The Beast Arises

He sat slumped for some time, before recovering himself. Groaning, he got up. His room was a catastrophe. In his hand rested the small box. With woozy eyes he focused on it. There were five crystals left inside. Each dose was good for five days, five times five was twenty-five. Such a simple calculation to count out a man’s life! Wienand was dead. His chances of getting more antidote were remote. He could tell no one, not without seriously compromising his position. Who would have faith in him if he were revealed to be so fallible?

Lucidity was fleeting. The poison would start its work again soon enough, and he was gripped by anxiety. He looked up to the many faces of the Emperor carved into rare woods in the friezes of his room.

‘Where are You? Why don’t You help me?’ he whispered. ‘Have I not served You faithfully? Put forward the interests of Your church where I could? So if I took a little pleasure for myself, it is nothing to the work I have done for You!’ He got onto his knees and lifted a hand, clawed as if it gripped his heart and he would offer it to his god. ‘Help me!’

The Emperor, His face so placid and commanding, looked everywhere but at Mesring. He gazed upon scenes from the past so distant no one could name them any more, a dead god unaware of His own irrelevance, dwelling on glories that would never be seen again.

A sharp pain stabbed through Mesring’s head. ‘You are weak! Self-absorbed! You denied Your godhood to the people who loved You, You used us, You use us still!’ His eyes strayed eastward, and he cringed in the direction of the great dome of the Throne Room. When no reprisal came he huffed in contempt. ‘But the orks, the orks!’ He lifted a finger skyward. ‘They are above Your Palace, and You do nothing! Why do You not smite them from the sky?’

A jangle of phantom noise shattered his thoughts. He blinked at the swaying images crowding his thoughts, his fellows gathered around his bed, jeering at him. The antidote had yet to complete its work.

‘It is because the Beast is stronger than You!’ he shouted.

Mesring got to his feet, and casting accusing looks over his shoulder, he went to the window of his chamber, flinging shutters wide that had remained closed for years. Acrid air flooded in. The Imperial Palace was a sea of lights shoaled by spires of metal and stone. Two moons shone down on it. Full of fear, he lifted his eyes heavenward. The ork moon’s brutal face stared down at him. Mesring met its gaze. The attack moon was surrounded by the pinprick lights of the Space Marine fleet. Surrounded by the mightiest warriors in the Imperium, and still it shone! He feared its great strength.

Strength. Undeniable, present, immanent, so unlike his deaf god.

There was something worthy of his respect.

Koorland waited to meet Thane alone in a minor shuttle bay of the Abhorrence. He stayed out of sight, watching Thane’s bondsmen go over their small craft. Vapour curled from its engines as the pilot put them through their pre-flight warm-up, while two others went over it carefully, checking its surface and various devices inside and out. There were so many tasks the servants of a Chapter performed. They were invisible most of the time, but without them the Space Marines would not be able to function. If he were truly the Master of a Chapter, he would have to acquaint himself with their activities to a level he had never considered before.

The lord of the Fists Exemplar entered the hangar flanked by two of his honour guard. They reacted quickly when Koorland stepped out of the shadows, training their boltguns upon him.

‘Koorland?’ said Thane. ‘What are you doing skulking about down here?’

‘I wished to speak with you before you departed. Privately.’

Thane looked over his shoulder at his men and nodded to them. They lowered their weapons and went into the waiting vessel.

‘What do you need to say to me that could not be said in front of the others?’ said Thane.

‘Nothing of great import,’ said Koorland. ‘I wanted to wish you well. You and I are in a similar position, both of us elevated to Chapter Mastery by the deaths of others.’

‘Your tragedy is greater than mine, brother,’ said Thane. ‘My Chapter survives.’

‘As does mine, so long as I live. I must use however much time is left to me well.’

‘A noble aim, brother,’ said Thane.

‘I wanted to impress upon you a need for great care. Not against the orks, but against hubris. Issachar is agitating that we should go further. The Last Wall has shown the efficacy of a large force of Space Marines gathered together. He has not done so yet, but it will not be long before he openly advocates the reformation of the Legion. I know you are sympathetic to his opinion. You must reconsider.’