Series IV - Revelations
Episode IX - The Schism
Gyrus is reeling from the revelations shared with him by Master Grimfist and Chief Librarian Farus, revelations that have opened a gulf between them. He now understands that the Master took his rank through coercion and through force, when it rightly should have gone to Jarfur. For all his history with the deceased Third Captain, he cannot deny that what Grimfist did was wrong. And he is not the only one.
Once again, Gyrus was below decks aboard the Last Hope of the Weary. This time he had found his way down to the engine rooms at the request of Curatio Lonnar, though he did not know the purpose of their meeting. He had followed a winding path along cramped corridors and passageways until he found the Master of the Forge hard at work in an auxiliary control room. It was a small, airless space with a row of windows along one wall overlooking the injection chamber of the Weary's primary reactor. Beams of searing light crackled past as matter and antimatter collided.
Lonnar was connected to one of the terminals, interfacing directly with the ship's systems.
"My lord," Gyrus said.
Lonnar pulled the plugs out from the base of his neck and looked at him.
"Greetings, Astarte," he nodded. "You came. Part of me expected you not to."
"When a fellow Apostle makes a request, I do not take it lightly," Gyrus told him.
He smiled.
"You've only been a member of our little clan for a few days," he pointed out. "That's not much time in which to learn our ways."
"Master Grimfist had been teaching me," Gyrus explained.
"I thought you two weren't talking to each other," Lonnar said, pointedly.
Gyrus did not reply. He was right, but he had intended to keep their falling out a secret.
"How do you know that?" he asked.
Lonnar reached up and tapped his forehead.
"Not much gets past me," he said. "And the same goes for Captain Harlus. Serve in the Apostles as long as we have and you earn a litany of sources throughout the Chapter. Mine tell me that you and the Master are engaged in a dispute right now."
"It matters not," Gyrus said. "And in any case, it is only temporary."
Lonnar turned away from the control panel with a quiet chuckle. He walked over to the windows and examined the injection chamber. The blinding glow of the collisions threw his features into stark contrast every few seconds.
"Thus do we invoke the Machine God," he recited, reverently. "Thus do we make whole that which was sundered."
"Precisely," Gyrus agreed. "We will be made whole once more."
Lonnar did not turn around.
"Sanctus Grimfist is a fine warrior," he said. "He has led this Chapter to triumphs across the Sagittarius Arm and earned the reputation he carries. But he is not a warrior first and foremost. Rather, he is a natural born politician."
Finally he looked back at Gyrus.
"I know what he told you," he said.
Gyrus' eyes widened.
"How can that be?" he asked, incredulously.
"I have served this Chapter for hundreds of years," Lonnar explained. "Since before Grimfist ascended to the rank of Master. His predecessor and I were once very close."
"Kandras related the story to you?" Gyrus said.
"And more," Lonnar replied. "In the days before Husal he often sought my counsel. Such is always the way. People believe we Techmarines can be trusted because we are not as much a part of the Chapter as they are. But just because we barely participate in their internal politics does not mean we take no interest in them. Kandras understood that."
"So he chose to share his thoughts with you," Gyrus said.
Lonnar nodded.
"I liked Kandras," he said, honestly. "Many Knights have the wrong impression of him. He was dealt a bad hand and he did the best he could with it. Even though he knew Sanctus was truly of noble birth, he could not act on that information or risk revealing a secret that had long been hidden. When you consider that fact, Jarfur was really his only choice of successor."
"Jarfur never served in the Deathwatch," Gyrus said.
"Neither had Kandras when he took the rank," Lonnar reminded him. "Although in fairness, it did prove his undoing. In any case, shortly before the invasion of Husal he sought me out and confided in me. He told me he had selected Jarfur, that he had written it in Epistles to make it official. When Sanctus was announced as Chapter Master, I knew something was afoot."
Gyrus frowned. His stories seemed to conflict.
"But if you realised that Grimfist had actually lost the duel," he said, "Why praise him before me now? Why call him a natural born politician? And why accept the place in the Apostles?"
Lonnar shook his head.
"Gyrus," he said, "I do not consider Sanctus responsible for the tragedies that currently befall our Chapter. Their roots reach back a long way, and none of them were initiated by him."
"He is our leader," Gyrus said. "Who else would have done it?"
Lonnar gave a wry smile.
"You tell me," he said.
Gyrus said nothing while he considered their conversation.
Humming an old hymn to himself, Lonnar crossed to the quarters that adjoined the control room. He set about preparing mugs of recaff. Steam hissed and water bubbled as it brewed. Eventually he returned with a steaming drink in each hand.
"Here," he said, handing one over.
Gyrus took it.
"Thank you," he replied.
Lonnar took a sip and smacked his lips.
"Well?" he prompted. "I'm sure you've figured it out. After all, you are the White Knights' rising star . . . but then, you might not like what you find."
"Farus," Gyrus said, quietly.
Lonnar had a serious expression on his face.
"Very good," he purred. "Go on."
"When I think about it, it seems obvious," Gyrus said. "So obvious, in fact, I cannot believe it has taken me this long to realise it. None of this would be happening if not for him. He was the one who suggested Consus Aquilinus' betrayal be purged from the records."
"He was," Lonnar said. "And just think of the events that set in motion. Consus turned to Chaos, so Sanctus lost his ancestral surname, so he joined a gang, so Kandras could not choose him for Master despite what he knew, so Jarfur duelled him, so he changed the result."
"It was not him who changed it," Gyrus told him. "Farus suggested it and orchestrated it."
"Then there is the answer," Lonnar said, grandly. "The answer to all our questions. You need not wonder any longer why the Inquisition have set their sights on us. For two and a half centuries we have been plagued by infighting and betrayal."
He stepped closer to Gyrus, his face wreathed in the rising smoke from the recaff, his hushed tones hurried and urgent.
"And when they came to our door looking for someone to blame," he whispered, "There was only one candidate with both the knowledge and the motive to testify to them. Only one Astarte knew the full story of what had happened and was willing to tell it."
"Jarfur," Gyrus breathed.
"Third Captain Jarfur," Lonnar said. "Who was murdered at the hand of someone within the Chapter itself. Who do you think that might be?"
There was a tense pause.
"This is ridiculous," Gyrus said. "Surely it cannot be . . . I mean, it seems . . ."
"Of course it appears impossible," Lonnar said. "But when you consider it for any length of time it all begins to make sense. Rather chillingly, wouldn't you say?"
"You joined the Apostles to keep an eye on Farus," Gyrus realised.
"Well observed," Lonnar replied. "And I did not like what I saw. For a long time he has acted as puppet-master, and when his house of cards was threatened, he took action to ensure it stayed standing. His loyalty is not to our Chapter. It is only to himself."
Gyrus handed his recaff back.
"I cannot discuss this any further," he said. "It is heretical."
"Farus is heretical," Lonnar snapped. "This is one of the few worthy battles the Knights have left to fight. The saga of Nero and Kandras and Grimfist can only have one ending. Farus must be exposed for what he is."
"No," Gyrus said, firmly. "I need time to think."
"You know it is true," Lonnar insisted.
"I am leaving," Gyrus said, as he made for the door. "I am sorry, Master, but I must."
"Do as you will," Lonnar told him. "But do not forget this conversation."
Gyrus didn't know if he ever could. He strode down the corridor, feeling angry and intrigued at the same time. Much as he hated to admit it, everything they had discussed did make perfect sense. Suddenly he was seeing everything Farus had done for him in a new light. Every kindness he had showed, every piece of advice he had given, every throwaway remark was now just another form of manipulation, another way of getting ahead. All at once he wanted to know more and to forget everything he had already learned. It was too much.
The aides in the lift hurriedly stepped aside when they saw him approaching.
He hit the button and waited patiently while the compartment rose through the Weary's decks. It was time to follow up on a lead he'd been given some time ago.
Across the reception chamber from the lift shaft was the ship's Reclusiam, the domain of Chaplain Aurelius and the place where he had been formally gifted Maelstrom. That ceremony seemed a lifetime ago now. He emerged into the vaulted hall and looked around. Everything was bathed in dappled, multi-coloured light from the stained glass window looking out into space at the far end. Adjoining the large chamber was an intimate, wood-panelled office where the Chaplain himself worked. The only light inside came from the projected screens of the cogitator that sat on the desk.
Aurelius was there now, sitting behind his desk and sifting through a stack of parchment.
"Come in," he called, hearing Gyrus' knock.
Gyrus stood before him.
"Chaplain," he said. "Master Grimfist directed me to you, but that was some time ago. I hope you are still willing to aid me."
"Ah yes," Aurelius remembered. "He told me you received some kind of message, one deserving of my attention. I have the translation stored on my cogitator. Rest assured I have not listened to it. That right is yours alone."
"Can you synch it with my suit?" Gyrus asked.
"My pleasure," Aurelius said, with a smile.
He brought up a holographic screen between them and entered a few commands.
"It is done," he said. "It will be waiting for you in your rooms. May I ask where the message originated from?"
"I received it during a ceremony," Gyrus told him.
Aurelius laughed knowingly.
"There is no need to conceal the truth from me," he said. "I know all about your initiation into the Apostles. Chief Librarian Farus is a very close friend of mine."
Normally the explanation would be considered unremarkable, but given all he had just heard, Gyrus found it a little unnerving. He folded his arms.
"You once told me a true Knight has no friends," he said. "Only allies and rivals."
"Come now," Aurelius chided him. "We both know that cannot be strictly true. Take your friendship with brother Lucius as an example. I have heard that the two of you have grown close. You duelled him, I believe, and he respected you for heeding the result."
"Lucius and I are close, yes," Gyrus admitted. "But only because it is in our best interests. And in any case, how would you know a thing like that?"
"I have read his medical records," Aurelius said. "He holds you back. He is too impulsive." He sighed. "But then, you of all people would see nothing wrong with going against the Lexicon."
Gyrus leaned over the desk.
"I did not come here so you could insult my honour," he growled. "And perhaps you should consider the Astartes you associate yourself with before accusing me of disloyalty."
"What are you insinuating?" Aurelius said, as he rose to his feet.
"You know perfectly well," Gyrus said.
They stared each other down.
"Fine," Gyrus said. "I shall be the Marine you want me to be. I am going to be in the training centre in half an hour's time. Join me there and we can settle this with a duel."
"Gyrus . . ." Aurelius began.
"Do you accept?" Gyrus interrupted him.
He tilted his head up slightly.
"I am bound to," he said. "But I must say, it is inadvisable."
"Then show me," Gyrus retorted.
He gave Aurelius no chance to answer. In a second he had reached the door and slammed it violently shut behind him. Silence fell.
A tall, lanky figure emerged from the shadows at the back of the chamber.
"Chaplain," Farus said. "You let your temper get the better of you."
Aurelius turned to him.
"Do you not see how he speaks of you?" he said. "He is unbelievably disrespectful."
"It makes no difference what he believes," Farus replied. "He may be an Apostle now, but without the support of the Chapter Master he is nothing. Sanctus is my closest ally. That will not change." He pointed to the door. "You should go after him and apologise for your remarks."
"Why should I?" Aurelius said.
"He now knows you and I share a bond," Farus told him. "If he dislikes you, he will come to dislike me as well. The situation is tenuous and we cannot afford to take risks."
"I suppose you are right," Aurelius said, and made for the door.
Farus waited until he was gone then crossed to the sideboard by the panelled wall. He opened one of the cabinets with the creak of antique hinges. Inside it was a safe with a keypad to open it. It took a moment to authenticate his code and then the bolt slid back from its housing with a dull clunk. The door swung open at the press of a button.
Inside it sat the Casket of Tears. It rested on its beautifully decorated curving limbs. The dim light gleamed off the wooden patterns engraved into its golden lid.
Farus took it out and held it up.
Thousands of light-years away, across the barriers between realities, ancient and dark forces began to stir. They sensed a mind reaching out towards a conduit of their power. With cruel, twisted laughter they homed in on it, ensnaring it with their corrupted wills. From the casket came a psychic whisper, an incantation so quiet it was almost silent.
And Farus heard it.