Incantator Congressus Chapter 25

The hunting parties were outside the cave, their flayed snouts sniffing the ground for any hint of scent. They were interested in a patch of disturbed ground and pawed at overturned pebbles. Beady eyes scoured the area for more clues but came up short, there was no further signs of the Librarians passage and the smooth rocks gave no clue as to where they had headed next. Frustrated the bestial creations shuffled off, nostrils flaring as they hunted for signs. So the pack moved on, little knowing invisible eyes were watching them.

Arvael's spiritual form observed the hunting parties crisscrossing the area from on high. Scrying had always come easily to him and sending his gaze far and wide was no issue. He could spy on their pursuers without exposing his physical form and so was able to determine the sweep was moving on, with no idea as to how close they had come to finding their prey. Satisfied he released his immaterial form and his consciousness withdrew back to his body, the weight of his bones settling heavily upon his spirit. As ever the temptation to remain ethereal wrenched his guts but he firmly overrode it and allowed the burden of physicality to grip him once more.

He opened his eyes and declared, "They're moving off."

"Good," Sythah affirmed, "Give them an hour to clear the clear and then we can move again."

The Storm Giant and Arvael were lurking just inside the narrow entrance to their cave, standing guard against intrusion. Before them Imix stood with his eyes closed and staff held laterally. The Shade-Seer was casting an illusion over the entrance, making it invisible to any outside observer. A risky ploy, the use of psychic power could well have alerted their hunters but the Smoke Jaguar was prodigious in matters telepathic and wove his enchantments with great subtly.

Arvael drew in a breath and said, "That's the third time they've passed our cave. This can't be natural."

"What do you imply?" Sythah asked.

"Perhaps they look with more than their eyes, what if they are clairvoyant?"

"Precognition is not so exact," Sythah countered, "It is an art, not a science."

"I confess my skills in prophecy are non-existent," Arvael allowed, "But surely it must be possible."

Imix opened his eyes and turned about, releasing his illusion as he said, "The future is a strange and fluid thing, ever-changing and shifting. It is altered by the mere fact of looking and it is never the same twice."

Arvael was confused and asked, "But what of Jarene? She beheld her fate and it was immutable. You said her death was certain."

Sythah and Imix shared a loaded glance and then the Shade-Seer explained, "This is the enigma of prophecy, the paradox of what is certain and uncertain. Jarene looked into the Eye of Destiny and saw she would die in the mountain, but she only elected to stay in the mountain because she looked into the crystal."

Arvael asked the next logical question, "So what would have happened if she hadn't looked, would her fate have been different?"

Sythah elaborated, "Was her fate made by her choice or was her choice determined by fate? Are we players on a stage following a script or leaves on the wind, blown by random currents?"

"This is making my head ache," Arvael muttered.

"Prophecy makes everyone's head ache," Imix snorted with a grin.

Sythah's dark eyes flashed as he asked, "You have read the writings of Ravenor?"

Arvael answered, "Of course. He asserted that accurate Prophecy, is possible but that humans are spectacularly bad at it. A strange stance for an Inquisitor, but his treaties on spiritual and warp interactions are basic primers so I cannot refute his teachings."

Sythah elaborated, "Some claim he learned secrets from the Eldar, though that was never proven. Don't make that face, they are capricious and deceitful but their mastery of prognostication cannot be underestimated. They claim to see the future as splitting branches of possibility, a tree wracked in a storm but one that can be climbed with care. Daemons too claim to see all, it is their greatest advantage."

Arvael shook his head and argued, "If that were true then humanity would be doomed. I cannot accept that Daemons see all."

"Not everything, but enough to be dangerous," Sythah hissed, "Believe me."

Imix interjected, "It is said the Sun-Emperor was the greatest clairvoyant who ever lived, yet even he could not see all outcomes."

"Blasphemy!" Arvael uttered in shock, "He knows everything!"

But Imix sighed, "Then by your logic He must have foreseen the Heresy, the fall of Horus and the rise of Chaos. But I say if He knew the name of the great betrayer, then Horus' life would have ended in his gestation pod. No, I surmise the Sun-Emperor knew much, but not all. That calamity was coming was obvious, smelt on the wind like a closing storm, but the direction, the timings and the names of the betrayers… these things were hidden even from Him. Magnus the Red too failed to see the full scope of the future, by trying to avert his visions he played into the hands of Chaos itself."

Arvael rubbed his jaw and muttered, "So by looking into the Eye of Destiny Jarene changed her fate. It became fixed only after she tried to see the future."

Sythah glowered, "To gaze into the future not only changes what is seen but the observer too. Staring too long into tomorrow invites calamity, it opens the door to dangers best left undisturbed."

Imix sighed, "He speaks wisely. In my youth I sought to know my fate. I looked into the Eye of Destiny, thinking I could trick the tides of fortune."

"What did you see?" Arvael asked warily.

"Nothing," Imix muttered, "Nothing but shadow and mist and shifting fogs… to this day I know not what that means."

Arvael was about to press further but he was interrupted by a heavy tread behind him. The trio turned and found themselves confronted by the others. Jhur, Ashuay, Ghyrun, Hyhush and Chamat, none of them looking happy. Sour expressions lingered and Arvael saw they had been arguing over something, but they appeared united in purpose. Ghyrun spoke first, "We have been talking."

"Evidently," Sythah stated flatly.

Hyhush looked shamed but spoke, "We fled the enemy, but are hunted every step of the way. Our chances of survival are low and shrink every second. We have agreed that the risks of death and capture grow too swiftly, the prospect of victory grows so scant we cannot see it anymore. Thus we have determined the time has come to take certain steps…"

Ashuay snorted, "What he's trying to say is we've decided to destroy the Gladius Incandor."

"What?!" Arvael splurted in shock.

Ghyrun held up his hands and explained, "We know this sounds extreme but the risk of it falling into enemy hands is too great to ignore. We cannot allow Chaos to take possession of the blade."

"I would die before allowing that to happen!" Arvael spat.

"We all would and probably will," Chamat countered, "This is not defeatism, this is realism. We are but eight and if we all die then the blade is theirs to claim. We must prevent that at any cost."

"You propose destroying a sacred relic!" Arvael hissed.

Sythah too added, "The icons of the past are sacrosanct, they are not to be tossed aside out of hand."

Ashuay rolled his eyes and said, "Here we go, Firstborn and your primitive rites and venerations. You worship blades and guns, like the fat priests of the Ecclesiarchy do gold statues. You cling to totems of your Primarch, when he's walking and breathing once more, it is folly and willful blindness."

"If you again slight our ancient traditions I will end you," Sythah hissed.

"Open your eyes," Ashuay growled, "That relic is a knife aimed straight at Guilliman's throat. We all know the dark rites that could be performed on the edge of that blade, the vile curses Chaos could fashion using it as a template. For the surety of the Imperial Regent's life it must be destroyed. It is our duty to make sure this does not come to pass."

Arvael was not convinced and hissed, "This is not open for debate, we are not destroying the blade."

Jhur stepped in to say, "We have had this debate already and made all these arguments, there is no need to fight among ourselves."

Yet Sythah hissed, "Try to lay one hand on the Gladius Incandor and you will lose it."

Tempers flared and Ashuay spat, "You think I fear someone so weak as to let a Daemon into his soul?!"

Gasps arose and Arvael's eyes swivelled to Sythah's ravaged face as he exclaimed, "It's not true, is it?!"

Sythah's face flinched as he replied, "Aye, it is true. I despaired at my blindness to future events and sought to open my heart to infinite possibility, and in that moment of laxity a Daemon stole into my flesh. It owned me, body and soul. Yet I had taken the precautions to ensure no fiend could escape. I had sealed myself in deep obsidian vaults, ringed by holy flames and it could not leave. The Daemon raged, for an hour it screamed threats unto the heavens and its fury was depthless. Yet I fought back and managed to wrest control of my body for an instant, and with freedom to act I threw myself into the fires. The pain, the damage to my flesh, the agony of my spirit drove it from me and I was myself once more. I stand before you as a warning of the perils of Chaos and I say be wary of desperation. Destroying the blade is the counsel of despair."

All stepped back from the tainted soul that was the Storm Giant as Arvael exclaimed, "This changes nothing."

It was then that Imix sighed, "The truth remains as it was, they are still right."

"You side with them?!" Arvael gasped in disbelief.

But Imix said, "There are no sides here, only truth. The Blade is too dangerous to be allowed to continue, its threat cannot be permitted to exist."

"I refuse!" Arvael barked.

But Jhur looked at him and said, "Do you want a relic of a dead Primarch or a living, breathing Gene-Father?"

Ghyrun added, "Choose one, you cannot have both."

Arvael's hearts fell as the truth sank in. He knew they were right, the danger to the Imperium's only Primarch was too great to ignore. If Guilliman died then the Indomitus Crusade would fail and if it did then humanity was finished. Whatever dark rites Chaos was planning could not be allowed to be completed, the Librarians had to prevent that at any cost. Librarians were no strangers to hard choices but this one wracked his spirit, he was about to go against ten thousand years of tradition, conventions that had sustained the Adeptus Astartes against the ultimate despair, yet he would do it anyway. Duty allowed no other recourse.

Arvael turned about and said, "Take it."

Chamat stepped up and released the Gladius Incandor from its sheath on his back. It glittered in the wan light, its length perfect and flawless and the hilt curving slightly upwards around the engraved 'U'. It was more than a weapon; it was history manifested and a link to the ages when the Imperium was born. By rights it should be venerated in a reliquary, but the Librarians were about to melt it like trash.

Ashuay took it from his hands and laid it on the floor saying, "Chamat, Hyhush and I shall combine our powers and together unmake the blade."

"Do what you must, but do it quickly," Arvael whispered.

The trio grasped wrists over the prone blade and closed their eyes as their power united. Searing fire, scalding light and metal fury combined and the length of the blade began to glow. Arvael could feel intense heat spilling off the sword, furnace hot and red as burning coals. The trio poured on the power, drawing on their deepest reserves and the Gladius blazed white-hot until it was painful to look upon. Arvael fought the urge to look away as the ancient sword began to shake and he waited for the edges to begin to melt, but they did not. Suddenly the Gladius flared brightly, filling the cave with magnesium intensity as a surge of power exploded from its core. Everybody was thrown from their feet, slammed into the cave's walls as if they weighed nothing and Arvael's head rang from the impact. He spun over and saw the others rolling groggily about, trying to regain their senses while the Gladius Incandor lay unmarked, its core cooling rapidly to red then grey before fading entirely.

Groans arose and Jhur moaned, "What hit us?"

Ghyrun spat, "The blade has its own defences."

Chamat blinked his augmetic eyes and hissed, "There are matrixes within matrixes folded into the metal, wards unlike any I have ever seen woven throughout. Whatever ancient arts wrought that sword they are above our feeble understanding. Legend tells that the Primarchs forged wonders with their own hands. Vulkan, Ferrus Manus, Perturabo before his fall, I know not which of them forged this sword but the craftsmanship is beyond our ability to unmake."

Arvael stood up and lurched over to the sword, picking it up gingerly. The blade was surprisingly cool to touch and he awkwardly slid it back into his sheath as he said, "So we cannot destroy the blade and we cannot hide forever. We must run."

"And fast," Imix spat, "That flare will have been noticed."

Jhur agreed, "We have just sent up a signal flare to tell everyone where we are. We cannot wait any longer, we must move at once."

With that Arvael uttered, "We can only trust the hunters have moved far enough for us to slip out. Make haste, speed is our only hope!"