Fallen Angels

FOURTEEN Walking the Spiral

'How can this be?' Luther demanded, his voice crackling with tension in the confines of the Grand Master's sanctum. He had abandoned the massive oaken chair behind the sanctum's wide desk and had begun to pace across the room. 'How is it possible that no one noticed this before?'

Damaged servo-motors whined as Zahariel folded his arms. He and Astelan stood side by side before the Grand Master's desk, fresh from the transport that had carried them from Sigma Five-One-Seven. The sanctum was crowded with portable logic engines, stacks of papers and map tables, and half-empty cups of caffeine steamed in little clusters on the stone floor. They had interrupted a high-level operations meeting to deliver their report; the antechamber outside the sanctum was crowded with regimental officers and staff members who were doubtless wondering what all the secrecy was about.

Only Lord Cypher had been allowed to remain in the room to hear the warriors' report. He stood by one of the chamber's windows, silent and half-hidden by shadow. Brother-Librarian Israfael was also present; the Master of Caliban had summoned him as soon as he'd heard the gist of Zahariel and Astelan's report.

'The clues were there all along,' Zahariel replied. 'What else could have created the great beasts? What else could have shaped a wilderness so relentlessly malevolent and deadly to human life?'

'Caliban is a death world, brother,' Israfael pointed out. 'Like Catachan or Piscina V. That doesn't mean it's inherently tainted.'

'Perhaps not,' Zahariel admitted. 'Perhaps the two traits are unrelated, but the fact remains that Caliban is tainted somehow. I saw it with my own eyes.'

Luther paused in his restless pacing and fixed Astelan with a penetrating stare. 'What about you, chapter master? Did you see evidence of this as well?'

Astelan had stood at a rigid parade-rest, shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back as he and Zahariel had delivered their report. He met Luther's flinty gaze unflinchingly. 'There was nothing natural about the creatures we fought, my lord,' he said. 'I confess that I did not see the traces of corruption that Brother Zahariel reports, but I'm no psyker. If he says that's what he saw, then I believe him.' He shrugged. 'The Northwilds were always thought of as haunted, my lord, as you yourself must know.'

The answer did little to please Luther. 'Damnation,' he hissed. The Master of Caliban turned to Israfael. 'How could the Imperium have missed this?'

The Librarian shrugged. 'Because no one asked us to look,' he said.

'Have a care, brother,' Luther growled. 'I'm in no mood for jests.'

'I'm not trying to be impertinent,' Israfael answered. 'There were no obvious signs of corruption when the fleet arrived here; if anything, we were surprised at how few psykers we found among the planet's populace.'

'That's because witches and mutants were slain out of hand for hundreds of years,' Astelan grunted.

Israfael acknowledged this with a wave of his hand. 'Another characteristic common to worlds that survived the Age of Strife and the fall of Old Night,' he said. 'Had any of these great beasts still survived by the time we found your world, we might have seen the need to investigate more closely, but as it was, there was nothing obvious to arouse our concern. This warp-taint, whatever it is, must be buried very deep indeed.'

'I agree,' Zahariel said. 'And I believe that it only became readily accessible recently, when the insurrection began. We know that warp taint feeds on human strife and bloodshed. The arcology riots could have been the catalyst that set the events at Sigma Five-One-Seven into motion.'

Luther's eyes narrowed. 'So you're saying the rebels are behind this?'

'Not at all,' Zahariel replied. 'There was no evidence of rebel activity at the site whatsoever. I think that the attacks and the riots created an environment that others have succumbed to.'

'Like who?' Luther demanded.

Zahariel considered his reply carefully. 'We accounted for the bodies of the Jaeger garrison, the reaction force, and the labourers that had been sent to work on the thermal plant. The Terran engineers assigned to the plant were nowhere to be found.'

'They may have been elsewhere at the site,' Israfael countered. 'You reported that your squad didn't search the labourer's dormitories, for example. They might well have been murdered in their sleep.'

'I'd considered that,' Zahariel said, 'but it was clear to Astelan and I that the site's garrison was betrayed from within. All of the Calibanite labourers had been, murdered, along with the Jaegers. That leaves only the Terrans.'

Before Israfael could offer a counter-argument, Luther interjected. 'All right, let's assume for the moment that the Terrans were responsible. What was the point of the ritual?'

'That's difficult to say,' Zahariel answered. 'Clearly the reaver worms were an integral part of it. Why else would the Terrans go to so much trouble to provide hundreds of corpses for the worm queen?' He thought the situation over for a moment. 'The sorcerers were gone long before we arrived, so we have to assume the ritual was completed successfully, and they'd gotten what they'd come for. The ritual itself was complicated and obviously required a great deal of planning to execute. Given that the Terrans had only been at the site for approximately six days, I think it's also clear that the whole operation was conceived elsewhere and put into action at the site.'

'Where had these Terrans come from?' Luther asked.

'Northwilds arcology,' the Librarian answered. Suddenly he straightened, remembering something he'd dismissed in the early stages of the mission. 'And that's where they must have returned to as well. Just before we entered the perimeter I picked up a civilian shuttle on our surveyors off to the west, headed in that direction. They fled the site minutes before we arrived.' The pieces started to fall into place. Zahariel nodded thoughtfully. 'I think this ritual was just one element of a much larger scheme, brothers. They performed the ritual at Sigma Five-One-Seven, gathered the fruits of their sorcery and returned to the arcology for the next phase of the operation.'

Luther started to pace again, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. 'There are more than a thousand Terran engineers operating out of that arcology,' he growled. 'We'll have to investigate every industrial site they've worked on in the last month, just to be sure there haven't been any other rituals we don't know about.'

Israfael bristled. 'You act like every Terran in the arcology has been corrupted!'

'Show me a Calibanite that's been corrupted and I'll revise my assumptions,' Luther answered coldly. 'In the meantime we need to track down every one of those engineers as quickly and quietly as possible.'

'That will be difficult, my lord,' Astelan said. 'Those engineers built Northwilds arcology. There are miles upon miles of tunnels and maintenance spaces they could be hiding in at this point - to say nothing of the rebel activity already tying down our troops in that sector.'

'The rebels be damned!' Luther snapped. 'They can burn the arcology to the ground, so long as we catch these Terran devils and no one is the wiser!'

Israfael's eyes widened in alarm. 'Surely you don't mean to say that we can keep this a secret. We have to report this to the primarch and the Adeptus Terra at once!'

'If word of this reaches Terra, Caliban will die.' Luther declared. 'Worlds have burned for far less.'

The Terran started to protest, but found he could not. 'It's true,' he said heavily. 'I cannot deny it.'

'Then you understand why I cannot allow that to happen,' Luther said. 'Not here. Not on my watch. The people of Caliban are innocent and undeserving of such a fate, and I won't allow such a thing to happen.'

Israfael rose slowly to his feet and faced Luther. 'What you're contemplating is against Imperial law,' he said gravely. 'Indeed, it smacks of treason.'

'That's easy for you to say,' Luther snarled. 'This isn't your home. These aren't people you've sworn a solemn oath to defend.'

'Of course I have!' Israfael shot back, his voice rising. 'Am I not an Astartes? The Imperium—'

'The Imperium brought us to this!' Luther roared. He rounded on Israfael, his face anguished and his hands clenched into fists. 'There were no rebellions before you arrived, no obscene rituals or human sacrifices! There was order, and law, and virtuous men who stood between the innocent and the terrors of the forest. It was your people who did this, who dug too deeply and grasped for too much, and now me and mine will pay the price!'

Israfael tensed, and the air around him literally crackled with furious power. Astelan turned slightly to face the senior Librarian, his hands drifting slowly to his weapons. Zahariel recalled the chapter master's oath at Sigma Five-One-Seven and understood how perilous the situation had become. He rushed forward, placing himself between Luther and Israfael.

'We are all brothers here,' he said firmly. 'Neither Calibanite nor Terran, but Dark Angels, first and always. If we forget that, even for a moment, we are lost. Then who will protect our people, Master Luther?'

Luther's gaze fell on Zahariel. For a long moment he was silent, until his expression grew bleak and his fists slowly unclenched. The Master of Caliban turned away, resting his hands upon the heavy desk.

'Zahariel is right, of course,' he said at last. 'I hope you will forgive my intemperate tone, Brother Israfael.'

'Of course,' Israfael said stiffly.

Luther worked his way around the desk and settled slowly onto the throne-like chair. His expression was distant, his eyes haunted.

'I must meditate on this,' he said in a hollow voice. 'Too many lives are at stake to act precipitously. For now, we must make sure this rot has spread no further. Zahariel, send the scouts into the Northwilds. Have them reconnoitre every industrial site in the sector and search for signs of further corruption. Check the Administratum's records and find out which engineers were assigned to Sigma Five-One-Seven, then pass their identities on to the Jaeger regiments at the Northwilds arcology. They are to be captured and delivered to Aldurukh immediately.' He sighed. 'Brothers, I realize this is well outside the scope of our temperament and training, but this matter must be handled with the utmost secrecy. There is no one else we can trust with this.'

Zahariel bowed his head respectfully. 'I'll see to it at once.'

Luther turned to Astelan. 'Chapter master, as of this moment I'm putting you in command of Caliban's defence forces. Place our brothers on a war footing. I want strike teams ready to deploy in case any more ritual activity is detected, but no one is to act without my express authorization. Understood?'

'Understood,' Astelan replied gravely. 'We will stand ready, my lord.'

'Let's at least send some scout teams into the arcology as well,' Zahariel said. 'The sorcerers are most likely practicing their rituals close to the thermal core. If we could locate them quickly, we could—'

Luther held up a restraining hand. 'Not yet. If we start suddenly committing our warriors now, during a relative lull in civil unrest, it will almost certainly lead to renewed scrutiny from the Administratum. That's something we can ill afford at this point.'

'Magos Bosk will have to be informed of the destruction of Sigma Five-One-Seven,' Israfael pointed out.

'If there are any reports to be made, I will make them,' Luther said sternly. 'None of you are to speak of what happened at the site, as a matter of operational security. Understood?'

The four Astartes nodded.

'Then you are dismissed,' Luther said. 'Except for you, Lord Cypher. I have some questions to ask you.'

Israfael turned on his heel and left the room without a word. Astelan was close behind, his expression eager. Zahariel hesitated for a moment, torn by feelings of doubt. Only he saw Lord Cypher glide quietly from the shadows to stand beside the Grand Master's throne-like chair.

He wasn't certain what disturbed him more: the sight of Luther staring down at his own hands, his expression anguished - or the enigmatic smile that passed like a shadow across Lord Cypher's face.

Lightning flashed angrily overhead, banishing the darkness for the space of a heartbeat and dazzling Zahariel's sensitive eyes. Thunder crashed, vibrating along his bones, and raindrops spattered heavily against his cheeks. He paused, struggling to calm his thoughts and banish the spots of colour from his vision. When his vision cleared, he set his feet upon the spiral path once more.

It had been more than a week since the encounter at Sigma Five-One-Seven. Orders had gone out immediately from the Rock; the Scout chapter on Caliban had gone into action within hours, commencing a building-by-building search of every industrial site within the Northwilds sector. At the same time, a records search provided the identities of the Terran engineering team that had been assigned to Sigma Five-One-Seven. The information had been passed on to the Jaeger regiments deployed to the Northwilds arcology, but it was learned that the arcology's so-called Terran Quarter had been looted and burned during the first cycle of riots, and the inhabitants had been relocated for their own safety. The problem was that details of the relocation had been lost amid the chaos, and now no one knew for sure where many of the Terrans had wound up. The Jaegers were trying to locate them, but the local regiments had few troops to spare because of the continued threat of rebel attack. Though Luther seemed willing to let the arcology burn in order to track down the sorcerers, there was no practical way to issue such an order without raising a chorus of questions all along the chain of command. Zahariel had heard, indirectly, of the confrontation between Luther and Magos Bosk over the destruction of Sigma Five-One-Seven, and by all accounts it had been epic. Bosk had been livid over the loss of so much industrial capacity, and it had taken every bit of Luther's charisma and authority to prevent her once more from breaching protocol and reporting the situation to the Adeptus Terra.

They were running out of time. Every passing hour was a boon to the fugitive sorcerers, who were no doubt working to further their plan somewhere in the labyrinthine depths of the arcology. Though the Jaegers were making a concerted effort to locate them, the fact was that there were large parts of the arcology that they couldn't penetrate due to the possibility of rebel attack. These no-go zones provided countless safe havens for the sorcerers to continue their work without fear of interruption.

The only answer was to send in the Legion, Zahariel knew. A level-by-level sweep, conducted by their Scout chapter and supported by one or more assault chapters could brush aside any rebel resistance and isolate the real threat within hours. Such an operation, if conducted with proper ruthlessness, might even convince the rebel leaders that further resistance was pointless, and put an end to both threats at the same time.

The problem was that only Luther had the authority to put such a plan into action, and he had gone into seclusion within hours of receiving the report on Sigma Five-One-Seven. No one could even say for certain where the Master of Caliban had gone, save for the enigmatic Lord Cypher, and he was sworn to silence. Zahariel had prevailed upon Cypher to carry close to a dozen messages to Luther urgently requesting permission to send the Legion into the arcology, but not a single one had been answered.

The fact was, he was sorely tempted to defy Luther and order the Astartes into action. Technically, it was within his authority as Luther's second-in-command; with the Master of Caliban in seclusion, the decision was his to make, but doing so would betray his oaths of obedience to the Emperor and to the Legion. And yet, what if Luther was right, and the real danger to Caliban was from the Imperium itself? If that were true, then his oath to the Emperor was based on a lie, and counted for nothing. He didn't know what to believe at this point. The things he'd witnessed at Sigma Five-One-Seven had shaken his faith to the core.

In all his life, Zahariel had never lacked for certainty. His faith in himself and his cause had been unwavering. Now it seemed like the very foundations of the world were quaking beneath his feet. If he wasn't careful, his next step could well be his last.

Overhead the storm raged, mirroring the turmoil in Zahariel's mind. He drew in a deep breath and channelled his frustrations into a mental summons.

'Show yourselves, you Watchers in the Dark!' he shouted into the raging wind. 'Long ago, I pledged my sword to you, to stand against the same evils that you did. Now I see the truth; this whole world is corrupted, and now my people are in dire peril.'

Another searing flash of lightning answered his mental summons, banishing all but the deepest shadows and etching the courtyard in sharp relief. But this time the brilliant light did not fade; it deepened slightly in colour, from a harsh blue-white to a more silvery hue, like moonlight. Zahariel no longer felt the touch of rain on his cheeks, and the howling wind seemed strangely muted, almost plaintive in its howls. Then he saw the three, hooded figures standing at the centre of the spiral. They were garbed like supplicants, wearing a surplice whose colour seemed to constantly shift from black to brown to grey and back again. Their heads were covered by voluminous hoods, their faces hidden by darkness. Their hands were tucked inside the sleeves of their surplice, so that not one centimetre of flesh could be seen.

The Watchers in the Dark weren't human. Of that, Zahariel was certain. This was the form they chose to show him, because he was quite certain that the sight of their true nature would very likely drive him mad.

One of the three spoke - Zahariel could not be certain which one. Their voices were like a complex skein of whispered sounds, woven together into the semblance of human words.

You know nothing of truth, Zahariel, the watcher said. If truth and falsehood were so simple, our ancient enemy could never find its way into a human soul.

'I know what is right and what is wrong!' Zahariel shot back. 'I know the difference between honour and dishonour, loyalty and treason! What more does a man - or an Astartes - need to know?'

He is blind, said one of the watchers. He has always been thus. Kill him, before he does more harm than he knows.

Though the watchers were diminutive creatures by Astartes standards - each one barely more than a metre in height - Zahariel could sense the mantle of psychic energy that surrounded each of them, and knew that they could snuff out his life as easily as a candle flame. But he was in no mood to be cowed by these beings, not when the future of Caliban was at stake.

'Perhaps that was true once, but I have learned a great deal since the first time we met,' Zahariel countered. 'You're not ghosts or malevolent spirits, as the forest folk once believed. You're a xenos species that has been guarding something here on Caliban for a very long time. What is it?'

Something mankind was not meant to trifle with, one of the watchers hissed. It has ever been thus. Your kind is too curious, too grasping and ignorant. It will be your undoing.

'If we are ignorant, it's because beings like you withhold the truth from us,' Zahariel shouted. 'Knowledge is power.'

And mankind misuses its power at every turn. One day humanity will kindle a fire they cannot control, and the entire universe will burn.

'Then teach us!' Zahariel said. 'Show us a better way, instead of sitting back and waiting for disaster to fall. If you don't, then you're just as much to blame for what happens as we are.'

The three beings stirred, and a wave of psychic power rolled away from them like a cold wave, engulfing Zahariel and freezing him to the core. The shock of it would have stopped an ordinary man's heart; as it was, the Librarian's circulatory and nervous systems struggled to keep him conscious. Yet he refused to be cowed by their expression of pique.

'You said to me, long ago, that this evil could be fought,' he said. 'Here I stand, ready to fight it. Just tell me what I must do.'

The watchers did not answer at first. They stirred again, and the ether was charged with pulses and ripples of invisible power. He sensed that they were conversing somehow, on a level too rarefied for him to perceive.

After what felt like an eternity, the ether stilled once more, and one of the watchers spoke. Ask your questions, human. We will answer what we can.

The admission surprised Zahariel, until he remembered that the watchers had once admitted that they were a part of a larger cabal, dedicated to battling the most ancient of evils. For the first time, he perceived that there were limits to what these potent beings were capable of doing.

'All right,' Zahariel began. 'How long has Caliban been tainted by this evil?'

Always, was the watcher's wintry reply.

'Then why have no Calibanites succumbed to its touch before now?'

Because of our efforts, you foolish human, another watcher said. Zahariel was coming to recognise tonal differences between the beings now, though he still had no clear idea which voice belonged to which body.

And, ironically, by the great beasts themselves, another watcher said. They were born of the taint, and lingered near the places where its corruption rose close to the surface. They killed nearly all of the humans who strayed too close, and those few who did survive were ultimately slain as warlocks by your own people before they could grow too strong.

A sudden chill raised gooseflesh on Zahariel's skin as a memory returned to him from long ago. He remembered standing in the great library of the Knights of Lupus, listening to the bleak words of their doomed master, Lord Sartana… The worst… of all this, is the Lion's quest to kill off the great beasts. That's the real danger. That's the part we'll all end up regretting.

And now the Terrans had come, cutting away the forests and forcing their way into the most inhospitable parts of Caliban in search of resources to feed the Imperial war machine. 'The thermal cores,' he mused. 'They sank the thermal cores deep into the earth and released the taint in the Northwilds.'

And now others feed it with fire and slaughter, a watcher added.

Zahariel nodded, thinking of the pile of corpses at Sigma Five-One-Seven. Many of them had doubtless been provided for the worm queen to lay her eggs, but others - likely the entirety of the Calibanite labour force - had been offered up as a sacrifice, to add power to the ritual and focus the energies that the sorcerers unleashed. If they managed to tap into the horror and bloodshed being unleashed by the rebels, what terrible things might they accomplish?

In their own way, the rebels were more dangerous than the sorcerers themselves, Zahariel realised bleakly. And tragically, their cause wasn't entirely unjust. The Imperium did, in fact, pose a grave danger to Caliban - just not in the way that many of them suspected.

Except for the old knight, Sar Daviel. He knew. Zahariel remembered his last words to Luther.

The forests are gone, but the monsters still remain.

Zahariel suddenly understood what had to be done. He turned to the watchers and bowed his head respectfully. 'Thank you for your counsel,' he said gravely. 'You have my word that the wisdom you've shared will be put to good use. I will save Caliban from destruction. This I swear.'

The watchers studied him for a long moment, while the ghostly winds of the immaterium howled above their heads. Then, slowly, the watcher in the centre shook his cowled head.

In that you are wrong, Zahariel of the Dark Angels, the watcher replied. Its unearthly voice was low, and almost sad. Caliban is doomed, and nothing you do can prevent it.

Zahariel blinked in surprise, stunned by the watcher's words. When he opened his eyelids again, the afterimage of the lightning bolt was fading from his vision. Rain smote his face, and the Watchers in the Dark were gone.

Zahariel burst into the Grand Master's sanctum unannounced, the thick, oaken door rebounding with a boom from the old stone walls. Lord Cypher looked up from behind the Grand Master's desk, his hooded form bent over neatly-stacked data slates and copies of readiness reports.

The enigmatic Astartes' square-jawed face betrayed no emotion at the Librarian's sudden arrival. 'Master Luther remains in seclusion, meditating on the crisis,' he said coolly. 'Have you another message for me to deliver?'

'I'm not looking for Master Luther,' Zahariel said, stalking purposefully across the room. 'You're the one I wish to speak to, my lord.'

'Indeed?' Cypher straightened, hooking his thumbs casually in his tooled leather gun belt. 'And how may I be of service, Brother-Librarian Zahariel?'

'I want another parley with the rebel leaders,' Zahariel said. 'Specifically Sar Daviel. And it needs to be within the next twenty-four hours.'

The request seemed to genuinely amuse Cypher. 'Shall I pull the moon out of the sky while I'm at it?' he asked with a faint grin.

'You got word to them once before,' Zahariel continued stubbornly. 'I have no doubt those channels are still open to you, if you choose to employ them.'

The traditions of parley went back for hundreds of years on Caliban, when open warfare between knightly orders was more common. Even the bitterest foes maintained channels of communication to facilitate negotiations or declarations of surrender. It was a means of avoiding unnecessary casualties and bringing a swift end to open combat before both sides were too badly mauled to perform their sworn duty to the people of Caliban.

The grin faded from Lord Cypher's face. His lips pressed into a narrow line. 'Only the Grand Master can initiate a parley,' he said.

'Not so,' Zahariel countered. 'Astelan and I are his designated representatives, and so long as he remains incommunicado, we have the authority to prosecute the war as we see fit. And I wish to parley with the rebels at once.'

Lord Cypher hesitated for a moment, but then ultimately gave a nod of assent. 'The rebels won't agree to a meeting at Aldurukh this time,' he warned.

'I've no interest in speaking to them here,' Zahariel said. 'Tell Sar Daviel that I will meet them at a place of their choosing,' he said, 'inside the Northwilds arcology. No other location is acceptable.'

Cypher studied Zahariel closely. 'An unusual request,' he said. 'They will want to know why.'

'Because the fate of our world is going to be decided there,' Zahariel replied. 'Whether any of us like it or not.'