The Horus Heresy: Vengeful Spirit

She’d told them something of what lay beyond the gate, but Alivia had to agree it didn’t exactly look like the most secure means of keeping something so hideously dangerous out. Irregular chunks of dark stone veined with white formed a tall archway in the darker red of the mountain’s foundations.

The space between the arch was mirror-smooth black stone, like a slab of obsidian cut from a perfectly flat lava bed. Nothing within the chamber was reflected in its surface.

‘We expected something that looked like it would take more than a rock drill or a demo charge to breach,’ said Kyro.

‘Trust me,’ said Alivia. ‘There’s nothing you or the Mechanicum could bring that would get that open.’

‘So how does Horus plan to open it?’

‘He’s blood of the Emperor’s blood,’ she said. ‘That’ll be enough unless I can seal it.’

‘You said the Emperor sealed it,’ said Theron.

‘No, I said He closed it,’ said Alivia. ‘That’s not same thing.’

Alcade looked at her strangely, as though now seeing something of the truth of what she was.

‘And how is it you know how to seal it?’ he asked.

‘He showed me how.’

Kyro tapped the black wall with one of his servo-arms. It made no sound whatsoever. At least in this world. ‘If what’s beyond here is so terrible, why didn’t the Emperor seal it Himself?’

‘Because He couldn’t, not then, maybe not ever,’ said Alivia, remembering the gaunt, aged face she’d seen beyond the glamours. He’d been gone no more than a heartbeat to her, but she saw centuries carved into the face she’d watched go into the gate.

‘The Emperor couldn’t seal it, but you can?’ said Kyro. ‘You’ll forgive me, Mamzel Sureka, if I find that hard to believe.’

‘I don’t give a damn what you find hard to believe,’ snapped Alivia. ‘There are things a god can do and things He can’t. That’s why sometimes they need mortals to do their dirty work. The Emperor left armies to guard against obvious intruders, but He needed someone to keep out the lone madmen, the seekers of dark knowledge or anyone who accidentally stumbled on the truth. Since I’ve been on Molech, I’ve killed one hundred and thirteen people who’ve been drawn here by the whispered poisons that seep from beyond this gate. So don’t you dare doubt what I can do!’

She took a calming breath and shrugged off her coat, tucking the loaded Ferlach serpenta into the waistband of her fatigues. She felt foolish for losing her temper, but every emotion was heightened in this place.

‘How old are you, Mamzel Sureka?’ asked Alcade.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ said Alivia, though she knew exactly where he was going with this.

‘The Emperor was last on Molech over a century ago,’ said Alcade. ‘And even with juvenat treatments, you’re nowhere near old enough to have been at His side.’

Alivia laughed, a bitter, desperate sound. ‘You don’t know how old I am, Castor Alcade. And, right now, I wish I didn’t either.’

6

Loken felt as though every cubic centimetre of air had been crushed from his lungs. He wanted to deny what the thing wearing Gerradon’s face had said, but the voice, the posture... everything, told him it was true.

When you see me, kill me.

The words he’d heard whispered in the shadows of his quarters on the Tarnhelm returned to him. No, that wasn’t right. They weren’t a memory, it was like he’d heard them again. As if some fragment of what had once been his friend was still speaking to him.

Loken’s sword and bolter lay on the ground before him. It would be easy to sweep them up, but could he put a bolt through Gerradon before the others gunned him down? Did that even matter?

He forced down the killing urge.

‘Tarik?’ he said, the name forced through gritted teeth.

‘No,’ said Gerradon with an exasperated sigh. ‘Weren’t you listening? I’m Tormaggedon. I was waiting in the warp when Little Horus cut off Tarik’s head and plucked the bright bauble of his soul before any of the warp whelps could feast on it. He screams and begs like a whipped dog, you know. Fulgrim did the same, and he was a primarch. Just imagine how bad it is for Tarik.’

‘Don’t listen to it, Loken,’ warned Rubio. ‘Warp spawn feast on the pain their lies cause.’

Grael Noctua kicked the back of Rubio’s knee, driving the psyker to the deck. The butt of a boltgun sent him sprawling. Bror Tyrfingr snarled at Noctua, but Severian shook his head.

Loken knew sorrow. He’d grieved at the death of Nero Vipus and had mourned battle-brothers he’d lost along the way. Tarik’s death on Isstvan had all but broken him and driven him into an abyss of madness he wasn’t sure he’d ever really escaped.

Until now.

He lifted his head and the fists he’d made unclenched.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Tarik would never beg. Even in death he’d be stronger than that. You say he’s screaming? I believe you. But he’s not screaming in pain, he’s screaming at me to kill you.’

‘I am the first of the Luperci,’ said Gerradon. ‘The Brothers of the Wolf. And you can’t kill me.’