Exitus Ultima Chapter 6
High over Sacellum Fleet Primus orbited. Vessels filled the sky, so many they blotted out the stars themselves. Sleek frigates roamed, ever wary for threats while squadrons of cruisers hung above, ready to intercept any attacker. Shoals of troop ships, flotillas of fuel barges and Forgetenders, food transports, listening boats and Amenities ships. Battleship drifted like queens in the void, ancient names like Diplomacy at Gunpoint, Old Ironside, Poseidon and Macragge's Honour. A fleet to lay waste sectors and obliterate any threat, all fresh from their refit over Tectum. Among that gathering the Battlebarge Thunderlord seemed rather unimpressive.
Standing at a porthole Librarian Arvael watched the fleet drift by, drinking in the sight. He knew all too well that such a display of Imperial might would never again visit the Storm Herald's protectorates. The Indomitus Crusade was progressing deep into Segmentum Tempestus, leaving his Chapter to guard their supply lines. That was a harrowing thought, the Storm Heralds would be left behind while other Chapters forged on, fighting at the tip of humanity's spear, earning glory in the sight of the Primarch.
He could see their ships, strike cruisers from the Imperial Fists, Salamanders, Novamarines, Aurora Chapter and Smoke Jaguars. Mightier still Battlebarges from the Fire Lords, Praetors of Orpheus, Storm Hawks and Howling Griffons. An honour company from the Ultramarines stood proud while the Black Templars had departed early, to trailblaze a path ahead of the main fleet, but contingents of other Chapters rode in the holds of Imperial warships, names such as White Scars, Sons of Orar, Raven Guard, Hawk Lords, Storm Giants and Doom Eagles. On and on the litany went, Marines Malevolent, Exorcists, Mortifactors, Charnel Guard, Disciples of Caliban, Scythes of the Emperor, Angels Sanguine, Steel Confessors, Excoriators, Destroyers, Mentor Legion and Emperor's Shadows. Names that would blaze a trail of glory across the pages of history, while the Storm Heralds would not. Only one name was suspiciously absent, the Red Hunters, sent away under a cloud of ill-will under circumstances Arvael chose not to dwell upon.
Eventually Arvael turned from the view and made his way to his Master's chambers. Chief Librarian Echeb maintained a sanctum upon the Battlebarge, reserved only for the use of the Librarius. Few Initiates dared tread here, and none by choice, revulsion of the Warp was ingrained deep. Arvael stepped through a wooden door and found a dungeon. The walls were rough stone, crudely fashioned as the most primitive feral-world keep. Arches held aloft a roof that hid shadows impenetrable even to Space Marine sight. Bookcases along the walls held tomes of lore forbidden to all others and a stone font contained waters from the Oceans of Lujan II. One wall held a bay window, whose frosted-glassic panes danced with liquid light, as if seen from underwater. There were no stars beyond that window, only bare stone and no lumen orbs. Arvael knew it was true, he'd checked, but the glassic glowed regardless, lit by a watery source only Echeb knew.
The Master of the Librarius was in a conclave. He stood in his thunderbolt and comet-marked armour, holding a stave topped with an astrolabe. Arvael's mystic sight beheld him as a bluff crag in a storm, battered by fierce winds and crashing waves, but indomitable and unyielding. A hard man for hard choices. The others were lesser in his sight, Codiciers, apprentices and Astropaths, all reporting to their lord. Incongruously a mortal woman stood among them, not Astropath or serf. Mayra was her name and she served in ways uncommon.
The Space Marines of the Adeptus Astartes were brave and true, skilled and fierce in battle, but they were only as potent as the information they had to hand. As a Bolter was useless without fine aim, so a Chapter was blind without its Librarius. It fell to the Librarians to know what was occurring in the galaxy, to understand the rise and fall of threats and the strategic worth of any given battle. Veritable legions of dedicated lex-savants and crypto-cypherists parsed Astropathic messages daily, deconstruction reports of battle and warnings of enemies massing among the stars. Night and day messages were turned over, their significance debated and the results passed to the Chief Librarian.
Yet such messages left the Chapter dependent on the Imperium's awareness of events, which meant the Inquisition. Few were content to depend on such shadowy individuals, so the Librarius also maintained its own network of mortal agents, spies and watchmen, scattered throughout the Saint Karyl Trail and beyond. Arvael had experienced dealings with such agents and found their work to be dirty and sordid, beneath the dignity of an Astartes, yet he knew the value of their labour too.
Echeb saw his entrance and commanded, "You know your duties, report to me in six hours. Mayra, you stay, the rest of you are dismissed."
Everyone filed out, Arvael waited a moment then declared, "My master, the embarkation is nearly complete."
"As predicted," Echeb accepted distractedly, "The war on Sacellum was brief and easily resolved."
"Too brief," Arvael muttered.
Echeb's cold eyes came to bear on his acolyte, "You have a differing opinion?"
Arvael replied honestly, "Our campaign was swiftly resolved, the enemy crushed with ease. Never have I seen Imperial armies move with such alacrity, never have we met with such astonishing success. The enemy was as helpless as fish in a barrel."
Mayra shook her head, causing the frizzy mess she called hair to flutter. Her face was lined by long years of sorrow and her eyes had seen the passing of many friends. Yet she retained her vigour thanks to meticulous Rejuvenat work, though Arvael noted she had taken to wearing dresses with long sleeves, it was rumoured to know a woman's true age one should look at her elbows.
"Only Space Marines could complain about a war being too easy!" Mayra derided.
"Until you have been in battle do not pretend that you know what you are talking about," Arvael chided.
"I've seen plenty of battles!"
"Not Astartes battles, not as we wage war, especially not again our filthy kindred. We know how Traitor Marines fight, the filth of Chaos does not fall so easily."
Mayra sniffed, "They don't usually face five thousand Space Marines at once. You're seeing what this Crusade can do, of course it's mind-bogglingly overpowered."
But Arvael argued, "We fought the Alpha Legion, the most deceptive and sly of Legions. Not mindless hordes of Khorne Berserkers, but the wiliest serpents of Chaos. They always have a plan, always with the hidden knife in the dark. If we won this planet with ease, then it was because they wanted us to."
Mayra snorted, "Sounds like you're experiencing the Frakening."
Both Astartes stared at her and Arvael pressed, "The what?"
"You know, when your day is going just a little bit too good and you don't trust it. Then some crap finally kicks off and you think to yourself, there is it: the Frakening."
Echeb frowned in disapproval but said, "Arvael, this has been considered, by minds superior to ours. Librarians from twenty-nine Chapters scour the stars for hints of peril. The Inquisition, Victrix Guard and Adeptus Custodes interrogate every mind that crosses their paths. The greatest warrior-investigators of the age determine all is well, and what do you have to say to counter such laudable minds?"
Arvael's eyes fell, "I have no proof, but my instincts scream something is wrong. Every time I summon my powers my mind rings with warnings of doom."
"Have you developed clairvoyance at last?" Echeb pressed.
"No master," Arvael admitted, "I remain a Telekine first and telepath second, to matters of prophecy I remain deaf and blind."
Echeb nodded and strode over to the font set under the dancing light. The stone ewer lay heavy with significance and the waters within had hidden depths. The lip came to Mayra's eyebrows but Arvael gazed down easily and saw shapes forming. At Echeb's arcane gesture the waters stirred to form a face, stern and commanding, with eyes sharp and incisive. A face that had seen the worst of the Warp and defied it. The font was a far-scryer, one of impressive range and accuracy.
"Chief Librarian Tigurius," Echeb declared, "One of the Imperium's most capable prophets. He foresaw the rise of Waaagh Madbrakka and manoeuvred the Ultramarine fleet to destroy them as they exited the Warp, catching them at the moment of greatest vulnerability. He understood the danger of the Tyranids before any other, warned an age of woe was coming before Cadia fell and saw the chance to resurrect a Primarch, when Cawl came to Macragge. Tigurius sends missives from Ultramar that Lord Guilliman will fight and win on Ophelia VII, do you think you know better than he?"
Arvael shook his head, "No my lord." Echeb waved his hand again and another formed. Dark eyes under a hood, one flesh the other steel. Wary and suspicious, accusatory even, the face of one who knew no forgiveness.
"Who is that?" asked Mayra peeking over the lintel.
"Ezekiel, Grandmaster of Dark Angel Psykers. Keeper of the Book of Salvation, Holder of the Keys. He sends word from the wandering Rock that plots move in the shadows of Segmentum Tempestus, but that this region is clear. He should know, it is whispered when he probed the mind of a Sergeant the Marine drew his own pistol and shot himself through the temple. None can hide treachery from his keen gaze, and he finds nothing untoward."
"He is far away," Arvael argued.
"Distance matters little to one such as he," Echeb countered as a face with narrow eyes and a pointed nose appeared in the font. Long whiskers stretched from a thin moustache and he bore the gene-marks of Chogris in his cheekbones. A White Scar, steeped in mystic lore, a prince of Psykers.
"Saghari," Echeb explained, "Stormseer and hunter beyond compare. He guides the sons of the Khan on their long hunts, steering them to foes no other can find. None can escape him once he has the scent and he finds no quarry worth mentioning in our protectorates."
Arvael acceded, "I honour the deeds of these notable worthies, but the future can change. Nothing is set, everything can be turned upon its head. The very act of looking can rewrite what is seen. So taught Shade-Seer Imix."
"We do not speak of the late Shade-Seer Imix K'awiil," Echeb rebuked, "His tale is done, so we both swore."
Arvael bowed in contrition, remembering solemn oaths of silence he had sworn regarding the Shade-Seer's passing. It fell to Mayra to conclude, "So the most powerful prophets of the Imperium say everything is right and against that we have... your gut?"
"I know my place is to serve, and yet I remain troubled."
Echeb growled, "A good servant should never question his master."
"And yet the servant has a duty to be watchful, for the wiles of the enemy can befoul any, high to low. If the servant has reason to suspect the machinations of Chaos are at play, he must follow his higher duty to Him on Terra."
Echeb nodded, "Well said, and as it happens, I agree."
"You what?!" Mayra started.
Echeb looked to the stained glassic, eyes filled with dancing light, "I look to the future and see a future of glory and triumph, yet when I touch the present something eludes my sight, like the suggestion of sails moving in deep fog, glimpsed so fleetingly that one doubts it was ever there. Something festers on Sacellum, something we have failed to see. A mystic veil obscures my vision, so subtle and cunning that my mind screams it is not there, but my soul knows it is. A force works against us, an enemy in the shadows."
Mayra scowled at the font, "Then what was all this?"
Echeb turned to explain, "A test. These worthies are mighty and farseeing, but look to the future for guidance, trusting dreams and visions. Arvael has no such skill, his power is purely in the physical world, in the here and now. He sees what is, not what will be. His sight is limited in scope but sharper for it. He looks into this moment and senses something untoward, something capable of tricking the foresight of mankind's greatest prophets. An enemy moves in the now, of this I am sure."
"Chaos?" Arvael pressed both relieved his master was listening and wary of the implications.
"Few others have the means," Echeb agreed, "But Chaos has many masks, many false guises. What face they wear and what they intend is key. This we must discern."
"We haven't time for that," Mayra spat.
"True, the Primarch hosts a victory feast tonight, while final preparations are made in Fleet Primus. One more rotation of this planet and the Indomitus Crusade will be gone."
Arvael gulped, "Whatever it is we sense, must be happening soon."
"As we speak," Echeb agreed, "And we as yet have no idea what danger it is that surrounds us. We must know more, urgently."
"So, what do we do?" Mayra pressed.
"Contact your network, alert every agent we have and tell them to pump their sources for news. Open every door, expose every dark corner. Burn assets if you must, but find me more information. Meanwhile I shall summon every Storm Herald Librarian and combine our powers to scour the present. If answers are to be found it will be in the now, not tomorrow. The cost to our souls will be high, but we must know what is happening."
Arvael knew the harrowing nature of the ritual Echeb proposed but declared, "No matter the cost we will find it. By the honour of the Storm Heralds, we will not fail."