Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 12

Xavaar examined the corpse with mild interest, looking up at the dangling body as it swung on a long rope by the neck. His professional eye scoured the deceased and saw no evidence of shattered bones, no lacerations or crushed limbs, this was not the work of Space Marines. The lack of defensive bruising told that no mortal hands had done this either. Not murder then but suicide, the mortal had killed himself. Hardly unusual, the only thing that stood out was that the grey man had picked a public place to hang himself. A last, desperate cry for attention, or a final insult to the universe, it made no difference.

Xavaar lowered his eyes and looked about the marketplace. Deep within Oblivioni Cavum the mortals had set up a meeting place, for trade and gossip. An empty hold had been filled with metal tables, where silent women stood over piles of broken bits, worn tools and mouldering foodstuffs, waiting for bargaining to resume. They were silent in the presence of a Night Lord, they had good reason to not risk his wrath, but apart from that they were not afraid, more annoyed at the interruption of their lives.

Xavaar had cause to reflect. The Night Lords had a curious relationship with their slaves. Cruel and demanding, yes, but by and large uninterested in the comings and goings of their chattels. Naturally there were those Astartes who would kill for being looked at wrong, or pick out a victim to hunt through the bowels of the station, but so long as a mortal could avoid drawing attention they could live however they wanted. Some eked out lives as best they could, a few tried to carve out petty criminal empires while others succumbed to the despair of knowing they would never escape this dark pit and chose the quick way out. It was a stark contrast to the nightmarish depravity of the Emperor's Children, or the oppressive tyranny of the Iron Warriors and Word Bearers. In the short time between the start of the rebellion and his exile Xavaar had seen what was becoming of the other Legions and he suspected they'd only got worse in the years he'd missed.

He realised the mortals were waiting for his judgement and stated, "Suicide, nothing to see here. Carry on." He turned away and strode off, heading for the door. Behind he heard the mortals resume their bargaining over trifles, while a few moved to loot the body of the dead man and carry away the corpse. He gave it no mind as he strode out, heading into the depths of Oblivioni Cavum. He walked down the empty passages, taking turns seemingly at random, but in fact heading to a very specific destination. He saw no sign of other Night Lords this far down, the exiles chose to avoid this section and would go far out of their way to circumvent it. It was no environmental issue, or dangerous predator that drove them away but rather that it was the abode of a singular individual, one even the VIIIth wanted nothing to do with. Few indeed wished to spend time with Arkqas the Mad.

Eventually his wandering footsteps brought him to a plain door. Here he paused, not out of wariness but respect. He softly tapped on the door and waited until a pale mortal opened the door and peered out. This was not Arkqas but his manservant, a humble individual who served his master with surprising dignity. He recognised the Sorcerer from long familiarity and opened the door wide without asking why he was here. Xavaar had a standing invitation to visit anytime.

Stepping through the door was like visiting another world. There were large chairs, covered with Maltese leather and drinks cabinets set in the walls. A painting of a fertile planet hung upon the wall, showing a regal city in dawn light, white marble gleaming as blue rooftops flew proud banners. Many bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes upon subjects as broad as civil politics, histories, sorcery and Daemonology. A suit of armour stood upon a stand, its lightning dampened and sedate, notably lacking the red gauntlets so common in this place.

The owner of that suit was sitting at a large desk, peering over piles of parchments and inking notes upon many of them with a stylus made of a human tibia. He seemed engrossed in his writing and Xavaar took a moment to admire his honed muscles and many scars. Despite his scholarly air he was no effeminate fop, Arkqas had fought as violently and cruelly as any Nostramo born and garnered a fierce reputation. Xavaar knew that aura would buy him wary respect among the claws, but that was not why they called him mad, they did so because he was the only Night Lord on Oblivioni Cavum by choice.

"Just a moment," Arkqas said as he made a few more notes, "Have some Tanna."

"My thanks," Xavaar said as he laid his staff upon a corner, the desiccated body on the top leering at the room. He took a seat, which barely fitted his armoured frame and accepted a steaming cup of Tanna from the manservant, who made himself disappear quickly. Xavaar sipped the bitter brew as Arkqas finished up and then laid down his stylus.

"You are a being of many mysteries," Xavaar commented, "But the greatest of all is where the hell do you find Tanna in his dump?"

"Trade secret," Arkqas quipped as he spun about, revealing a face of eager intent and passionate eyes, "What brings you to my door?"

"Merely a place to rest and gather my thoughts," Xavaar sighed, which was true, Arkqas was the one being in this place he was sure wasn't thinking of sinking a knife into his back. In a world of cutthroat and sadists he stood out for being honest, trustworthy and sincere, yet more fuel for his strange repute.

"It certainly is a good place for thinking," Arkqas sighed, "That's why I came out here, to be alone with my thoughts."

Xavaar chuckled, "It is strange to see a scholar in midnight-clad. Looking at you now I would not believe I once saw you rip out a man's spinal cord and beat his family to death with it."

"Blame the Ultramarines," Arkqas sniffed, "My secondment to Ultramar was an enlightening experience."

"I'd wager it wasn't for them," Xavaar snorted, "Even before we cast off Terra's shackles they looked at us as something they scraped off their boots."

"True, yet I learned much from them. Yet I sense this is no idle visit, be honest with me, you know I won't tell."

Xavaar sighed wearily as he confessed, "Kharkul thinks he makes a breakthrough with his Mutilators. Using Orks is a better base but he seeks to excise their emotions, he thinks to take away their passion will allow them to withstand the touch of Chaos."

"Did you tell him it won't work?"

"Of course not, he's volatile enough without provoking him."

Arkqas leaned back and mused, "I'm no Psyker but from what I've read Chaos is by its nature passion incarnate, the most fervent and unbalanced extremes of emotional energy. Lust, rage, despair and avarice, all taken to the most insane degree. To try to insert Chaos energy and remove passion… Kharkul may as well try to build a blast furnace out of ice. You should tell him this is a dead end."

Xavaar sighed, "I've learned not to tell leaders things they don't want to hear."

Arkqas cocked an eyebrow and remarked, "Ah yes, your fateful encounter with Curze. You never did explain what you said to set him off."

"You never explained what it is you're writing," Xavaar retorted.

"I'll tell you my secret if you tell me yours."

Xavaar glared through his flesh mask then relented, "If you must know, I had a vision. All know Curze is haunted by dark prophecies of the future, the bleakest and most dire of outcomes, it's the root cause of his madness. Yet you may not be aware the Legion's Librarians share this affliction. We see the future, in a painful burst of vivid clarity. So bright and precise and they always come true, always, no matter what we do to change our fates. I was young and powerful, a rising star in the Librarius, but I had a vision of a dark betrayal. My trusted mentor would stab me in the back and leave me to die."

"You confronted him?"

"There was no point," Xavaar sighed, "The future had been seen, it was a road already laid down. Of course I prepared for the consequences as best I could, angling to survive, but then something happened I didn't expect. The appointed hour came and my mentor failed to betray me, he saved my life, giving his own so I would survive. That was shocking, I can tell you."

Arkqas frowned, "Then it was a false vision you had, you were mistaken."

"No," Xavaar corrected, "I had seen it, the future was written… and then it wasn't. The future changed, you see, the events didn't play out as they should have. That doesn't happen, at least by the Legion's understanding of things. The future can't be changed, so taught Curze himself."

"Ah…" Arkqas breathed, "I think I can guess what happened next."

Xavaar nodded, "I made the mistake of taking this revelation to the Primarch, I had his ear at the time. I told him what happened, I told him my discovery that the future can change, that fate is not a set thing… he... did not react well. He flew into a rage that would make Angron weep, denying everything I said. The future is fixed, he is utterly certain of it, nothing can be changed, not ever, not one word. He made me recant my discovery and then he peeled my skin off, very, very slowly. Then he exiled me here, so I wouldn't spread my dangerous ideas to others."

Arkqas sighed, "You may have been fortunate to get away at all. His madness grows ever deeper, he drags the Legion down to its doom. That's why I left, to design a Legion without him."

Xavaar scoffed, "A Legion without a Primarch?"

"Why not?" Arkqas countered, "We fought for decades without Primarchs, very successfully too. The Legions operated before them, and after, several Primarchs have fallen and yet their sons fight on. The Night Lords should prepare for the day Curze no longer leads us."

"You are jesting!" Xavaar laughed.

"No I'm totally serious," Arkqas snapped, "Either one of his Brothers ends his life, or he sinks so far into insanity he can't give orders any more. His orders made no sense before we left, how much worse must he be by now. The Legion has already outgrown its Primarch, he holds us back, though fools like Sevatar and Zho Shaal refuse to admit it."

Xavaar snapped, "What would the Night Lords be without Curze?!"

"Better!" Arkqas cried, "It's all right here, in my writings, in my manifesto. I saw the proper way for a Legion to operate in Ultramar, but Guilliman is too removed from the common people. He thinks to build a civilisation from the top down. Curze sees that order must arise from the ground up, in the hearts and minds of the mortals, but his grasp of reality is breaking, he cannot build anything that lasts. Fear is the key, yes, to gaining control but only as a short-term measure. Nothing that lasts can be built on fear alone. The Legion must adapt our strategies, while there is time, before Terra can impose its stagnant rule once more. The Night Lords can be supreme among the stars, we can be lords of creation and build a perfect society, fearful but ambitious and enlightened. With us standing over them as just and wise guardians of order humanity can finally achieve its potential!"

There it was, Xavaar thought with a shudder, the madness that made other exiles avoid this place as if cursed. Arkqas yet believed, he thought the Legion was redeemable, that they still retained a noble purpose. In Arkqas' eyes the Night Lords could be heroic warrior-poets, free to pursue justice and order. What made it worse was that when you listened to him one could believe it too, just for a moment, they could dream of a bright and noble future. The cruel hammerblow of reality after speaking to him was unbearable. Night Lords had no delusions about what they were, unlike the Word Bearers who clung to false self-images, the children of Nostramo told no lies as to their abhorrent nature. Once you had glimpsed that brightness the dark shadows that haunted their souls became viler than ever. Better not to look, better not to see the possibility at all, when you knew it would be cruelly dashed to pieces straight after.

Xavaar's hearts sank as he sighed, "As amusing as this chat has been I need to be off. Kharkul requires more test subjects and as usual it falls to me to supply them."

"You work too hard," Arkqas sniffed as he returned to his scribblings, "Take some time for yourself."

"I shall return another time," Xavaar said as he set down his cup and collected his staff.

He discretely slid out the room, closing the door behind him. His hearts ached with the purity of Arkqas' dream but bled for knowing it was impossible, a bubble fit only to burst at a strong breeze. He sealed his pain away using his Librarius training but to his surprise discovered a decision had been made. During their talk he hadn't realised it but his patience had run out. Trapped in this dump, with a mad lord and a madder friend, Xavaar had finally run out of excuses to hide from his gene-father. He hadn't sent his thoughts into the stars for a year but it was finally time to reach out. Xavaar was going to send an Astropathic message to the Legion and demand Curze answer the question of when they would be recalled.