Saeva Abyssi Chapter 8

High over Astu the Farseer T'selia was sitting cross-legged under a crystal dome. The green light reflecting off the gas giant bathing her in a sea of emerald that shimmered off her white robes. She sat utterly still, breathing only once a minute with her face raised to the light and her eyes closed. She appeared to be at peace, still and silent and yet her mind was frantically busy. T'selia's mind was sifting the Skein of time, examining the various futures and potentials as they moved and changed before her. Many probable prospects had already fallen by the wayside, displaced by less likely but still valid futures. The Farseer was not surprised by this, the Skein of time was ever shifting, the futures ever struggling and jostling to become the actual present.

T'selia had foreseen that her presence on the bridge had been unnecessary during the first battle. The vast majority of prospects had seen the Mon-Keigh scow burned bow to stern and the target dead without her intervention. Nothing she could have said or done would have changed the Skein at that point. This present had always been possible though, the Mon-Keigh surviving the initial scrap and fleeing to the world below. Now the Skein told her that the vast majority of futures resulted in the filthy animals' deaths. Ensnared by Athra's hunting frigates, lost to the failures of technology or caught by the larger Cruisers as they attempted to flee back into the void.

T'selia was satisfied that the Skein favoured her; the potential futures where the Mon-Keigh survived were few and far between. It was a fitting punishment for the filthy beings, after what they had done to Idharae the entire species deserved extinction. The thought of her lost and dead Craftworld kindled a terrible rage in T'selia, the knowledge that she had failed to guide her people to safety gnawing away at her soul. It was not just the physical destruction either; the ignorant savages had shattered the precious soul stones of her ancestors, condemning their essences to be cast into the Warp. Such a fate was worse than death to an Eldar, to lose their fragile protection was to be revealed to She Who Thirsts. The nightmarish Chaos God the Eldar race had created in their own hubris: Slaanesh bane of the Eldar.

T'selia realised that her breathing had increased, the rage bubbling just under the surface of her self-control. She knew that her anger was growing with every day that passed, that her self-control was growing brittle and threatening to shatter her psychic defences. By all rights she should present herself to the Shrines of War and set her feet upon the Path of the Aspect Warrior, but it was impossible. She was a Farseer; an Exarch of psychic might, once committed to that Path there was no going back. By letting her rage and anger control her actions she was acting in direct defiance of the Paths, putting her soul in peril. Yet she could not stop herself, the die was cast and the risk was one she accepted. T'selia forced her breathing to slow and stroked the precious Soul-stone upon her breast. It was more than just her defence and the receptacle for her soul; it was bound to her, woven into her essence in ways subtle and deep. As long as she had it then her soul was protected from the Warp.

T'selia forced her mind back to the Skein and examined the potentials for herself. To see into one's own personal future was the most difficult and treacherous of tasks for any clairvoyant, the very act of looking shifting the weft of everything. Nothing could be trusted for anything could change at a moment. T'selia could see that she was playing a dangerous game, she did not only have to kill the Mon-Keigh target, she had to survive afterwards. T'selia knew that Athra J'rect had designs upon her person, that he was planning a cavalcade of torments for her flesh. But she had chosen him for a reason, alone among Archons he would not have instantly thrown her into a cell and started torturing her. The Dark Eldar was too enamoured of his own cleverness, he would try to be subtle and end up outsmarting himself. Still that did not mean he was not dangerous.

T'selia had foreseen that had the Archon won the first battle then she would have had to beat a swift retreat, fleeing before he came for her. Had the Archon caught her before she could run then T'selia would have obliterated him in an instant. More worrying was the potential that he would have sent his Incubus, Dramaq would have been a far more troubling fight. Yet those futures had passed by unfulfilled and now there were new potentials to examine. In the vast majority of futures the Archon would either be dead, defeated or crippled, left to scream impotently at her victory. Yet there were a handful of futures where he won, seeing T'selia dead, mad or thrown into a torture cell to suffer for eternity. In other futures she became a trophy for his court, a broken, mad fool dragged out to entertain his guests. Worse than that were the futures where he bound her to a Talos pain engine, becoming an unwilling ally in his raiding and pillaging. There was even a single, lone future where she joined him as a willing ally, becoming a mistress of pain and suffering in her own right.

T'selia shook off the vision and focussed on the mission at hand; the Mon-Keigh would try to fight back and she would need to intervene. With her power and foresight most futures contained her victory yet there were still possible futures where the target survived and went on to fulfil its destiny. She would have to be bold to prevent that, to ensure the primitive's death came to pass and seal the race's doom.

T'selia's meditations were disturbed by the clomp of a heavy tread, the thump of an armoured boot. The Farseer sighed, this was not a conversation she had been looking forward to, the Sorcerer Beta was coming back for another attempt to weasel his prize from her. She opened her eyes and snapped, "What do you want now?"

Beta stood before her, hands raised in a Mon-Keigh gesture of appeasement and he said, "I only came to talk. Our last conversation did not go so well, I want to rectify that, I was hoping we could reach an accord."

T'selia looked at him, the filthy animal disgusted her. Not only was he was from a degenerate race of barbarians but he also willingly embraced damnation. For a moment T'selia considered obliterating him from existence, but unfortunately he had his own role to play in the various futures. As much as it pained her T'selia would have to tolerate him for now. The Farseer gestured for the Sorcerer to be seated and he did so, resting his staff across his armoured knees. Then he did something she had not foreseen, he reached up and took off his helm. Revealed underneath was a brutish Mon-Keigh face, but in a rough way, he was somewhat handsome. He was bald and had tattoos upon his cheekbones, on the left a large 'A' shape, on the right a pair of serpents writhing around each other. His face was oddly lacking in scars and his eyes were the deepest green.

Beta started the conversation by saying, "This campaign has taken an odd turn, we did not expect the Storm Heralds to flee into the planet."

T'selia shrugged and said, "It is of no concern, the Skein shall show us the way. The target will die regardless."

Beta commented, "We could tip the odds if you would talk to Athra and persuade him to allow me to summon my flagship to this system."

T'selia cut her hand horizontally in denial as she said, "No, the forces here are sufficient for the task."

Beta eyed her then said, "You know Athra does not really care about destroying the Storm Heralds."

T'selia tutted and declared, "Neither do you, you are only here for the prize I promised you. Nothing else matters to you."

Beta drew in a breath and said, "How little you understand me, I care for many things."

T'selia kept a polite mask over her contempt for Mon-Keigh concerns as she said, "Is that why you turned on your own gene-sire?"

Beta looked up at the planet and said, "From the beginning the XXth Legion was different from all others, created in secret for secret wars. We were made to fight the unseen battles, the shadow campaigns that other legions could not, or would not fight. We moved in silence and few even knew of our existence, only Malcador and his ilk. To them were the Ghost Legion, the Vigil, the Strife Wrought and the Last Unity. We earned no glory, no renown or titles, even honour was denied to us, there was only the mission and its completion. Yet the one thing we had was our brotherhood, our family."

T'selia commented, "And then your twin Primarchs came."

Beta nodded, "Yes and at first it was wondrous, our twin fathers so like us not only in body but in mind and soul too. They thought like we did, moved like we did and their strategies were flawless in planning and execution. They led us into the light, to stand alongside the other Legions, though those snobs never appreciated us."

T'selia remarked, "How nice for you."

Beta sighed and said, "Even after we emerged the Alpha Legion still got all the odd jobs, the wars no one else could do. It was after the defeat of the Ak'Haireth bone drinkers that we received word that the Imperium was under attack by a strange form of Xeno. A sentient virus that would infect whole worlds before turning the people to its service, a most cunning enemy that only the Alpha Legion could detect, let alone fight. Alpharius dispatched several cells to investigate, to gather samples and specimens so we could formulate a response."

T'selia had heard of such things and said, "So what went wrong?"

Beta looked down and said, "A cell fell off the grid, the Unbroken Chain, they disappeared entirely. Alpharius personally sent me to investigate and I tracked them down, only to discover a horror. The cell had been infected by the virus, their gene-crafting proving useless at resisting it; they were in its service. As soon as they saw me they attacked, I was forced to defend myself by extreme measures."

T'selia said accusingly, "You called upon the powers of Chaos and killed them all."

Beta snarled, "It was self-defence, I was forced to call upon the powers of the Warp to survive!"

T'selia, commented, "And your Primarchs were angry."

"Yes… but not about the deaths of our brothers," barked Beta, "They didn't care if the Unbroken Chain cell lived or died, but they condemned me for the methods I employed, they said I was unsound. That's when I realised the truth: they had sent out the cell without warning them of the danger, holding back essential information. They might as well have pulled the triggers themselves. I wasn't going to let that stand, my Brothers deserved better, they deserved justice. That's when I decided that the Primarchs had to pay for what they had done in their carelessness."

T'selia was quiet for a long moment then softly said, "Did you really think that a sad story would sway me?"

Beta blinked and said, "I don't…"

T'selia growled, "Your attempts at manipulation are feeble and transparent, did you think your history would make me sympathise with you?"

Beta spluttered, "But…"

T'selia stood up and barked, "I do not care for you or for any of your filthy species, better that you had died in the fires of Horus' rebellion than live to plague the rest of the galaxy!"

Now Beta was angry and said, "You promised…"

"Yes your precious prize, it shall remain in my cabin under lock and key," T'selia sneered, "When the mission is complete then I shall bestow it upon you, but not until I am ready."

With those words the Farseer turned and swept out, leaving the Sorcerer sitting under the dome to contemplate her words. Long seconds passed by as Beta reflected quietly then he grinned to himself and whispered, "So the prize is in her cabin… that is most useful to know."