9 – Congregation

The moment Aeren set foot on the Canticle of Fire, he immediately felt a shift in atmosphere. There was a presence around him, a certain watchfulness that he couldn't pin down, as if everything around him, down to the very air he was breathing, was alive with something. He knew now what Errake meant when he said even inanimate things weren't save from Chaos's corruption. What he felt now was similar to when he had stood before Errake's old armor. This was more indirect, more subdued yet at the same time more complex, more layered and somehow thicker. He found it difficult to put into words the feelings and sensations that haunted him in those moments as they made their way deep into the ship's belly. But he knew somehow that during millennia of strife and war, the Canticle had grown fat on the bloodshed and the beings that spent their lives inside its scarred hull, feeding on their energy, their pain and dreams. And in doing so it had in time become something else, endowed with a certain dull awareness, not quite deserving to be called alive, but also not entirely inanimate anymore either.

On top of these already alien sensations came the chanting: an ethereal sound that was wafting down the twisting corridors they followed, and that seemed to raise in intensity the further they progressed: at times a forceful and angry denouncement, at times a melancholic, inhuman wail, ever shifting in rhythm and melody. It captivated in Aeren's attention with its complex and unfamiliar compositions, but these same qualities made difficult to listen to and he soon found it lulling him in and sapping his concentration.

The visual aspects of their journey were no less confounding. The dimly lit corridors seemed to follow no clear direction, taking wild turns and occasionally raising or falling. The texture of the materials around him also varied wildly, from the familiar, mechanical aspect of plasteel and ceramite to something far more organic, almost skin like looking, and it was in these areas that the ship's presence made itself known the strongest.

Occasionally he caught glimpses of the creatures that made their lair in this dreaming behemoth. Shadowy junctions hid half-hidden figures that cast furtive glances at the passing procession or fled their heavy footfalls. Some were vaguely human in shape, others decidedly not so, and Aeren found himself increasingly repulsed. Even though he had seen a lot of strange and unnatural things since coming onto on the Deimos, the rejection of everything abhuman, drilled into him all his life under Imperial doctrine, was not easily forgotten.

Their group counted a few dozen. Errake had brought all the Astartes in his band as well as a couple of human servants. They were under no illusion regarding their chances should this meeting go awry, and they had decided unanimously that if there was to be a last stand, they all wanted to be a part of it. They all were in full war gear, as was custom among Astartes, and Errake together with Endymion and Sabato formed the vanguard.

Eventually they reached a cavernous hall. Braziers and torches gave flickering light which didn't reach all the way to the top of the lofty walls; the ceiling lay in shadow. A large congregation had gathered there: Word Bearers mostly, but there were other, even less wholesome shapes moving in the twilight. They filled the entire hall, except for a broad lane down the center towards the far end. This was also the source of the ominous chant, which by now was assaulting Aeren's ears and mind with overwhelming intensity.

As they made their way through the ranks of the Chaos Marines, Aeren occasionally saw in greater detail the other things that were among them: inhuman faces, eyes black as tar, and mouths too large and filled with needle-like teeth. Daemons, he thought with a tinge of fear

On the far end of the wall there hung a lofty banner, spanning the entire height of the hall, many meters tall. He realized that it was wreathed in purple flames, but it wasn't consumed by them; indeed, their color and the sluggishness of their motions betrayed that this was no ordinary fire. On the crimson cloth of the banner was wrought in splendid detail a mighty open tome, and in the center of it the eight pointed star. As he watched, the shapes on the banner, seemed to move, although the fabric itself was still.

And before the banner, on a massive throne of black steel and crowned again with the eight pointed star, sat Appolonius the Jubilant. Vast he was he in his gilded red terminator armor, and the symbols and marks of the ruinous powers could be seen all over his form; and power and furious ambition were about him and radiated off of him like the rays of an unholy star. His eyes were black pits, and they could have been mistaken for empty sockets, were it not for the single tiny flame of baleful white that burned in each.

Before that throne they came to a stop, and Aeren was glad he was way in the back of their group and not in the front; as overwhelmed as he had been already with wild and strange thoughts and emotions that were washing over him, the presence of the Dark Apostle was a blazing keystone to this sensual cacophony. It took all the will he could muster to ignore them and focus on what was happening ahead.

The Jubilant raised his armored hands, and the chanting died down, leaving behind a silence that Aeren welcomed very much, but that wasn't as complete as he wished; whispers and barely audible murmuring now filled the air instead. Still, the boy was thankful that the assault had lessened to the degree it had.

Errake had just stood before the Jubilant's throne for a moment. Now, the old Astartes lowered himself down on one knee, and his entire entourage responded in kind. Then his deep rasp filled the hall and echoed off the high walls.

"My Lord Castor. I am Errake. At the behest of the Warmaster I come to you to join you in the conquest of St. Belizar."

Aeren raised his head a little to see the Jubilant's reaction. Even from this distance, he could see that the servant of Chaos regarded Errake with an expression that was at first glance mostly boredom; but he could see there was something else there, a lurking alertness the kind of with which one could regard a dangerous insect – or prey.

"I know why you're here and I don't need you or the rabble you're dragging behind." It seemed to Aeren that he heard several voices coming out of the Apostles mouth, each speaking in slightly different tone and cadence, and they too had some decidedly inhuman elements.

"I am well aware of your history with the legion, so I know you're trouble." He sweepingly gestured across the assembly. "And I already have a host at my beck and call the likes of which few others can muster: five hundred Astartes and millions of faithful who cannot wait to give their lives for me. So tell me, Captain, why should I not turn you inside out this very instant and rid myself of you?"

There was a sense of agreement permeating the murmuring, but Errake barely missed a beat. Aeren knew that he had anticipated something like this.

"I know we can do little to add to your strength. But while the coming conquest will add greatly to you glory, you know in every theater there are menial tasks and missions of low import and little reward. My companions and I would gladly relieve you of such tedium, so you may focus entirely on the more important aspects of the consecration."

"Would you now?"

A sinister grin appeared on the Jubilant's face.

"I must admit, the irony of this situation gives me a certain satisfaction. Here I have you, who has troubled the legion time and time again, groveling before me, clinging to a faint hope of getting out of here alive."

At this point, he burst into cackling laughter, and Aeren had to fight the impulse to close his ears against that terrible, many-voiced sound. After a few seconds, the laughter died down.

"A strange twist of fate indeed that has delivered you to me, one I'm sure the Changer of Ways appreciates as much as I do."

He leaned back on his throne, gleeful chuckles still on his lips.

"It would be a shame to cut your humiliation short. I'm sure we will find some rat's nest for you to clear."

"Thank you my lord," came Errake's stoic answer.

"You hear that everyone? I promise him scraps, and he thanks me for it! A good cur indeed!" This time, the laughter came from all around them. Aeren felt his cheeks burning with indignation, and he could see Errake's Astartes shifting, barely restraining themselves from going for their weapons.

"Yes yes I am most gracious," the still Jubilant continued eventually. "Now, begone with you. You will be informed when I have found a task for you."

Errake rose, and his companions followed suit. Aeren felt a tinge of hope; soon this nightmare would be over.

"Oh, one more thing." The Apostle had raised an admonitory finger, and his eyes had taken on a malicious look.

Errake stood still, looking up at the being towering over him.

"I need to make sure you're not going to betray me at the earliest convenience. So I will take a look inside your head."

He moved his hand forward as if to grab the old Astartes, and the fire in his the depths of his eyes intensified. Errake shifted, and suddenly his head snapped back as if struck. The Jubilant's fingers moved as if controlling the strings of a puppet, and Aeren could hear a strained groan escape Errake's throat.

"If you continue to resist me I'll liquefy your brains. Show me your secrets." The Jubilant's voice seemed to carry even more power now, and his eyes flared with terrible witch light.

The outstretched fingers came together in a vicious claw, and a wet gargle could be heard from Errake. The Apostle nodded. "Yeees, that's better."

The old one's knees buckled, but he didn't fall, the same power that was attacking him also holding him aloft; and then it stopped. Errake fell to the floor, the strings cut.

"You have an exceedingly boring mind, Captain. So structured, so orderly." The Jubilant lowered his hand, and the burning in his eyes faded. "Let this be a taste of what I will do to you should you decide to cross me." He leaned back again and waved a hand dismissively. "I'm finished. Take him away."

Those standing next to Errake helped him up, but he had already regained consciousness and was able to stand on his own. Aeren could hear his ragged breath, as the Astartes offered a half hearted, crooked bow and finally turned to leave, wiping his mouth.

On their way back, Aeren's thoughts were racing. Seeing Errake week, and indeed defeated, had been a novel experience, and one he hadn't thought possible. He shivered inwardly at the power the Apostle had so casually displayed. How? How can one defeat such a being? And apparently Errake has done it before? It seems extremely dangerous to try something like this. I wonder if he is really okay. He couldn't wait to ask the old one about his experience; he also wondered if it would be wise to to do so.

They made their way back to the Deimos in silence. It was obvious to Aeren that their situation had become a lot more complicated, and a lot more dangerous. The coming weeks would be very interesting.

AN: Well. Uh. Hi? It's been some time hasn't it? This chapter was another very difficult one. Astartes are hard to write, and Chaos even more so, to the point that it killed my writing for close to two years. But the other day I just had and itch, so here we are. I like this iteration of the chapter as much as I'll like any. I'm not sure if I'll work on this story regularly again, but I really like the characters on the planet and would like to work some more with them. Hope you find some enjoyment in this chapter, even though I think its mediocre at best. See you around.