigh anchor and make best speed to this system. Our orders after the rout at Cybele were to contain and destroy the Word Bearers warband here.”

  Gallio frowned. “Those commands were not sanctioned by Baal.”

  “If that is so.” Solus retorted, “then how did you know to locate Bellus here?”

  “A message was sent to the fortress-monastery,” said Vode. “The contents of that message raised some questions of integrity.”

  “There are only loyal Sons of Sanguinius here.” Solus said hotly. “Who sent this signal? Tell me his name!”

  “Brother-Sergeant Koris.”

  “Koris is dead,” said Rafen, unable to keep an edge of pain from his words. “He was killed in the attack on the Ikari fortress. I witnessed him pass from this life.”

  Gallio and Vode exchanged glances. “It is the content of the message that is of gravest concern to Lord Dante. Koris, if it were he, spoke of a ‘transformation’. By Dante’s order, I am to evaluate this occurrence in the commander’s stead.”

  Rafen felt his throat tighten. The Librarian’s eyes had not strayed from him, and Vode’s powerful gaze made the Marine feel like a tiny speck swarming under the lens of a microscope. He knows. The Blood Angel could sense Vode’s inner sight picking at his mind.

  Solus gestured at the Thunderhawk, his face taut with concern. “Perhaps you should accompany me back to the Bellus, captain. We could provide you with a complete tactical report on the Cybele battle and—”

  “If this ‘blessing’ of which you speak is true, I will not tarry to debate the matters surrounding it.” Gallio interrupted sharply. “Answer me, Solus. Where will I find Inquisitor Ramius Stele and Brother Arkio?”

  The Marine’s face darkened with anger. Gallio’s bluntness rankled. “Lord Stele has taken stewardship of Shenlong from the Ikari fortress in the capital district. Arkio the Blessed resides in the chapel there.”

  Vode broke eye contact and nodded to the Amareo’s commander. “Then that is where we will go.”

  Solus took a step forward. “He is the Angel Reborn. You cannot simply bid him to your beck and call.”

  “Until we make our determination, he is nothing of the kind.” Vode replied with icy certainty.

  Rafen saw an opportunity and spoke again. “Brother Solus, this matter will be resolved with alacrity if we proceed as Captain Gallio demands. With your permission, I will accompany the captain back to the surface to assist him.”

  Solus gave Gallio a hard look, then glanced at Rafen. “Perhaps you are correct, brother.” He turned back to the Thunderhawk. “Once these men see the Blessed, any disagreeable hesitancy will become redundant.” He threw them a last look as he reached the hatchway. “I will return to Bellus and inform the inquisitor of your impending arrival.”

  Rafen turned away as the ramp slammed shut to find Vode watching him once again. “I am at your command,” he said.

  Gallio indicated a shuttlecraft parked nearby. “This way. You will use the journey to tell me all you can about this Arkio.”

  “Yes, Rafen,” added Vode. “We would know more of your younger sibling.”

  The statue had been moved from the grand chamber of the Bellus and brought down to the chapel, there to stand in pride of place before the altar. With appropriate ceremony, the icon of the Emperor of Man had been shifted behind the statue, towering over it like a watchful father at the shoulder of a dutiful son. Arkio ran his bare fingers over the ancient stone. The pinkish marble came from a mountain range on Baal Primus.

  He touched the face of the statue. The likeness was baring its throat in supplication, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, neck muscles taut. A crown of sculpted jags about the tousled hair of the head signified the solar glow of a halo. Arkio followed the line of the nose, the jaw, down the neck and to the sternum. Of its own accord, his hand came to his own face and traced the same course. The shapes of both were so close as to be almost identical.

  He backed away a step, taking in the whole statue of the Blood Angel Sanguinius. His seraph wings arched over his shoulders, the Pure One wore the robes of an initiate priest—a sign of his humility—and his arms were outstretched. In the right, he grasped the skull-shape of the Red Grail, from which fell the four drops of blood that Sanguinius had shed for his Chapter; his left arm was upturned, and from the wrist fell a torrent of his blessed vitae.

  With perfect grace, Arkio balanced on the uppermost step of the altar and raised the wings that folded from his own shoulders. The mighty pinions were no longer new and strange to him, now Arkio took his angelic limbs to be as much a part of him as any other. He extended his arms and mimicked the pose of the statue, tipping back his head and showing his throat.

  “Magnificent.” Sachiel’s voice was thick with barely contained emotion. Arkio opened his eyes and relaxed as the Sanguinary High Priest approached him. Sachiel dropped into a bow. “Blessed, it is confirmed. A warship from Baal has taken up station alongside Bellus and a party from the vessel is on the way as we speak.”

  Arkio bid Sachiel to his feet and listened intently as the priest relayed the message from Solus. “Captain Gallio is joined by Librarian Vode and your brother,” he concluded, a slight annoyance colouring his tone at the mention of Rafen.

  The Blood Angel paid it no concern. “So soon,” he murmured. “Dante has moved quicker than I had expected… But this shall not be an issue. Give the order to provide Gallio’s shuttle a priority flight corridor.” Arkio indicated the ceiling above them. “Have his ship vectored to the landing pad on the roof of the fortress.”

  Sachiel swallowed hard. “My lord, is that wise? Perhaps it might be more prudent to land him at the starport and bring the captain’s party here in a convoy. We could… control them more easily if the circumstances required it.”

  Arkio shook his head. “What will come to pass, will come. I will look Gallio in the eye and offer him nothing but the truth. Where he goes from there will be his choice alone.”

  The priest hesitated. “Blessed, as ever you exhibit the wisdom of the Great Angel, but I must confess I fear the reaction of these new arrivals.”

  The chapel doors opened as Sachiel spoke to admit Inquisitor Stele and the drifting shapes of his servo-skulls. “I will add my voice to my comrade’s,” said Stele as he approached. “He speaks with concern for you and our enterprises, Arkio.”

  “Thank you for attending me,” said Arkio. “I would not wish to proceed without your counsel, Stele.”

  The inquisitor gave a gracious nod. “Forgive my delay, but I was meditating…” He patted his brow with a kerchief; there was a thin sheen
of perspiration coating his bullet-like head from his mental exertions in the death room.

  Arkio studied both men. “Your considerations are noted, but I stand by my order. Gallio and Vode will come here to me, and I will answer all questions.” He straightened, glancing back at the statue of Sanguinius. “It is my duty to the Chapter.”

  “Of course.” Stele demurred, “and to that end, might I suggest we proceed as ceremony demands? I have assembled the honour guard to attend you.”

  Arkio gave him a cursory nod and stepped away, walking to the balcony where the battle trials still raged below.

  Sachiel leant close to Stele’s ear. “The moment is upon us, lord inquisitor,” he said quietly. “We will know where the loyalties of Dante’s men lie.”

  “Indeed.” Stele purred. “Arkio hopes for the best, but we… we must prepare for the worst.”

  “Of that, there is no question,” replied the priest, his eyes bright with righteous fervour.

  “I sent the message.” Rafen watched the play of emotions over Gallio’s face as the captain considered his words. “As Koris lay in death, I used his vox to transmit a signal to the Bellus and beyond.”

  “Subterfuge,” said Vode grimly. “What you have done violates protocols of discipline and rituals of the fallen.”

  Rafen gave a rueful nod as the shuttle rumbled through the atmosphere. “I am only too aware of that.”

  “The strictures are clear, only a Techmarine may handle the wargear of the deceased in anything other than the most desperate of circumstances.” Gallio replied.

  “The future of our Chapter is in the balance,” Rafen snapped, a little more fiercely than he would have liked. “What could be more desperate?”

  Gallio considered the Marine’s words. “The issue of your actions is secondary to the issue at hand, Rafen. Any decision that you may or may not have behaved improperly is deferred, for the moment.” He looked away. “What you have told us of this change in Arkio… it is remarkable.”

  Vode nodded. “Aye. And terrifying as well. I sense forces at work here that reach beyond my ability to define. Great powers, moving into conjunction.” The Librarian’s hands had strayed to his force axe, unconsciously kneading the grip.

  Gallio noted the psyker’s small sign of agitation but let it pass unremarked. “Rafen, you would know Arkio better than any man. These physical changes of which you speak are shocking enough, but his soul… I ask you, when you look into your brother’s eyes, what do you see?”

  An involuntary shudder passed through the Space Marine’s massive frame. “When we were youths, it was I that was the reckless one, captain. Arkio was open and guileless, he was pure of spirit… It was his influence that helped me to turn my ways, the younger helping the elder.” For a moment, Rafen lost himself in reverie. “Now… now that youth is gone. It is still Arkio’s soul that lives behind those eyes, brother, if that it what you truly wish to know… But for all the changes wrought upon him in these passing weeks, it is his manner that is most altered.”

  “Explain,” demanded Vode, tension in his voice.

  Arkio is arrogant now, where before he was humble. “Whatever the hand that guides his new path may be, Arkio himself believes in it. Within the halls of his heart, he has no doubt that he is the Deus Encarmine.”

  “And if we must disabuse him of that belief.” Gallio said, “what then?”

  Rafen found he could not look the captain in the eye any longer. “I dread to think,” he said. “I dread to think.”

  In the long silence that followed, the shuttle’s deck canted as the craft dropped through thick cloudbanks and down over the factory sprawls.

  “We are close.” Vode said abruptly.

  Gallio gave Rafen a last, measuring look, and then signalled the other men in his personal guard. “Prepare for landing.”

  A black-armoured figure stood waiting for them as they strode off the shuttle pad, Gallio’s four men in a line behind the captain, Vode and Rafen. The Chaplain saluted the officer and the Librarian, throwing Rafen a wary nod.

  “I am Brother Delos. Welcome to Shenlong, Captain Gallio. It is an honour to receive a warrior of such noted standing within the Chapter.”

  Gallio ignored the greeting, and held out a metallic scroll case. “I carry the letter of Lord Commander Dante. In this place, I speak for him. Chaplain, I would see the warrior Arkio.”

  Delos faltered for a moment, eyes flicking to the scroll case, then to Rafen and finally back to Gallio. “As you wish, captain. The Blessed will receive you in the fortress chapel.” He turned. “Follow me.”

  Rafen remained silent as they ventured down through the Ikari fortress, boarding the recently repaired elevator platform to descend to the core levels. For the second time that day, he felt the pressure of scrutiny from eyes all around him. As they passed groups of Marines, helots and scattered packs of pilgrims, conversations fell silent and barely concealed suspicion greeted them at every turn.

  “They know we have come to judge him.” Vode hissed. “They resent us for even considering the fact.”

  The copper doors of the chapel opened to admit them, and Gallio strode boldly past Delos to enter first. Arkio came to his feet from the dais where he sat and the shock of the sight of him almost staggered the captain to a halt.

  “Emperor’s blood!” Gallio breathed. It was a living, breathing rendering of Sanguinius that stood there, wings bright as sun-fire, the golden armour aglow with honeyed radiance. Arkio inclined his head in greeting and Gallio found himself physically resisting the urge to kneel. A palpable energy of personality crackled in the air, drawing all things to Arkio.

  “By the Throne, it is the Pure One.” It was one of Gallio’s men that had spoken, his voice hushed and reverent.

  Vode smothered his words with a venomous rejoinder. “That remains to be seen.” The Librarian still gripped his force axe; it was not quite in a battle-ready stance, but close enough to make any seasoned warrior wary of him.

  Rafen felt a hand on his shoulder. Delos drew him back to halt at the doorway of the chapel. “Stand down, lad. This is for the Blessed to decide.” He hesitated as Arkio approached the men from the Amareo. Beyond his brother, Sachiel looked on with obvious impatience, while Stele stood in the shadows. The inquisitor seemed muted, eyes distant and unfocussed.

  “I am Arkio,” he began. “I greet you as a brother, and honour you as Lord Dante’s proxy.” The figure in gold gave a shallow bow, the tips of his wings touching the mosaic floor. “What would you ask of me?”

  “The truth.” Gallio replied. “To know what force has brought you to…” He hesitated, searching for the right words, “to this transformation.”

  Sachiel bolted forward from the altar, an intense expression colouring his face. “What force?” he repeated. “Even the blind know the answer to that question. Do you not see him before you? He is the Blessed Angel Reborn.” Sachiel’s eyes shone. “Sanguineus has returned.”

  “All of us carry the vitae of the Great Angel within us.” Vode snapped angrily at Arkio, “but we do not claim to usurp his place. Our primarch lies millennia dead, yet you presume to take his name!”

  Arkio gave a gentle shake of the head. “I presume nothing. As you asked, so I offer only truth.”

  “Your truth,” said Gallio. “If you are what you say you are, then you will accompany us back to Baal, where the veracity of your claim will be put to the question. You will release this world and Inquisitor Stele will return governorship of Shenlong to the Imperium.” He paused. “Commander Dante gives this order, and you are to heed it.”

  Rafen’s gaze happened on Stele; the Hereticus agent rubbed his brow, his gaze fixed on the Librarian Vode. The Blood Angel looked to the psyker and saw him tense with fury.

  Then Arkio said the words that Rafen feared the most. “I am beyond Dante’s authority now.”

  “Heretic!” The curse exploded from Vode’s lips, his dark skin shading with
rage. “The hand of Chaos hides here. You are impure!” The Librarian’s words sent a shock through the chapel, and white lightning crashed across the floor. It happened so fast that Rafen saw only a blur of blue and yellow. Vode sprang at Arkio, his force axe flaring with psy-flame. The curved blade met the gauntlet of the gold artificer armour and deafening thunder assailed his ears.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vode’s mind was drowning in thick streams of glutinous hatred and black, oily darkness. At first, in that moment aboard the strike cruiser, he had thought nothing of the brief contact that had wafted over his psychic senses, passing like a diaphanous veil. There one breath, vanished the next. The mind-space about Shenlong was still dirty with the passage of the Word Bearers, their disgusting mental footprints like profane scars only visible to a psyker such as he. The bright purity of his force axe was a comfort to him. It was a talisman, a badge of the Space Marine’s charmed life in the Emperor’s service.

  Vode listened to Rafen’s words as they approached the Ikari fortress, outwardly fixed on the Blood Angel’s face, but inside, his preternatural intuition buzzed like a warning siren, louder and louder in his ears as they came ever closer to the chapel. The Librarian tried to hold on to the sensations, to cup them in his hands and make some sort of sense to them—but it was like trying to pick out the perfume of a single black orchid through a sea of charnel house stench. And then in the chapel, he laid eyes on the golden armour and knew instinctively that he had found his way to the epicentre of this great skein of corruption. The Blood Angels psyker had faced this breed of witch-kind before: outwardly flawless, perfect and beautiful. Within they were rotted corpse-flesh, maggoty hearts pumping spoiled blood through bone voids.

  He struggled to banish the image, blinking it away. For a second, everything seemed to shift and waver, and part of him cried out, No! Deceit laced the air. He glimpsed the man from the Ordo Hereticus across the stone floor, half-clad by shadows. For an instant, it seemed as if he, not the winged one, was the source of all the darkness here. Confusion creased Vode’s brow; he had to be sure.