Chapter four.
The Carceri Arcanum, Arx Angelicum, Baal.
Mephiston strode through the barrel-vaulted gloom of the Carceri Arcanum, muttering equations and snatched of poetry, reciting passages from the Ephemeris. Unlike most of the Arx Angelicum, the Carceri Arcanum was devoid of finery, lacking the intricate workmanship that graced most of the Blood Angels fortress-monastery. It was a dank and crumbling, a brick-built maze that skulked beneath the proud halls of the Librarium Sagrestia. It was barely lit; only an occasional lumen flickered in a rusted sconce, spreading cold light over the lichened bricks. Rats scattered as Mephiston strode through puddles and clouds of steam that hissed from pipes hugging the curved walls. Like all of hid battle-brothers and his girlfriend, Mephiston understood the power if symmetry and beauty but down here, hidden from prying eyes, ugliness was appropriate. It was in the Carceri Arcanum that the Chapter stored its most private memories – some of the relics and tomes were so dangerous that only the most senior members of the Librarius even knew of their existence.
Behind Mephiston came three other Blood Angels: Mariah, Gaius Rhacelus and Lucius Antros. Their robes snapped behind them as they rushed after Mephiston, passing through antechambers lines with ever-vigiliant gun-servitors and doors imbued with so much aetheric force they shimmered. The Librarians did not speak as they walked each of them deep in concentration. Many of the dangers in the Carceri Arcanum were not physical and even such skilled psykers had to carefully shield their thoughts, or risk leaving the vaults with ideas that were not theirs.
They entered a vault that was smaller than the others and filled with a single colossal shape. The four Librarians saluted as wall-lumens flickered into life, revealing the nature of the hulking presence: an ancient, battle-scarred Dreadnought.
Reactors hummed and energy flickered across the Dreadnought's chipped ceramite, then a deep, grinding voice resonated from it's chest. "Lord Mephisto. I did not expect to see you again." The sound was distorted by ancient speaker valves, giving it a distant ominous quality.
"Lord Marest," replied Mephiston with a slight bow. Dozens of former Chief Librarians were entombed in the Librarium but Marest was the only one that could still speak. The only one that still lived. In the years since he had been interred though, Marest never left this small chamber. He had been immortalised in his ceramite casket for one purpose, to stand guard over this door and the horrors that lay beyond.
"You are..." Lights flickered inside the Dreadnought's adamantium casket. "You are changed."
"Much has changed, Lord Marest."
"Not the things that matter, I'll warrant."
Mephiston nodded. "I must speak with it again."
There was a long pause, broken only by the wheeze of pistons working somewhere in Marest's casket.
"It is not my place to question you Chief Librarian," said Marest finally, "but this is not the first time. You have already endured the company of my prisoner. Every exposure increases the risks."
Mephiston said nothing but he wondered if, even hidden down here, Marest had heard rumours about him. Was he doubted even by someone who understood the burden he carried as Chief Librarian?
Marest opened the door, admitting them to the vaults, but as the Librarians passed him, Marest spoke up again.
"The creature is plotting."
Mephiston hesitated. His auguries had not predicted this. "Is it no longer secure?"
"It is physically secure."
"And psychically? Do we need to preform a new binding ritual?"
"I can find no evidence that it has broken through the hexagrammatic wards, but there have been problems with the servitors – specifically the ones I embedded in the vault's walls. The anathema configuration models. Some of them have been malfunctioning."
Mephiston suppressed the flash of annoyance that tried to puncture his equilibrium. "You made no mention of this. Why did you no send word?
"I know my enemy." There was a warning in Marest's voice. "There is no danger. I have checked and double checked the wards. Its plots will come to nothing. I merely thought you should know of them.
"It is a creature of Chaos, Marest. There is always danger. How did the anathema models malfunction."
"They died. They are mono-function models, fed intestinally, so they do not move, but as soon as one of them stops breathing I fee a surge in the psychosphere. I have had to replace several in the last few months. They usually survive for several years."
Mephiston frowned, looking up into the crumbling vaults. With his enhanced vision he could pick out the pale shapes of servitors hanging over head, lobotomised wretches, their shaved heads bristling with oily black cables. None of them had limbs and they were built into the architecture, but he could see them breathing, slowly, as their mind-wiped brains focused on the single task that had been allotted to them, dampening the aetheric currents to such an extent that even he would find it hard to employ psychic powers.
"Why have you chosen this particular time to return?" Asked Marest.
Mephiston thought back to the runes scored into the surface of the Ephemeris. He and Mariah had spent several days poring over them, ensuring the markings really were pointing them here, to Marest's ancient nemesis. It had seemed an odd prediction and he had been methodical in his approach, examining all the alternatives before accepting that this was the right answer. For a moment, he considered explaining his reasons to the towering Dreadnought. Then he shook his head. "My reason are complex and my time short, Lord Marest. Forgive my abrupt manner, but I must speak with your prisoner quickly."
Marest made a low, mechanical rumbling sound. "Even the wisest soul can benefit from the insight of his fellow scholars."
Mephiston was conscious of how much time he was wasting. "i do not claim to be the wisest. Merely that I know my own mind."
Marest looked at Mariah, Rhacelus and Antros. He sighed and stepped back, the ground juddering under his thunderous steps.
"Do not believe anything it tells you," he said, his amplified voice crackling down the passageway as Mephiston and the others rushed on into the gloom.
As they headed deeper into the vaults Mephiston felt the same claustrophobic sensation he always did in the psychically warded prison. The experience was disturbing for someone used to seeing through several veils of reality at once. It was also painful. Psychical pain would have been suppressed immediately by his genetics, but this was a psychological hurt and Mephiston saw by their grimaces that Mariah, Rhacelus and Antros felt it too.
They marched on in silence, passing through locks both physical and unseen, until they reached an unassuming door of black wood.
"Be on your guard," said Mephiston, placing his hand on the surface of the wood. Light flickered between his gauntlet and the ancient wood. "whatever it was originally, this thing is now a facet of the Ruinous Powers."
They nodded as Mephiston shoved the door open.
Glow-globes blinked into life as they entered the small chamber, revealing the wretched creature shackled to its floor. It was vaguely humanoid but with repulsively alien attributes. It had four impossibly long arms, and eight faces, each of them no bigger than a fist and crammed with grotesque, inhuman features.
"Marest calls it the Octocalvariae," said Mephiston, gesturing for Mariah, Rhacelus and Antros to follow him across the room. "But I suspect that is more of a taxonomic category than a given name."
He drew Vitarus from its scabbard as he reached the creature. He moved the blade towards the Octocalvariae's faces, holding it just an inch from the gelatinous flesh.
The creature gave no sign it had registered their presence, or that it was even alive. It remained sprawled on the floor like something slopped from a butchers block.
Antros shook his head, grimacing. "What could this monstrosity possibly tell you that you could find useful or reliable, Lord Meph-?"
One of the limbs shot out and grabbed Vitarus, yanking Mephiston forwards.
Mariah drew back her sword, Rhacelus' pistol was out in a second and Antros drew back his staff to strike.
"Wait," said Mephiston, holding up a warning hand. He calmly placed his boot on the Octocalvariae's chest and forced it back down to the floor.
+One visit seems odd.+ The Octocalvariae spoke Psychically. +Two seems like desperation.+
Dozens of eyes blinked across its misshapen heads, all filled with amusement. +Perhaps it is only in the company of a fellow outcast that you can be yourself.+
Antros gripped his staff tighter. "By the Angel," he snarled, his lip curling. "Tell me we have come to kill this thing."
Mephiston shook his head. "The Octocalvariae is unkillable. Marest has tried, I assure you, by all possible means. But it cannot be done. That is why he maintains his vigil." Mephiston wrenched his blade free, slicing through the creature's arm but leaving no mark on its flesh. "It is a contest of wills that Marest will win. Even if the rest of the Librarium fell, Marest would remain, waiting down here for his prisoner to die."
+Marest?+ sneered the creature. +Another obsessive admirer. He cannot bear to be parted from me.+
It shrugged its four shoulders. +I am quite able to look after myself, but he insists on protecting me. He thinks I do not see him out there, but I do, strutting about in his coffin, masquerading as a living warrior even though I killed him centuries ago.+
The Octocalvariae was more talkative than Mephiston recalled from his last visit, babbling away with nauseating self-satisfaction.
+Have you come to talk?+ it said, lifting itself up on one elbow and gracing Mephiston with an ocean of smiles. +Or can I assist you?+
"I seek passage through the Great Rift."
The creature nodded. +And why do you think I would be inclined to help you?+
"Wretched scum!" hissed Mariah, drawing back her sword to strike.
Mephiston gestured for her to wait. "The creature will give me what I want."
"I suggest we rip the information from it soul," said Mariah, circling the chamber, still gripping her sword and glaring at the jumble of limbs shackled to it centre.
Mephiston ignored Mariah, keeping his voice neutral. "I wish to travel through the Great Rift to a planet called Sabassus, in the Prospero System."
The creature laughed and leaned closer to him, straining against its restraints. +Prospero? Are you sure? Do you know who is there, Blood Angel?+
Mephiston hesitated. Why would the creature ask him that? He had envisioned dozens of possible answers but not this one. Travel through the Great Rift was hazardous enough, but heading to Sabassus sounded like a suicidal idea, so he had assumed the Octocalvariae would enjoy helping him. He had not expected a question. Suddenly, he had a troubling sensation the Octocalvariae knew more about his plans than he did. Who was there? He summoned his memory of the salver, poring over the notes and rethinking his strategy.
"I know that the region is teeming with heresy and mutation," he replied. "I know that the regions surrounding the Prospero System have been overrun by servants of the Ruinous Powers."
+Then you know of the puppets but not the master.+
Mephiston thought back over everything Lord Guilliman had revealed of that particular war zone, keen to show the creature that it did not have the upper hand. "The cults are predominantly Tzeentchian," he said, "and there are rumours that remnants of the Thousand Sons Legion are behind the insurrections." He shrugged. "And if Rubric Marines of the Thousand Sons are present, their sorcerers will be too. They will be-"
"Chief Librarian," interrupted Rhacelus. "Forgive me, but is it wise to share knowledge with this thing."
Mephiston waved vaguely at the walls and the mutilated servitors sunk into the rock. "The Octocalvariae is cut off from the galaxy. It will never leave these vaults. It will die here."
+So they keep telling me,+ replied the creature, turning its smiles on Mariah, +and yet here I am, still living. Still enduring the tedium. And clearly in possession of more facts that the Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels.+ It lent towards Mariah. +Perhaps if you spent more time reading those books you hoard and less time lusting after the blood of your servants you might learn something.+
Mariah lunged forwards, smashing her sword into the creature. Light pulsed from her psychic hood and rippled across the Octocalvariae.
The creature rose from the floor with shocking speed, grabbed the sword and hauled Mariah close. Mariah cursed as it enveloped her with its four arms.
Rhacelus strode forwards and hacked his blade into the creature's back. The Octocalvariae laughed wildly, ignoring Rhacelus' sword as it latched several mouths onto Mariah's arm. Blood filled the air.
With a casual gesture, Mephiston channelled warp-fire through his sword, driving the Octocalvariae down into the black Baalite rock. Mariah reeled away clutching her bloodied arm and muttering as Rhacelus hacked again at the Octocalvariae.
"There is no point, Rhacelus," said Mephiston. "You cannot harm it."
Rhacelus grunted as he wrenched his blade free. He lent closer to the Octocalvariae. "Try that again and I will make your life so painful you'll find a way to end it." Rhacelus spoke with such force that the smug expression faded from the Octocalvariae's faces. Warp-fire glinted in Rhacelus' eyes, revealing a glimpse of the hells he had survived. Even when Mephiston extinguished Vitarus' light, the creature remained silent, looking warily at Rhacelus.
"What do you know that you are not sharing with me?" asked Mephiston.
The Octocalvariae continued watching Rhacelus as it replied.
+There are more just sorcerers marshalling those cults. The Prospero System is significant.+
"I do not believe a word this creature says," spat Antros, glaring at the Octocalvariae. His eyes infused with crimson and Mephiston caught Rhacelus' eye and nodded at Antros.
Rhacelus stepped to Antros' side and whispered in his ear. Antros nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Then he turned away from the creature and walked into a dark corner of the cell, taking a book from his munitions belt and flicking through the pages.
"Do you know of away to cross the Great Rift?" Mephiston asked the creature."
The Octocalvariae looked at Antros and smirked, then turned back to the Chief Librarian. +If I helped you, Blood Angel. I would be sending you to your doom. Sending you to damnation.+ It raised one of its claw-like hands and licked Mariah's blood off the digits.
+Can you risk any more damnation, blood drinker?+
Mariah stiffened at this, but Mephiston shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I know what I am," said Mephiston, keeping his voice level. "And I know which risks are worth taking."
+You want to cross the galaxy and enter a realm dominated by Tzeentch?+ As the Octocalvariae said the word Tzeentch its body shivered. +Then perhaps you really do know what you are – a sorcerer in waiting. You are an unwitting servant of the Great Schemer, but if you head to Sabassus you have a chance of becoming his willing servant – and a powerful one at that.+ The Octocalvariae waved at the one Librarian stood next to him and the other two Librarians standing in the corner. +Do your lackeys understand that? Do they know what drives you to Sabassus? Are they so keen to join Tzeentch's new empire?+
"Tell me what you know," said Mephiston.
+Things that would shrivel your mind. But if you really do wish to embrace your fate in the Prospero System, there are routes you could take.+
"Chief Librarian," said Mariah. "If this creature has been locked down here for centuries, and has had no contact with the outside world, how does it know about the Great Rift?"
The Octocalvariae smirked at Mephiston.
"Anathema wards suppress its warp-sight, replied Mephiston. He nodded at the blood on Mariah's arm. "Until it manages to touch someone who has come from outside the cell. Then it snatches what information it can."
Mariah paled.
Mephiston shook his head. "You are not the first. I made a similar mistake on a previous visit. I doubt you have imparted anything new."
"It has seen my mind?"
"It does not matter," said Mephiston. "The Octocalvariae will remain here until it dies. Anything you have shared will remain in this room."
Mariah did not look reassured, but Mephiston turned back to the creature.
"What are the routes you speak of?"
It smiled again. +There is a world called Vigilus, in the region you call Segmentum Obscurus. Many of your kind have travelled into the-+
"No," interrupted Mephiston. "I have no time to travel to the Nachmund Gauntlet. And even if I did there would be no guarantee I could traverse it." For a worrying moment, Mephiston wondered if the Emphemeris might have been mistaken. Perhaps he had misunderstood his own writing? He knew about the Nachmund Gauntlet and it was no use to him. He could spend years trying to reach Vigilus and then -
"My Lord!" said Rhacelus.
Mephiston backed away just before the creature lunged at him. He nodded gratefully at Rhacelus.
"We're wasting our time," he said, turning to go. "The creature has nothing for me."
+Wait!+
Mephiston was pleased to see it panicked by the idea of him leaving. It was desperate to impart knowledge. This fitted exactly with his prognostications. The auguries of the Emphemeris had indicated that the creature was sworn to help him. Try as he might, he could not discern the exact reason why. It was displeasing to proceed without all the answers, but time had forced his hand. Perhaps it was just the desire of a Chaos worshipper to ensnare a new follower but he had a suspicion it was something more than that. Marest's warnings had only increased his doubts.
+There is another way,+ it said. +A quicker route. If you are really in such a hurry to hand your soul to Chaos. I can tell you how to find Dromlach.+
Mephiston felt a rush of relief. Dromlach. The name was familiar to him. He cast his mind back to the images he had inscribed into the Emphemeris. Dromlach was a mythological creature – a star serpent described in various creation myths and folk legends. Even some of the native Baalite religions mentioned it. The name occurred at certain nexus points on the Emphemeris. He had wondered on many occasions what its significance might be and even guessed there might be a connection with his current difficulty in reaching Sabassus. The Octocalvariae's mention of such an obscure word reassured Mephiston he was on the right track. The Emphemeris had not lead him astray. The Octocalvariae did have an answer.
He recalled the various texts he had studied concerning the Dromlach. As always, his memory was perfect. He re-read the passages as though he was back in his and Mariah's own private Libraries, pouring over mildewed tomes. Various cultures used Dromlach as a metaphor for death, a symbol of the journey from one state of existence to another, but he could recall no mention of it being a literal passage through the void.
The Octocalvariae was watching him with amusement in its eyes.
+Beliefs have consequences. If enough souls wish for something to exist, it eventually comes into being. Or are our beliefs an echo of something just beyond our comprehension? Either way, for every fanciful tale, scribbled in a tragic hut, there is a physical manifestation somewhere else in the galaxy. And so it is with Dromlach. She exists, Blood Angel. And I know where.+
"Why should we wish to find a galactic serpent?" said Rhacelus.
Mephiston was not surprised that his old friend had recognised the name. Rhacelus was old enough to be at Mephiston's side before his rebirth as the Chapter's Lord of Death. Rhacelus knew the texts of the Librarius as well as he did.
+Because Dromlach was not born of biology. She was born of belief. She does not abide by the rules of science that govern the rest of the galaxy. She is outside of time and space. The wound you have inflicted on the Galaxy does not-+
"The wound we inflicted?" cried Antros, closing his book and striding back across the room.
Rhacelus gave him a warning glare. "Throne, Antros. Don't be such an easy target. This thing knows Chaos ripped the galaxy in half. It is playing with you."
Mephiston tried to ignore the distractions, digesting the creature's words. "Dromlach is not affected by the Great Rift?"
+She straddles the regions of the void you are so incapable of navigating. Like so much of the galaxy that you do not understand, she is able to do things you cannot. She is present here, in your half of the galaxy – the half that has already been claimed by the Lords of Chaos. And, at her other extremity, she is also present in the other half of the galaxy – the regions that are just about to be claimed by the gods of Chaos. If you wish to cross the great divide you must offer yourself to Dromlach as a willing victim.+
Unlike Antros, Mephiston was oblivious to the creature's sneering tone, focusing carefully on its words and cross referencing then with the texts he was studying in his head. He re-read the lines about how Dromlach was a conduit from one state of existence to another and the various funerary rites associated with the deity.
"is it suggesting we prostrate ourselves before a false god?" asked Mariah.
Mephiston ignored her as shards of information slotted neatly together in his mind. He collated the comparative religious texts he had read with ancient navigation charts.
The Octocalvariae smiled. +She exists. Look and you will find her.+
Mephiston nodded and sheathed his sword. "Very well." he gestured to the door. "Brother and Lady Mariah, we need endure the company of this being no longer."
Rhacelus and Antros followed him bit Mariah hesitated, glaring at the creature.
The Octocalvariae smirked back. +Can you smell my blood, vampire?+ It licked its lips where Mariah's blood still glistened. +Do you hear my heart? Thud, thud.+
Mariah hissed a curse, her face flushed with rage.
"Mariah," Mephiston spoke quietly but the warning in his voice was enough to halt Mariah. She closed her eyes and backed away, nodding.
She wiped some imaginary dust from her battleplate and marched away from the creature without giving it another glance, following Mephiston, Rhacelus and Antros from the room.
The Octocalvariae slumped on to the floor with a rattle of chains and a burst of laughter,
+The great Lord Mephiston,+ it thought. +The great seer of the Blood Angels. Just a simpleton, like the rest of the Emperor's dolts.+
A while later, one of the servitors in the wall began to twitch and snort. It was limbless, like all the others, just a bare, grey-fleshed torso and a shaved head. The body was deformed by the cables that ran through it and the head was dumb and blind, its mouth and eyes no more than puckered lines and stitches. As it moved, the face began to stretch and bulge, the skull buckling and extending until it looked like a long, hooked beak.
+Mephiston is no fool,+ replied the servitor. +I made sure of that. But for all his learning he has yet to recognise the face of his tutor – he does not guess the source of his wisdom.+
+Nor will he,+ replied the Octocalvariae, twisting in its chains, trying to look up at the bird-headed shape. +Many people have been consumed by Dromlach, but none have ever emerged from the other side.+
+He will emerge. In this, as all the other matters we discussed, I am sure. He is the Threefold soul. He is a spoke of the Great wheel. He is an implement of the great charge and foundation stone of the new kingdom. He will reach Sabassus and then he will be mine.+
The Octocalvariae looked hopefully at the door. +And then?+
+And then I will keep my promise to you. Mephiston is the hope of the Blood Angels. He has taken it upon himself to shoulder their burden. By becoming their shadow he thinks he can postpone their doom. He thinks by carrying their shame he is buying them time, but he will actually hasten their demise. So his fall will be the fall of the Chapter, and what a fall it will be. The Sons and Daughter of Sanguinius, consumed by blood lust and shame. Their despair will leave them no option. Those that survive will seek a new spiritual father, the Crimson King, and revel in the New Kingdom. I will have presented Magnus with an incredible gift.+ The servitor died, relaying one final promise. +And you will be free.+
And I will be free, thought the Octocalvariae, closing its dozens of eyes and leaning back on the cold stone, picturing the moment, imagining the torments it would wreak on Marest as Baal burned.