The First Heretic

‘I need no more convincing. Everything, at last, has fallen into place. I know my role in the galaxy, after two centuries of struggling to find the right path. And we will come to see your... union... as something avataric, something that exalts you in the eyes of the gods. Not a sacrifice. You were chosen, Argel Tal. Just as I was.’ And yet, he did not sound as certain as his words insisted. Doubt shadowed his tone.

Argel Tal seemed lost in thought, watching the skeletal play of his opening and closing hand.

‘Ingethel warned us all: this is merely the beginning. We will change as the possession takes hold, but not until the ordained time. These gods will cry out from their haven here in the storm, and when we hear them call to us, we will begin our... “evolution”.’

‘What form will these changes take?’ Lorgar was writing once more, recording every word in his rapid, elegant script. He never went back to amend mistakes in his handwriting, for there were never any errors to amend.

‘The daemon said nothing of that,’ Argel Tal confessed. ‘It said only that this age was coming to an end before another century has passed. When it does, the galaxy will burn and the gods will scream. Until then, we carry a second soul, letting it ripen inside us.’

Lorgar said nothing for some time. At last, he laid the quill aside and smiled at his son – a reassuring, welcoming smile.

‘You must learn to hide this from the Custodes. You must hide this from everyone outside the Legion, until you hear the gods call.’

NINETEEN

Confession

Restoration

The Gal Vorbak

The Blessed Lady knew who it was even before the door opened.

She sat comfortably on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap, clad in her layered priestess’s robe of cream and grey. Her sightless eyes turned to him as he entered, following the sounds of his bare feet. She heard the swish of robes rather than the thrum of active armour, and the novelty brought a smile to her lips.

‘Hello, captain,’ she said.

‘Confessor,’ he replied.

It took considerable poise to hide her shock. His voice had changed from the months of privation, sounding dryer as it left his throat. And there was something else... Something more: a new resonance despite the current weakness.

She’d heard the rumours, of course. If the talk was true, they’d resorted to killing one another and drinking their brothers’ blood.

‘I thought you’d have come to me before now.’

‘Forgive the delay. I have been with the primarch since my return.’

‘You sound tired.’

‘The weakness will fade.’ Argel Tal sat on the floor by her bed, taking his customary position. He’d last sat there only three nights before, though for the Word Bearer, almost a year had passed.

‘I missed you,’ he told her. ‘But I am glad you were not with us.’

Cyrene wasn’t sure how to begin. ‘I heard... things,’ she said.

Argel Tal smiled. ‘They are likely all true.’

‘The human crew?’

‘Dead, to a man. That is why I am glad you were not on board with us.’

‘And you suffered as the rumours say?’

The Word Bearer chuckled. ‘That depends what the rumours say.’

His casual stoicism charmed her, as it always did. The hint of another smile tickled the corners of her lips.

‘Come here. Kneel, and let me see you.’

He complied, bringing his face before her and holding her wrists in a gentle grip as he led her hands. She brushed her fingertips along his skin, tracing the contours of his diminished features.