False Gods (28 page)

Horus had the wit to see why some ancient theologian had claimed that the warp was, in fact, hell. He understood the reasoning, but he knew that the Empyrean was no metaphysical dimension; it was simply an echo of the material world, where random vortices of energy and strange breeds of malign xenos creatures made their homes.

As pleasing an axiom as that was, it still didn’t answer the question of where he was.

How had he come to this place? His last memory was of speaking to Petronella Vivar in the apothecarion, telling her of his life, his hopes, his disappointments and his fears for the galaxy – conscious that he had told her those incendiary things as his valediction.

He couldn’t change that, but he would damn well get to the bottom of what was happening to him now. Was it a fever dream brought on by whatever had wounded him? Had Temba’s sword been poisoned? He dismissed that thought immediately; no poison could lay him low. Surveying his surroundings, he could see no sign of the wolves that had chased him through the dark forests, but suddenly remembered a familiar form that had ghosted behind the face of the pack leader. For the briefest instant, it had looked like Magnus, but surely he was back on Prospero licking his wounds after the Council of Nikaea?

Something had happened to Horus on Davin’s moon, but he had no idea what. His shoulder ached and he rotated it within his armour to loosen the muscle, but the motion served only to further aggravate it. Horus set off in the direction of the river once more, still thirsty despite knowing that he walked in an illusory realm.

Cresting the rise that then began to slope gently down towards the river, Horus pulled up sharply as he saw something startling: an armoured Astartes warrior floating face down in the water. Wedged in the shallows of the riverbank, the body rose and fell with the swell of the water, and Horus swiftly made his way towards it.

He splashed into the river and gripped the edges of the figure’s shoulder guards, turning the body over with a heavy splash.

Horus gasped, seeing that the man was alive, and that it was someone he knew.

A beautiful man was how Loken had described him, a beautiful man who had been adored by all who knew him. The noblest hero of the Great Crusade had been another of his epithets.

Hastur Sejanus.

L
OKEN
MARCHED
AWAY
from the temple, angry at what his brothers had done and furious with himself: he should have known that Erebus would have had plans beyond the simple murder of the Warmaster.

His veins surged with the need to do violence, but Erebus was not here, and no one could tell Loken where he was. Torgaddon and Vipus marched alongside him, and even through his anger, Loken could sense his friends’ astonishment at what had happened before the great gate of the Delphos.

‘Throne, what’s happening here?’ asked Vipus as they reached the top of the processional steps. ‘Garvi, what’s happening? Are the first captain and Little Horus our enemies now?’

Loken shook his head. ‘No, Nero, they are our brothers, they are simply being used. As I think we all are.’

‘By Erebus?’ asked Torgaddon.

‘Erebus?’ said Vipus. ‘What has he got to do with this?’

‘Garviel thinks that Erebus is behind what’s happening to the Warmaster,’ said Torgaddon.

Loken shot him an exasperated stare.

‘You’re joking?’

‘Not this time, Nero,’ said Torgaddon.

‘Tarik,’ snapped Loken. ‘Keep your voice down or everyone will hear.’

‘So what if they do, Garvi?’ hissed Torgaddon. ‘If Erebus is behind this, then everyone should know about it: we should expose him.’

‘And we will,’ promised Loken, watching as the pinpricks of vehicle headlights appeared at the mouth of the valley they had only recently flown up.

‘So what do we do?’ asked Vipus.

That was the question, realized Loken. They needed more information before they could act, and they needed it now. He fought for calm so that he could think more clearly.

Loken wanted answers, but he had to know what questions to ask first, and there was one man who had always been able to cut through his confusion and steer him in the right direction.

Loken set off down the steps, heading back towards the Thunderhawk. Torgaddon, Vipus and the warriors of Locasta followed him. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he turned to them and said, ‘I need you two to stay here. Keep an eye on the temple and make sure that nothing bad happens.’

‘Define “bad”,’ said Vipus.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Loken. ‘Just… bad, you know? And contact me if you get so much as a glimpse of Erebus,’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Torgaddon.

‘I’m going back to the
Vengeful Spirit
.’

‘What for?’

‘To get some answers,’ said Loken.

‘H
ASTUR
!’
CRIED
H
ORUS
, reaching down to lift his fallen friend from the water. Sejanus was limp in his arms, though Horus could tell he lived by the pulse in his throat and the colour in his cheeks. Horus dragged Sejanus from the water, wondering if his presence might be another of the strange realm’s illusions or if his old friend might in fact be a threat to him.

Sejanus’s chest hiked convulsively as he brought up a lungful of water, and Horus rolled him onto his side, knowing that the genhanced physique of an Astartes warrior made it almost impossible for him to drown.

‘Hastur, is it really you?’ asked Horus, knowing that in this place, such a question was probably meaningless, but overcome with joy to see his beloved Sejanus again. He remembered the pain he had felt when his most favoured son had been hacked down upon the onyx floor of the false Emperor’s palace on Sixty-Three Nineteen, and the Cthonic bellicosity that had demanded blood vengeance.

Sejanus heaved a last flood of water and propped himself up on his elbow, sucking great lungfuls of the clean air. His hand clutched at his throat as though searching for something, and he looked relieved to find that it wasn’t there.

‘My son,’ said Horus as Sejanus turned towards him. He was exactly as Horus remembered him, perfect in every detail: the noble face, wide set eyes and firm, straight nose that could be a mirror for the Warmaster himself.

Any thoughts that Sejanus might be a threat to him were swept away as he saw the silver shine of his eyes and knew that this surely was Hastur Sejanus. How such a thing was possible was beyond him, but he did not question this miracle for fear that it might be snatched away from him.

‘Commander,’ said Sejanus, rising to embrace Horus.

‘Damn me, boy, it’s good to see you,’ said Horus. ‘Part of me died when I lost you.’

‘I know, sir,’ replied Sejanus as they released each other from the crushing embrace. ‘I felt your sorrow.’

‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, my boy,’ said Horus, taking a step back to admire his most perfect warrior. ‘It gladdens my heart to see you, but how can this be? I watched you die.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Sejanus. ‘You did, but, in truth, my death was a blessing.’

‘A blessing? How?’

‘It opened my eyes to the truth of the universe and freed me from the shackles of living knowledge. Death is no longer an undiscovered country, my lord, it is one from which this traveler has returned.’

‘How is such a thing possible?’

‘They sent me back to you,’ said Sejanus. ‘My spirit was lost in the void, alone and dying, but I have come back to help you.’

Conflicting emotions surged through Horus at the sight of Sejanus. To hear him speak of spirits and voids struck a note of warning, but to see him alive once more, even if it wasn’t real, was something to be cherished.

‘You say you’re here to help me? Then help me to understand this place. Where are we?’

‘We don’t have much time,’ said Sejanus, climbing the slope to the rise that overlooked the plains and forests, and taking a long look around. ‘He’ll be here soon.’

‘That’s not the first time I’ve heard that recently,’ said Horus.

‘From where else have you heard it?’ demanded Sejanus, turning back to face him with a serious expression. Horus was surprised at the vehemence of the question.

‘A wolf said it to me,’ said Horus. ‘I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous, but I swear it really did speak to me.’

‘I believe you, sir,’ said Sejanus. ‘That’s why we need to move on.’

Horus sensed evasion, a trait he had never known in Sejanus before now and said, ‘You’re avoiding my question, Hastur, now tell me where we are.’

‘We don’t have time, my lord,’ urged Sejanus.

‘Sejanus,’ said Horus, his voice that of the Warmaster. ‘Tell me what I want to know.’

‘Very well,’ said Sejanus, ‘but quickly, for your body lies on the brink of death within the walls of the Delphos on Davin.’

‘The Delphos? I’ve never heard of it, and this doesn’t look like Davin.’

‘The Delphos is a place sacred to the Lodge of the Serpent,’ said Sejanus. ‘A place of healing. In the ancient tongues of Earth its name means “the womb of the world”, where a man may be healed and renewed. Your body lies in the Axis Mundi chamber, but your spirit is no longer tied to your flesh,’

‘So we’re not really here?’ asked Horus. ‘This world isn’t real?’

‘No.’

‘Then this is the warp,’ said Horus, finally accepting what he had begun to suspect.

‘Yes. None of this is real,’ said Sejanus, waving his hand around the landscape. ‘All this is but fragments of your will and memory that have given shape to the formless energy of the warp.’

Horus suddenly knew where he had seen this land before, remembering the wondrous geophysical relief map of Terra they had found ten kilometres beneath a dead world almost a decade ago. It hadn’t been the Terra of their time, but one of an age long past, with green fields, clear seas and clean air.

He looked up into the sky, half expecting to see curious faces looking down on him from above like students studying an ant colony, but the sky was empty, though it was darkening at an unnatural rate. The world around him was changing before his eyes from the Earth that had once existed to the barren wasteland of Terra.

Sejanus followed his gaze and said, ‘It’s beginning.’

‘What is?’ asked Horus.

‘Your mind and body are dying and this world is beginning to collapse into Chaos. That’s why they sent me back, to guide you to the truth that will allow you to return to your body.’

Even as Sejanus spoke, the sky began to waver and he could see hints of the roiling sea of the Immaterium seething behind the clouds.

‘You keep saying “they”,’ said Horus. ‘Who are “they” and why are they interested in me?’

‘Great intelligences dwell in the warp,’ explained Sejanus, casting wary glances at the dissolution of the sky. ‘They do not communicate as we do and this is the only way they could reach you.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this, Hastur,’ warned Horus.

‘There is no malice in this place. There is power and potential, yes, but no malice, simply the desire to exist. Events in our galaxy are destroying this realm and these powers have chosen you to be their emissary in their dealings with the material world.’

‘And what if I don’t want to be their emissary?’

‘Then you will die,’ said Sejanus. ‘Only they are powerful enough to save your life now.’

‘If they’re so powerful, what do they need me for?’

‘They are powerful, but they cannot exist in the material universe and must work through emissaries,’ replied Sejanus. ‘You are a man of strength and ambition and they know there is no other being in the galaxy powerful enough or worthy enough to do what must be done.’

Despite his satisfaction at being so described, Horus did not like what he was hearing. He sensed no deceit in Sejanus, though a warning voice in his head reminded him that the silver-eyed warrior standing before him could not truly be Sejanus.

‘They have no interest in the material universe, it is anathema to them, they simply wish to preserve their own realm from destruction,’ continued Sejanus as the chemical reek of the world beyond the illusion returned, and a stinking wind arose. ‘In return for your aid, they can give you a measure of their power and the means to realize your every ambition.’

Horus saw the lurking world of brazen iron become more substantial as the warp and weft of reality began to buckle beneath his feet. Cracks of dark light shimmered through the splitting earth and Horus could hear the sound of howling wolves drawing near.

‘We have to move!’ shouted Sejanus as the wolf pack loped from a disintegrating copse of trees. To Horus, it sounded as though their howls desperately called his name.

Sejanus ran back to the river and a shimmering flat oblong of light rose from the boiling water. Horus heard whispers and strange mutterings issuing from beyond it, and a sense of dark premonition seized him as he switched his gaze between this strange light and the wolves.

‘I’m not sure about this,’ said Horus as the sky shed fat droplets of acid rain.

‘Come on, the gateway is our only way out!’ cried Sejanus, heading towards the light. ‘As a great man once said, “Towering genius disdains the beaten path; it seeks regions hitherto unexplored”.’

‘You’re quoting me back to myself?’ said Horus as the wind blew in howling gusts.

‘Why not? Your words will be quoted for centuries to come.’

Horus smiled, liking the idea of being quotable, and set off after Sejanus.

‘Where does this gate lead?’ shouted Horus over the wind and the howling of wolves.

‘To the truth,’ replied Sejanus.

T
HE
CRATER
BEGAN
to fill as the sun finally set, hundreds of vehicles of all descriptions finally completing their journey from the Imperial deployment zone to this place of pilgrimage. The Davinites watched the arrival of these convoys with a mixture of surprise and confusion, incredulous as each vehicle was abandoned, and its passengers made their way towards the Delphos.

Within the hour, thousands of people had gathered, and more were arriving every minute. Most of these new arrivals milled about in an undirected mass until the Davinites began circulating amongst them, helping to find somewhere that belongings could be set down and arranging shelter as a hard rain began to fall.