Ahriman: Exile (11 page)

Darkness.

He tried to breathe, but could not. He was drowning and the darkness wrapped him tighter as he spun on, falling, falling without end.

Where was he? His name, what was his name? He wanted to shout, but he was drowning in the blind dark. His name…

‘I am Ahzek Ahriman.’ He felt the words heave from his own throat. The darkness blinked away, and he was looking back into glowing green eyes set in a high-crested helm. The fingers around his throat were still closing. He remembered an axe falling, and blood in the sun. He remembered searching for something to cling on to as he drowned in forgetfulness. He remembered reaching for his name.

He looked into the eyes of the Rubricae, and spoke the name of the warrior it had once been.

‘Helio Isidorus.’ The Rubricae went still, and Ahriman gasped in its grip. He understood; he had not just reduced his brothers to spirit and dust, he had shattered their identities. Over time the touch of the warp would have changed their flesh and dissolved their minds into madness, but Ahriman had broken everything they were and everything they had been at a single stroke. The armoured figures in front of him were shells around empty spaces, like a human silhouette scorched onto a wall by a bomb blast. These sons of the Rubric were worse than dead; their existence had been annihilated.

I did this
, he thought.
I thought I was saving them, and I did worse than destroy them
. A black wall of emotion washed back through him. He had fallen and taken his brothers with him. Knowledge did not set the mind free, but chained it with pride and dragged it into darkness. He looked at the ashen remains of Tolbek on the deck.

Your brother’s fate is your fate
, the daemon in the vision had said.

I have to know
, he thought. He could have closed his eyes to the past and to the fate of what remained of his brothers, but not now. Something was reaching from Ahriman’s past to pull him into a future he did not want to see. He had to find out who and why. The decision was heavy with anger. Someone had forced him to this, and was twisting his fate. He would not submit to that.

He looked up at the Rubricae that held him, and willed it to release him as his mind spoke its name.

+Release me, Helio Isidorus. Release me, my brother.+

The arm let him down slowly, the fingers opening one after another. He looked at the second suit, his eyes taking in identifying details, his mind tasting the spirit within. It had remained immobile but he could feel its spirit pressing against its bindings. Its true name came to mind and he whispered it along with its brother’s.

+Helio Isidorus. Mabius Ro.+

Both suits turned towards him as one.

I will not bind them to me
, he thought.
They were once my brothers, and they will never be my slaves
.

+Remain here,+ he sent. He backed to the bronze doors. The light-bearing servitor followed him with shambling steps. When he reached the door he raised a hand as if in farewell. Flame sprang from the corpses, spreading from one of the dead to another until the throne chamber was ablaze. The two Rubricae stood amongst the spreading flames, the red paint blistering and peeling from their armour. Ahriman stepped through the thick metal doors and placed his hands on either side, ready to push them shut on the burning room. He looked back at the two suits of armour that were becoming blackened statues amongst rising flame.

+Dream, my brothers,+ said Ahriman, as he pushed the doors closed. They stared at him unmoving as the doors sealed and the room became a furnace.

‘He will betray us.’ Kadin paused after the words, watching Thidias for any reaction. There was none. Thidias knelt over the disassembled components of his bolter, his lips moving in a silent stream of words, his eyes closed. He wore no armour, just a robe of ash-grey fabric, held at the waist by a knotted length of rope. The guts of his bolter glistened with fresh oil in the light of a half-burned candle which floated on a brass suspensor disc. The chamber was small, barely long enough for Kadin to have lain down in. Its ceiling was low and its hatch narrow. The paint and rust on the walls had been stripped back to the bare metal. Strips of parchment hung from rivets across the wall. There was no bed or pallet, just the hard metal of the floor and the wargear stacked in one corner. Kadin could smell gun oil and incense in the thickly circulating air. He shifted uncomfortably. He did not like Thidias’s chamber, it was like walking into a memory he would rather forget.

Thidias’s lips went still, and he opened his one good eye. The indigo lens of the bionic flickered and then shone bright and strong. Slowly he looked up at Kadin.

‘The blades have spoken, the matter is decided,’ said Thidias.

‘Astraeos–’

‘Leads us,’ said Thidias, his voice abruptly iron-hard. In the candlelight he suddenly looked old, as if the shadows pooled more deeply in his face. ‘Astraeos leads us, and I follow him as I swore to when he returned to take us from the fire.’ He paused. ‘As you swore, too.’

‘But you doubt this decision,’ said Kadin, his armour clicking as he gestured. ‘I saw it in the council.’

Thidias gave a small shrug and looked back down at the weapon parts laid out in front of him. Carefully he reached down and picked up a part, then another, his hands moving together in an accelerative rhythm as the boltgun formed in a stream of metallic clicks. The final catch snapped into place, and Thidias mouthed another litany of silent words over the weapon and placed it down. He looked up.

‘I questioned, as was my place,’ said Thidias, and shook his head. ‘There is nothing more to say, brother.’

Kadin spat, and turned away. He had never liked Thidias, not really. They were brothers, the last of a shrinking circle of brotherhood, but that was not enough.

‘You did not believe we should follow this course,’ said Kadin. He could feel his lips curling back from his teeth. He turned back and pointed down at Thidias. ‘I saw it. Do not lie to me, brother.’

Thidias did not move, but Kadin felt something change, as if his brother’s stillness had hardened.

‘Ahriman stole our oaths. He is a trickster and a thief of loyalty.’

‘The matter is decided,’ said Thidias, and there was ice in his voice.

‘Three, brother.’ Kadin nodded as he spoke, and his hand ran across the scoured chestplate of his armour. ‘Three out of a thousand. That is the fate our honour and words bought us.’ Thidias did not move, his true eye and glowing augmetic a blank mirror to Kadin’s stare. After a second Kadin licked his lips and spoke. ‘You of all of us must see what will happen if we allow ourselves to follow–’

‘To follow the only things that are left to us,’ said Thidias.

‘If we trust Ahriman, it will destroy us!’ roared Kadin.

Thidias laughed, a loud cold laugh that filled the small chamber like a roll of thunder. Kadin froze as if struck.

‘No, my brother.’ Thidias shook his head, and there was no laughter in his voice. ‘We were destroyed a long time ago. We became nothing the moment we did not die in the pyre of our home world. We are enemies to everything we fought for.’ Thidias stood, and turned to set the bolter back on a wall bracket. Kadin stared at him, not knowing what to say. ‘There is nothing left of what we were, not truly. You want to break our vows, to flee again, but it will not save us, brother.’

Kadin’s mouth opened, but no words came.

‘We were born in the dark, but knew the light of the sun.’ Thidias’s voice stopped Kadin with his hand on the hatch. ‘Now we are falling, and the sun is a vanishing memory.’ Thidias paused, and Kadin turned back. His brother stood facing away, his right hand still resting on the case of the bolter in its bracket. For an eyeblink he remembered Thidias standing on the highest spire of the fortress-monastery, his cloak rippling in the wind as the night sky above burned with the fires of judgement. ‘I will never see that sun again,’ said Thidias, his voice low, ‘but I would die remembering that I knew its light for a time.’

Kadin looked away after a long minute, and left in silence.

Ahriman found Maroth lying curled in the dark before the door, his helmet sealed in place, the tatters of his skin cloak pale with frost. He had not been looking for the broken sorcerer, he had not even been intending to come to the bound daemon’s cell, but his feet had led him as if something hollow in his soul had drawn him into the quiet and the dark. When he had realised he was close to where Maroth had kept the bound daemon he had almost turned back. Then he had heard the sound, a low murmur of pain carried to his mind as if by a breeze. For a second he had stood still, his mind straining to catch another scrap of the psychic noise. The sound came again, and he had followed it to find Maroth lying at the threshold of his creature’s prison.

Ahriman moved forwards and bent down next to Maroth.

‘I came back to it,’ said Maroth, his voice wet and lisping across the inter-armour vox. ‘I came, but I cannot see it.’

Ahriman starred into the red glow of Maroth’s eyepieces. Behind the glowing crystal there were no eyes, just the two ragged pits that Astraeos had left. Ahriman thought of the kilometres of corridors and passages he had walked to reach this point.

‘How did you find your way here?’

Maroth shook his head and pulled back, as if trying to shrug away the question. Ahriman began to extend his mind towards Maroth.

The growl filled Ahriman’s mind. He reeled back. It felt as if a mouth had opened on the inside of his skull. He could hear grating teeth, and feel the heat of a bloody breath on the skin of his thoughts. His mind snapped shut, his psychic senses recoiling back behind walls of will.

The sound was all around him now, rumbling louder. It was not a growl, he realised. It was a chuckle, the laugh of a predator at the sight of its prey. Ahriman looked to the rune-marked hatch above Maroth’s curled form. Maroth twitched and made a sound like a frightened animal but Ahriman did not even look at him. The lock on the hatch was shattered, and a sliver of darkness showed at its edge. The blood hammering in his ears suddenly seemed touched by ice.

The hatch swung outwards, the darkness within opening wide. The presence of the creature hit him in a wave of sensations: the taste of blood, the pain of ice burning flesh, the black of water in caves that have never been touched by the sun. Psychic fingers pawed across his thoughts, their touch like memories of nightmares, trying to pull him down into pain and blankness.

He forced his mind to stillness. The effort made him shiver, but the whispers faded, and the clammy presence became a weak scratching. His sword was in his hand without him realising he had drawn it, its runes blazing with cold light.

‘It did nothing,’ cried Maroth over the vox. ‘I came back to it, but I cannot see it.’

How did he find his way here with no eyes?
The question echoed in his mind even through the rising tide of sensations flowing from the open hatch.

‘He wanted to see,’ cackled Maroth. ‘I told him what I had done to his brother, and he wanted to see it more than he wanted my blood. He saw for me, he led me and I him: his eyes were my eyes.’

Something moved in the yawning space beyond the hatch. Ahriman brought his mind into the sword, his will shaping to the blade’s edge. He stepped forwards and into the blackness. The dark folded over him. For a second he saw nothing; then shapes coalesced in the dark, lines and texture forming in the glow of his sword. The bound daemon was there. He could taste its presence without needing to look at it.

Astraeos stood looking up at the creature which wore the skin of his brother. He was armoured and a grille-mouthed helm hid his face. A bolter was clamped to his thighplate, and a sword hung in a knotworked leather scabbard at his waist. His hands were empty and hung at his sides, the fingers relaxed and open. Ahriman did not lower his sword.

‘Astraeos?’ said Ahriman into the vox.

Astraeos’s head turned to face Ahriman. In the darkness the glow of his eyepieces seemed like holes cut in the night. Above him the daemon bound into Cadar’s flesh twitched in its web of chains.

+You knew of this,+ sent Astraeos, and his thought voice was like the low, dangerous growl of a wolf. +You knew, and you kept it from me?+

Ahriman’s mind was arcing, tumbling through possibilities, extending his psychic senses as far as he dared to feel the shape of Astraeos’s mind, to see if there was something else where his soul had been. After a slow beat of his hearts, he let out a breath and spoke into the vox.

+Yes.+ It was all he could say. +Maroth created it, but I kept it and I did not tell you of it.+

+What is it?+

+A daemon of a kind. Powerful, but its power is like the hunger of a starved wolf, it thirsts only for destruction. The flesh is a host, a vessel for its bottled soul.+

+Cadar… +

+He is dead,+ sent Ahriman. +He was dead before this was done. I hope he was, at least.+

+There must be something of him left inside.+

Ahriman shook his head.

+ Nothing that will want to live again.+

Astraeos looked up at the creature, and Ahriman followed his gaze. It was looking at them with silent malevolence.

+There must be a way.+

Ahriman felt something cold circle his spine, and remembered the dead eyes of the Rubricae looking at him from out of the spreading flames in the throne room.