1 - The Temple In The Forest
With a high pitched screech the drop pods pierce the black clouds like a swarm of artificial meteors. Trailing long plumes of fire, they rain down on the barren, densely built-up landscape; a few at first, then more, and more, and more. Hundreds. Thousands. In answer, a host of anti air batteries fill the air with a cacophony of their own, sending millions of projectiles upwards, glowing in the night like sparks. Hundreds of the pods are hit in midair and explode; it is as if they were sprouting, albeit prematurely, and light up the sky with a field of fiery flowers in yellow, orange and red. But many more of these baleful seeds continue their descent unchecked. As they near the ground, their braking thrusters fire, and they decelerate just enough as to not bury themselves in the scarred rockcrete. And where they land, their sides fall away, blossoms of a different kind dotting the streets and plazas. And finally they disgorge their poisonous charge: traitor Astartes. Immediately, the battle spills into the streets, as attackers and defenders meet in close combat. The fighting is brutal and unrelenting; for the garrisons are Astartes as well, and as both sides were once united in camaraderie, so are they now divided by inhuman hatred and contempt. As equal fights equal, no longer can either side reap the advantage of their prodigious degree; the scales are balanced, their aptitude of no greater difference than among ordinary men. Now, only those will prevail who truly rise above their estranged kin.
Meanwhile, the thick clouds are black no longer. True, they are still lit by the swarm of exploding drop pods, each vomiting color with violent fury. But that is not all: they have begun to shine with a light of their own: red, purple, and other colors that have no names in the waking world. Lightning crackles on their hems, illuminating abyssal vistas terrible and feverous. And in the opened maw of this churning pandaemonium are the faces: leering, laughing, screaming; incorporeal and inhuman. They delight in the orgy of flesh and insanity that unfolds below, savor it, feast on it. And down on the surface, the invaders, tiny as ants under the burning skies, are of course aware of their audience, and howl in ecstatic exultation to their otherworldly patrons, who have joined them in this hour to witness their ultimate triumph.
And under their unsleeping eyes the traitors slowly force their way through the streets; under the red light from above, and through the deep shadows cast by the abandoned highrises and gilded spires. For now, the anti air emplacements and the nearby spaceports are their primary objectives.
But their ultimate goal lies far off in the distance: there, a titanic edifice towers above everything. It stretches over the horizon as far as the eye can see; brooding, defiant, a mere dark silhouette in the flickering twilight. A seat of power, a fortress, and now a sanctuary, erected over the tops of ancient mountains. This is where all their pursuits are directed, where all their fury and resent drive them. Many will lose their lives trying to reach it, and many will die trying to stem their dark tide. It will take them many weeks to reach it's adamantine gate; and all the while will they be accompanied by the soundless laughter of the faces above.
Aeren ran. Around him, the majestic forest stretched as far as the eye could see; which, admittedly, wasn't all that far. It was night after all; and yet, Aeren carried no light. Many meters above, where the branches spread out from the mighty trunks to form the latticed roof of this silvan cathedral, the wood was spattered with rose-colored moonlight. While not an ample light source, it was just enough for his bionic eye to allow him to see where he was going. His vision was now composite: the image provided by his own eye, sharp but dark, and laid over that, the one of the artificial supplement, brighter but of a somewhat lower resolution. When he had first received the prosthetic, this dichotomy had troubled him, but the intense training back on the Deimos had allowed him to get acquainted with his new eyesight, and by now he was fairly used to it.
The forest fascinated him. He had never seen anything like it. Sure, he had seen trees while training with his Guard unit in the hinterlands of Ocallus, but those couldn't really compare to the vast, ancient portico he was traversing now. The trees themselves were clad in a pale, almost white bark, and the centuries had made their mighty roots turn hard as stone. The reason for their lack of color was, he had learned, that their dense foliage and thick, interwoven branches allowed barely any sunlight to pass through; even in daytime, it would be fairly dark down here.
As dark as it was, as quiet was it. There was no wind, and there were no animals about. The night was still young, and life in the forest was still hiding away in its burrows and crevices. Only with the arrival of the rains the animals and plants would stir from their hibernation for a short time of bloom and frantic activity, and to turn the wheel of life once more.
He was unused to this sort of silence. Growing up in a hive, he had always been surrounded by some manner of noise, and even in the depths of the Deimos there had been the drone of the machines to accompany him. But here, there were only three sounds: the taps of his boots on the hard, dry floor, echoing through this hallowed wooden hall; his own panting breath, condensing in the crisp night air; and, although more felt than heard, the strong, steady throb of his twin hearts.
The latter reminded him very diligently of the fact that he was no longer fully human, and would become only more so the further he progressed on his way to become a full Astartes. In the last couple of months, he had often felt like a stranger in his own body; although he was in prime physical condition, his rapid growth both in terms of height and muscle scared him at times. Whenever he looked into a mirror, he was astounded by the effects of the strange and arcane processes that were transforming his body into a living weapon; his scars, and his bionic eye, completed the strange impression. But for all this physical alienation, he couldn't help but think it rather appropriate, considering how different this new, second life was to compared to the one he had spent most of his years in.
In the distance, he could begin to make out his destination: a rock wall, jagged and overgrown, rising from the forest floor in a steep angle. When he was still about fifty meters away, he turned to the right, and continued his run, keeping the wall to his left. After a few minutes, he came to a narrow swath crossing his way. Fragments of old stone betrayed the ghost of a road, long abandoned and fallen into disrepair. He turned and followed the uneven path to the point where it met the wall. Steps, tall and irregular, had been carved in to the rock there. Using his hands as well as his feet, he began his ascent.
He reckoned that he needed about two minutes to get to the top. He took a moment to catch his breath and looked around. Below him lay the treetops, stretching to the horizon on three sides. But Ahead of him lay a slope, rising to the top of this mesa. About ten meters before him began another treeline, although these were of a different kind: smaller, and darker, hardy and gnarled. In the sky above, rain clouds were weaving an increasingly dense blanket; but here and there, the landscape still shone with the soft glow that pierced the gray shroud in places. It came from Mahamat's moons, Agraj and Anuja, which were looking down on the world, the former almost half full and high in the sky, the latter only a sliver of a sickle, resting deep over the horizon.
For a few minutes, Aeren just soaked in the vista, the quiet, the peace. Then he fell into a light jog again, following the trail that led from the stairs into the trees and towards the top of the rock.
It took him only a few minutes to reach the end of his run: before him loomed ancient stone walls, withered and overgrown. Although the temple had been abandoned a long time ago, the stone buildings and the cupolae that crowned them were still in fairly good repair, albeit empty. Isolated as it was, perched on top of this mesa deep in the primeval forests, it had never been very prominent in the public consciousness; a circumstance that the original builders had very much appreciated. It hadn't been a place of grandiose ceremonies and mass worship; instead, for quiet contemplation and secluded meditation, never housing more than around sixty people at a time. Its design and interior, stark and frugal, reflected its solemn purpose. When the last of its recluses had died, alone and forgotten, it had slipped into oblivion for many years. Now, it had been reclaimed, although the nature of the new occupants would have likely filled the monks of yore with outrage.
Aeren passed the stone statue that guarded the entrance; when they had arrived here, he had recognized it as another depiction of Arjun, as usual armed with bow and spear. The boy threw him a casual salute, heedless of the stone warrior's disapproving blind glare.
Behind the now empty archway lay the temple's central yard, where he came to stop, finally back at his starting point and fairly exhausted. For a few moments, he just stood there, catching his breath and looking for the one with whom he had come here; Errake, however, was nowhere to be seen.
Ahead of him was the entrance to the shrine, wherein they had made their camp. Light shone from the corridor which led into the central chamber, so this was were Aeren went next. Inside, he found the two promethium lamps they had brought activated; but what really caught his eye was, as always, the mural that covered most of the far wall. Although time had left its marks on it, one could still recognize a human shape, although composed of two very different halves: the left side showed a regal figure, clad in golden armor and wielding a flaming blade; but the right side was a gaunt specter, shrouded in plain black cloth, a sickle in hand. The backgrounds were also different, depicting scenes of day and night, respectively. The subject of the artwork was, of course, the Emperor, as the locals perceived him: equal parts light and shadow, bringer of both life and death. At first, Aeren had found this rather unorthodox depiction curious, and wondered by himself whether something like this wouldn't be considered downright heretical in some places. He smiled and shook his head. Guess you can't completely disabuse people of doing things a little different here and there.
Apart from their equipment, the chamber was empty, and so Aeren decided to look elsewhere for his master. He turned around. Outside the entrance stood Errake, bolter at the ready. Both his armor and weapon seemed to downright swallow the sparse light, hampering any attempts to make out details. "You're dead," came his gravelly voice. Aeren felt a tinge of annoyance. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he trained, the old bastard always seemed to expect more of him.
"Awesome, that means I can go to sleep now."
"Like hell. Get out here."
Aeren stared incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"
"You know me better than that."
"Son of a bitch."
They took places in the yard, a few meters apart. His sweat-drenched clothes were rapidly cooling in the cold night air, and Aeren shivered. Errake had mag-locked his bolter to his armor and now stood there, unarmed, a black silhouette with an aura of twilight spilling from the shrine behind him.
"So, what could you have done better?" he asked.
Aeren was becoming seriously irritated. Still, he considered the previous situation. "I suppose I could have moved away from the corridor; that way, you couldn't have aimed at me."
"Good. But it's a late insight. Always be aware of your surroundings. You need to know what the weak and strong positions are. In some ways, it's like reading, only you aren't reading a book but the battlefield."
Aeren ground his teeth. "Only this isn't a battlefield."
"It could be one. Never assume that no one is going to attack you. I thought they would've taught you that much in the Guard. But perhaps I gave them too much credit."
The boy's face was contorted with anger. "Are you done?"
"For the moment. Now, attack me."
Aeren lunged at him, knife in hand. He put all his furious energy in the attack; but even while he was doing it, he realized he was making a mistake, as his aching body couldn't back up his emotions. But it was too late to save himself; Errake casually caught his wrist in a vice like grip and twisted it.
Aeren screamed, and was forced down on one knee, turned away from the Astartes. "AAARGH! Motherfucker, what's even the point?! I can't beat you anyway!"
"One point is that you let your anger get the better of you."
Aeren tried to free himself, but Errake didn't budge one millimeter. "IT WOULDN'T MAKE A DIFFERENCE!"
"Perhaps not now. But one day, it will."
He shoved Aeren forward, and the boy fell; his chin smashed into the hard, cold ground.
"Asshole!" he screamed. He jumped up and turned around. Once more, his breath was heavy, but this time with rage. His face was a mask of pure hatred. With the back of his right hand, he wiped blood from his chin. "One day, I will kill you."
Errake said nothing for a few moments, just staring at him from the black pits of his helmet. "You'll have to do a lot better than this for that."
More seconds passed while they just stared at each other. Then, a drop of cold water hitting him on the head roused Aeren from his vengeful fantasy, and then another and another. The Great Rain had come.
Errake turned his face skywards. "Rest. Out here. Should cool your head." And with that, he turned around and disappeared in the shrine. Aeren felt like he was about to start crying with rage. But then he just shuffled over, and stood under the shrine's canopy, leaning against the stone wall and wrapping his arms around himself.
Errake had been right with one thing: standing in the cold did clear his mind. After a few minutes it occurred to him that he ought to move to keep his temperature up; and so he began to work his aching body. He did squats, push ups and other exercises, and after a while, he lost all sense of time. Moreover, all conscious thought vanished, his entire being absorbed into his routine, submerged into a state somewhere between waking and dreaming.
Inside the shrine, Errake meditated. Making use of his catalepsean node, he allowed part of his brain to rest, foregoing actual sleep. He was of course long practiced in this, and was used to his mind losing a bit of his usual razor-sharpness, and some memories becoming temporarily unavailable. In spite of this, his mind remained a finely tuned machine, constantly parsing what few sensations currently came to him. Occasionally, he caught the faint noises of the boy's training. Hours passed. Eventually, the familiar crackle in his ear alerted him to an incoming message.
"Errake, this is Endymion. Do you copy?"
"Yes, Endymion, I hear you. What is it?"
"It's almost time. The Roach doth approach."
"How long until she lands?"
"They have just left the warp. They'll make planetfall in eight hours."
"Pick us up in seven, then."
"All right. Endymion out."
The comm fell silent. Outside, the rain continued to patter on the stone; apart from that, it was silent. Errake stepped through the corridor. It was barely big enough to accommodate an Astartes in full plate. He found Aeren lying on the floor next to the passage, crouched into a fetal position and shivering.
"Aeren," he said. The boy didn't answer. "Aeren," he said again, louder. The boy stirred and turned his head towards him, eyes fluttering. "Get up. It's time." Slowly, the boy uncurled. Errake bent down, offering a helping hand. The boy, still only half awake, grabbed it, and Errake pulled him to his feet. "In there." He steered the boy inside. When they reached the chamber, Aeren dropped next to the promethium burner closest to him, curling up once more. "Wait. Dry clothes, first." The boy still didn't answer, but he slowly, mechanically, removed his damp garments and put on the ones that Errake handed to him. Once done, he again assumed a fetal position, his shivering slowly abating. Within a minute, he had fallen asleep. Errake covered him with a blanket.
AN: So. This took way too fucking long. There are a bunch of reasons for this, among them health issues and a rewatch of the entirety of Deep Space Nine. But the main reason was, that I once again tried to force myself to write something that wasn't part of my initial vision, and that I ultimately couldn't make work. Ah well, lesson learned (as if). The .odt that contains all my failed attempts sits at twelve pages, most of which you won't get to see now. C'est la vie. Perhaps I can cannibalize parts of it further down the road.
Although this took so long, the story has always been on my mind in some way or another, it never really let me go; somehow I feel that this is something I have to write, because I hate to leave things unfinished; I am a bit obsessive in this regard. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter.
Thank you for reading!