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In the Eyes of Men
by FalconWind
Chapter One
Horandrin looked out over the peaceful world with eyes that didn't exist. He sighed despite the fact he had no lungs. The world reminded him of Prospero, or at least what he could remember of it, and that evoked a melancholy sense of happiness as he remembered better days. Better days, at least in his opinion.
If he'd had a face, it would have made a frown. He was often reminded of his homeworld, and each time, the depression that followed had not been worth the brief vision of Prospero. He chastised himself for being stuck in the distant past, but ultimately knew he'd do it again.
He had been there, Prospero, during the 'Great Betrayal', as he called it. Horandrin could remember the fire raining down upon the serene planet, fire from their own orbital defenses. Fire directed at them by their Space Wolf brothers by the order of the Emperor. Every time the images of the burning buildings, the dying people, entered his mind, he felt the smoldering hate, and the sadness that futilely threatened to bring tears to his eyes.
Horandrin had, of course, never told of his feelings. Such things where not common in the Thousand Sons. Before the Rubric of Ahriman, they might have, but not now, when scarcely any of them understood such 'weak' things. Still, it didn't change the fact that Horandrin, if he could, would turn the clock back. Perhaps, change the past. But if he had that sort of power, he would have done so already. He, unfortunately, did not. And he doubted that even Ahriman or Magnus had such ability.
Horandrin wished he did have the means. The power to save them all. Like many of the Thousand Sons, he studied magic, and he indeed had a thirst for it. He was powerful, but not nearly powerful enough to alter the past. Nor, was he powerful enough to enlist the aid of perhaps Tzeentch. Not that the Changer of the Ways would help in the first place.
He, and his small company of Chaos Space Marines, had just raided a small temple on this planet. It had been an easy endeavor, since the monks had though themselves skilled enough in the magic arts that they need not defend themselves. A flawed belief that cost them dearly. He had not killed them all though, it wasn't necessary. All they had come for was the tome, and now that they had it, they would simply leave.
The paralysis that he'd induced on to the remaining monks would wear off in due time. By then, they would be long gone. So was his way, moderation. And it had worked so far, even if some of his brethren believed him soft. But many knew he had no qualms about killing those who stood in his path. Horandrin was a sorcerer and a warrior; but a warrior of necessity. He may be chaos in the eyes of men, but he was by no means blood-thirsty like devotees of Khorne.
An acolyte, a soldier, came up to Horandrin and bowed. "Master Horandrin, the others are ready to leave. Shall I dispose of these wizard pretenders?"
Horandrin looked at him with mild interest. "For what purpose?"
"None, Master," he explained with a grin.
"Then, no, you shall not." Horandrin's voice was hinted with displeasure.
"Master?"
Horandrin turned to face the soldier. "You were previously under the command of Fedeon, where you not?"
The man hesitated, unsure of Horandrin's intentions. "Yes, Master Horandrin."
"Then I shall explain myself once. We do not kill unless it serves a purpose. If you wish to kill indiscriminately, I suggest you devote yourself to the ways of Khorne. On this mission, we are in search of knowledge, not blood. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," he said firmly.
Horandrin nodded. "Good, now, we leave." He turned to take in the vista one last time and then purposely strode to the waiting transport.
Horandrin traced his armored fingers around the ornately bound tome, almost with reverence. This book contained lost spells and rituals that had not graced the universe for countless millennia. It was here that Horandrin hoped to find the information he desired; the way to their salvation.
"Please let this be the one," he whispered.
He opened the heavy, ancient book, and began to read.
Horandrin, a most powerful sorcerer, found the book fascinating. It was a rare thing to find genuine interest in old spells. Many times, the spells were merely variations of others; rarely did they have any true inspiration or originality. These, however, were no mere variations. These spells where, for the lack of a better word, incredible.
There were methods of using magic detailed in the tome that Horandrin could scarcely have imagined beforehand. Ways of controlling subtle nuances or harnessing raging magical forces.
But even as he let himself become engrossed in the tome's secrets, he was dimly aware that he'd finished most of the book and still had yet to find what he was looking for. Though, one spell did pique his attention.
"'The Light of Revelations'," Horandrin read aloud. He read further into the spell, and a slight excitement crept into him. The spell was promising, indeed. Though it wasn't exactly what he was looking for, it did have staggering potential. But Horandrin didn't let himself get carried away. He wasn't even sure that the spell would work for the Thousand Sons. The spell relied on the person's inner-most thoughts; subconscious thoughts that the person perhaps wasn't even aware of. Depending on the person, it could spell disaster.
Such a drastic course of action required proper and cautious consideration. Something that Ahriman had not done when he'd used the Rubric. This spell could free them, or bury them. Then a thought invaded Horandrin's mind. Do I really want to do this? It startled him; the absurdity of the question. But when he found he could not definitely answer, he was left speechless.
After all this time, could I have been deluding myself? "No!", said a little too loudly. He shook his head. They were not his thoughts. "I know what I must do," he proclaimed to empty room. "You try to sway my mind, but I remain standing. So shall I remain."
Looking down at the tome, he focused his energies and began.
At first, it seemed dark. As if he was at the bottom of a well so deep the sun didn't reach him. Then the images slowly came back. The world came into focus. Perhaps it wasn't really his vision that had gone black, but his mind's interpretation of it.
But something was wrong. This was not his quarters; it was, instead, a lush forest. He stood on a hill, overlooking a valley that seemed to contain all the splendor of the universe within. Horandrin marveled at the beauty, a beauty the like of which he had not seen in ages. He bathed in the sun's warm embrace, and savored the feeling of it's rays on his face.
His eyes suddenly widened in shock. "My face," he realized. He brought up his hand to feel his features. He felt warm flesh and an unshaven chin. It was not the mask of his helmet. Indeed, he realized, he was not even wearing his armor anymore; only the casual attire of the pre-heresy Thousand Sons. "By Tzeentch… how is this possible?"
"The Light of Revelation has made it possible," came the startling reply.
Horandrin spun around with razor sharp reflexes, summoning forth magical protections. But they did not manifest themselves.
"My power! Where is my power?" He said, bewildered. He looked at the form that had startled him. It was a man in bright blue and gold power armor; the power armor of the chaos Thousand Sons.
"Your magical powers lie within me." The figure said. The voice sounded familiar.
Horandrin eyed the figure suspiciously. It then dawned on him. The ruby brooch, the gold and silver chain that hung loosely at his hip. The man was him.
"Y-you're me…" Horandrin struggled out.
The figure nodded. "That I am."
Horandrin's mind reeled as his brain attempted to make sense of it all. "But then… who am I?"
"That is completely up to you." The Thousand Son said cryptically.
"What do you mean?"
"Look behind me, Horandrin," he moved to give him a clear view. Behind, was a vast wasteland. A gray world where the sun never shown, and the sky was the color of bolter smoke. A bright flash of lightning, followed by a monstrous thunderclap strangely unsettled him.
The chaos Horandrin, however, did not move. "This is my world." He pointed back to the vibrant valley. "That is yours. We are both Horandrin. I am the Horandrin that gave myself to magic. I gave myself to Tzeentch completely, and was rewarded with unlimited magical power. But at a terrible price."
"And I am the Horandrin that did not," Horandrin realized.
The armored man nodded once more. "You took the opposite path than I. When we used the Light of Revelation, the spell made this, and made us. Right now, we both exist; as we always have. The spell doesn't simply give us a revelation. It helps us make our own."
He nodded. "So now we decide which one we want to become." He looked at the armored figure, dressed in the traditional garb of the heretic Thousand Sons. "You look- I look different from the outside."
"I could say the same about you," he replied with humor.
Horandrin eyed him critically. "You look good," he commented.
"So do you." The armored Horandrin remained silent for a long moment.
"What?" He asked defensively.
"How does it feel?" he asked distantly, "to be… normal again."
Horandrin felt his chest. "Different… Good." He noticed that his other at moved closer to him.
His other reached out with his hand and caressed the other's chest.
He pulled away. "Hey! We may be of chaos, but we are not of Slaanesh!"
The other raised a hand. "No, no! I didn't mean it like that… It's just… I can't remember what it was like before the Rubric. I wish I could feel what you're feeling now."
"I understand." Horandrin laughed. "In fact, it was somewhat brash of me to jump to such a conclusion. We would never do that!"
"No, we wouldn't. But seeing your- my- our- true form is…" He struggled with his emotions. "I have an odd request of you."
"Such as?"
He paused a moment. "Can I… touch you… I mean, feel your… my body. I want to feel it, somehow. It's just, when I look at you… it seems so long ago. It's almost as if you're a long-lost brother."
Horandrin thought a moment. "Well you are me, so I suppose there's no reason why not."
His hand reached out once more, tentatively, and it touched him lightly, tenderly, almost as if he were afraid to hurt him.
For him, tt was incredible. The heretic Horandrin had not seen his body in centuries. His muscles were strong, his skin, smooth and flawless. It was as if he'd been blind, only to be confronted with the image of his twin. He wanted to be closer. He felt an urge to be closer to him, to himself. He suddenly felt so alone, so empty.
Casting caution to the wind he grasped his counterpart in both hands, and embraced him in a bear hug, burying his masked face into the other's shoulder.
His first reaction was to push the man away. But then, he thought, he's not 'a man', he's me. He let his counterpart hold him, making a half-hearted attempt to hug back.
For what seemed like an eternity to Horandrin his other held him silently, and unmoving. He began to squirm, despite himself, and then, the other let him go. "Thank you!" he said, "thank you!"
He felt as if he was beaming at him, mind swimming in a pure euphoria of a nature that Slaanesh could never hope to comprehend. It made him laugh, and smile in return. "Not a problem, brother. It seems to have done you good. Though, not to put a damper on your spirits, we should probably get to the business at hand."
Horandrin nodded happily. "Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you say."
Shaking his head in amusement, he chuckled. "Calm down, our decision won't be any good if you are not clear of mind."
"Of course, you're right." He cleared a throat that didn't exist.
"Right, so what are we going to do? I think I'm correct in assuming you wish to do what we planned; to seek redemption."
"How could you tell," he joked.
"You are not exactly the paradigm of a Thousand Sons' Sorcerer right now, you know," Horandrin said almost rebukingly.
"There's a problem," he said changing the subject. "To seek redemption we would need our powers; my powers."
"And we need to do it my way," Horandrin said, completing the thought. "But then, it doesn't really work perfectly in the first place."
"What do you mean?"
Horandrin looked at his pink hands, the hands of a farmer. "I could never be. I mean, we can never get our body back. I'm just a dream, a memory."
"But you are real," the other insisted. "Up here," he pointed to their heads, "you exist. You standing here with me proves that."
"But is that all I'll ever be? An element in our mind?"
He shrugged. "Perhaps, but we can still try. If you don't try-" he began.
"-You are destined to fail," Horandrin finished. "So it's agreed. We try."
"Yes. But we will never be one or the other, always both."
He nodded. "Honestly, though, I wouldn't want it any other way. I don't think I could live without you."
"Yes, we need both honor and magic. I feel the same way, Horandrin."
"We feel the same way," he corrected.
"I feel the pull of reality; the spell will end shortly," warned the armored Horandrin.
"I feel it also. Well, until our dreams, Horandrin," he said extending a hand shake.
"Until our dreams," he replied taking the hand and giving a friendly one-handed hug, which was returned in kind. "We shall not fail."
In the middle of the room Horandrin lay, his eye lenses returning to there proper green glow. He sat up, and stared at the tome, which lay open and face down on the floor. "No, we shall not fail."
To be continued…
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