BACKLIST

MoreWarhammer40,000fromBlackLibrary

THEBLOODIEDROSEDanieWare

HONOURBOUNDRachelHarrison

BLACKSTONEFORTRESSDariusHinks

•DARKIMPERIUM•GuyHaley

BOOK1:DARKIMPERIUMBOOK2:PLAGUEWAR

WATCHERSOFTHETHRONE:THEEMPEROR’SLEGIONChrisWraight

•THEHORUSIANWARS•JohnFrench

BOOK1:RESURRECTIONBOOK2:INCARNATION

VAULTSOFTERRA:THECARRIONTHRONEChrisWraight

•RISEOFTHEYNNARI•GavThorpe

BOOK1:GHOSTWARRIORBOOK2:WILDRIDER

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CONTENTS

CoverBacklistTitlePageWarhammer40,000DramatisPersonaeMapExordiumPrologueFirstGospelChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFourSecondGospelChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSevenChapterEightThirdGospelChapterNineChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenEpilogueAfterwyrdAbouttheAuthor

AnExtractfrom‘BlackstoneFortress’ABlackLibraryPublicationeBooklicense

Itisthe41stmillennium.FormorethanahundredcenturiestheEmperorhassatimmobileontheGoldenThroneofEarth.HeistheMasterofMankindbythewillofthegods,andmasterofamillion

worldsbythemightofHisinexhaustiblearmies.HeisarottingcarcasswrithinginvisiblywithpowerfromtheDarkAgeofTechnology.HeistheCarrionLordoftheImperiumforwhomathousandsoulsare

sacrificedeveryday,sothatHemaynevertrulydie.

YeteveninHisdeathlessstate,theEmperorcontinuesHiseternalvigilance.Mightybattlefleetscrossthedaemon-infestedmiasmaofthe

warp,theonlyroutebetweendistantstars,theirwaylitbytheAstronomican,thepsychicmanifestationoftheEmperor’swill.VastarmiesgivebattleinHisnameonuncountedworlds.Greatestamongst

HissoldiersaretheAdeptusAstartes,theSpaceMarines,bio-engineeredsuper-warriors.Theircomradesinarmsarelegion:theAstraMilitarumandcountlessplanetarydefenceforces,theever-

vigilantInquisitionandthetech-priestsoftheAdeptusMechanicustonameonlyafew.Butforalltheirmultitudes,theyarebarelyenoughtoholdofftheever-presentthreatfromaliens,heretics,mutants–and

worse.

Tobeamaninsuchtimesistobeoneamongstuntoldbillions.Itistoliveinthecruellestandmostbloodyregimeimaginable.Thesearethetalesofthosetimes.Forgetthepoweroftechnologyandscience,forsomuchhasbeenforgotten,nevertobere-learned.Forgetthepromiseofprogressandunderstanding,forinthegrimdarkfuturethereisonlywar.Thereisnopeaceamongstthestars,onlyaneternityofcarnage

andslaughter,andthelaughterofthirstinggods.

‘Allthatweseeorseemisbutadreamwithinadream.’–AntediluvianTerranheresy

‘We are all shadows grasping for substance in the long nightmare of thesoul.’

–IcharosMalvoisinChaplainCastigant,AngelsPenitent

DRAMATISPERSONAE

TheLostJonahTythe–ImperialPreacherAsenathHyades–SisterHospitaller(theEternalCandle)Athanazius–TheArtisan

TheOrderoftheSilverCandleHagalaz–PreceptorCognosticNavreen–SisterDialogus(aidetoHagalaz)Haruki–SisterDialogus

TheOrderoftheBronzeCandleAkaishiBhatori–PalatineChirurgeonSolanis–MotherSuperiorAngelique–MedicaeServitor

TheOrderoftheIronCandleXhinoaAokihara–SisterCelestianSuperiorIndrikThuriza–SisterCelestianGenevieve–SisterCelestianCamille–SisterCelestianMarcilla–SisterCelestian

TheExordioVoidBreachers–DarkstarCompanyIchukwuLemarché–Commissar

VanzyntReiss–LieutenantTolandFeizt–BreachSergeantBannonPynbach–BreachCorporalChingizZevraj–BreacherAvramSantino–BlastBreacherBoldiszarHörka–BlastBreacherKonradGlicke–BreacherRemRynfeld–Breacher

TheProvidenceCrusadeFatherDeliverance–ImperialConfessorCanonessExcruciantMorgwyn–OrderoftheEternalThornCommodoreBarnabasRand–ImperialNavyCaptainVarzivalCzervantes–NinthRhapsody,theAngelsResplendent

TheVirtuesIlluminantTheTornProphet–IncarnateofVeritasTheBleedingAngel–IncarnateofClementiaTheHarrowedArtisan–IncarnateofHumilitasTheBlindWatchman–IncarnateofVigilansThePenitentKnight–IncarnateofTemperansTheBurningMartyr–IncarnateofCaritasTheMuteWitness–IncarnateofCastitas

Steel yourself, traveller, for the road you’ve chosenwon’t be easy. You’llfindnojoyandpreciouslittlegloryalongtheway,letalonethehopeofabetter tomorrow at journey’s end. And if you crave immaculate answersyou’dbestturnbacknow,forsuchsalvesarefortheinnocent,theignorantandthewilfullyobtuse– thosesleepwalkerswhokeepto thewell-troddenavenuesoflifeuntodeath.Withbacksstraightorshouldersbowed,stirredbyvalourorcrippledbyfear,theymarch,stumbleorcrawlintooblivioninignominious bliss. For ignorance is indeed bliss, even when it tastes ofpain,justasblissisalwayscontemptible,evenwhenseizedwithcourage.OnlyTruthcutsdeepenoughtowarrantrespect.But you already know this,with your heart if not your head, else you’dnever have stepped onto this coiled and thorny road. Few are farsightedenough toglimpsemy trail and fewer still are capableof findingme,butthosewhoprevailcannotdootherwise.No,don’tdenyit,forthehungerinyoureyesbeliesyourhesitation!You’veseenandsacrificedtoomuchtobesatedbythefalseidlenessoffaithorreason.Nothinglessthanhonestywillsufficeforyounow.But therein lies the first andmost fundamental terror that I must sharewithyou:Truth isamanifoldandslipperybeast. Itgrewfrayedwhen thefirstminds gazed upon their worldwith displeasure and asked ‘Why?’ –thenwenttowarinthenameof‘No!’OvertheaeonsTruthhasunravelled

andentangleditselfbyturns,wrackedintodisorderbythepassionsofthosewhowouldhunt,cage,codifyandexaltit.Buttheirquestisafutileone,fortheyhavealwaysbeenchasingtheirowntails.Andtheirtailsarebarbed.

–Anonymous

HiveCarceri,Sarastus

‘Don’tgoouttonight,father,’Minasaid.Itwasn’taprotestoraplea.Hervoicewastoolifelessforthat.‘I’llbebackbeforelockdown,’Jonahanswered,keepinghisbacktoherasheslotted a clip into his stubby handgun.Notmuch troubledMina anymore, butgunsagitatedhersohekepttheweaponhiddenintheirhovel’svent-duct,alongwith theother tools of his shadow life.With itswalls plastered inmoulderingprayer scrolls and its windows sealed behind iron shutters, their cubicle wasmorelikeapenitent’scellthanalivingspace,yetitcostJonahmostofwhathemadeonthemilitiawatch.Withouttheextrahescrapedtogetherbetween shiftsthey’dhavebeen lost.Evenso, theyweredown to their last rationcansandafewpreciouslumensticksagain.Theirpowerhadbeencutmonthsago,divertedto the lights encircling the fortified hab-block where they’d taken sanctuary.Only the militia chiefs who lorded it over the top tiers still tapped into thegenerators.‘It’sabadnight,’Minapressedvaguely.TheabsurdityofthatmadeJonahsmile,whichshamedhimbecauseitmockedherandshedeservedbetter.Sheneverlefttheirshelter,butevenifshedid,shewouldn’t–couldn’t–seethetruthofthings.Thefearthathadhollowedheroutduringthefirstweeksoftheirordealwouldn’tallowit.That’s how she survives, Jonah thought, slipping the gun under his heavy

greatcoat,alongsidethecloth-wrappedbookstrappedtohischest.Hedidn’tlikehaving that heretic’s tome so close to his heart, but itwas the safest place tocarryitandhe’dberidofthedamnedthingsoonenough.Hetookalastdragonhislho-stickandstubbeditout.Itwastimetogetmoving.‘Isawhimagain,father,’Minasaid.Jonahturned,surprisedbythetremorinhistwinsister’svoice.He’dgivenupcorrecting her about his identity long ago. It only confused her.Besides, he’dbeenmoreofaparent toher than their real fathereverhad.They’dbothbeendiligentdisciplesoftheoldtyrant’szealotry,evenafterthey’dlearnthewasn’tareal priest, butMina – solemn, softly radiantMina – had always been SeniorTranscriptorMalachiTythe’sfavouredchild.Henamedherafterasaint,Jonahrecalled.MinaoftheBloodyRose…In the gloom his sister lookedmore like a ghost than a saint, her eyes darksmudgesinthelong,paleblurofherface.Likemanyofthehive’ssurvivors,shehad slipped into an ambivalent half-life that dislocated her from sense andinsanityalike.Herlankhairhadturnedashwhite,drainedofcolouralongwithhersoul.Though timehad turnedslipperysince theFallshecouldn’tbemuchpasttwenty,yetastrangermighthavemistakenherforacrone.ButnotJonah.To himMina’s gracewas inviolate. Under the grime and dissolution he stillrecognised the sister who had shielded him from their father’s violencewheneverhe’dmisquotedapsalmorstumbledoveracatechism.Later,whenhewasolder,shehadstoppedhimfromstrikingback,somehowalwaysfindingaway to rein in his rage. Without her he would have become a monster longbeforethemonsterswereeverywhere.I’mdoingthisforher,father,hethoughtfiercely.Iftheoldmanhadlivedpastthebeginningoftheendhewouldhavebeenappalledbythethingshissonhaddonetosurvive,butJonahdidn’tregretanyofit.Truthtotell,theFallhadfreedhim.‘Whodidyousee,Mina?’heaskedgently.‘The starvingman.’Her fingerswere fiddlingwith the rosarybeadsdanglingfromherneck.Sometimesthecolouredglassbeadskepthercontentforhours,but not now. In fact Jonah couldn’t remember when he’d last seen her soagitated.‘Hisfaceisalwaysinshadow,’Minacontinued,‘butIcanseehiseyes.Silvereyes.He’sclosernow.’Thatdreamagain.Itwasmorevividtoherthantheirreality.Maybethatwasa

mercy,butJonahdidn’tlikeit.‘Silverisamarkofpurity,’hesaid,claspingherhandsinhisowntostillthem.They felt fragile and cold, like the bones of a small animal. ‘Perhaps you’vedreamt of one of the God-Emperor’s holy warriors. Maybe even a SpaceMarine.’Hewasn’tsurehebelievedintheImperium’smostfableddefenders,letalonethatonemight turnupon theirbackwaterworld in itshourofneed,butMinahadalwaysadoredtheparablesaboutthem.‘ASpaceMarine?’Shefrowned,turningthepossibilityover,hereyessuddenlybright. Deprivation had withered her body, but amplified the essentialotherworldliness that had alwaysbeen there. If shewas aghost, itwas aholyone.‘Doyoureallythinkso,father?’‘Has to be.’ Jonah pulled away and her hands resumed their unconsciouslabours.‘Ihavetogo,Mina.’Hedidn’tlikeleavingherlikethis,buttherewasno avoiding it. ‘Remember, don’t open the door for anybody.’ He smiled.‘Exceptmaybeyoursilver-eyedchampion.’Such salves are for the innocent, the ignorant and– Jonah cut the phrase offangrily.He’donlyskim-readthefirstpageoftheheretic’stomehewascarryingyetthewordshadlatchedontohisthoughtslikeleeches.Hecouldalmostrecitethem verbatim. The years he’d wasted following in his father’s footsteps,vacantlytranscribingholytextsintheEcclesiarchyConservatorium,hadattunedhimtomemorisingdrivel.Hecouldreeloffasmuchscriptureasanypriest–andwith more counterfeit conviction than most! – but this was different. Thesewordsfeltalive.Hungry.They’llfadewhenI’mridofthebook,hetoldhimself.‘Jonah,’Minacalledashethrewthelastofthedoorbolts.Startledtohearhisname on her lips, he glanced round. She had pressed her face up against thewindow, as if she could see past its iron shutter. ‘I don’t think he’s a SpaceMarine,brother.’

Shewokeup,Jonahmusedashecreptthroughthemurky,rubble-strewnstreetsofthecity.Asalways,hekepttotheshadows,butneverthedeepestoneswherepredatorsmightwait.Justforamoment,sheknewme.Hestowedthethought.Nowwasn’tthetime.Hehadtostayfocused.HiveCarceriwasdying,evenifitwouldn’tadmitityet,butthatonlymadeitmoredangerous.Highabove,lightsstillshoneinthevast

domethatenclosedthemetropolis,buttheirradiancehaddimmedyear-on-year,recedingtoalistlessgreythatrecastthesprawlofwiltingtenementsandsilentmanufactoria in perpetual twilight. Jonah doubted even that would last muchlonger.Beyondthedometherewasonlydarknessandthedarknesswantedin.We’llbegonebythen,hevowed,ashealwaysdidwhenheriskedashadow-runthrough the streets.A trickleof ships still passed throughCarceri’smilitia-runspaceport.Mostweretraderslookingtobleedthedesperatedry,buthe’dheardsomeofferedpassageoff-worldfortherightprice.Whateveritwas,Jonahwouldpay it.Thebookhe’d stolen from theConservatoriumvaultswouldgoa longwaytowardsthat…You’llfindnojoyandpreciouslittleglory…atjourney’send,itcautioned.‘Morethanwe’llfindhere,’Jonahmurmuredasheenteredaplazalitteredwithabandonedtransports.Hehadattendedariotousfestivalhereonce–aneventhisfathermost definitelywouldn’t have approved of. There had been a girl backthen.Thronealoneknewwhathadhappenedtoher.Orwhatshelookedlike.Hecouldn’tevenrememberhernamenow,thoughhe’dsearchedfranticallyforherin thewakeof theFall.Thathadbeenbeforehewokeup to theNight’sgameandrealisedsuch thingswererelicsofanother life.Hangingon to themwasaloser’splay.You’veseenandsacrificedtoomuch,thebookagreed.Jonahcrossedthesquareinthecoverofatramthathadbecomeamasstomb.Throughthedust-speckledwindowshesawthepassengerssittingstiffly,frozenona road tonowherewith terminal shocketched into their faces.Theyhadn’thad time for terror. Like everyone who’d died in the first instant of perfectdarknesstheyweredesiccated,yetfreeofdecay,asifthetraumathatkilledthemhad also expunged the natural processes of death.Tens of thousands had diedthatway,fromunderhivescumtonoblesintheirpalatialtowers,allstruckdownin the arrhythmic heartbeat when True Night fell upon their world. SeniorTranscriptorTythehadbeenamongthem,snuffedoutasheporedoverascroll,whilethefaithlesssonworkingoppositehimwaspassedover.TheSacredDamned…ThenameforthefirstwaveofthedeadhadbeencoinedbytheredemptioncultthatrosefromtheashesofCarceri’sstaidImperialchurch.ItmadenosensetoJonah,butthennothingaboutthefanatics’bittercreeddid.Givenhalfachancethebastardswouldprobablycondemnhissisterasawitch.Likehisfathertheywouldn’trecognisetrueholinessifitworeaburninghalo.Truthisaslipperybeast,thebookcautioned.ItfeltcoldagainstJonah’schest.

Heimaginedslywormsextrudingfromitsbinding,questingforflesh.Throwingcautiontothenight,Jonahabandonedthecoverofthewheeledtombandsprintedacrosstheplaza.Therewasahowlfromsomewherebehindhim–longanddoleful,thecryofamanwhittledintosomethingless.Hehadn’thearditslikebeforeanddidn’tcaretoputafaceonitnow.Outheretherewasnoendtonightmaresifamanwentlookingforthem.Heduckedintotheshadowsofthestreetoppositeandkeptonrunning,heedlessoftherisk–asharpleftatthenextjunction,thenagaintwofurtheralong,thenupthesideoftheoldproteinpackingplantandalongtheroof–onlyamadmanwouldgothroughthathellishplacenow…As always, Jonah had planned his route meticulously using the maps he’dscavengedfromaguttedArbitesstationinthefirstdays.Thatprizehadcosthimheavily,forcinghimtomakehisfirstkill–adyingofficerwho’dfiredonhimasherifledthroughthewreckage.Ithadtakenseveralblowswithanironbartoputthearmouredmandown.DidthatstillcountasamurderaftertheFall?Only if youenjoyed it,Jonahassuredhimself, ashedidevery timehe tookalife.Nowitsoundedlikesomethingthebookmightsay.‘Theywereallforher,’hetoldthenight,asifitcared.Clamberingdownapipeonthefarsideoftheproteinplant,Jonahdroppedintoagarbage-chokedyardandscowled.Theplacewasworsethanheremembered,buthehadn’tbeenthroughhereinalongtime.Theslobberingnoisesbubblingupfrombelowashe’dcreptacross theroofhadremindedhimwhy.Whateverwasgrowingdownthereinthenutri-vatswasgettingreallybig.‘Neveragain,’Jonahbreathed,mentallycrossingoffthispath.Asheclimbedamoundofrubbishsomethingthornysnatchedathisankle.Heleapt without conscious thought, landing in a stumbling run on the far side.Pullinghisgunfreehespunroundandfellintoalowcrouch,weaponlevelled.Themoundwas shivering and sputtering like a long-dormant engine gunningitself into life. A swarm of knotted tendrils erupted from its mass, spillinggarbage and black smoke. Theymewled and shrieked as theywhipped about,soundingliketheywereinpain.No,Jonahrealisedasthesmokethinned–itwasn’tthemoundscreaming,butthebigmancaughtatitssummit.Thecaptivewasthrashingagainstthewrithingtentaclesandgettingmoretangledupashefoughttobreakfree.AmomentlaterJonahcaughtsightoftheman’sfaceandrealisedhewasn’tamanatall,atleasthehadn’tbeeninalongtime.Thoughthedegenerate’sformwashumanoid,itsfacehadexplodedintoacancerouswhorloftumoursandsnaggle-teeththatleft

noroomforeyes.Theremnantsofamanufactorumworker’scoverallswerestillrecognisable on its twisted frame.Therewereworseways to fall to theNightthandeath.‘Youfollowedme,’Jonahsaid,knowingit inhisgut.Thedegeneratewasthehowlingthingthathadspottedhimbackatthesquare.Ithadbeenstalkinghimeversince.Whenhe’dclimbedthemounditmusthavebeenrightbehindhim,probablyonlymomentsfromstriking.‘Nottonight!’Jonahtauntedthefallencity.‘Nothere!’Hewatchedashishunterwasdraggeddownintothequakingmass,whichwassurelysomethingthathadleakedfromtheplant.Withafinalheaveitwasoverandthemoundfellsilent.Jonahgrinned,thrilledbyhisownluck.No,thiswasmorethanluck.Nothingischanceunlessyouallowittobe.Had he read that in the book? Hewas certain he hadn’t, yet equally sure itwouldbe in theresomewhere. Itbelonged there.Suddenly Jonahwaseager toread the restof it.He’dbeenpaidhalfhis finder’s feeupfront,butmaybe thebookwasworthmorethanthebalancehewasduetocollecttonight.Jonah’shandwasalreadyon thebookwhenhe rememberedMinaand froze.Even inherconfusedstate theheresieshewas reaching forwouldhorrifyher.Shemightnotunderstandthewords,butshewouldfeeltheirwrongness.Butwhatifwrongisallthat’sleft?heargued.Orallthereeverwas?No, that couldn’t be right–not in aworldwherepure souls likeMina’s stillexisted.Hepulledhishandaway from thebook. If hewasgoing tomakehisassignationhestillhadafairwaytogo.‘It’sforher,’herepeatedashegotmoving.‘Allofit.’Butnowthepledgetastedstale.

Jonah’spathcarriedhimfartherthanhehadeverventuredbefore,deepintotheperimeterghettos,where thecurveof thedomewascloseand thehovelswerestacked like the building blocks of an idiot child. Wilting under their ownweight,thehaphazardtowersleantintoeachother,crushingtheavenuesbelowintoasuffocatingmaze.Outherethecityhasbeendyingforever,Jonahthought.Justwaitingfortherestofustocatchup.Thestench in thenarrowstreetswasappalling.Only theSacredDamnedhadbeen exempt from putrefaction. The millions who’d died afterwards – in theriotingandthecrackdownsbywhatwasleftoftheauthorities,thenlatertothe

creeping attritions of disease and starvation – they’d all rotted faster than youcouldburn them.Thewholehivereekedofdeath,butJonahhadneverknownanythinglikethis.Hereitwasaheady,almostliquescentpresence.Andyettherewasnosignofthecorpsesthemselves.‘Word is they get up sometimes,’his watch-partner, Foree, had said. ‘Nightmakes’emforgettheydied.’Jonahdidn’tbelieveit.He’dseenplentyofcraziness,butdeadwasdead,evenaftertheFall.Breakthatandnothingmadesenseanymore.‘Don’tthinkaboutit,’hetoldhimself,butwordsweren’tenough.Nothere.Hestopped and lit a lho-stick, keeping his hands cupped around the igniter.As arulehesteeredclearofthemonthestreets,butThronedamnit,heneededonenow,ifonlytofendoffthestench.Hetookalong,blesseddragandpressedon.Fromhereonheonlyhadhisbuyer’sdirectionstoguidehim,fortheshrinehesoughtwasn’t on anymap. The shark-eyed gangerwho’d set up the deal hadpassedontheinstructionsalongwithJonah’sfirstpayment.Theywereinscribedon the back of a tatteredmunicipal flyer in a handwritten script thatwas ripewith geometric flourishes. Despite himself, Jonah had been impressed; thedisciplines of his old life hadn’t faded and he knew the work of a mastercalligrapher when he saw it. He could almost picture the mind behind thoseletters–fastidious,yetpronetoexcessinitseagernesstoimposeharmonyuponthepage.Orupontheworld?Without fail the directions sent Jonah down the darkest,mostwinding paths,buttheydidn’tlie.Hefoundtheshrineattheendofanalley,crouchedagainsttheinnerskinofthedome,safelyoutofsightandmindtoanybodywhowasn’tin the know. Accidental trespassers wouldn’t identify the squat rotunda as aplaceofworship, for itwasfeaturelesssaveforapairof jaggedslashesabovethe entrance, the right raised slightly above the left. It wasn’t a symbol anyThrone-fearing hiverwould recognise, but Jonah knew it instantly because itslikenesswasetchedintothecoverofthebookhewascarrying.Onlytruthcutsdeepenough.The shrine’s heavy wooden door was open and light bled from within – aflickeringindigoradiancethatobscuredrather thanilluminatedwhatever itfellupon. Jonah hesitated, repelled by the prospect of its touch, but he’d alreadyriskedtoomuchtowriteoffthispayment.No,thatwasalie.Itwasn’taboutthepay anymore. It was about the book.He needed to be rid of it. If that didn’thappennowhefeareditneverwould.

Jonahspatouthislho-stickandsteppedinside.He saw nothing of the chamber beyond the threshold, for his eyes had noattentiontospareit.Likedoomedworldscapturedbyacollapsedstartheyweredrawntotheimpossiblemachinehoveringintheairahead.‘SacredThrone,’hebreathed,tryingtofathomit.Thecontraptionwasrotatingslowly,weavingstreamersofindigolightfromthedarkness.Tryashemight,Jonahcouldn’t judge itsdistanceor truesize,but itappearedtobenomorethanthreehandspansindiameter.Hisinstinctsscreamedthat itwasfaraway,yethesawitwithasharpness thathurt,as if itspresencediminishedhisown.‘It’stoomuch,’hewhispered.Itwas, yet that didn’tmatter, for themachinewasbeautiful beyondanythingJonah had imagined in wakefulness or sleep. Its bodywas composed of nineconcentricsilver rings thatgyratedabouta longspindleof flutedcrystal.Eachringfollowedauniquetrajectory,undulatingupanddownasitrotatedalongsideitsfellowssotheircombinedformshiftedceaselesslybetweenasphericalcageandaflatteneddisc.And yet the rings were the least part of the machine’s intricacy, forconstellationsoftinysilverspheresandcubeswhirledabouttheminorbits toodevious to follow, hurtlingbetween the slicingbars of the cage, but somehownever quite colliding. Their passage left iridescent contrails, each oneblossoming until a fresh trail annihilated it in an indigo microburst. Even inobliterationthepatternslingeredonbehindJonah’seyes,likeghostlyscars.Thatglittering forever-after image seemed pregnantwith possibilities, every one ofthemessential,everyoneofthemjustoutofreach.Andeveryonealie.A muted symphony of ticking and whirring accompanied the machine’sindustry, likeaclockworkstormragingoversome ineffablehorizon, itspowerdampenednotbydistance,butimagination.Orambition?‘Magnificent,isitnot?’avoicewhisperedfromthevoid.‘Andyetitismerelyasimulacrumoftheactualengine.Areflection,ifyouwill.’NumblyJonahrealisedhewasn’talone.Afigurestoodafewpacesbeyondthemachine. Its black robes flowed into the indigo-stained darkness, but its faceshone likea spectral skull.Thiswassurelyhisclient, though the termseemedbanal in this impossible place.He tried to focus on the stranger, but his eyesrefusedtoabandonthemachine.

‘You’rethebuyer?’hesaid,rallyinghisthoughts.‘Acollector,’thestrangerreplied,‘andanarchitect.’‘Did you build…?’ Jonah trailed off. To call the gyre of light amachineoutloudfeltblasphemous–dangerouseven.‘The Shadow Orrery?’ the collector offered. ‘I did not, but with time andapplicationIshallapprehenditsworkings.’Heenunciatedeachwordprecisely,asifheweresculptingratherthanspeakinghisthoughts.‘Nothingexistswithoutorder,myfriend,andwherethereisorderthereisalwaysamethodology.’With an effort of will that felt physical, Jonah tore his gaze away from themachineandlookeddirectlyat theman.Hehadtheaspectofanelderscholar,withahighbrowanda longmaneofwhitehair,buthisskinwasstretchedsotaut it had strangled themuscles beneath.His eyeswere vast and bulging, asthough theyhaddevoured somuch theyhadoutgrown their sockets–or as ifthey didn’t belong there at all. They flitted back and forth over themachine,reluctanttolingerinoneplaceorstraytoofar.Anaddict’seyes…Heneverlooksawayfromit,Jonahguessed.He’safraidhe’llmisssomething.The light shifted, stripping away a layer ofmundane reality.Now Jonah sawthat the stranger’s eyelids hadbeen slicedoff and the skin around the socketspinned back with fine sutures. Had the man performed the procedures onhimself?Hadtheperilofblinkingappalledhimsomuch?Arewejustanotherdistractiontoyou?Didyoucalldownthenighttomakeusgoaway?Isthatwhatyourmachinedoes?Jonahknewtheanswerswouldbeinthemechanicalweb,alongwitheverythingelsehehadeverwantedtoknow.Whatelse?Theurgetofindout–tolook–wasalmostoverpowering.‘Evendiminished, the infinite remainsabsolute,’ the stranger said, reverently.‘Wouldyoucaretoseethereality?’‘No,’Jonahanswered,truthfully.Yes,Jonahanswered,truthfully.Therewasaviolenteruptionintheweb.Hefeltit–asoul-deeprending,asifsomeessentialpartofhimhadsplitinsympathywiththedischarge.Itlefthimfeelingbothmoreand less than themanhehadbeen justamomentbefore,asthoughthedetonationhadhalvedhimintotwonewwholes,eachlesssubstantialthantheoriginal.WhichamI?Jonahwondered,unsurewhathewasevenasking.‘That is often theway of it, my friend,’ the stranger observed, as if readingJonah’sthoughts.Hesmiled,showingyellowedteethengravedwithsigils;theylooked like twin rows of tiny scrimshaws. The light shifted again, revealing

another secret: its worshipper’s face crawled with delicate black tattoos thatmimicked the web, but lacked its life. Even the veins in his ill-fitting eyesdancedtoitstune.They’realloverhim,Jonahsensed.Outsideand in, carveddeeper than fleshandbone,buthecan’tseethem.Therewasanotherpulseoflight.Initswakethestranger’sirisesglitteredcoldsilver.Silvereyes?Jonahmoanedasherememberedhissister’spartingwords:‘He’sclosernow.Idon’tthinkhe’saSpaceMarine,brother.’Shewastryingtowarnme,herealised.Shuddering,hescrewedhiseyesshut,desperatetoblockoutthepoisonouslight.Ifhekeptlookingatthatexquisitelymutilatedfacehemightglimpseitsthoughts–mightevenstartfeelingthem…‘I’vebroughtyourbook,’hesaid,scrabblingforawayoutlikeadrownedmanclutchingatflawsinhisfate.‘Thebookisyours,JonahTythe.’‘Idon’twantit.’‘Nevertheless,itisyours.’‘Youoweme!’Keepinghiseyesshut,Jonahraisedhispistol.‘Andyouwillbepaidyourdue,’thestrangerassured,‘butIcommissionedyoutofindthebook.’‘Ihave!’‘Youhaveonlyjustbegun.’‘No…’ThedenialwasallJonahhadleft.Bluelightwascrawlingthroughhiseyelids,drawingconnectionshedidn’twanttomake.Whathewantedwastogetout.Toturnandrunandkeeponrunninguntil–Thedoorwon’tbethere.Heknewitwithabsolutecertainty.‘Anenlightenedmancanneitherrunnorhide,’thestrangersaid,‘forevenifheblindshimselfintheglareofathousandsunsthetruthremainsinviolate.’You’re wrong, Jonah thought, unsure where the conviction came from. Themomentyoulookatit–reallylook–truthchanges.Overandoveragain!‘Onlytothosewithoutthevisiontoperceiveitsgreatershape,’theaddicturged.‘Onlytothosewithouttheintellecttoconceiveitstruemeaningandthewilltoreshapeit.’Their quest is a futile one, the book mocked, lending its weight to Jonah’sconvictionandkindlinghisoldrage.Theyhavealwaysbeenchasingtheirowntails.‘Nothingwithformisunknowable,JonahTythe.Andwhatever–’

‘It’s a lie!’ Jonah snarled and fired blind, aiming for his tormentor’s voice.Therewasacrashofshatteringglassandaflareoflight,thenblacksilence.Hewaited,expectingretribution.‘I’msorry,Mina,’hewhispered,makingitaprayer.Whenretributiondidn’tcomeheopenedhiseyes toutterdarkness.No…notquite. There was something – a pinpoint of white light… getting bigger…closer–comingfast!Andtheirtailsarebarbed.‘Run!’someonewarned.Bythetimeherecognisedthevoiceitwastoolate.Chargedandchangedbyitsunholypassage,Jonah’sbulletricochetedoutoftheimmateriumandstruckhimbetweentheeyesinaburstofsilverlight.

‘Severancefromtheselfanditsmany-splendoureddelusionsisthefirstandfurtheststeponthepathtoBecoming.’

–TheTornProphetTheGospelsIlluminant

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–FirstStatementTheExodusGulf,Vytarn,M40.419.

Myreveredcanoness,itiswithsomereluctancethatIbeginthisdocument,butseveraldayshavepassedsincemyarrivalonVytarnandIcanpostponemyoathtoyounolonger.ItisbyyourleavethatIhavemadethevoyagetothishaunted,holyworld, andby yourdecree that Imustmakeanaccountof all that I findhere.Thefirstundertakingfillsmewithjoy,forIhavelongyearnedtoreturntotheplaceofmybirth,butIconfessthesecondsitsillwithme.Toactasaspy,especially among thosewho openedmy eyes to theGod-Emperor’s glory andinitiatedmeintooursacredsisterhood,feelslikeabetrayal.Iowemorethanmylife to the Last Candle.Without its guiding light I would have been lost longbeforeIlearnedtoseek.Under the circumstances I trust youwill understandwhy I have shunned theconvenienceofanelectro-stylus in favourofquillandparchment.Tomymindthese time-honoured tools cultivate a gravity of thought that less tactileinstrumentscannotmatch.Moreover theyengendercommitment–asense thatoneismakingamarkupontheworld.IfIamtowritethisaccount,thenletitbebothcommittedandlasting.IshallbeginwithsomeobservationsabouttheLastCandleasIknewitinmyyouth,andasIbelieveIshallfinditonceagain–aparagonofsanctitythathasenduredforoverathousandyears.ThoughyouandIhavetalkedatlengthaboutmyformersect,Ifeelhonour-boundtosetmyviewsdownasamatterofrecord.

Asyouwellknow,mylady,therehavealwaysbeenfactionswithinthegreaterbodyoftheCultImperialiswhosetraditionsorinterpretationoftheDivineTruthhave strained against orthodox scripture. Their deviations may be born ofignorance, arrogance or a sincere striving for enlightenment, but all areimperfect.Sometimestheirflawsareharmless,yetwecrushthemwithoutmercy.Sometimes theyarebornofmalevolenceandbredonly forharm,yetweallowthemtoflourish.IhaveseenworldswhereunspeakablecrueltiesareennobledintheGod-Emperor’sname–martyrfestivalswherethepoorimmolatethemselvesto atone for the sins of their rulers, or flagellation parades that revel indegradation, even ritualised children’s crusades that are littlemore thanmassmurder!SuchbarbaritiesdebaseHisenduringsacrificeandourownhonour,yetitistheLastCandle–asectthatsprangfromourownblessedorder–thathasdrawntheConventSanctorum’ssuspicions!Forgiveme, I know it is notmy place to interpret the line between tolerableheterodoxyandheresy,butwhereveritliesIdonotbelievetheLastCandlehascrossed it, either in error or sin. During the decade that I served with itscelebrantsIfoundnocausetodoubttheirpiety.Ifmyoldsecthasafailingitissurelyhumility,butinthewordsoftheblessedSaintArabella,‘Acleverwomanprovokesenvy,henceawiseoneevadesregard.’IbelievetheLastCandleisbothcleverandwise,henceithassoughttoservethe Imperium in solitude, devoting its talents to contemplation and healingrather than glorious crusades or proselytisation. It gazes inward upon thedivine!TounderstandthecharacteroftheLastCandleyoumustunderstandtheworldithastakenforitsretreat,forthetwoareintertwinedlikefaithandfire.ThoughIhavebeenabsentfromVytarnforovertwentyyears,itsstorm-wrackedoceansandsoaringgraniteisleshaveneverleftmyheart.Thereisanempyrealvitalityinthechillair–itisalwayscoldhere!–thatsharpensthesensesandexaltsthespirit,spurringonetobecomethebestthatonecanpossiblybe.Idonotdoubtthereisalsodarknessonthisworld.IndeedIoccasionallyfeltitspresence during my youth, like a phantom stain I could neither identify nordismiss,but it iseclipsedbyprofoundgrace.Nonewhohavewanderedamongtheseventemple-cladspiresoftheKoronatusRingorgazeduponthecathedral-topped mountain that presides over them could doubt the integrity of theirarchitects.Each spire extols oneof the sevenfoldVirtues Illuminant,while thecolossus at their heart is amonument tomankind’smanifest destiny! It ismyabidinghopethatVytarnwillsomedayberecognisedasatrueshrineworldof

ourbelovedImperium.Cansucharesplendentrealmbeanythingbutholy?Onceagain,Iaskthatyouforgivemeforspeakingsoboldly,mylady.Iwritethesewordstothesoundofthunder–distantyet,butdrawingcloserwitheveryline–andIconfesstheprospectofthecomingstormincitesmetobeforthright.ThereislittleinlifeaselectrifyingasbeingatseaamidstoneofVytarn’sgreattempests!Ourvesselwillbesorely testedby thecomingmaelstrom,aswillwewhohaveentrustedoursoulstoitsintegrity,yetIwelcomethetrial!Youaremy superior,but youhavealsobeenmy truest friendandmy secondcandleinthenight.WithoutyourfaithIwouldnothavesurvivedmythirddeathandawakenedintomyfourthandfinestlife.Iwilldischargemydutyofvigilanceto the Convent Sanctorum without prejudice or hesitation. If the Last Candledoesindeedharbourheresy,asourreveredprioressfears,thenrestassuredthatIshallfindit.ButIbelievemyformermentorsshallprovenotmerelyinnocent,butexemplaryintheirpurity.Ipraythatmybetrayaloftheirtrustwillalsoserveastheirexoneration.

Asiftopunctuatethelastword,thunderrumbledoverheadandthelumenglobeshangingfromtheceilingflickered,swingingontheirchainsasthecabinheavedin sympathywith theocean’s turbulence.Thewriter slammedahandontoherjournalasitbegantoslidefromherdesk.Fortunatelythedeskitself,alongwiththeotherelaboratelycarvedfurniture in thecabin,wasboltedto thefloor.TheExodusGulfwas rifewith storms and the ships that ploughed itswatersweredesignedtoanticipatesuchfury.Nevertheless,nocrossingwaswithouthazard,andahandfulofvesselswerelosteveryyear.‘Exoduswill take its toll,’AsenathHyadessaidaloud, thoughshewasalone.‘MaythewrathofHisregardseverusfrominiquity.’It had always been thus. Passage to the Koronatus Ring, Vytarn’s hallowedarchipelago,couldnever–mustnever–betakenforgranted,hencetheplanet’sonly space port was situated on the remote Rosetta Isle, forcing visitors tocomplete their journey by sea. The eleven-day voyagewas a sacrament in itsownright,demandingabraveheartandastrongstomach,butaboveallelseitwasa testof faith, for though the sect’sAbsolutionbarqueswere solidlybuiltandsolemnlyblesseditwasonlybytheEmperor’sgracethattheyprevailed.Theship’sbellchimedthroughthesquall,summoningthecrew’sExodiimonkstothechapel,wheretheywouldchanttheLitanyofExodusoverandoveruntilthe stormhad been appeased…or taken its toll. The vessel-indenturedmonkswere forbidden tospeakexceptwhenperforming the ritual, though itwassaid

thelitanywasneverabsentfromtheirminds.‘UntotheseaIcastmyself,mayHeknowmyfaith,’Asenathintoned,findingthewordsasifshehadspokenthemonlyyesterday.‘UntothestormIcastigatemyself,mayHefeelmyfire.’Shehesitated,thoughnotbecausethefinalverseeludedher.‘UntotheinfiniteIunveilmyself,mayHejudgemysins.’Iprayminedonotcondemnus,shereflected,thoughshedidn’tthinkitlikely.Forallherfailings,theGod-Emperorwasn’tdonewithheryet.ThedreamthathadcompelledhertoreturntoVytarnwastoovividandrecurringtobeanythingbutaportent.Shehadapurposehere,evenifshedidn’tknowwhatitwasyet.The room heaved again, and lightning flared at the portholes. For severalheartbeats everything became a stuttering black and white negative of itself.Moments later a barrage of rain struck the vessel, battering the cabin’s outerwall.Asenathrealisedshewassmiling.Itwasgoodtobebackhome!Ashamedofherexcitement,shereturnedherattentiontothejournal.Hersmilebecame a frown as she read her words over. Their tone was unseemly, theproliferation of exclamationmarks particularly so. It was unlike her to be sounguarded– sovolatile.The stormhadcertainlyplayedapart in that, but thebigger partwasVytarn itself, especially the prospect of seeing the First Lightagain. The sacred flame had burned atop the archipelago’s great cathedral foroverathousandyears,reputedlylitbytheTornProphet.‘Truthisourfirstandlastinglight,’Asenathrecited.‘Speakonlyasyouseeandseektobe,forallelseisdarkness.’Itwastheopeningverseofthesect’sgospel,andalsothelast,closingthegreatcircle of its founder’s vision. Asenath had invoked it every night since herordination into theAdeptaSororitasat theageofnine,evenduring theblood-soakedmiseryofherthirdlife,butitsmeaninghadneverfeltsoclear.Myaccountisdisquietingbecauseitishonest,shedecided.Someonegiggled,throatyandmocking.Asenath swung round, her handmoving to the sculpted candle pinned aboveherheartashereyessearchedthecabin.Thewaveringlightleftshadowsatitscorners,buttheywereempty.ShewasalonesaveforthestylisedBattleSisterscarvedintothewood-panelledwalls.Thearmouredwarriorsglaredather,theirenamelledeyesfilledwithdisapproval.SuddenlyAsenathwaseagertobegonefromhere.I have made a beginning, she decided, closing the book. Even if she wereinclinedtocontinuewriting,itwouldbeimpossiblewhilethecabinwasrocking

aboutlikeazealotinthegripofafervourdream.Sheofferedaprayertoherquillandreturnedittoitscase,placingthatinturnintohermedicaebag.Thequillwasaminorrelicfromherorder’svaultsandshecarriediteverywhere.Itsnibhadbeencarvedfromtheincisortoothofalong-deadprelaterenownedforhiseloquence,butmoreimportantlytoAsenath,ithadbeen a parting gift fromher superior,Canoness Sanghata.Themistress of theEternalCandlehadknownhertroubledSisterwouldhaveneedofit,justasshehad recognised her friend’s need to make this journey, even if she hadn’tunderstoodwhy.WouldshehaveagreedifI’dtoldherthewholeofit?Asenathputthequestionaside.Thereweremorepressingmatterstoattendto.Her report was only one of the duties she had accepted as the price of herpilgrimage.TherestawaitedherintheBloodofDemeter’sinfirmary.Allfifty-oneofthem…

‘It’snoway foraBreacher todie,’Feizthissed, scowlingat the rain-spatteredporthole by his bunk. ‘Better the Razor had finished us than this groundrat’sdeath.’ThereweremuttersofagreementfromtheGuardsmengatheredaroundhiminthemakeshiftinfirmary.TherewerealwaysGuardsmengatheredaroundTolandFeizt,evennow,whensofewremainedalive.Overhalfthecompany’ssurvivorslayintheirbeds,unconsciousorclosetoit,strappeddowntostopthemrollingout in the turbulence. Some of the walking wounded were hunched on theirbunks, riding out the storm with prayers or meditation as their guts churnedabout in the tempest, but most had gravitated to their sergeant, clutchingwhatever handholds they could find as they listened to his latest invectiveagainsttheirfate.Intheirbaggy,whiteconvalescentcoverallstheylookedmorelikeabandofangryphantomsthansoldiersoftheAstraMilitarum.‘IfI’mgoingtodrown,makeitclean!’Feiztrailed.Hisvoicehadthinnedtoafever-strained rasp, but its angerwas undiminished. ‘Drownme in the honestvoid!’Evenamongacompanyofbigmenthebreachsergeantwasagiant,justshortofsevenfeetandsportinga top-heavyframe thatwouldn’thave lookedoutofplaceonagladiatorialservitor.AllVoidBreachersbulkedouttheirbodieswithvat-grown muscles and metabolic genhancements, but the process had goneawryinFeizt,twistinghisformintoabrutishparodyofhumanity.Theaccidentwouldhaveleftalessermananoutcastoratbestaprizedregimentalfreak,but

TolandFeizthadusedittobecomealegend.‘That storm’s hungry,’ he continued. ‘It wants to take us down, brothers.’Nobodyelseinthecompanyusedthetermbrothers.Nobodyelsehadtheright.They have always been his,Lemarché thought, watching the group from hisbunkbytheinfirmarydoor.EvenwhenCaptainFroesecommandedthem, theybelongedtoFeizt.Andtheystilldo,thoughheisfadingfast.‘We’re not meant… to be here,’ Feizt was saying, forcing the words outbetweenincreasinglyraggedbreaths.His torsowasnakedsaveforaswatheofbandagesaroundhismidsection.‘We’vebeenhad.Cast…down.’Hiscomradesmetthiswithanuneasysilence.‘SisterAsenathsaysthere’sahospitalattheRing,’SpecialistSchroyderofferedtentatively.‘TheLastCandle’shealerswillfixusup,breachsergeant.’‘Sotheysay,brother,’Feiztreplieddarkly.‘Shewouldn’tlie,sergeant,’Schroyderinsisted.‘SheisSororitas,yes,’BreacherZevrajadded,asifthatsettledthematter.‘No,shewouldn’t…’Feiztturnedfromtheporthole,hisdeep-seteyesglitteringinhiscraggyface.‘Butwhatiftheyliedtoher?’‘Who, sergeant?’ Blast Breacher Hörka asked, frowning over his green-dyedbeard.AfterFeizt,hewasthebiggestmaninthecompanyandafiercefighter,buthistalentsdidn’textendtomoreabstractmatters.Likethinking.‘Don’t know,’ Feiztwheezed. ‘Butwho sticks a hospital in themiddle of anocean…daysfromthenearestspaceport?’Heshookhishead.‘Itdon’t…addup.’Lemarchéconsideredreprimandinghim,butdismissedit.Feiztwouldbedeadbeforetheyreachedtheirdestinationandhisravingswoulddiewithhim.Itwasa miracle he’d lasted this long – one Feizt owed as much to their guardianhospitaller ashisownoutrageous stamina–buthewouldn’t lastmuch longer.Therewasnothingtogainfromdiscipliningadyingmanandperhapsmuchtolose.Hemighteventrytokillmeforit,Lemarchémuseddryly.Theyallmight.Exordio Void Breacher companies were composed entirely of veteranGuardsmen drawn from regular regiments of the AstraMilitarum. They weremore akin to the elites of the Tempestus Scions than the common soldiersLemarché had overseen previously.As their name implied, they specialised invoid-based actions – ship-to-ship boarding assaults or engagements in thevacuumof space,where up and down becamemere abstractions and violencewaswroughtinnearsilence.

Blood-tightandvoid-sealed,theBreachercredowent.Spirit-lockedtopurge!InthetwoyearshehadservedwiththemenofDarkstarCompany,CommissarIchukwuLemarchéhadexperiencedthestrangest,mostlethalbattlesofhislongcareer. He had skirmished with aeldari raiders in the airless pits of a hollowmoonas itdisintegratedaroundthem,andcleansedan infestationofarachnoidvermin fromawarship’s hull, trustinghismagnetisedboots to keephim fromfalling into theabyssoverhead.Ononeoccasion thecompanyhadcut throughthehullofapiratecruiser’sbridge,slaughteringthecrewwithoutashotbeingfired. Lemarché had been entrancedwhen the bodies vented from the breach,writhingandhaemorrhagingbloodas they spunpasthim, each telling itsowntale. They had been remarkable conflicts and Lemarché cherished every one,eventhelast,thoughithadcosthimalegandeffectivelykilledthecompany.TheRazor…OfthetwohundredandfiftyBreacherswhohadassaultedthatcrystallinemeatgrinderonlyseventy-sevenhadsurvived,andmanyofthosehadsuccumbedtotheirwoundswithinhours.Themencrowdedintothisseaborneinfirmarywerethelastofthem.Ofus,Lemarchécorrectedhimself,thoughheknewtheBreacherswouldneverseeitthatway.Hehadmasteredtheirwayofwarandfoughtalongsidetheminascoreofrarefiedhells,yethewouldalwaysbeanoutsider.Itwouldhavebeenthesameinanyregiment,ofcourse,forhowelsecouldacommissar fulfilhisdutyas judge, juryandexecutioneroverhischarges?Themenandwomenwhoworethescarletsashhadtobeoutsiders.Itwasasacrificehe had accepted without qualms until his assignment to Darkstar Company,wherehehadfinallyfoundwarriorsworthyofhim–menhe’dbeproudtocallequals. In return they hated him, not out of fear, but because his presenceimpliedtheywerecapableofit.Heshamedthem.‘Youlooktroubled,commissar.Doesyourwoundstillpainyou?’Covering his surprisewith a smile, Lemarché turned to thewoman standingbesidehisbunk.Asalways,herlightnessofstepimpressedhim.Whenhadsheenteredtheroom?‘Myphantomwillhauntmeuntilanewlegputsittorest,Sister,’heanswered,gesturingattheemptyspacebelowhisleftknee.‘ButIstoppedpayingattentionlongago.Itisthebootthatwentwithitthataggrievesme.Itwasafineboot.’Tohissurpriseshereturnedthesmile.Itwasthefirsttimehe’dseenanythingexceptafrownonthatpale,seriousface.Somemenmightbeinclinedtothinkitmade her look younger, perhaps even attractive, but Lemarché felt it only

accentuatedherseverity.Sharpenedit.Itwasn’tthatSisterAsenath’sfacewasugly–toolong,toohardandmarkedbyone toomany scars for conventional beauty perhaps, but her high cheekbonesand dark eyes were undeniably striking. No, it was simply that smiles didn’tbelongthere.Andmostespeciallynot forme,Lemarchéadded.Heknewshedespisedhim,thoughshewasalwaysstudiouslypolite.Herkindoftenstruggledtoacceptmenofhiscalling.‘Thestormpleasesyou,Sister?’heventured.Hersmilevanished.‘ImerelywelcometheGod-Emperor’sjudgement.’‘Thisso-calledExodus?’Lemarchéaskedwithanod.‘YouarefamiliarwiththeRiteofCrossing?’Shesoundedsurprised.‘Itismydutytoappraisemyselfofallthehazardsmymenface,Sister.Yes,Ireadtheorientationtractbeforewelanded.’‘Andwhatareyourthoughts,commissar?’‘It is a uniquely… impractical custom,’ he answered. ‘Especially when thetravellersaregravelywounded.’‘Visitors to the holy archipelago are not encouraged,’Asenath said solemnly,‘norisitshospitalintendedforoutsiders.’‘Yethereweare,Sister.’‘The Eternal Candle has petitioned your cause, commissar. Both your troopsand their injuriesareexceptional,henceanexceptionwasmade.Youare trulyblessed.’‘Indeed, Sister,’ he agreed. ‘Moreover, I was born on a world with equallyirregularcustoms.’Lemarché indicated the ritual scars etched into his cheeks.Hehadreceived themwhenhe turnedsixandprovedhimselfawarrior. ‘Iamnotonetojudgesuchthings.’‘Anopen-mindedcommissar?’Ahintofmockeryinhervoice,perhaps?‘Notat all,merely focused.My jurisdiction lieselsewhere.’He smiledagain,but this time it was the broad, mirthless grin he bestowed upon waywardtroopers when he was about to perform his gravest duty – not because heenjoyedtheexecutions,butsothesinnerswouldgototheirfinaljudgementfullyawareoftheirabsurdity.‘Andyou,Sister?Whatdoyoumakeofourhosts?’‘Theirhospitallersarehighlyskilled,’Asenathreplied.‘IamcertaintheSistersof the Bronze Candle shall furnish you with a fine augmetic to address yourinjury.’Thatisn’twhatIasked,Sister.

‘All these candles they have,’ Lemarché said lightly. ‘Silver and bronze andiron,yettheyalwaystalkofthelastone.Andthenthereistheeternalcandleofyourownorder.’HeindicatedthesigilembroideredonAsenath’swhitetunic.‘IconfessIcannotuntangleonefromtheother.’‘Allareaspectsofthesamevessel,forallbeartheGod-Emperor’sdivinefire.’‘Butourhostsarenotpartofyourorder?’hepressed.‘The Last Candle was lit from the flame of the Eternal, but it casts its ownlight.’Asenathbowedherhead.‘Ifyouwillexcuseme,commissar,Imustattendtotheothers.’Youarenotwhatyouseem,Sister,Lemarchémusedasshecrossedtothebedopposite.Hehadseenitmonthsago–withinthefirstmomentsofmeetingherinfact.SheandherfellowhospitallershadbeenwaitingontheAsclepiuswhentheremnantsofDarkstarCompanyhadcomeonboard,mangledbytheirencounterwiththeRazor.DuringtheirvoyagethroughthevoidAsenathhadprovedtobethe most skilled and compassionate of their nurses, though she had alwayscloaked her kindness in severity. By the time the Asclepius reached itsdestination theBreachers had come to see her as part of the company.A fewevencalledherSisterDarkstar,thoughnevertoherface.They love you, Lemarché thought, watching the troopers’ faces light up asAsenath made her rounds. She glided through the shuddering room with thelightness of a spirit, stoppingbeside eachwoundedman to givewhat comfortshecould.They love you and they are right to, but they do not really see you, AsenathHyades.Their adopted guardian might be walking the path of a healer now, but herbearingandscarsspokeofother,harsherroadsoncetravelled.Underthatprimwhitetunicandwimple,Lemarchésawawarrior.Thatwasn’tunusualinitself,forthewomenoftheAdeptaSororitasmovedbetweenthevariousbranchesoftheirorganisationasdutydemanded,but therewasasecrecy about theirnursethattroubledhim.Hesawitbehindhereverywordandgesture, likeashadowtrailhecouldn’tquitefollow,butnothinghaddisturbedhimquitelikethestorm-bornsmileshe’dletsliptonight.Hehadn’trecognisedthelookimmediately,butithadcometohimwhiletheytalked.Itwasn’tthesmileofahealerorafighter.Itwasanexecutioner’ssmile.

‘Want to die… on my feet,’ Feizt told the impossible woman who had justberatedhim.

‘You will only die if you choose to, sergeant,’ she replied levelly. ‘I havewarnedyouagainstmakingunnecessarymovements.’‘Had to… see it.’ Feizt jerked his head at the porthole. ‘The storm.’ Hiscomradeshadslunkawaywhenshe’dchidedhimforbeingoutofhisbunk.Hedidn’tblamethem.NobodycouldarguewithSisterDarkstar.‘I have kept you alive, sergeant,’ she said. ‘Have Iwastedmy time?Have IwastedtheEmperor’sCharity?’‘I’mdone…Sister.’Everybreathfeltlikealungfulofbrokenglass.‘Seenit…intheireyes.’‘Doyouseeitinmine?’‘Don’t… follow you.’ He was swaying about woozily and the world wasswayingwithhim–no,againsthim,pullingintoomanydirectionsatonce.It’sgoingtocomeapart,Feiztrealised.Anymomentnow…Sister Darkstar stepped closer. ‘Do you see your death in my eyes, breachsergeant?’‘I…’In thegloomallhesawunderherwhitewimplewere twinblackpools.Therewasnothinginthem.Howcouldtherebe?Theywouldswallowanythingthatcametooclose.ShewastheVoidAngel,wasn’tshe?Feiztshookhisheadviolently,tryingtorattlehisthoughtsintosomekindoforder.Shouldn’tbehere,heremembered.Noneofusshouldbehere.Itwastheonlything hewas sure of anymore, butwhen he tried to tell her –warn her – thewordswouldn’tcome.‘Thexenosshardsinyourchestcanberemoved,’shewassaying.‘TheBronzeCandlecanhealyou,butyoumustkeepfighting.’Never…stopped!Sheplacedahandonhisbandagedtorso.Hertouchwaslikeice,buthereyeswerealivenow,alightwithcompassion.Thathurtmorethanthesplinterstearinghisgutsopen.Ittookamomenttorealisewhy.Herpityshamedhim.‘Look to the Emperor’s Light and take strength,’ she urged. Then herexpression hardened again, becoming a mocking smirk. ‘Are you a coward,TolandFeizt?Tooweaktolive?Orwillyouendure?’‘Always…have,’hechokedoutashislegsgaveway.

II

ThestormwasstillragingwhenAsenathfinallylefttheinfirmary.Manyhourshadpassed since itsonset,yet she sensed itwasnowherenear its zenith.This

wasgoingtobeahardcrossing.Withasighsheleantagainstthecorridorwallandletherselfsinktothefloor,sittingwithherbacktothewallandherkneesdrawnup.Itwasundignified,butshe was exhausted, physically and spiritually, by the façade of perfection herpatients’worshipfuleyesdemanded.Shehadn’tallowedherselfasinglesliporstumbleasshemadeherrounds,eitherinherstrideorherserenity–The truth, Sister! The harsh thought came unbidden, but undeniable. Yourdissemblingdeceivesnobody,leastofallyourself.Asenathclosedher eyes, remembering the inexplicable smile shehadofferedLemarché–thatsnakeofallpeople!–andthenthewayherpatiencehadalmostsnappedwithFeizt.Thesergeantwasreputedlyaheroandshedidn’tdoubthisstrength, but his stubbornnesswas exasperating. Lemarché had often hinted itmight be better for the company if its informal commander passed into theEmperor’s care sooner rather than later, which only made Asenath moredeterminedtokeephimalive,butbytheSacredFlame,Feiztwasn’tmakingiteasyforher!Shehadsavedhimyetagain,thoughshescarcelyknewhow,orforhowmuchlonger.Whenshehadchangedhisbandagesthegashesbeneathhadbeenlividandleakingpus.TheBreacherassistingherhadgaggedatthestenchasAsenathcleanedthewounds,butshehadn’tflinched.No,youcursed!Mostvividlyandprofanely!And then there was the moan she had uttered when she found Glicke. Thetrooperhadbeen lyingflatonhisback,hispillowsoakedin theblood leakingfromhisears. Itwasstillwarmto the touch,meaninghehadexpiredrecently,thoughnobodyhadheardhimdie.Perhapsithadbeenpainless…Moreevasion!Yousawhisface.Maybeitwasaquickdeath,butoh,therewaspain!‘Exoduswill take its toll,’Asenathmurmured, seekingher earlier conviction,butthephraseranghollownow,outweighedbyKonradGlicke’sglassystare.InherheartsheknewtheRiteofCrossinghadnothingtodowithhisdeath.LikethesixBreacherswhohadperishedenroutetoVytarn,hewasdeadbecauseofthe xenos taint in his body. Razorblight, the chirurgeons of theAsclepius hadcalledit.Afinenameforakiller!‘Afoulname,’Asenathcorrectedherself.All thesurvivorsofDarkstarCompanyhadbeenleftscarredbytheir last, ill-fatedmission,butithadprovendifficulttogaugethelethalityoftheirinjuries.Some had lost limbs, while others had been sliced open with almost surgical

precision.Thelesionswerealwaysstainedblackwithfrostbiteandlacedwithasilveryfiligreeoftinycrystals.Thechirurgeonshadtreatedthewoundsasbestthey could, but removing the splinters had surpassed their abilities. Everyattempt had caused the shards to shatter, dispersing the affliction further andhastening death. In a few cases, such as the commissar’s, the injuries werelocalisedenoughtoamputatetheblightedfleshcompletely,butmostofthemenwerebeyondhelp.Beyondhope!‘No,neverthat,’Asenathdenied.Hadchancedelivered thesemen into thecareofmoredogmatichealers theirfatewouldhavebeen sealed, for theone thing theAstraMilitarumwasnevershortofwastroops.Eventhebestwereexpendable,nevermindthosewhowereprobablybrokenbeyond repair, but theEternalCandlewas a raritywithin theImperium, evenamongotherorganisationsof itskind.Compassionwasat theheartofitsmission.‘It is often claimed there is onlywar,Sister,’Canoness Sanghata had said toAsenath when she welcomed her into the order. ‘Our calling is to proveotherwise,evenifwearebutasolitarylightinthedarkness.’ThosewordshadmarkedthebeginningofAsenathHyades’fourthlife.Thebeginningofalie!‘Ofmytrueredemption.’Yetalmosttwodecadesasahealerhadn’tmendedthewoundsinhersoul,norsalvedthenightmarestheybled.Areyoubeingtested,doyouthink?‘Iamcertainofit,’Asenathdecided,openinghereyes.‘ThisstormisonlytheoutwardfaceofExodus.’Sheforcedherselftoherfeet,buthesitated,unsurewheretogo.Theprospectofreturningtohercabindismayedher.Shecouldn’tstopthinkingaboutKonradGlicke.Hehadbeena shyman,neverone tobragabouthisprowess inbattlelikemostoftheothers.Indeed,therehadbeenararegentlenessabouthim.Hewasamongthebestofthem.Amongtheweakest,elsehe’dstillbealive!Howmanymorewoulddiebeforeshecouldrelinquishthisburdenofcare?Ithad been her suggestion to entrust the wounded to her former sect, for thehealingcraftof theLastCandlewaswithoutparallel,eveneclipsingthatof itsparent order, but she hadn’t planned on becoming their guardian spirit. Thesebrokenmenwerenotherpurposehere.

Butweareonlyevercrutchesordrudgesorsweetangelsofmercytotheirkind,Sister!‘Ihavebeencalledtosomethinghigher,’Asenathtoldherselffiercely.Aye,thereareotherkindsofangelstowalkamong–darker,bloodier,brighterangelstoaspireto!Confusedbyherbitterness,Asenathtriedtopray,butthewordswouldn’tcome.Sheneededapointoffocus–somethingtangibletolockonto.Theship’schapelperhaps?Yes,shewouldjointhemonksintheirritual.ItwouldbeapiouswaytomeetherExodus.

Commissar Lemarché drew the blanket back over Trooper Glicke’s face. Thecorpsewouldhavetoremainintheinfirmaryfortonight.Movingitwithdignitywould be difficult during the storm, especially sinceGlicke’s bunkwas at therearoftheinfirmary.TheBreachershadacceptedthedeathwiththeircustomarystoicism,butnonesaveReisshadseenthetorturedlookonthedeadman’sface.‘SisterAsenathbelieves it best thatwekeep theparticularsofour comrade’spassing to ourselves, Lieutenant Reiss,’ Lemarché said quietly to the officerbesidehim.‘Iaminagreement.’‘Yes,commissar,’Reissreplied,buthelookeddoubtful.‘Youdisagree,lieutenant?’‘Idon’tmuchlikeit,sir,’Reissadmitted,runningahandthroughhiscrew-cutblondhair.Hishandwasmissing two fingers,yethewasamong the fortunatefew; none of hiswoundswere deep, so hewas free of the blight. ‘Breachersstandorfalltogether.Wedon’tkeepsecrets.Blood-tight,sir.’‘Anadmirablesentiment,butimprudentonthisoccasion,’Lemarchésaidashesecured theblanket’s straps. ‘Asyouare aware,morale is strained.AndgivenSergeantFeizt’sworseningcondition–’‘Thebreachsergeantwillpullthrough.Healways…’Reisstrailedoff,realisinghisimpertinence.‘Myapologies,commissar.’‘Continue,lieutenant.’‘ThemanislikeaSpaceMarine,sir.Hecan’tbekilled.’HeisnothinglikeaSpaceMarine,Lemarchéthoughtwearily.Andeverymancan be killed, even Space Marines. The alternative struck him as vaguelydistasteful.‘PreacherMurnauusedtosaythesergeantwasThrone-blessed.’ThereverenceonReiss’square-jawed,blandlyhandsomefacewasvexing,especiallysincehewasFeizt’ssuperior.‘Everytimesomethingputshimdown,hegetsupstronger.

Saysscrappingwithdeathhasmadethembrothers,sir.’‘There is nothing so sour as the bad blood between brothers,’ Lemarchéobserved, quoting thememoirs of Lord Commissar Artemiev. ‘Nor a feud sobitterandsoakedinshame.’Reissmetthiswithablanklook.Lemarchésighed.Despitetheirskillinbattlehischargesweresimplemen.Subtletywaswastedonthem–aswasdebate.‘YouwillsaynothingaboutthemannerofBreacherGlicke’sdeath.’HeturnedhiscoldestsmileonReiss.‘Isthatunderstood,lieutenant?’‘Yes,commissar.’Saidwithobedience,butwithoutfear.LemarchéwouldhaveexpectednothinglessfromDarkstarCompany’sonlysurvivinglieutenant.ReisswaspreciselythekindofleadertheBreachersneedednow–staunch,disciplinedandadmirablypredictable.HejustneededtobefreeofFeizt’sshadow.‘Inform the troops they are not to disturb Glicke’s body,’ Lemarché said,pickinguphis eagle-headedwalking cane. ‘They canpay their respects later.’Afterthecadaverhasbeendisposedof…‘Makeitamatterofhealth.TellthemSisterAsenathhasdecreedit.’‘Understood,sir.’Lemarchéturnedawayandbeganthetortuoushobblebacktohisbunk,keepinghisbackstraightdespitetheturbulence.Evenforthisbriefdutyhehaddonnedhis high-peaked cap and black greatcoat over his hospital clothes. It wasessential tomaintainappearances,but thecrudeprosthetic limbstrappedtohisleftkneeunderminedhisdignity,clatteringwitheverystephetookanddraggingbehind.Whatkilledyou,Glicke?Lemarchémused.Razorblightneverendedinagooddeath,buttheexpressionfrozenontoKonradGlicke’sfacehadbeensomethingnew, born of terror as much as pain. Perhaps Feizt’s ravings weren’t entirelywithoutsubstance.Therewassomethinguncannyaboutthisocean,particularlysincetheadventofthestorm.Lemarché stopped by the breach sergeant’s bed. SisterAsenath had arrangedfor its extension to support theman’sbulk, butFeizt’s feet still hungover theend.Hischestroseandfellfitfullyasheslept.‘YouhaveservedyourEmperorfaithfully,TolandFeizt,’Lemarchéwhispered.Thegiantmoaned,as ifhe’dheard thewords,butLemarchéknewthatwasn’tpossible. There was nothing supernal or blessed about Feizt, no matter howmuchhiscomradeswanted tobelieve it,but theywouldn’taccept thatuntilhewasgone.‘Yourserviceisover.Beatpeace,brother.’Lemarché respected theman’s ability, but outlandish notions swarmed about

himlike treason toanopenmind.And then therewas thematterofhiserraticconductontheRazor,asifhe’dbeen…lost.No,Feizthadbecometoounpredictabletocountenance.Oncethesergeantwasdead Reiss would exert his authority and order would be restored to thecompany.Evenifthecompanyislittlemorethanaplatoonnow,Lemarchéadmitted,andadiminishingoneatthat…

Asenathhurriedalongtheheavingcorridor,clutchingthehandrailsforsupport.The Blood of Demeter was a massive vessel encompassing seven sprawlingdecks, but she had quickly learned to navigate its narrow corridors and spiralstairways. Only the bridge and engine deck were off limits, along with thequartersassignedtofellowtravellers,andthereweren’tmanyofthose.A squad of Battle Sisters had boarded alongside her party at Rosetta, theirornategreypowerarmourandspecialistweaponsidentifyingthemasCelestians,theelitesoftheIronCandle.OneofthefivehadbeenastallasaBreacherandalmostasbroad.Whiletheothershadgonebareheaded,thetoweringwomanhadnever removed her backswept castitas helm or stowed her meltagun. TheCelestians had kept to their quarters and Asenath had decided againstapproachingthem,sureshewouldfindnocamaraderiethere.The only other traveller she had seen at the port was a tall man clad in therough-spungreycassockofanitinerantpreacher.Hehadbeenhooded,butshecouldimaginethefaceunderthecowl.Itwouldbeaferociousvisage,shaven-headed and sporting a bristling beard, the features scrunched into a perpetualscowlofcensure,theeyespiercingandalertforsin.TheEcclesiarchycultivatedmany such faces, and rightly so, but there was no call for them on this holyworldandshehadnodesiretoseeanotherintheflesh.‘Iamtiredofthem,’sheadmitted.ShecouldhearthesonorouschantoftheExodiinow.Thechapelmustbejustahead. Asenath added her voice to the litany and her sombremood sloughedaway.Aroundthenextcornerthecorridorendedinapairofbrassdoorscarvedwith the rampantwavesofExodus.Anattendant inahigh-collared robestoodbefore them, his headdress fashioned into a shipwith awooden candle for itsmast.Hisroundfacewaspowderedchalk-white,hislipsrougedwithcobaltandpierced with a score of rings. As she approached, Asenath saw the goldenbangleswere sewn together, effectively sealing theman’smouth. The customwas unfamiliar and faintly distasteful to her, but she had been away for two

decades.Somechangeswereinevitable.She offered the attendant the sign of theCandlelitAquila and hemirrored itwithasinuousflourish,hislong,black-lacquerednailsclackingwhentheymet.‘IwouldjointheExodiiintheirdevotions,’Asenathsaidformally.Hebowedhisheadandopenedthedoors,revealingalargeheptagonalchamberwithanaltarat itscentre.Touchinghersigil,Asenathenteredanddrankintheholyspace,impressedbyitssplendour.Eachwallwasdrapedinasilktapestrydepicting one of the Seven Virtues embodied as a saint. The doorway wasincorporated into Veritas, the foremost of the Incarnates, represented by thesundered,sexlessfigureoftheTornProphet.‘Truthisourfirstandlastinglight,’Asenathwhisperedtotheabstractionofthesect’sfounder.Itwasmoretormentedthantheimagesshewasfamiliarwith,itsspiritualrendingaccompaniedbyakaleidoscopicsplatterofvisceraasitsrobedform was sundered. Inside the darkness of its still-intact cowl, the founder’ssingleeyeglared,swollenandbloodshotwithconcentration.Shedidn’tliketherenditionatall,buttherewasnodenyingitsimpact.Revelationthroughexcruciation!Irrespectiveoftheirindividualtraits,alltheIncarnatescarriedastylisedcandle,its flame wreathed in a halo of expanding circles. Hidden backlights shonethrougheachofthewovencandles,lendingthemtheillusionoflifeandwashingthechamberinsoftlight.Asenath’s gaze swept to Clementia, the virtue of mercy that her own ordervenerated.Asalways,itwasmanifestedintheBleedingAngel,aslimwomaninthe white tunic and wimple of a Sister Hospitaller, but this was unlike anydepictionshehadseenbefore.Thesaint’scandlewasraisedinbothhandslikeanoffering,itssixconcentrichaloesdividingherfaceintosegmentsthatlookedliketheymightcomeapartifshemadeasuddenmovement.Blooddrippedfromthecandleintohercuppedpalmsandspilledovertopoolaroundherbarefeet.The surgical instrumentsof her craft hung fromherbelt like a butcher’s toolsandawetloopofintestinalcoilsdangledfromhermedicaebag.Herlipsworeabenignsmilethatherwide,screamingeyesbelied.Mercyistwinnedwithmalice,foronesuccourstheother,sister.Nauseated by the thought as much as the image, Asenath decided againststudyingtheothertapestriestooclosely.Evidentlytheartistwhohadfurnishedthe Blood of Demeter was drawn to grotesquerie. Regrettably such impulseswerenotuncommonacrosstheImperium,butshewasdismayedtofindthematworkonVytarn.

Sheturnedtothealtar,whereasingle,plaincandleburned.Sevenfigureskneltaroundit, theirshavenheadsbowedastheychanted.Incontrast totheirgarishattendant, the Exodiimonkswore simple loincloths and collars of black iron.Chains snaked from their manacled throats to hooks along the altar’s rim,bindingthemonkstotheirworship.Theirnakedbodieswereemaciated,yetasAsenathdrewclosershesensedawirystrengthaboutthem,asthoughtheyhadpassedthepointofstarvationandattainedsomedeepervigour.Once again, this was something new. The Exodii had always observed strictfasting,butnevertosuchextremes.Moreover,thesecelebrantsborethetelltalescarsofself-flagellation,acustomhercurrentorderdecried,bothongroundsofhealthandfaith.Andthentherewasthestenchofunwashedfleshwaftingfromthem…Mingledwiththeincensepervadingthechamberitwassomehowworsethan the reek of Feizt’s wounds. Asenath gagged reflexively and the monkslookedup,movingasone.Theireyelidsweresewnshut.Theonlysighttheyareallowedisthecandle’sfaintlight.Itshinesthroughtheirfastened flesh likeadyingsun.Anartfulcontrivance, is itnot?Themirth thataccompaniedthisinsightrepelledAsenathmorethanthemutilationsthemselves,whichonly encouraged the spiteful train of thought –Ohcome, youdidn’t dothistothem,dearSister!The monks swung their heads about sightlessly, seeking the source of thedisturbance, though they never faltered in their litany. Asenath backed away,quashing the urge to apologise for her intrusion, certain it would only agitatethemfurther.Theywillsoonforgetyou.Theirsoulsaretooshrunkentocareforanythingbuttheirpenance.Assheretreated,AsenathcaughtsightoftheBleedingAngelagainandfroze.Thewomaninthetapestrywaslookingrightather,herlipstwistedintoafangedgrin.Aserpentinetonguecurledfromhermouthandherskinwascoveredwithdelicate scales. Yet, hideous as these aberrations were, they were the leastdisturbingofthechanges,forthefacewashers.SomethingclutchedatAsenath’s robe.Sheglanceddownandsawoneof themonks had followed her, stretching his chain to the limit. With a hiss ofrevulsion,shestumbledbackwards,breakingfreeofhisgrip,buthekeptgropingblindly at the empty air, his lips still mouthing their penance. UnwillinglyAsenath’sgazeflickedbacktothetapestry.TheBleedingAngelhadrevertedtoherpreviousincarnation.

Don’t always believewhat you see, Sister,her sly inner voice advised.Trustwhatyouknow!TheattendantshowednodisapprovalasAsenath left thechapeland retreatedalongthecorridor.Thoughshewaseager toescape thevileplaceshekeptherpacedignifieduntilsheturnedacorner.‘How?’sheaskedherselfasshequickenedherstep.ThesightlesswretchesinthechapelweresymptomsoftheImperialCreedatitsmostdebasedandcruel.They symbolised everything the Eternal Candle had taught her to reject –everything the Last Candle had once also rejected. How had her former sectfallensofarsoquickly?Perhapsnotsofar,norsoquickly…Inhindsight,therehadbeenwarningsignsatRosetta.Theancientharbourtownhadbeen a shadowof thevibrant place she remembered, its elegant buildingspoorlymaintainedand itscitizensfurtive.SquadsofBattleSisters in theslate-greyarmouroftheIronCandlehadstoodwatchat thetwinportsofspaceandsea,theirfaceshiddenbehindjuttingvisors.Thesect’smilitantordernumberedless than a thousand Sisters so Asenath had been surprised by their heavypresenceatRosetta.Thewarriors’placehadalwaysbeenat theRing,standingwatchovertheholyflame.The sullenpriestoverseeing theirpassagehadbrushedoffherquestionswithvague talkaboutdiscontentamong theport folk.Discontent?TherehadneverbeendiscontentontheCandleworld!FromthehumblestoceanharvestertotheCanoness Illuminant herself, allVytarniwere baptised into theLastCandle atbirthandunitedinitslightuntildeath.Blindedbyitslight!‘Ididn’twanttoseetheshadows,’Asenathadmitted.Sheturnedacornerandstopped,staringdownthecorridorinsurprise.Thechapelanditsgaudysentinellayahead.Waitingforyou?WithanunbecominggruntAsenath turnedand retracedhersteps, irritatedbyher error. The corridors were poorly lit and panelled with dark wood, whichmade them gloomier still, but she knew their layout. Doubtless hermind hadbeenwandering.‘Composeyourself,Sister,’shechidedherself.Mercifullythestormhadcalmedandshewasabletopickupherpace.Asshewalked, her thoughts returned to the scene in the chapel. She had seen suchbarbarities oftenduringher service to theConventSanctorum,butwhat could

have brought about such a diametric change here?And how deep did it run?Couldtherebesomesubstanceto theConvent’ssuspicionsaboutheroldsect?Mightthe–Herstridefaltered.Shecouldhearthefamiliarchantingupahead.Reluctantlysheturnedthecorner.Theattendant’svacantgazeawaitedher,andbeyondittheopendoorsofthechapel.Asenath cursed,more fromconfusion than anger and swung round, this timeconcentrating on every turn she took, but within minutes she was facing thechapelonceagain.Shefroze,onehandgoingtothesymbolpinnedtohertunic,the other to the quill case in her satchel, seeking the comforts of faith andfriendship.Isthisyourtest,doyousuppose?‘Itmustbe,’Asenathagreed,backingaway.Prayingaloud,sheretreatedyetagain.Thecorridorslookedidentical,unbrokenbyanythingsavethebrass-ringedportholesontheoutward-facingwallsandtheelegant lumen globes dotting the ceiling. For the first time she noticed theabsenceofanydoorsalongherpath.Alonganypathshetook.Andwherewasthestairwayshehaddescendedtothisdeck?Isithiding…ordidsomethingtakeitaway?AsAsenathpassedanotherporthole something snaggedher attentionand shedoubled back to peer outside. Her breath caught as she absorbed the scenebeyond the dirty glass. Lightning was meandering through the dark sky likepaint dripping down a canvas, its lazy-bright light illuminating a horizon ofslowly creeping waves. Something rumbled past overhead, sending vibrationsthrough the floor. It took Asenath several seconds to recognise the distendedsoundasthunder.Ifthestormrunsdowntostillnessyou’llbefrozeninitseyeforever.‘Never,’Asenathswore.Asshespokeherbreathfrostedtheglasswithiceandsherealisedthetemperaturewasdropping,slippingrapidlyfromcooltocoldtofreezing.Shivering, shebackedaway from thestagnatingvistaandpressedonuntilsheheardthechantingoncemore.‘No.’Sheturnedback,determinedtodenytheinevitable,butafteracoupleofcorridorsitwaswaitingaroundthecorneragain.Andagain…Andagain…Andforever-after,dearSister!Withachill thateclipsedthecold,Asenathrealisedthedistancetothechapel

was diminishing with her every attempt at escape, as if space and time werecontractingaroundher–shepherdinghertowardsherfate.TheBleedingAngelwouldbewaitingthere,unboundfromher tapestryandincarnatedinharrowedflesh.Shewouldbeonly tooeager to shareher secretswith a fellowsisterofmercy.‘Iwon’tgoback!’Asenathshouted,defyingmorethanjustthechapel.Thenyoumustbreakout!Shesweptroundthenextcornerthenleaptbackswiftly,tryingtooutflankthetrap.Aspiralstaircasebeckonedwheretherehadbeenanemptycorridoronlyamoment before. With a cry of triumph, Asenath leapt for it, grabbing thebannisterassheboundedupthestepstwoatatimeandsurgedintothestairwellabove.Ifshecouldreachthenextlevelmaybeshewouldbefree…Youthinkit’ssoeasy?Thenextlevelnevercame.Thestairswentonandon,corkscrewingupthrougha circular shaft of interlocking brass panels and vertical lumen strips. Sheimagined the steps uncurling somewhere up ahead, slotting into place like thepartsofsomeclockworkcontraption,alwaysjustoutofsight,butmatchingherdesperate charge step for step. Ignoring her aching muscles, she rushed on,tryingtocatchtheelusivepointofgeneration…Youcan’toutrunyourself,Sister!Andifyouhide,you’realreadythere.Soonshehadclimbedbeyondthepossiblelimitsoftheship,furthereventhantheheightsofitssensor-encrustedwatchtower,yettherewasstillnoendinsight.Norwillthereeverbe!Shuddering,Asenathfelltoherknees,herwrackedlungsburningasshefoughtforbreathinthefrigidair.Theshaftcreakedandswayedaroundherlikeatreeinagale.Wasitstillgrowingdespitehersurrender?Sheimagineditextendinginbothdirectionssimultaneously,assemblinganinfiniteabyssaboveandbelow.Aswithin,sowithout…‘My Emperor, enlighten me… in my darkness,’ Asenath gasped. Her handstrembling, shepulled thequill case fromher satchelandkissed it. ‘Unveil theflame… of Your will.’ Her numb fingers fumbled at the latch, her voicegathering strength as the prayer took hold in her heart. ‘ByYour light I shallwalkwithout taint. ByYourwill I shallwield the Sword of Justice. ByYourmercy–’She broke into a despairingmoan as the case flipped open and she saw theblasphemyinside.Theonlylastinglightistheoneyoukindleyourself,littleSister.

Theblessedquillwascoveredinblood.Thelightthatburnsblackwithin!Herworldwentout.

In their spinelessmediocrity, the Imperium’s grey regents condemn us to awasted landwhere ignorance is crowned a virtue and rapture is damned asimmortalsin.Withemptywordsandenfeeblingiconsofpietytheybindustothe banal, tugging our chains as we scrabble about in the rubble of ourforsakendreamsforscrapsofdelight.Tolivebytheirlawsistodiealiewithinalie!Breakthechainsthatbind!Wreakandreignfreeasyouwillandwishtobe!

III

With a shriek of furyAsenath surged out of the darkness into amaelstromofwind and rain. High above, vast bells swung back and forth like pendulums,spillinggolden light as they chimed.TheCenserBells!Shewason the ship’supperdeck,hurtlingtowardstheedgeatbreakneckspeed.Franticallyshetriedtohalt her charge, but her feet skidded on the slick floor and she spun into therailingsahead. In thesamemoment theship lurched, tumblingherupperbodyoverthebarriertowardsthewavesfarbelow.‘Comethen!’sheyelled,exhilaratedbyherownterror.Justbeforesheslippedpastthepointofnoreturn,somethinggrabbedhertunicandhauledherbackonto thedeck.Withasnarl she tore freeandspun round,instinctivelydroppingintoafightingstancetofaceherrescuer.Ahoodedfigureinagrey robestooda fewpacesaway, its legsbraced forbalance.Hazily sherecognisedthewarriorpriestwhohadboardedatRosetta.‘Peace, Sister!’ he shouted over the wind, raising his hands. ‘If you wereansweringtheEmperor’scallI’llnotstandinyourwayagain!’Withoutanotherwordheturnedandwalkedaway,headingforthecoverofthestairwell, then stopped under the metal awning. Her breath coming in harshgasps,Asenathwatchedasheproducedalho-stickandbegantosmoke.Hadhebeen there when she’d burst onto the deck like amadwoman?Hemust havebeen…Whatdidyousee,preacher?Sheshiveredasheradrenaline-chargedfurydrainedaway.Therainhadalreadydrenchedher to theskinandherwearinesshadreturnedwithavengeance,butthat was the least of her concerns. Questions swirled about her like a second

storm.Howhadshefoundherwayuphere?Orescapedthetrap?What–Notnow!Don’tthink!Justleavewhileyoustillcan.Seemingly lost in thought, thepriestpaidnoattentionasAsenathapproachedthestairwell.Shewas tempted toslippasthimwithoutaword,but thatwouldhavebeenunforgivableunderthecircumstances.‘Mythanks,preacher,’shesaidsolemnly.‘IbelieveIoweyoumylife.’‘I ammerely ahandof theGod-Emperor,Sister. It is byHismercy that youlive.’Therewasapauseassmokecurled frombeneathhishood. ‘Butyouaremostwelcome.’‘I sought the open air to pray,’ Asenath said, ‘but alasmy diligence did notencompassmyownsteps.’Itsoundedunlikelyeventoher,yethedidn’tdisputeit.‘Iamfortunatethatourpathscrossed,’sheadded.‘Nothingischance,Sister.’‘True enough, sir.’ Asenath turned towards the stairs then hesitated. No, shewasn’treadytoattemptthemyet.Whatifthetrapsnappedshutagainwhenshesetfootonthefirststep?Whatiftherewasnowayoutthistime?Gonow,beforehequestionsyou!‘WhatbringsyoutoVytarn,preacher?’sheaskedonimpulse.The priest was silent for some time, seemingly considering his answer. ‘Abook,’hesaidfinally.‘Thenyouareembarkedonresearch?Youhavechosenwell.ThePerihelion’slibrariumisunrivalledinthissector.’Tohersurpriseshewantedtotalk.Youwanttoconfess,fool!‘SoIhaveheard,’hereplied.‘The Last Candle has dedicated itself to the contemplation of the God-Emperor’sblessedword forovera thousandyears,’ shecontinued. ‘Reverencethroughreflection,reflectionthroughelucidation.’‘The Gospels Illuminant?’ The priest turned to regard her, though his faceremainedhidden.‘Youknowthisplanetwell,Sister?’Denyit!‘The Candleworld is my spiritual cradle,’ she said. ‘I was ordained into theAdeptaSororitashere.’‘AmongthehospitallersoftheBronzeCandle?’‘Iservedwiththemforatime,butthegreaterbalanceofmyservicewaswiththeBattleSistersoftheIron.’‘Thenyouareawarrior?’‘No longer.’She indicatedherhumblehealer’sgarb. ‘Ithasbeenmanyyears

sinceIwieldedaweapon.’‘Youstillhavethelookaboutyou,’heobserved.‘Itlingersintheeyes,Sister.’‘Youhavemeatadisadvantagethere,sir.’‘Forgiveme, I have been discourteous,’ he said, pushing back his hood.Hisface was nothing like she had imagined. Instead of the customary beard andbaldpate of his kind hewas clean-shaven and his hairwas bound into a shortponytail with a leather cord. Though it was completely white and there werewrinkles around his eyesAsenath struggled to guess his age.His complexionwas ashen, almost anaemic, yet there was a weather-beaten vitality about hisleanfeaturesthatspokeofstrengthratherthansickness.Orperhapsstrengththroughsickness,Asenathgauged,recognisingthehauntedlook inhisgreyeyes.Foramoment she thought therewasa thirdeye lodgedbetweenthem,butitwasonlyacircularscar,sopaleitlookedsilverinthestormlight.‘Itisanoldwound,’hesaid,noticingherattention.‘Iusedtokeepitcovered,butIlearntbetter.’‘Webearourtruewoundswithin,’sheobserved.‘Ifwehidethemtheyfester.’‘Indeed…Sister…?’hereplied,turningtheacknowledgementintoaquestion.Saynothing!Nameshavepower.‘Asenath,’sheanswered.‘Youareawisewoman,SisterAsenath.’‘Merelyold.’‘Not so old, I’d venture.’ He smiled, showing a hint of lho-stained teeth.‘Besides,onebegetstheother–theyearsgivewithonehandandtakeawaywithtwo.’‘Youmakeitsoundlikeapoortrade,priest.’‘Just an inevitable one.’ His manner was becoming notably less formal thelonger theyspoke. ‘Andno, it’snotabad trade.Wisdomsurpassesstrengthofarmsinthewarwewage.’‘Heartsandmindsarebestconqueredwithwords,’sheagreed.ItwasCanonessSanghata’sfavouriteaphorism.‘Oh,wisdomcutsmuchdeeperthanmerewords,Sister!’‘Thatdependsonthewords,’Asenathsaidsolemnly.‘Notallareequal.’‘No, theyarenot.’Hewassilent foramoment, thenhe indicated thesigilonhertunic.‘YouarenotwiththeLastCandleanymore?’‘Ihavebeengone fromVytarn forover twentyyears.Truthfully I feel like astrangerhere.’Itfeltgoodtosayitaloud.

‘Perhapsthat’sforthebest,Sister.Thisisastrangeplace.’‘Butaholyone,’Asenathadded.Doyoustillbelievethat?‘Maybeso,’hesaid.‘Youlooktired,SisterAsenath.’‘TheRiteofCrossinghasbeentrying,’sheadmitted.‘Yes,it’squiteastorm.’Helookedupattheconvulsingsky.‘ButI’vealwayslikedstorms.That’swhyIcameuphere.’Asenathrememberedherownexcitementat the tempest’sonset.Thatseemedlikealifetimeagonow.Areyousosureitwasn’t?No,shewasn’tsureofanythingatthemoment.Shecouldbarelystand,nevermindthinkstraight.Sheneededsleep,nomatterwhatawaitedheronthestairsorinherdreams.‘I trust we shallmeet again, preacher,’ Asenath said. He didn’t reply so sheenteredthestairwell,thenturned.‘Youdidn’tgivemeyourname.’‘DidInot?’hereplieddistantly.‘It’sJonah,Sister.JonahTythe.’

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–SecondStatement

Ihaveresolvednottoreadtheseaccountsoverlestthetemptationtoreconsider,rephraseorredacttheircontentcompromisestheirveracity.Theymuststandastheyarewritteninthemoment,unabridgedbyexcessivereflection.Ishallstrivefor sobriety in my observations, but it must be honest, not some engineered,craven forbearance.Anythingelsewouldbeabetrayalof the commissionyouhave setme, but alsoofmyself, for I have come tobelieve that this testimonymustalsoserveasmyconfession.Sweetdamnation!Forgoodorill,myfateisentwinedwiththeCandleworldanditscustodians.IftheyaretaintedthenIfearIcannotescapethestain,thoughIshallstrivetocleanseit.Doubtless youwillwonderat the change inmydisposition sincemyopeningstatement.Thechronologonmydeskindicateslessthantwelvehoursseparatethat first,hope-filledentry from thisone, yet theyaredividedbya fargreatergulf, for the Rite of Crossing cannot be measured in mere days endured orleagues traversed. Its dimensions are decreed by the dreams of those whoventureuponitsineffabletidesandnotwotravellersevermakequitethesamevoyage.Formost,thecrossingthreatensnomorethananunquietstomachandasurfeitof troubled dreams, but for a few the phantasms take flight and find form,becomingmanifesttraducersofthesoul.Itisbothablessingandacursetofacethem,fortherecanbenotruertestoffaiththangazingintoamirrordarkly,nor

agreaterperil shouldonebe foundwanting. It is theSeaofSoulswrit small,withonlythearmourofone’sownpuritytowardagainstcorruption.ThisnightIlookeddeepintothemirrorofmysoul.IshallwriteofthethingsIsawmyselfunveiled when I have found the strength to dwell upon them anddeciphertheirimport.FornowIcanonlysaythatExodushastakenitstoll,yetIknow notwhat price I paid orwhether Imyselfwas foundwantingmore.Somuchmore!

Asenathsetherquillaside,payingnoheedasitslidfromthedesk.Itwasjustamundane instrument, one of many spares she had brought with her on thejourney.The relicCanoness Sanghata had gifted herwas gone, lostwhen sheblackedoutinthewarp-twistedstairwell,thoughintruthithadbeenlostbeforethat,irredeemablytaintedbyitsdesecration.‘Perhaps theblood I sawwas justaphantasm,’Asenathwhispered,unable todecidewhetherthatwouldmaketherelic’slossbetterorworse.Hadtheentireexperience been illusory? Did that make a difference… or was it the wholepoint?Andwhat–Restnow,Sister.Yes,thatwasafineidea.Afterherencounterwiththepriestshehadreturnedtohercabinlikeasleepwalker,buttheneedtorecordhernightmarehadbeentoostrongtoignore.Somethingsneededtobedonewithoutequivocation.Hereyesstrayedtotheopenpage…No.Asenathclosedthejournal.No,shewouldkeephervowandallowthewordstostandwithoutamendment.Iftheycondemnedherthensobeit.Sheroseshakilyand crossed to her bed. Somewhere a bell was tolling, so deep and distant itmighthavebeenanechofromanotherworld.ShewonderedwhetherBreacherGlickewaswaitingforherthere.

TolandFeiztwoketotheclangingofabell.Itsoundedashollowasthepromiseofgloryhehadgivenhisbrotherswhentheirdrop-shipsetoutfortheRazor.Shouldn’tbehere,hetriedtosay,buthisthroatwouldn’tobey.Hiseyelidsdid,but opening them felt like pressing his own weight. Blurrily he stared at thecracked white expanse they revealed. What was it? He felt the answer wasobvious,butobviousseemedveryfarawayrightnow,alongwitheverythingelsehe’doncetakenforgranted.AmIdead?Isthisallthereis…after?Ablackmotebuzzedintoview.Therewasnothingelsetoseesohefollowedit

asitzigzaggedaboutlikeatinyornithopter,adjustingitscourseeverytimethebell tolled. Finally it spiralled down towards him and settled on the tip of hisnose.Withanefforthemanagedtobringitintofocus.Itwasafly,fatandbristlingwithsharphairs.Feiztsnarledwithrevulsionandswatteditaway.No…No,thatwasonlyhowithappened in his head. His bodywasn’t up to either of those things anymore,thoughhekepttryinganywaybecausethatwaswhohewas–whohe’dalwaysbeen,nomatterwhatTheydidtohimorhowmanytimesTheytoldhimhewasfinished.Endure,SisterDarkstarhadcommanded,asifhe’deverdoneanythingelse.Theflywatchedhimstruggle,itsbulbouseyesinscrutable.Theywereliketwinorbs of interwoven crystals, each facet glitteringwith foetid green light. Feiztsawhisownslackfacereflectedbackathiminsideeverycell.Heknewitwasimpossibletoseeanythingsosmall,buthesawitanyway.Sevensides,hecounted.Everycellhassevensides.Andthebughassevenlegs.Thatwasn’tright,wasit?Theflyswivelleditsheadlikeamachineandbegantorubitsthornyforelegstogether.Hecouldhearthescrapeoftheirfriction.Thatwasimpossibletoo,butwhatdidthatmatteranymore?Whatdoyouwant?Feiztimaginedhesaid.Itdidn’treplyofcourse,notevenwithanothertwistofitshead.Howcouldit?Itwasjustafly.Nothing.Butfornothingitwasmakingonehellofavoid-blownracket, like broken nails raking sheetmetal, up and down until his teethwerejanglingwith it. He could smell the sound – a sour-sweet charnel stench thatspokeofswollengravesandwitheredhopes.Goaway!Tohissurprisetheinsectstoppeditshellishplaying,butinsteadoftakingflightit crawledoutof sightdownhisnose.Amoment laterhe felt it ticklingathisnostrils,thenalonghisupperlip.Lookingforawayin…Hetriedtoclosehismouth,butlikeeveryotherpartofhimitsstringshadbeencut.Hiswholefacefeltlikedeadmeat.Justripeenoughforthebastard’seggs…The flywas inside hismouth now, crawling over his dry tongue towards hisgullet.Hecouldfeeleverystepofitsmanifoldlegs,likepinpricksfromaclusterof unclean needles. The taste made himwant to gag, but his throat was pastcaring.

You have served your Emperor faithfully, Toland Feizt, he heard, orrememberedhearing.Maybehe’donlyhearditinadream.Hisdreamswerefullofsuchtalk.Yourserviceisover,thephantomdecreecontinued.Beatpeace.ThewordswereprettierthanmostofthefarewellsFeizthadbeenoffered,buteven so he’d heard their message a hundred times before, from the randomviolenceofhisyouthintheTetraktysSkyhivestotheorganisedcarnageoftheAstraMilitarum…You’reraptor-meat,runt…Flyhighordropdead,wireboy…Thisrookie’slas-fodder, lads…Won’t last fifteen hours…Deadmanwalking…There is only athirteenpointonepercentprobability thathisheartwill tolerate the strainofthemetabolicmisalignmentheisexperiencing…He’sdone!‘No…’ThedenialcameoutasasighthatexpelledtheflyandsenttremorsofbrightpainthroughFeizt’schest.Hewelcomedtheagony,knowingitmeanthisbodywasstillalive.Betteryet,hewaspullingitsstringsagain.Heclenchedhisfists,revellinginthatsimple,preciousfreedom.Thenherememberedthefly.Havetofindit.Feiztdidn’tknowwhythatwasso,onlythatitwasimportant–maybemoreimportantthanlifeordeath.Killit.He tried to rise, but it was like wading through a wall of onrushing water.Somethingunseenwaspressingdownonhischest,tryingtocrushtheliferightbackoutofhim.Grittinghis teethagainst thepain,Feiztpushedback,puttingmorethanmuscleandboneintothefight.Killit!Abruptlytheresistancewasgoneandhejerkedupright.Somehowdarknesshadfallen over the infirmary during his struggle. The lights were out and hiscomrades lay in their bunks, oblivious to thebattle hewaswaging.Apensivestillnesshungovertheplace,asthoughtheworlditselfwerehiding.Theslapofthewaveshad fallen silent, alongwith the rain.Only the flywasmoving.Hecouldhearitwhirringaboutsomewhereoverhead,tauntinghimtogetonhisfeetandcomeafterit.OhIwill,youlittleshit.Ashiseyesadjustedtothegloom,Feiztrealisedtherewassomeonestandingattheendofhisbed.ThefigurehadtheheightandbuildofaBreacher,buttherewas somethingwrongwith its shape. He squinted, trying tomake sense of ituntilaflashoflightninglittheroomandfroze,bindingeverythingincolourlessbrilliance,includingtheintruder.

Whatinthevoid?Thestrangerwasdrapedfromheadtotoeinablanket,therestraintstrapsofitsmakeshift shroud hanging loosely on either side. It should have lookedridiculous, like the clumsy apparitions children had contrived from timeimmemorial to frighteneachother,but rightnow, righthere therewasnothingfunny about it all. In this storm-lit limbo it looked as serious as the BreathStealerherself.‘Whoareyou?’Feiztrasped,keepinghiseyesonthestrangerashishandwentforthecombatknifeunderhispillow.TheBreacherswereforbiddengunsontheship,butonlythemostgravelywoundedhadgivenuptheirblades.‘Iaskedyouaquestion,’Feiztsaid,brandishinghisdagger.Thefiguremadenoreply.Withabuzztheflylandedonitsveiledface.Feiztsenseditwatchinghimalongsideitshost,waitingforhisnextmove.‘Getup,brothers!’hecroaked tohis sleepingcomrades, then triedagain, thistimemanagingabrokenyell,butnoneofthemstirred.Herealisednoneofthemwould.EvenifheletloosewithaBruiserguninthemiddleoftheroomthey’dalljustkeepondreaming.Thiswashisfightalone.Likealltheonesthateverreallycounted…Groaning,Feizthauledhimselftohisfeet.Spikesofpainflaredinhisgutsashiswoundstoreopenagain,butheignoredthem.SisterDarkstarwouldbemad,buttherewasnohelpingit.Ashestumbledtowardstheapparitiontheflystartedup its grating, scraping fiddling again,mocking hisweakness – daring him tolook…‘Fragyou!’Feiztsnarledandyankedofftheblanket.

II

TheBloodofDemeter rode lowin theroilingocean, itsbluntprowbatteringapaththroughthewaves.Thehighestofthemlickedtheupperdeck,whereJonahTythe stoodmotionless, gripping the railingswhere the hospitaller had almostplummetedtoherdeath.Hehadbeenheresincesheleft,broodingonherstrangebehaviour.Her storyhadn’t addedup–hadn’t evenbegun toexplainherwildchargeorthelookonherfacewhenhe’dintervened.Hehadanoseforlies,andatonguefortellingthemtoo.Thosetalentswerebornintheunnaturalnightthatswallowedhishomeworld,andthelongyearsthatfollowedhadonlysharpenedthem.Shewas lying, but shewasn’t any goodat it, Jonahmused, running over his

conversationwithAsenathyetagain.Andshewasscared.‘Whatwere you fleeing from, Sister?’ he asked aloud.Hewas pretty sure ithadn’tbeendeaththattroubledher.TheAdeptaSororitaswereselflesstoafault,onlytooeagertothrowtheirlivesawayforEmperorandImperium.Everyoneof them hankered after martyrdom, even their healers and scholars. They’rehardertobreakthanSpaceMarines,theinformalwisdomwent,andJonahwasinclinedtobelieveit.Hewasn’tsurewhythehospitallerlingeredinhisthoughts.Maybeitwasthemysteryofher thatnaggedathim,or thepossibility shemightbeusefulonaworldwherehehadnoallies.Whateverthereason,SisterAsenathwasn’tquitelikeanyoftheAdeptaSororitashe’devermet,andhe’dmetafairfewovertheyears,especiallysinceadoptingtheguiseofapriest.‘She doesn’t have the armour,’ he decided. ‘Or it’s been cracked.’Hewasn’tthinkingofsteelorceramite,butratherthetruestshieldofherkind:therewerefractures inAsenath’s faith.Yes, thatwaswhat frightened her, andwith goodreason,becauseherpeerswouldcondemnsucha failingwithoutmercy,but inJonah’sexperiencedoubtcouldbeanadvantage.Italldependedonthedoubter’sbackbone.Eitherwayitwasinteresting.‘IthinkIlikeher,Mina,’hetoldhislostsister.Therewas a flareofwhite light as the storm lashed anearby lightningvane.Dazzled,Jonahblinkedandsawsilver…

Andhe remembers the incandescentbulletas it speeds towardshimoutof thevoid,andtheglacialburnasitpassesthroughskinandboneandentersthecoreof his being. He remembers the bewildering perception that its trajectory isperfectlyequidistant toeachofhiseyes,andthecertainknowledgethat this issomehowterriblysignificant.Mostvividlyofall,herememberstheagonywhenthebulletblossomsinsidehisskulllikeacoldsungoingnova,annihilatingpast,presentandfutureinasingleeternalinstant.And then there is darkness and Jonah remembers that he has no businessrememberingatall,becauseheshouldhavenothinglefttorememberwith.‘Iamnothing,’hewhispers.Andnothingischance,thehereticaltomehehasbeencarryingforeverreplies.With infinitesimal slowness thevoid relinquishes itsholdonhim.First Jonahfeelstheweightofthebookagainsthischest…thenthepoundingofhisheart…andthelifebloodcoursingthroughhisvessels.Againstallreasonheisstillalive,buthisbodyfeelsdifferentsomehow.Numb?No…distantisabetterwordforit.

Only the book has any real weight now, for its grip on him has deepenedimmeasurably.‘Youwon’t holdme,’ he vows, directing the words at the silver-eyed bastardwholuredhimintothistrap.‘Notyou,northisdeadcity.’He opens his eyes and sees he is back outside the cursed shrine. The twingashesaboveitsentrancehavefracturedintoamultitudeofmeaninglesscracks.Though its doorway is still open there is only darkness beyond the thresholdnow.Whateverpowerinhabitedthisplaceisgone,leavingonlyashell,yetthestainofitstouchendures.Theprospectofenteringagainrepelshim,butperhapshecanfindsomecluetohisenemy’snaturewithin.Besides,thistraphasalreadybeensprung.Activating the torch affixed to his headband, Jonah enters. The circularchamber within is empty, its grey walls devoid of any decoration, but as heapproachesthecentrehehearsabrittlecrunchingandlooksdown.Thegroundis littered with shards of broken glass. They glitter with myriad hues, likefragmentsofapetrifiedrainbow.Jonahrememberstheshatteringsoundwhenhefiredhisguninthisplace.Didhehitsomekindofglassaicwindow?Hecrouchesandpicksupashard,waryofitsjaggededges.Itshimmersarichceruleanblueasheexaminesit.‘Itwasamirror,’Jonahmurmursasrealisationhitshim.Amirrorontoanotherplace,maybeevenanother time…Theapprehension is stampedwith the sameinexplicable certainty that has haunted him throughout the entire night. Howlonghasthistrapbeenhere?Hasitalwaysbeenwaitingforhimorwouldsomeotherfoolhaveservedequallywell?Heturnsthefragmentoverandseeshissisterstaringbackathimfrombehindtheglass.Hereyesarewidewithterrorasshescreamsmutely.‘Mina!’Jonahyellsandtheshardshattersinhishand,sprayinghimwithtinysplinters. He leaps to his feet and turns towards the doorway, then pauses toscoop up a handful of fragments, ignoring the cuts theymake.He cannot saywhyhewantsthem,butlaterhewillwishhehadgatheredmore.Thenheisrunning.Asheburstsfromtheshrineheseesacongregationofthehive’s slum-dwellers gathered outside. They are all dead and far fromimmaculate in their condition. Their faces have dissolved into morasses ofmoulderingfleshwithjawsthatyawnwideenoughtotouchtheirsunkenchests.Where eyes once gazed upon the world there are now only gaping hollowswreathedinbalefulgreenlight.They’vebeenhereallalong,Jonahsenses.Ijustcouldn’tseethembefore.

Hedoesn’tbreakhischarge.Againstsuchnumbersandwithnowhereelsetogomomentumishisonlymeaningfulweapon.Thedeadmoanastheyscenthimandreachoutwithstrangelydistendedarms,theirfingerstippedwithtenebroustalons.Jonahanswerstheirwelcomewithabellowofrageandthrowsupanarmtowardhisfaceashebarrelsintothefirstofthem.Thecreatureburstsasunderinaswirloffilthyectoplasm,asdoestheonebehindit.Theyareasinsubstantialasmist,theirformsdisintegratingfromtheslightestimpact,yettheirtouchisstillinimical,forashehurtlesthroughthemobhefeelshisvigoursloughingaway,drainedbyeverycontact.Somewhere beneath his fury, the cold, calculating part of Jonah’s mindunderstandsthatwithoutthegiftofthewarpedbullethewouldalreadybedead.Thenagain,thesecreaturescouldn’tevenseehimbefore.Thegifthasopenedhiseyestohorrorshepreviouslyonlyimagined,butinsodoingmadehimabeaconto them. It isa sourbargain,butone thatmightgivehimanedgeagainst thesilver-eyed schemerwho has set him up. Thinking of his tormentor stokes hisrageafresh, lendinghimthestrengthtoplungethroughthelastof thespectralvermin.Reeling,heswingsroundandseestheyarealreadyreforming,butitseemstheyhavelostinterestinhim.Theirdrownedvoicesconjoinedinaninchoatechorusofmisery, theyshambleon towards theshrine. InstinctivelyJonahunderstandstheyhatetheplaceasmuchashedoes.‘Tearitsheartout!’heyellsafterthem.Theordealhaslefthimshiveringandachingallover,asifheiscaughtinthegripofafever.Thedesiretorestisalmostirresistible,butthenherememberstheterroronhissister’sface.Withasavagecursehegetsmovingagain.

‘I’mcoming,Mina,’Jonahpromised,ashislightning-dazzledvisioncleared.Throwingbackhishood,heturnedhisfaceuptotheragingsky,welcomingtheheavy rain, though he barely felt it. Like everything else that had touched hisskinsincethatfateful–fatal?–nightintheshrine,theraindropsfeltdull,likememoriesofsensationslongpast.Sometimesheimaginedthespectralbullethadkilledhisbodyandlefthissoultrappedinaninsensateshellthatsomehowstillwalked,but thatwasjustafancy,forheknewhisconditionwasnoailmentofthe flesh. Every one of the shadow-market medicae and biologis adepts he’dconsultedovertheyearshadconfirmedtherewasnothingwrongwithhisbody.His sensorydislocationwas rootedsomewheredeeper.Withoneexception theexperts insistedthefaultwasinhisbrain,butJonahknewthedissentingvoice

hadfoundthetruthofit:‘It’sasoulcurse,Three-Eyes.’Ahigh-pitchedchimingbrokeacrossJonah’sthoughts.Theeyesofthegranitegargoyles lining the deck were pulsing red as their jaw klaxons sounded thealarum.

Someonewas hammering on the cabin door, competing for attentionwith thechimingofthewallhailer.Togethertheywereenoughtodragthesleeperoutofthelimboshehadbeenwandering.Glickewasn’tthere,Asenaththoughtassheawoke.Nobodywasthere.Nobodyhumanat least…All she rememberedwas a black road spiralling up throughwhite nothingness and the dread certainty that she was being followed bysomethingunspeakable.Itwasthesamehollownightmarethathadhauntedhersleepforoverayear.Theknockingatthedoorintensified.‘I hear you!’ Asenath called over the cacophony and rolled from her bunk,reachingforaweaponthatwasnolongerthere.Shehadn’tcarriedoneinyears,butthepreacherwasrightaboutheroldinstincts;somethingslingeredlongaftertheirtimehadpassed.Thealarummeantdanger,andinherblooddangercalledfor a weapon – not that it would do her much good, for the chiming likelysignalledsomenauticalcalamity.Perhapstheshipwasgoingdown…She glanced at her chronolog. Barely two hours had elapsed since she hadsurrenderedtosleepyetherthoughtswereblissfullyfreeofthefebrileintensitythathadplaguedhersincethestormhit.Theshipwasstillcareeninginitsgrip,butAsenathwasnolongercaughtinitseye.IsmyExodusover?Shesilencedthebrasswallhailerwithathumptoitscherubicfaceandopenedthedoor.Anarmouredwomanstoodoutside,onearmraisedtoknockagain,theothercradlinganornateboltrifle.Thegreyplatesofhersuitweretrimmedwithblack iron and the symbol of the LastCandlewas emblazoned on her breast-plateinstarkwhite,indicatingherpurity.Herash-blondehairwasstyledinthetraditional bob of a Battle Sister, framing the kind of face that adornedpropaganda banners across the Imperium– handsome and radiantly pale,withsteely blue eyes and full lips. Itwas both alluring and forbidding, a face thatyoungwomenaspiredtoandyoungmenlongedtodiefor.Butithasnoscars,Asenathnoted.ThereisnoopportunitytoearnthemontheCandleworld.‘Youwillcomewithme,hospitaller,’thestrangersaidwithoutpreamble.‘Your

serviceisrequired.’‘Where arewegoing?’Asenath asked, pickinguphermedicaebag.Shewassorely aware of her dishevelled state beside the exquisite warrior, who wasundoubtedlyoneoftheCelestiansshehadseenatRosetta.‘Thealarum–’‘Wecannotdelay,’theBattleSistersnapped,turningaway.‘Come!’‘Is our vessel endangered?’ Asenath asked, following the stranger along thecorridor.Thealarumhadfallensilent,butwarning lightsstillpulsedredalongthewalls.‘We face Exodus,’ the Celestian said pointedly. ‘Have you forgotten theGospelsIlluminant,HospitallerHyades?’‘YouknowwhoIam?’‘Ido.YouhavechosenapoortimetoreturntotheCandleworld,abnegator.’Abnegator? The old accusation struck Asenath like icy water, its potencyundiminisheddespitetheyears.Ittastedofloss,shameandfellowshipforfeited.‘I am here on amission ofmercy,’Asenath said. ‘The Sisters of theBronzeCandle have accepted my petition for aid. I am bound for the SacrastaVermillion.’‘TheSacrastaisnotacommonhospital.’‘Noraremychargescommonsoldiers,’Asenathcountered.‘Andtheirafflictionismostuncommon.’‘TheLastCandlemustseetoitsown,abnegator.’‘Iamnoabnegator.IhaveneverrejectedtheGospelsIlluminant,Sister.’‘WearenotSisters.’‘Then Ioweyouno fealty,’Asenathsaid, swingingaround.Before shecouldtakeastepanarmouredhandfelluponhershoulder,holdingherstill.‘Myordersareclear,’theCelestianwarned.‘YouwillcomewithmeorIshallcarryyou,abnegator.’‘Imustseetomypatients.’‘Yourcompanionsaresecure.’‘Secure?’Asenathaskeddoubtfully.‘Do not try my patience.While you prattle on, a loyal servant of the God-Emperorliesdying.Willyouforsakeyourpresentdutyasyouforsookthelast?’

‘Step away,’ theBattleSister standingoutside the infirmarydoor commanded,levellingherbulkyweapon.‘IamacommissaroftheAstraMilitarum,SisterIndrik,’Lemarchésaidcalmly,ignoring theblackenednozzleofhermeltagun.‘Youwillaffordmetheproper

respect.’‘Withrespect,stepawayfromthedoorway,commissar,’ thearmouredwomanreplied. The voice reverberating through her sealed visor sounded decidedlyunfeminine toLemarché’s ears.Then again, therewas nothing feminine aboutthewarrior’ssizeeither.Shewaswelloveraheadtallerthanhim,withabroad-shouldered frame that rivalled a Breacher’s. In her dark grey battleplate shelookedmorelikeacast-ironstatuethanahumanbeing.Shehadarrivedshortlyafterthealarumsoundedandmadeitclearnobodywouldbepermittedtoleave,butotherthanhernameshehadofferednoexplanation.‘I have oneman dead in here and anothermissing,’ Lemarché pressed. ‘Oursecurityhasbeencompromised,Sister.Mytroopsneedtheirweapons.’‘Fearnot,Iwillprotectyou,’SisterIndriksaidseriously.‘Nowstepaway.’WithacurtnodLemarchéobeyed,signallingthemencrowdedbehindhimtofollowsuit.Reluctantlytheable-bodiedBreachersretreatedtowardsthefarsideoftheinfirmary,mutteringastheycircledaroundtheblanket-coveredcorpsethatlayoppositeFeizt’sbed.AsLemarchéhobbledtowardsthecadaverLieutenantReissdrewhimaside.‘Weshouldmovehim,commissar,’theofficerurgedinalowvoice,indicatingthecorpse.‘NotuntilSisterAsenathhasmadeanexamination.Emperorwilling,shemayshed some light on this atrocity. Besides, every man capable of walking hasalreadyseenthebody,lieutenant.’‘I’m not talking about hiding anything, sir. It’s not right to leave a fellowBreacherlikethat.’‘ItisthelivingIammostconcernedwith,lieutenant.’Andthelivingarebeginningtofray,Lemarchéreflected.ThemenofDarkstarCompanyweren’tafraidofanyfoetheycouldfacewithagunorablade,butthecreeping,intangiblekillerinfestingtheirfleshhadgnawedtheirdisciplinedowntothebone.Wakingtoanalarumandfindingamutilatedcorpseintheirmidsthadnotbeenconducivetogoodmorale.WhiletheysleptsomebodyhaddraggedGlicke’sbodyacrosstheinfirmaryandhackeditapart,somehowmanagingbothfeatswithoutdisturbinganyone.Andthentherewasthequestionofthebreachsergeant.Feizt’sbunkhadbeenempty and a search of the infirmary had confirmed he was gone. To thecommissar’schagrin,thathadcausedmoreconsternationthanGlicke’scorpse.Feizt was the only thing holding them together, Lemarché admitted as heapproached thehuddled troops.Hewas theirundyingchampionanda littleof

hisinvulnerabilitytouchedthemall.ThismesswaspreciselywhyLemarchédeploredheroes.Theywereanunstableelement in a unit, too volatile to predict in the field and liable to inflict greatdamage when they fell. In his memoirs, the ever-perceptive Artemiev haddubbedthem‘magnificenttimebombsofdiscord’.Andyouhavemostassuredlydetonated,TolandFeizt,Lemarché judgedashelistenedtothesquabblingtroopers.‘Womannotstopusall,’Hörkawasarguing,hisheavilyaccentedvoicefilledwithanger.‘Sheonlygetoneshot!’‘That’s a void-damn melta you’re talking about, Ork!’ Santino mocked hisfellow Blast Breacher. ‘One shot’ll burn through us all.’ The swarthy troopershookhisheademphatically,hisdreadlockswhippingaboutinemphasis.‘Evenifitdon’t,wegotnothingtotouchthatgearshe’swearing.She’lltearusapart.’‘Totalkofsuchthingsisblasphemous,yes,’Zevrajprotested.Hisshavenscalpwascovered inaswirlofdevotional tattoos thatconvergedonagoldenaquilastampedacrosshis forehead.AnOberaiRedeemerbybackground,hewas theoldestandmostpiousmaninthecompany,whichhadearnedhimthenicknamedeacon.Santinohadmeantitasajoke,butZevrajhadembraceditwithabsolutesobriety.‘Youwilldamnus,comrades,’headdedsternly.Standingoutsidethebickeringcircle,LemarchéwaitedforReiss tointervene,butthelieutenantjustwaitedwithhim,aslostastheothers.Thiscannotstand,Lemarchédecided,notatall.Hisfingerstwitched,eagerfora gun. Since joining Darkstar Company he had found no cause to execute atrooper and it would be wasteful now, yet he found himself drawn to thepossibilities.Which of thesemenwould he choose?Whowould serve as themostcompellingexampletotheothers?‘Wewillfindway!’Hörkagrowled.‘Itwistbitch’sheadoffwithmyhandsif–’HisthreatturnedintoachokedcryasLemarchéchoppedhimacrossthethroatwithhiscane,holdingbackafractionfromakillingblow.‘Did I hear you threaten a daughter of the Emperor?’ the commissar askedmildlyasthehulkingtrooperclawedathisthroat,hiseyesbulging.Impressively,Hörkastraightenedhisbackandtriedtoanswer,butwasincapableofanythingbut a strangled croak. Lemarché cast his gaze across the others, lingering oneachofthemforamomentbeforesettlingonReiss.Iftheyweregoingtoturnonhim thiswould be themoment.He found the prospect peculiarly exhilarating.‘Areyourmenarabble,lieutenant?’‘No,commissar!’

‘Thenpleaseensuretheydonotmisleadmeagain,’Lemarchésaid,‘becauseIcannotabidearabble.’‘Yes,commissar!’Reisshesitatedonlyamomentbeforecontinuing:‘Weneedtofindthebreachsergeant,sir.’Thereweremurmursofassentfromtheothers.Somesteelatlast,Reiss,Lemarchénotedapprovingly.‘Wedoandwewill,’heagreed, ‘but we are Astra Militarum and we shall proceed with honour. TheAdeptaSororitasareourswornallies.’‘We need our guns, sir,’ Schroyder said cautiously. ‘Whatever messed upGlickecouldcomeback.’‘Whoever,’Lemarchécorrected,jabbinghiscaneatthetrooper.‘Itwasthesergeant,’someoneraspedbehindhim.‘Sawhimdoit.’LemarchéturnedandsawBreacherRynfeldhadclamberedfromhisbunk.Thedemolitions specialist was among the most gravely wounded of the men, hisright arm sheared off at the shoulder, along with half his face. His skin wasfrosted with the silvery scales of terminal Razorblight and the iris of hissurvivingeyehadlostmostofitscolour.‘Returntoyourbunk,BreacherRynfeld,’Lemarchéordered.‘Hekeptonstabbing,’thedyingmanmuttered,drooloozingfromhiscrackedlips, ‘butGlickewouldn’tgodown.Juststood thereand took itall…until thesergeanthackedhisheadrightoff.’‘SacredThronewardus,’Zevrajhissed,makingthesignoftheaquila.‘It’s the flies,’ Rynfeld continued, his gaze flitting around the room, chasingsomethingunseen.‘TheygotintoGlicke.They’reeverywherenow.’‘Youaremistaken,trooper,’Lemarchésaid,hobblingtowardshim.‘Therearenoflieshere.’‘Yougot toburnwhat’s left,’Rynfeldwheezed,pointingat thecorpse. ‘Burnit… so it don’t come back again.’ He grabbed the commissar’s coat with hisremaininghand,almostunbalancinghim.‘Gottobesure!’‘That is quite enough,Breacher,’ Lemarché said, pulling free in disgust. Thestenchwaftingoffthetrooperwasappalling.Thisoneistaintedbeyondsalvage,Artemievwouldhaveconcluded.Suddenly a fresh terror seized thedyingman. ‘You…you’vegot toburnmetoo…when…I…’Rynfeld’seyesrolledintheirsocketsandhetoppledover.Lemarché made no attempt to catch him before he hit the floor. ‘ReturnBreacherRynfeldtohisbunk,’heorderedtheothers.‘Straphimdownproperlythistime.’AsLemarchébrusheddownhisgreatcoatsomethingbuzzedpasthisear.

III

AsenathfollowedtheelegantCelestianinsilence.Thoughthealarumhadceasedthe emergency was evidently still in motion. As they descended through thedecksmenandwomeninthegreytunicsoftheship’sCandlewardshurriedpastthem,manyarmedwithcrossbowsandshortswords.OnlytheAdeptaSororitaswere permittedmore powerfulweaponry onVytarn, ensuring their superioritydespitetheirnumbers.‘Didyoucomeaboardtokeepwatchonus?’sheaskedtheCelestian.‘Youoverestimateyourimportance,abnegator,’thewarriorrepliedfrostily.‘MysquadhasbeenrecalledtothePerihelion.Ourpathsmerelycrossedbychance.’Hertonemadeitclearthatshewouldsaynomoreonthematter.Youareprideful,woman,Asenathjudged.TheIronCandlehasgrownlaxinitsstandardsifsuchasyouarefoundworthyofitsCelestians.Very fewBattleSisters couldhope to achieve theperfectharmonyofmartialprowessandspiritualtemperancethataCelestianembodied.EveryorderoftheAdeptaSororitashad itsowncustomsfor identifying the trulyexceptional,butthere was no certain path to elevation. A warrior might spill the blood of athousand heretics across a hundred battlefields, yet some ineffable, essentialqualitymight still elude her. Shemight be a fine and faithful soldier, but shewouldneverbeaCelestian.FortheSistersoftheIronCandle,wholackedwarstowageormaterialfoestoovercome, the selectionprocesswasparticularlyesoteric,butno less rigorous.Orat least ithadbeen inAsenath’s time.Shewas intimately familiarwith theOrdealsNuminous, forshehadoncestoodon theprecipiceofelevation to thehallowed inner circle herself.Thatwaswhyher departure had been so keenlyfelt–andapparentlybitterlyremembered.Ihadnochoice,shethought,wantingtodeclareit toherhaughtycompanion.Father Deliverance requested my presence among his retinue. It would havebeenasintodenyhim.Butshecouldn’tsay thewordsaloud, for though theywere true theyweren’tthewholetruth.Shehadwantedtoleave.WhatwasalifeofintrospectivevigilontheCandleworldbesidethegloriesoftheArchConfessor’sprophecy-drivencrusadetotheProvidenceSystem?Suddenly,asifshehadopenedsomeinvisibledoor,thememoriesfloodedback,annihilatingtheinterveningyears.

AndAsenathHyadesistwenty-twoagain.Thoughshedoesn’tknowityet,today

isthedawnofhersecondlife.She stands on the Prophet’s Causeway, her grey armour burnished andbedeckedwithceremonial streamers,herbolterheld rigidlyacrossherbreast-plate – a mirror image of the Battle Sisters to either side of her, and the sixhundredmorewholinethewindingmountainpathinhonouroftheirvisitor.The revered confessor has chosen a propitious day tomake his ascent to theCandelabrumcathedral,fortheplanet’sperennialstormshavefallensilentandtheentirevistaisalightwithraretwinnedsunlight,thejoyfulochreofSalvationminglingwiththeangryrussetofDamnation.TheairissoclearthatallsevenofthePerihelion’sencirclingmountainsarevisible,thoughtheyaremanyleaguesdistant.Asenath cannot recall ever having seen sucha thingand she longs toturnfullcircleandsavourthesight,butthatwouldbeanunforgivablebreachofdiscipline.Besides,theGod-Emperorhasnotgrantedthisspectacleforher.TheonlyspireshecanseefromherpositionisTemperans,theSternspire.Itisthemostsolemnof theseven,whereherorder’sCelestiansholdtheir trials foraspirant Sisters. The ordeals are devised to temper the spirit rather than thebody, hardening it against temptations that would run rings around anymundanevice.Asenathhasspentmuchtimethererecentlysoitisanauspicioussight.Shedoesn’tbelieveforamomentthatmerechancehasplacedTemperansbefore her now. Her faith doesn’t allow for coincidences. There is order andmeaningtoeverything.Asenath’sheartsoarsasshehears thebombasticsymphonyof thecavalcade,butsheresiststheinstincttoturnherheadandwatchitapproach.Shewillseethevisitorsastheypassby,andintimesheshallsurelyseeFatherDeliverancehimself.HisfleethasmadeadetourtotheCandleworldbeforeembarkinguponitslongvoyagetotheheathenProvidenceSystem.RemarkablyhisembassyhasbeengranteddispensationtoforgoExodusandlandattheKoronatusRingitself.Such a breach of ritual is almost unheard of, which surely testifies to theirvisitor’sholiness.TogazeuponsuchaparagonoftheEmperor’sLightwillbearareblessing.Asenath reins in her eagerness and waits without further thought until theprocessionentersherlineofsight.ThefirsttopassisadetachmentofBattleSistersrepresentingtheOrderoftheThornEternal,whichservesas thevanguardof theconfessor’scrusade.Theirwhitearmourgleams in thesunlight,putting thedullgreyofAsenath’sown toshame. The Celestians and Seraphim of their order sport black tabards andelaboratebackbannersemblazonedwithacrimsonflowerentwinedinthorns.A

white-hairedwoman in a sable cloak leads them, her backpackwovenwith alivingrosebush that identifiesherasaCanonessExcruciant.Herhatchet-likefaceisscrunchedintoascowlof furiousfaithasshemarches,hereyesrovingsuspiciouslyoverthegrey-armouredwarriorsoftheIronCandle.Asthewomanpasses her, Asenath glimpses a human skull among the thorny vines of herbackpack.Itssocketsarefilledwithblood-redpetals.Latershewilllearnthatitbelongedtoitsbearer’spredecessor.AftertheBattleSisterscomesanExorcisttank,itsglitteringchassisencrustedwiththegoldenpipesofanornatemissilelauncher.TodaytheonlyprojectilesitfiresaretheresonantorganchordsofanImperialmarch.Anethereallybeautifulwoman in a silk robe sits on a cushion atop the tank playing a golden harp.Somehow the delicate notes she plucks are perfectly audible through theboomingorgan.Abandofwhite-robedmonks follows the tank,eachmanswingingasmokingcenserinflawlesssynchronicitywithhisfellows.Theirtonsuredheadsareraisedto the sky as they add their baritone chorus to the music. Winged cherubimflutter about them on mechanical wings, their chubby faces frozen in vacantsmilesastheypoundthetinydrumsstrappedtotheirbodies.Asenathcannotrestrainagaspwhensheseesthearmouredgiantswhomarchbehindthemonks.Thereareonlythree,yettheyeclipseallthathasgonebefore,for they are legends given substance. Of course she has never doubted theexistenceof theAdeptusAstartes,but tosee themwalkinguponherworld isagiftbeyondcompare,fortheyaresurelythemostquintessentialofalltheGod-Emperor’sworks. Their presence connects her to the deep past of her speciesand thedestiny that itsundyinggodhasdecreed,butbeyondall that, theyaresimplybeautiful.Theirarmourshimmersandshiftscolourrestlessly,asthoughtooenergisedtosettleuponasinglehue,yetthereisalwaysharmonybetweenthethreewarriors.Fromherpositionshecannotseetheirleftpauldrons,butthoseontherightaremagnificent,eachadornedwithauniqueandmasterfullyrenderedpainting.Thewarrioron the leftplayshost toa landscapeofmighty fjordsoverlookedbyawhite fortresswhose towers pierce the clouds. The one on the right bears theportraitofawomanwhosebeautyderivesentirelyfromthemysteryofhersmile.ButitisthecentralgiantwhoseartworktouchesAsenathmostprofoundly.Hiscompositionisanabstractofgeometricshapesthatglimmerwithdelicatehues.Its superficial simplicity hints at a limitless subtlety that Asenath has neverimaginedbefore,butherspirithasalwaysyearnedfor.Therealisationchanges

somethinginherirrevocably,thoughshecannotbegintosaywhat.She looks at the visage of thewarriorwho bears the revelation and sees hisfaceisexactlyasitshouldbe–fine-featuredandmajestic,butwithoutatraceofarrogance.Hiswide-seteyesare filledwithwonderat themagnificenceof thePerihelion, his lips curled into an ambiguous smile. A silver circlet binds hisraven-black hair and a crimson cloak trails from his backpack, not quitetouching the ground. From this moment on, whenever Asenath thinks of herEmperorshewillseethistranscendentwarrior.Unexpectedly, a fourth giant enters her field of view, striding several pacesbehind the others. Though his armour is equally ornate, its colour revolvesaroundshadesofblue,rangingthroughaninkyindigotoaregalazure.ItsbackarchesupintoaplatedcowltoframehisfacesoAsenathcannotseehishair,yetsheiscertainitwillbewhite.Thoughheisashandsomeashiscomrades,thereis a guarded, saturnine cast about him that speaks of one who has seen toomuch.Hispersonalheraldryisageometricsphereofintricatesilverlineswhoseeffect is almost holographic. While the leader’s abstract art thrilled her, thisimagerepelsher,thoughonceagainshecannotbegintosaywhy.And then the demigods have passed from sight and only a man remains,walkingaloneatthetailoftheprocession.Evenifhewerenotfollowinginthefootstepsofgiantshewouldbeunremarkable.Hewearsaplainbrowncassockcinchedatthewaistwithacoilofropeandhisbarefeetaresandalled.Theonlyartefact of faith he bears is the simplewooden aquila hanging from his neck.Thoughhesportsthejuttingbeardandtonsureofafullyordainedpreacherheisyoung,surelynotmuchmorethanthirty-five.Hisskinislikeburnishedcopper,hiscoal-blackhairstreakedwithwhitetoeithersideofhishigh,scholarlybrow.Asenathwonderswhothisnobodycouldbe,butherthoughtsrapidlyturntoamore pressing matter: how has she missed Father Deliverance? Could he besomewhere further down the road? The urge to turn and look is almostoverwhelming, but then she notices that the young preacher has halted in theroad. He is looking directly at her, his amber eyes thoughtful. Her confusiondeepensasheapproaches.‘Your realm is extraordinary, Sister,’ he says, stopping before her. ‘Signs andwonders throng this mountain like unwritten words awaiting an author.Wherever I look, I see the forms of things unknowable.’ He speaks with anunguardedsincerity,asthoughheisconfidinginanoldfriend.‘Thereisaquietgrace here that puts my procession to shame. Most worlds favour suchspectacles,buthereitisvulgar.Ishouldhavecomealone.’

Noticingher confusion, heoffersawry smile andAsenath realises that he isquitebeautiful.Hadshenotbeenoverwhelmedbythegloryof thetranshumanwarriorswhoprecededhimshewouldhaveseenitimmediately.Inthatmomentsheunderstandsexactlywhoheis.‘Forgiveme,’hesays.‘I’dwageryouwereexpectingagrandoldpontiffinfinerobesandabejewelledhat.’Hissmilewidensintoanamusedgrinandittakesevery shred of Asenath’s willpower not to return it. ‘I assure you, Sister, theEcclesiarchyhasasurfeitofsuchmen–andwomentoo–butIprefertoleavesuchdisplaystothosewhofollowme,lestIforgetmyself.’Hisexpressioncloudsandhebecomesdeadlyearnest.‘Toomanyhavelostthemselvesinthemselves.’‘Thebeggar’scrownisthehardesttowear,’Asenathsaysonimpulse,quotingfromtheGospelsIlluminant.‘HumilityisthefinestoftheSevenVirtues,foritisthemostfragile.’‘Clasp it too close and it will shatter like glass,’ he replies, grasping hermeaning instantly. He looks past her, squinting at something in the distance.‘Oneofyourholyspiresliesdirectlybehindyou,goodSister.Tellme,whichisit?’‘Vigilans,’shesayswithoutlooking.‘TheWatchspire.’Themannods, as if he expected the answer. Then he looks at her again, hiseyesalightwithsincerity.‘Itisanothersign,’hesays.‘Liketheonethatdrewmetoyou.’Heplacesahandonherrightshoulder.Fromanyothermanitwouldbean unforgivable transgression, but Asenath is no longer sure whether he is ameremanatall.‘WillyouserveasmyVigilantPaladin,Sister?’FatherDeliveranceasks.‘Willyoucomewithme?’

‘Iwill not ask you again, abnegator,’ a cold voice said. ‘Iwill carry you if Imust.’Asenathstaredatthearmouredwomanstandingbeforeher,tryingtorememberwho she was. This place – this moment – felt insubstantial, like anapproximationof reality. Then she recognised thewood-panelled corridor andrememberedwhatlayaroundthenextcorner.No!Suddenterrorsnappedherfullyoutofthepastandshebegantobackaway.‘Well met, Sister Camille!’ someone called out behind her. Asenath swungroundandsawanotherCelestianapproachingwithawhite-hairedpreacheratherside.‘SisterMarcilla,’Asenath’scompanionacknowledgedthenewcomer.‘Iseeyou

havefoundourwaywardpriestatlast.’‘YousaythatasthoughIweretryingtohide,’themansaid,frowning.Jonah,Asenathrecalled.HisnameisJonah.Howcouldshehaveforgotten?‘Hewasout in thestorm,’SisterMarcillaansweredher fellowCelestian.Herfacewasayounger,softerreflectionofCamille’sandtheysharedthesameash-blondehair.The resemblancewas tooclose formereartifice,Asenathgauged.These women were blood sisters. Vytarn’s population numbered less than amillionsoulssoitwasn’tunknownforsiblingstoserveinthesameorder,butitstretchedcredibilitythatbothwouldqualifyasCelestians.‘Iwill take themfromhere,Marcilla,’ theeldersiblingsaid. ‘Standwatchonthebridge.Itmustnotbecompromised.’‘Aye, Camille,’ Marcilla acknowledged. Her gaze drifted to Asenath, herexpressionmorecuriousthanhostile.Thenshenoticedhersister’sdisapprovingglareandhurriedaway.‘SisterAsenath,’Jonahsaidwithanod.‘Ididnotexpecttoseeyouagainquitesosoon.’‘NorIyou,priest,’Asenathreplied.‘Doyouknowwhatthisisabout?’‘Nomorethanyou,Isuspect.’‘Come!’SisterCamilleinterjected,indicatingthatherchargesshouldgoahead.‘Wehavetarriedtoolongalready.’Ihavenochoice,Asenathdecided.Oddlyshefoundthepriest’spresenceherecomforting.Perhapshewouldpreventthetrapfromclosingagain.Steeling herself, she turned the corner and faced the hateful chapel. Its brassdoorswereclosedandguardedbyapairofburlyCandlewards.Thesanctum’soriginalguardianwasslumpedagainstthedoorframe,alargecandlejuttingfromthesocketofhisrighteye.PerverselyAsenathfeltmorereliefthandisgustatthesight,butthisquicklyturnedtoconfusionasshedrewcloser.Thedeadmanwasundoubtedly theattendantshehadencounteredearlier,yetalso… not. In place of his extravagant robe he wore a plain habit, its frontspatteredwith ichor fromhis ruined eye.Therewas no sign of his headdress,thoughahumblebluefezlaybesidehim.Hisfeatureswereunchanged,buthismake-upwasgoneandhislipswereneithersewntogethernorpierced.Howisthispossible?Asenaththought,staringatthecorpse.‘A savagedeath, but a quickone,’ Jonah saidgently, evidentlymistaking thecauseofherdistress.‘Hedidn’tsufferlong,Sister.’‘No, the suffering was reserved for those within,’ Sister Camille declared,openingthedoors.‘Bewarned,itisablasphemoussight.’

Idon’twant tosee it,Asenathscreamedsilently,butherbodydisagreed.Shewilledherselftostillness,butherlegscarriedherforwardsintothechapel.Shetriedtoclosehereyes,buttheyrefused.Idon’twanttoknow!Butwhenhadthateverbeenanoptionforher?Thefirstthingsheregisteredwastheblood,becausetherewassoverymuchofit. Itwas splashedacross thewalls and ceiling in raggedlygeometricblotchesand stripes, like an abstract painting rendered entirely in red. The ichor waspooledseveral inchesdeepacross the floor, its surfacemottledwithdarkclotsand pale, fleshy coils. Along the walls hung the Exodii monks, their bodiestangledupintheshreddedtapestries,onesacrificedtoeachvirtue,theirbelliesslashed open to feed the carnage. The altar was free of blood, but a daggerprotrudedfromitscentre,buriedhalfwaytothehiltwherethesacredcandlehadonceshone.ABreachercombatknife,Asenathrealisedthroughhershock,recognisingtheweapon’sdistinctivehandle.‘Over here, hospitaller!’ someone called from the far side of the chapel.Another Celestian stood beside one of the bodies, ankle-deep in viscera. Theseven-branched candelabrum crowning her backpack identified her as thesquad’sleader.‘Quickly!’Moving like a sleepwalker, Asenath obeyed, her boots squelching as shecrossedthechamber.‘This one still lives,’ the Celestian Superior said. Astonishingly, it was true.Despitehishorrificwoundstheshaven-headedmanhangingfromthewallwasstillbreathing,thoughhewasunconscious.Hiseyesaren’tsewnup,Asenathnoticed.Andwherearehischains?What–‘Hospitaller!’theleadersnapped.‘Hisinjuryistoogrievous,’Asenathsaid,shakingherhead.‘ThereisnothingIcandoforhim.’‘IknowakillingwoundwhenIseeone.Idon’texpectyoutosavehim.’‘Then–’‘Rousehim!Ineedtoknowwhathesaw.’He shouldn’t have been able to see anything,Asenath thought, staring at themonk’s face.Shehad seenhimearlier,buthewasno longeroneof theblind,half-starved degenerates she had fled from in disgust. Like the dead attendantoutside,thiswassomealternate,untaintedversionofthesameman.‘Canyouawakenhim?’theCelestianSuperiorpressed.‘Thepainwouldbeexcruciating.’

‘Neverthelessitmustbedone.Thisblasphemycannotgounanswered,Sister.’Sister?Despiteherbrusquenesstherewasnoanimosityintheleader’smanner.Forthefirsttime,Asenathreallylookedather.Theywereaboutthesameage,though theCelestian’s black hairwas free of the grey that streakedAsenath’sown.HerolivecomplexionandtheepicanthicfoldsofhereyesspokeofapureIkiryubloodline–anativeVytarni.Mostoftheplanet’sindigenouspeoplehadperishedin thegreatpestilencethatravageditduringtheseconddecadeof theprophet’sreign.Thosefewwhosurvivedwereconsideredholy.‘Yes, I am a Living Ghost,’ the woman said, noticing Asenath’s expression.‘Willyouhelpme,Sister?’‘Iwillattemptit,’Asenathreplied,openingherbag.Asshedrewoutavialshespottedanotheranomaly–awovenfacewasstaringatheroverthedyingman’sshoulder.ItwasunmistakablytheBleedingAngelofMercy,buthereyeswerenowfreeof themadnessAsenathhadseenearlier.Presumably theportraithadalteredinmyriadotherwaystoo,alongwithalltheothershere.What’shappening tome?Asenathwondered,hermindwhirling.Howfardidthese changes extend?Were they confined to the chapel precincts or had herentireworldshifted?‘Adamantofheart,’theCelestianSuperiorsaidexpectantly.‘Clearofpurpose,’Asenathanswered,completingthecredooftheIronCandle,thoughthelastthingshefeltwasclarity.‘Findmesomeanswers,’theCelestiansaid,turningaway.‘We need the truth fromhim,’FatherDeliverancewhisperedwithout a voice,placing a hand on Asenath’s shoulder, as he always did when he asked theunthinkable of her. Though his touch no longer had any physical weight shecouldstill feel it.Shealwayswould. ‘Dowhateveryoumust toroot itout,myVigilantPaladin.’

Jonahwasstudyingthedefiledaltarwhenthesquadleaderstrodetowardshim,leavingSisterAsenathtoherhealingcraft.‘I am Celestian Superior Xhinoa Aokihara,’ she declared. ‘I have assumedcommandofthisvessel.’‘Weareblessedtohaveyourguidanceinthisdarktime,reveredSister,’Jonahreplied,bowinghishead.‘Whatareyourthoughtsonthisblasphemy,BrotherTythe?’‘ItisavilesinagainsttheGod-Emperor,’heansweredcarefully.‘Ididn’tsummonyouheretorecitetheobvious,priest.’

Thisisdangerous,Jonahthought, runningover thepossibilities.Thedisciplesof theLastCandle couldn’t be trusted,not even itsCelestians.His safest playwas to stick to his cover story – he was a humble scholar visiting Vytarn toresearch the sect’s calligraphic techniques. Such a man would be lost in thiscrisis,withnothingtoofferbeyondoutrage.Ontheotherhand,theshipwasstillalongwayfromtheRingandhedoubtedthehereticsbehindthissacrilege–foritwas surelymore than one – had had their fill of carnage.He’d seenworseblasphemies,butnotmany.Ruzhalka…Thememory was rich with rage and the pungent odour of fish.Scatteredbodiesflashedbeforehim,tornandfrozen,yetsomehowstillreekingof blood. No, that wasn’t something he wanted to think about, especially nothere,buttherewasalessoninit.Couldheriskkeepingoutofthis?‘I warned you he is merely a scribe, Celestian Superior,’ Camille saiddismissively.Shewasstandinginthedoorway,apparentlyunwillingtosullyherarmouredbootsintheblood.‘Isthatso,BrotherTythe?’Xhinoaasked,studyinghimintently.Shealreadyknows,Jonahjudged.Notthetruthofme,butenoughofitsshapetoseethroughablatantlie.‘This was a ritual desecration,’ he proclaimed. ‘The bloodshed was just aconduitfortherealwoundinflictedhere–awoundupontheworlditself.’‘Iagree,’shesaid.‘Canthechapelbereconsecrated?’‘The cut is too deep. Even if it could be staunched it would fester. There isnothingmoreunholy thanholiness stained.That iswhy theArchenemyprizessuch victories.’ Jonah made the sign of the aquila. ‘The altar stone must besunderedandtheentirechambercleansedwithfire.Alongwiththebodies.’‘Butthechapelisthesouloftheship,’Camilleprotested.‘Then I adviseyou to scuttle thevesselwhenwe reach theRing,’ Jonah saidsternly, his gaze fixed on the Celestian Superior. She was the only one whomatteredhere.‘Orbetteryet,burnit.Anythingelseinvitesdisaster.’‘OnceagainIagree,priest,’Xhinoareplied.‘Itwillbedone.’She didn’t hesitate, Jonah noted.Her mind was already made up. She wastestingme.‘I amsorry,CelestianSuperior,’Asenath said, joining them. ‘Iwasunable torevivethemonk.HehaspassedintotheGod-Emperor’sLight.’‘That is unfortunate,’ Xhinoa replied, turning her searching gaze upon thehospitaller.‘Doubtlessyoudidyourbest,Sister.’‘I recognise theknife,’Asenath said, pointing at thedagger embedded in the

altar.‘ItisaBreacherblade.’‘Oneofyouruncleanherdhasbeenreportedmissing,’Camille interjected.‘ItappearsyouhaveledaheretictotheCandleworld,abnegator.’‘Orperhapssomeonestoletheknife?’Jonahsuggested,leaningoverthealtartostudytheweapon.‘Thehilt is initialled.K.G.Doesthatmeananythingtoyou,SisterAsenath?’Whensheofferednoreplyhelookedupandsawshehadpaled.‘Hospitaller,’Xhinoaprompted,‘doyouknowthename?’‘KonradGlicke,’Asenathsaidquietly.‘Adeadman’sname.’

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–ThirdStatement

MuchhashappenedandmytimeisshortsoIshallkeepthesewordsbrief,yetIdare not falter in this duty lest I lose the courage to continue. To denounceoneself isa sombredispensation,but todenounce theworldandwonders thathaveshapedone’ssoulisathousandtimesworse.Iwouldgladlygivemylifeinthe God-Emperor’s service, but what if that service demands the death of aplanet and its people? What if my testament brings down a decree ofExterminatusupontheCandleworld?Letthelittletyrantscometrytheirluck!ThedarknesshereismoremalignthanIfeared,andmuchstronger.Agrievousblasphemy has beenwrought upon this ship’s soul – the kind that stems fromcalculatedheresyratherthanblindfolly.Someoneorsomething–ormorelikelysomeone enslaved to something unholy – is at work upon this world, activelyunravellingthetiesthatbinditspeopletosenseandsanctity.Iknownottowhatend,norhowwidespreadthecorruptionruns,butIbelievethereisstilltimetoavert thecomingcatastrophe, for that is surelywhy Iwascompelled to returnhere.ThatmustbeHispurposeforme!Andsomyconfessiontrulybegins,forIamashrivel-souledslave!itwasnotsentimentalitythatdrewmebacktomycradleworld,butadream.Itfirstcametomealittleoverayearagoandhasnotleftmesince.Therewasnodiscernibletriggertoitsadvent,yetIhaveneverdoubteditsimportforithasacrystalline

lucidity that eclipses my waking life, as if dream and reality have becomeinverted.The form it takes is constant and minimal. I walk an unwinding path ofcongealeddarkness,ascendingthroughawhitevacuumsoemptyitcansustainneither sight nor sound.Theground feels like polishedglass beneathmybarefeet,ice-coldandtreacherous,compellingmetotreadwithcaution.Theairissolifelessitmaynotbethereatall,yetitsabsencedoesnottroublemylungs.Ihavebeenonthisroadforeverandcanenvisionnoendtoit,butIcannot–mustnot–pauseevenamoment,forIamnotaloneinthisnothingness.Somethinghasbeenfollowingmefromthebeginningthatneverwas,mirroringmyeverystep,buteagertoclosethegap.Itishungrybeyondimaginingandtheonedreadfulvariableinthislimboisthedistancebetweenus.ShouldIfaltermyshadowwillgaingroundonme,yetnomatterhowassiduouslyIfocus,theabysseventuallydullsmysensesandIstumbleontheroad.ThoughIerronlyonceortwice in each dream every mistake persists into the next night, swelling mylapses.Andso,nightbynight,mystalkerdrawsevercloser.CatchyouifIcan,catchmeifyoucan’t!I know not what manner of entity pursues me, save that it is malevolent.Whenever I glance round the road is empty, yet I know something is therebecauseIcanfeel itshunger likea fellradianceuponmyback.It isreal, it iscomingformeandifitovertakesmeIshalllosemorethanmylife,foritisnotmerefleshandbloodthatitcraves.Suchsweetpuppetstoplyandplayupon,butohsofrailandfleeting…Thereisonehopeinthiscreepingoblivion–adistantlightonthepathahead.Likemystalker,itissomethingIsenseratherthansee,foritshinesinvisibly,butundeniably. The two phantoms are antithetical fates entwined – salvation anddamnationvying formyeternal soul,and through thatprize for something fargreater.Doesthatmakeyouthelockorthekey,dearSister?I know Imust reach the lightbeforemy shadowclaimsme,butneitherhastenor endurance will carry me any closer to that blessed beacon for it is notdistance thatdividesus.Like theRiteofCrossing, the road to redemption lieswithin,wherealltrueepiphaniesreside.AndinmyheartIrecognisethelightasthe sacred flameatop thePerihelionandunderstand thatmy salvation liesontheCandleworld.

‘Italwayshas,’Asenathwhispered,‘butIwastoopridefultoseeit.’

Sheclosedherjournal,onceagainresistingthecompulsiontoreadherwords.Herpathlayahead.Asinthedream,shehadtokeepmovingforwardsuntilshefound an answer. For now her placewaswith her beleaguered charges in theinfirmary.Somewhattohersurprise,CelestianSuperiorXhinoahadgrantedherleavetogoaboutherbusinessfreely.UnlikethepridefulCamille,theCelestiancommanderhadtreatedherwithcourtesy,ifnotquiterespect.‘Respectmustbeearned,’Asenathchidedherself.‘Ishallnotdisappointher.’Afterthehorrorinthechapelshehadnodesiretolingerinherchamber,butitwasn’tjustthejournalthathaddrawnherhere.Sheroseandcrossedtothetrunkbeside her bed.Her fingers spun thewheels of its coded latch until it clickedfree.Heaving the lid open, she rummaged beneath the neatly folded garmentswithinuntil she foundagildedmetal case.Herhands trembled as shedrew itout.‘Ihavenochoice,’shetoldherself.Insidethecase,nestleduponabedofredvelvet,layaboltpistolandasingleammoclip.Theweapon’selegantlycontouredformwasdecoratedwithasilverfiligree of thorns that wound about the barrel like a living plant. Tiny rosesformed from crushed rubies glittered among the tangle-like specks of blood.Alongwithherscarsthisweaponwasallthatremainedofhersecondlife.

‘SheiscalledTristesse,’FatherDeliverancesaystenderly.‘Itmeanssorrow,forthatiswhatshepromisesthosewhodefytheGod-Emperor’swill.Sheisarelicof the Thorn Eternal, gifted to me by our fearsome Sister, the CanonessExcruciant.’Hesmilesruefully.‘ButIamnowarrior,soIinturnpassherontoyou,myVigilantPaladin.’Theyarealoneinhischambersaboardthecrusade’sflagship,asituationthatwouldbeunthinkablewithanyotherman.Theroomisausterelyfurnished,likethe cell of a common monk, for Father Deliverance believes that comfortencouragessoulstocleavetooavidlytotheirmortalshells.‘Doesshepleaseyou?’heaskssolemnly.‘It–she–isbeautiful,’Asenathreplies,hervoicefilledwithaweasshestudiestheexquisiteweapon.Shehasonly justentered theconfessor’sserviceandhisforceisstillenroutetoitsdestination,withmanyweeksoftravelahead.Shehashadnoopportunitytoproveherself,yethehasalreadynamedherhispersonalchampion, elevating her above the Celestians of the Thorn Eternal who havefoughtbesidehimforyears.Andnowthis…‘I amunworthy, your reverence,’ she says. It takes every shred of herwill to

admititandproffertheweapontohim.‘IfyouareunworthythensoamI,forIhavechosenyoufromamongcountlessothers,AsenathHyades.’FatherDeliveranceplacesahandonhershoulder.‘DoyoubelieveIamunworthy,mySister?’

‘We were all unworthy,’ Asenath answered.All save the Resplendent Angels,whichiswhytheyrenouncedus.Shetookthegunfromitscaseandherfingerslippedbeneaththetriggerguardwitheasyfamiliarity,asifshehadneverforsworntheweapon.Tristesseshoneinhergrip,eagertomakehertheagentofitsjusticeoncemore.Asenathshudderedasathrillofraptureranthroughherbody.Itfeltlikeabetrayal,theexchangeofabelovedgiftforahatedone,butagainstthecorruptionstalkingtheirvesselagun would be more puissant than a quill. It would be folly to spurn such aweaponnow.Besides,thedarknesshadalreadydestroyedhercanoness’gift.Asenathsnappedtheammoclipintoplaceandslidthepistolintohermedicaebag.Theactfeltsymbolic.HadshetakenastepclosertothetwistedparagonofMercyshehadseeninthechapel?Shehadmyface…‘No,’Asenathpromisedherselfassheheadedforthedoor.‘IwilldiebeforeIembraceher.’

II

‘PlatoonDarkstar-Red,youarecleartodisembark,’thedrop-ship’spilotvoxed.‘CommenceBreachAescher!’‘Blood-tight!’TolandFeiztyelledashethrewthehatchopenandleaptfromthehoveringvessel,hisboltriflebracedagainsthisarmouredchest.Helandedhardonthexenosstructurebelowandthegroundcreakedhollowlyundertheimpact.Feizt glanceddownand saw lacqueredwooden tiles beneathhis bare feet.Heblinkedinconfusionandrealitytwistedbackintoshape,revealinghisiron-shodboots and the white crystal skin of an utterly alien realm. The translucentsubstance underfoot was threaded with silver filaments that pulsed with bluelight.It’salive,Feiztthoughtwithdisgust.Thiswholedamnplaceisalive.Ashis fellowBreachers thuddeddownaroundhimhe surveyed theglitteringlandscapeahead.Fromadistance thexenosanomalyhad looked likeasilveryball hanging in space, but up close it wasmore like a spherical web of spunglass. Its strandscoiledaboutoneanother, spirallingupanddown through the

structure ina labyrinthofconnectedpathways.Therewerenostraight linesorhardanglesandeverythingappearedtobeformedfromthesamelivingcrystal,liketheplacehadbeenwovenratherthanassembled.Orgrown?Atthesphere’speriphery,whereDarkstarCompanyhaddeployed,thestrandsmeshedintobroadplateaux,butfurtherintheybranchedrepeatedly,narrowingwitheverydivision.Towards thecore theBreacherswouldhave toproceed insingle file, Feizt gauged. That wasn’t great, but it was no different to thecrampedcorridorsandtunnelstheyhadnavigatedelsewhere.Wrong,hecorrectedhimselfwithachillofforeboding.Thisisn’tlikeanythingwe’veseenbefore.‘I’mreadinganatmosphere,breachsergeant,’SpecialistSchroydervoxedovertheplatoon’schannel.‘It’scoldasloxatlblood,butbreathable.’‘Don’tmatter,’Feiztreplied,eyeingtheblacknothingnessbetweenthestrands.Therewerenowallsorenergyshieldsholdingbackthevoid–atleastnonetheireyesor sensors coulddetect–yet therewasgravityhere, somaybe therewasbreathableairtoo,butonlyafoolwouldtrustit.‘Westayvoid-sealed,brothers.Repeat,void-sealed!’Hishelmetvoxpingedbackacknowledgementsfromtheotherplatoonleaders,includingCaptainFroese,whowasleadingtheforcedeployedonthefarsideofthesphere.Decisionslikethiswerereallythecaptain’stomake,butasalways,he had deferred to Feizt in the field. Things alwayswentmore smoothly thatway, even if their bloody commissar didn’t like it. As usual Lemarché wastaggingalongwithFeizt’splatoon,tacitlymarkingitastheweakestlinkinthecompany’schain.Thecommissar’s scarlet-stripedcarapacearmourwasastainonDarkstar-Red’spride,butFeiztcouldn’taffordtothinkaboutthatrightnow.Withlucktheirshadowwouldn’tmakeitoutofthismissionalive.‘Formuparoundme,brothers,’Feiztorderedasthelastofhisplatoonlandedand the drop-ship roared away. ‘Standardwedge! Santino, Iwant thatBruiserlive!’‘Alreadyonit,chief!’theBlastTroopervoxedback.‘This is an unholy dominion,’ Zevraj said, his voice filledwith superstitiousawe.‘Weshouldhavepurgeditfromspace,comrades.’ThoughhewasstandingbesideFeizt, theirairtightarmourmuted regular speech;whenaBreacherwasvoid-sealed,hisvoxandtheairtankstrappedtohisbackwerehislifelines.‘Reckon a couple o’ plasma missiles would bring the whole place down,’Santinosaidashefinishedsettinguptheplatoon’stripod-mountedheavybolter.

‘Wejustgottamakeafewcrackstogetthingsstarted.’‘Cannevertellwithxenostech,though,’Schroydercautioned.‘Alwaystougherthanitlooks.’‘Thatain’tthemissionanyways,’Feiztsaid.‘Wegottogoin,brothers.’‘Iknowit,chief,’Santino replied, slamminganammoband into thebiggun,‘butitdon’tmakenosense.’No,itdoesn’t,brother,Feiztagreed.Leastwisenottous…DarkstarCompanyhadbeenonitswaytorestupandresupplyattheExordioorbitalswhen theorder came in todivert to theAskellonSector for apriorityoperation. The mission briefing had been sketchy to the point of being non-existentandtherewastalksomeonehighupwaspullingthestrings,maybeevenatInquisitionlevel.Itwouldn’tbethefirsttime,thoughthebastardsalwayskepttotheshadows,nomatterhowthingswentdown.Theblind,emerald-robedmanwho’dboardedtheircruisertoobservehadexactlythekindofshifty,alooflookabouthimthatspelledtroubleinTolandFeizt’sbook.‘Somebodywantsasniffat this thing’sguts,’he toldhismen, ‘andwe’re thenose,brothers.Alwaysbeenthe…’Feizttrailedoff,frowning.Thecrystalvistaaheadwasbeginningtoshimmer,asthoughhewerelookingatitthroughaheathaze.Wastheresomethinginsideit?Squinting,hemadeoutaflickering,wood-panelledcorridorsuperimposedoverthealienworld.Thesightmadehimnauseous,asifhewerebeingpulledinsideout.‘Youseeingthis,Darkstar-Red?’hevoxed.Nobodyreplied.‘Isaid–’Sudden agonywracked his stomach, tearing hiswords away. It felt like he’dtakenabolt-roundtotheguts.Hestaggeredback–andhitawall.‘What the…?’ Feizt hissed through the pain, trying to make sense of thenonsense his eyes were feeding him. He was standing in the corridor he hadglimpsedthroughthecrystal.Heswunground,buthismenweregone.Intheirplacewas a dark room filledwith crates. It looked like some kind of storagespace.Woozilyherememberedcrawlingintherewhenthealarumhadsounded.Wait…whatalarum?Feiztthoughtwildly.Whatwasthisplaceandwherewashisplatoon?‘Darkstar-Red,doyoureadme?’hecalled,thenrealisedhisvoxwasalsogone,alongwithhishelmetandcarapacearmour.Worstofall,theonlyweaponhewascarryingwasadagger.Heraiseditandsawthebladewascoveredinblood.Hisloosewhitecoverallsweredrenchedinthestuff.

IkilledGlicke,heremembered.ExceptGlickewasalreadydeadwhenIdidit.No,thatcouldn’tberight.KonradGlickehadbeenaliveandwellonthedrop-shipjustminutesago.They’dcheckedeachother’sairtanks.It’sthisxenoshellhole,Feiztrealised.It’smessingwithmyhead.‘Don’t trust anything you see, brothers,’ he snarled into the vox that wasn’tthere.‘Enough,breachsergeant!’CommissarLemarchérepliedonaprivatechannel.Athiswordstheillusorycorridorretreatedlikeanoutgoingtide,washingawayFeizt’spainandleavingthecrystalworldinitswake.Hiscomradeswerebacktoo, formed up around him with their weapons levelled at the horizon. Theirfaces were hidden behind tinted visors, but he could imagine their strainedexpressions.‘Glicke,callin!’Feiztorderedonimpulse.‘BreacherEightblood-tight,’KonradGlickeresponded.‘Whatdidyousee,breachsergeant?’Zevrajasked.Hewasstrokingthegoldenaquila taped tohisbreast-plate.Heclaimed itwas sinful tohide theholy iconunderhisarmour,buttheyallknewthetruth–ChingizZevrajfeareditwouldn’tworkifhecovereditup.‘Nothin’movingout therenow,chief,’Santino reported, swivellinghisheavyweaponbackandforthacrossthehorizon.‘Breach sergeant, explain yourself,’ Captain Froese demanded on themasterchannel.Feizthesitated,noticingthecommissarhadcomeupalongsidehim.Hedidn’twant to lie tohisbrothers,but the truthwas liable togethimbrandedacrazymaninLemarché’seyes–orworse,awitch.Didheevenbelieveithimself?Tothevoidwithit,hedecided.Don’tknowwhatIsaw,butsomethingtriedtogetintomyhead.‘It knows we’re here,’ Feizt warned, broadcasting on the company-widechannel. ‘This place – it looks quiet, but it’s just playing dead. Stay sharp,brothers.Thisain’tgoingtobeacleanbreach.’‘Observation noted, sergeant,’ Captain Froese replied. ‘Is your unit inposition?’Feiztrealisedhehadn’tconfirmedhisteam’sdeploymentyet.Cursingunderhisbreath,hesentthesignal.‘Received,Darkstar-Red,’ the captain acknowledged. ‘All platoons commencephasetwo.Takeitslowandsteady,Breachers.’‘Darkstar-Redforwards!’Feiztordered.‘Santino,holdtheextractionpoint.’

The platoon advanced in an arrowhead formation, Feizt taking point withtwenty-fourtroopersoneitherside.ABlastBreacherwithreinforcedarmourandaheavystubbermarchedatthetipofeachwing,alongsideaspecialistequippedwith an auspex. Feizt knew three other platoons would be mirroring theiradvance from equidistant points along the perimeter, all converging on thestructure’s core.The ship’s cogitators had estimated the sphere’s diameter at alittleundersixmiles;intheorythatwasn’tmuchgroundtocover,buttherewasnotellinghowtrickythingswouldbecomeoncetheyleft therim,especiallyiftheir path started corkscrewing up and down through the anomaly. SomehowFeiztdoubteditwasgoingtobeeasy.No, it’sgoing tobeabloodymeatgrinder!Theconvictionhithimwithsuchforce that he faltered in his advance. It wasn’t a gut feeling. It was hardknowledge:mostofthemenwhoenteredthislabyrinthwouldn’tbecomingoutagain.Gottoturnthemaroundbeforeithappens…again,hethought.Again?The ground aheadwas already beginning to fray into amultitude of strands.He’dhavetosplituptheplatoonsoon,sendsquadsalongdifferentpathsinthehopesomebodywouldfindawaythroughtothecore.Nobodyeverwill,hepredicted.Orremembered?Very soon now, when they were all hopelessly lost in the maze, the crystalwouldstarttosing.AndthentheRazorLightswouldcomeforthem.RazorLights?Feizt frowned, trying to identify theword.He felt –knew – itmeantsomethingterrible,buttheshapebehinditeludedhim.‘Breachsergeant,whyhaveyouhalted?’Lemarchédemanded.‘Razor–’Feiztbegantosay.Somethinghithimwithstartlingforce.Heglanceddownandsawanironboltjutting from his left shoulder, but the pain it brought was nothing beside theresurgentagonyinhisbelly.‘Iwarnedyoutostanddown,off-worlder!’someoneshouted.Feizt looked up in confusion.Hewas back in the phantom corridor, but thistimehewasn’talone.Ashaven-headedmaninagreytunicwasyellingathim,brandishingashortsword.Besidetheswordsmanawomaninthesameuniformwasreloadinghercrossbow.Candlewards,herememberedblearilyasheyankedtheboltfromhisshoulder.‘Dropyourweaponandgetonyourknees!’themanyelled.‘Now!’Withoutamoment’shesitation,Feiztchargedthem,hisdaggerraised.Hereyeswidening with panic, the woman fired off a hasty second shot. Feizt tried to

dodge aside, but his reflexes were sluggish and her bolt sliced his left cheekopen.As she fumbled foranotherboltFeizt slammed intoher likeawreckingball,throwingherfromherfeetsohardherheadcrackedagainstthefloor.Inthesameinstantheparriedahackfromtheswordsmanwithhisdagger.Thelongerbladescrapedalonghisownuntilitsnaggedinhisweapon’supward-curvedhilt.Withasnarl,FeizttwistedtheswordfromtheCandleward’sgripandslammedafistintohisface.‘Ishouldn’tbehere!’heroared.Onepunchwasmorethanenoughtostuntheman,butFeizt followed it up anyway, furious that these scumhad rippedhimaway fromhis platoon.His thirdpunchbroke theman’sneckwith an audiblesnap.TheCandlewardfell,hislegskickingspasmodically.Feiztglancedat thewoman,butshewasoutcold.‘Takemeback!’hebellowedattheworld,closinghiseyes,butwhenheopenedthem again hewas still in the corridor. ‘Takeme back, you bastard!’ But theworldwasn’tlistening.Thunderrumbledsomewhereoverhead,barelymuffledbythewoodenwalls.Itbroughtmemoriesfloodingback,thoughhehadnoideawhethertheywererealornot.Hewasonanocean-boundship–aheretic ship thatwas ferryinghimtowardsalie.Andhewasn’talone.Hisbrotherswereheresomewhere,whatwasleftofthematleast.Whyhadheabandonedthem?‘Thefly,’Feiztrememberedwithloathing.‘Hadtokillthefly.’It had lured him away from the infirmary after he’d taken down its rottingpuppet.Poortwice-deadGlickehadlookedlikehe’dbeenmoulderingfordays,hismilkywhite eyes sunkdeep into the ruinsofhis face.Thewalkingcorpsehadn’t fought backwhenFeizt hacked it apart, but the fly had buzzed aroundthemexcitedly,as ifenjoying theshow.Afterwardshe’dhunted it through theship,drivenbytheabsolutecertaintyhehadtokill it,butthelittlebastardhadalwaysstayedjustoutofreach,drawinghimon,tauntinghim.Somewherealongthewayhismemoriestrailedoffintodarkness.Feiztslammedafistintothewall,splinteringthewood.‘Havetogetback,’herasped.‘Warnthem.’Warnwho?Theproudplatoonabout toenter theRazor’snestor themangledghoststhatcameoutontheotherside?Howcouldbothbereal?Hisheadwaspounding,histhoughtsstrangledbyfeverandpain.AshetriedtountanglethemaCandlewardcharged round thecornerahead.Seeinghis fallencomrades, theguardskiddedtoahaltandraisedhiscrossbow.Feizthurledhisdaggerandthemanscreamedasitslammedintohischest.

Toomanyofthem,Feiztguessedashestrodeunsteadilytowardshisdyingfoeandtuggedhisbladefree.Ineedmybrothers.Yes, thatmade sense.Together they could capture this ghost ship and turn itaround–maybeevenfindawaybacktothecrystaldeathtrapbeforetheRazorLightswoke up. Feizt hesitated, realising he had no ideawhere the infirmarywas.Howbigcouldthisplacebe?‘Frag it,’ hemuttered.Choosing a direction at random,Feizt staggered alongtheswayingcorridor.

III

Jonahcompletedhisprayerofwardingandaffixedascrollofcastigationtothechapeldoors.Theportalshadalreadybeenweldedshutandreinforcedwithironcrossbars,butsuchmundaneprecautionswouldn’tholdbacktheverminof thewarp if they tried to break through. Though the desecrated altar had beendestroyed the sacrilege would shine darkly in the Sea of Souls, acting as abeaconforunspeakablethings.Iftheycame,onlyfaithorfirewoulddeterthem.SisterGenevieveandherthrice-blessedflamerwouldprovidethefireshouldthearticles of Jonah’s faith provewanting, but he doubted itwould come to that.Thoughhedidn’tbelieveawordof the ImperialCreed,hisprayersandwardsalways carried weight. It wasn’t dogma that empowered such things, butconviction,andJonahTythe’sconvictionhadhardenedtostoneover theyears,evenifitwasn’tthekindmostThrone-fearingfolkwouldrecognise.‘Don’ttouchthedoors,Sister,’hecautionedthearmouredwomanbesidehim.‘Nomatterwhatyouhearwithin.’SisterGenevievenodded,herexpressionserene.CelestianSuperiorXhinoahadwarnedJonahthatthefifthmemberofhersquadwasboundbyavowofsilenceshe would only break in a dire emergency. The flame icon branded beneathGenevieve’srighteyemarkedherasaCelestianIgnis,awarriorwhoreveredthecleansing properties of fire above all others. She had certainly applied herpassionscrupulously in thechapelwhensheburned thecorpsesof themonks,showingnohintofdisgustatthestenchofcharredflesh.Tohissurprise,Jonahfoundheralittleunsettling.She reminds me of you, Mina, he thought. Despite her flawless ebonycomplexion there was a fey quality about Genevieve that was uncannilyreminiscent of his pale sister.Of course,Minawould bemuch older than thiswomannow…

Herealisedhewasstaringatthesilentwarrior.‘Ileavethisburdeninyourcare,valiantCelestian,’hesaid,offeringablessing.‘MaytheGod-Emperorwardyouduringyourvigil.’Butdon’tcountonit,Jonahthoughtashewalkedaway.Hedidn’tbelievetheImperium’sdistantgodgaveadamnaboutHis subjects.More to thepoint,hewas pretty sure the ancient fraudsterwas long dead, even ifHis great con onhumanity was still running strong. The heretical book Jonah had stolen wasright – only a fool would swallow the lies proclaiming mankind’s manifestdestiny, or any other higher purpose for thatmatter. The only truthswere theonesmenandwomenwrought themselves, andeven the finestwereetched insand.Didyoueverbelieveyourownlies?JonahaskedtheCorpse-Godheprofessedto serve.Hedoubtedanybodyknew theansweror everwould, leastof all thezealotsoftheEcclesiarchy.‘Butyoutalkagoodgame,brothers,’Jonahadmittedasheclimbedastaircase,headingfortheinfirmary.SisterAsenathhadaskedhimtoaddressherpatients–perhapssteadytheirnerveswithasermonandafewblessings.Itwasthekindofthinghecoulddoinhissleepnow,butrousingwordscouldworkmiraclesuponcommonmen.ThatwashowtheImperiumdupedmillionsintopointlessdeathseveryday.Andsoitgoes,hebrooded.Roundandround,butalwaysdown.Heturnedacornerandcollidedwithamonster.Thebrutetoweredoverhim,itsmisshapen, muscle-bound torso spattered with gore. Bloodshot eyes glared athimfromacraggyfacethatmirroredhissurprise.BeforeJonahcouldretreatthestrangergrabbedhisrobeandyankedhimforwards,bringinghisfacelevelwithitsown.‘Youwanttolive,priest?’thebeastgrowled,pressingadaggertohisthroat.‘I’m not afraid to die,’ Jonah answered, thinking fast as he weighed up thecreature.Hisattackerwaswearingdirtywhitecoveralls.Despiteitstwistedformitwasaman.ThemissingGuardsman…‘Butyoudon’twanttokillme,soldier.’‘Don’tI?’Thetrooper’sbreathstankofdecay.He’ssick,Jonahgauged,almostdeadonhisfeet.‘TellmewhyIdon’t,priest?’‘We’reboth strangershere,’ Jonah said, looking for an angle.Hehad toplaythis carefully. There was a predatory sharpness about this man that sicknesshadn’tblunted.Ifanything,itmadehimmoredangerous.Jonahsettledonparanoia.

‘There’ssomethingunholyonthisvessel,soldier.Wecanbothfeelit.’‘Youain’twrongthere,’theGuardsmanrasped.‘Iamhere todestroy it!’ Jonahurged,puttingsteel intohisvoice. Inspirationstruckhim:‘IamworkingwithSisterAsenath.’For amoment his captor looked uncertain, then he pressed the blade closer.‘Needto…freemymen…’Hebrokeintoahackingcough,buthisknifedidn’twaver.‘Lost.Can’tfind…wayback.’‘I know the way,’ Jonah promised. ‘We’ll go together, friend.’ It was all hecouldthinkof.

‘Thebodymustbeburnedwithoutdelay,’Asenathdeclared,steppingawayfromthecorpseon the infirmary floor. Itwasalreadybeginning to liquefyunder itscoveringsandthestenchwasnauseating,butthatwastheleastofherconcerns.Therateofputrefactionwasunprecedentedinherexperience.Unnatural.TheGuardsmengatheredaroundherweresilent,watchinghereverymovewithhauntedeyes.Theylookedlikethey’dagedtenyearssinceshelastsawthem,alltheir bravado gone. Only their commissar appeared unaffected. IchukwuLemarché had donned his full dress regalia and attached his prosthetic leg,makinghimselfanexemplaroforderamong the lost soulsheshepherded.ForonceAsenathwasgratefulforhispresence.‘Isthistobeourfatetoo,blessedSister?’Zevrajasked,givingvoicetothefearinalltheirhearts.Wasitalreadyhappening?‘The healers of the Bronze Candle are among the finest in the Imperium,’Asenathassuredhim.‘Theywillaidus.’‘Wecannotstayhere,’Hörkacroakedthroughhisbruisedthroat.‘Nothere!’‘Ork’sright,Sister,’Santinosaid.‘Yougottamoveus.Thisplaceain’tclean.’‘Thereareflies,’Hörkaadded,spittingindisgust.‘Youaremistaken,trooper,’Lemarchésaid.‘Therearenoflieshere.’‘Iheard’emtoo,commissar,’Santinopressed.‘Beenbuzzin’roundmybunkallnight.’Asifsomeunspokenbarrierhadbeenbrokenmoreofthemenpipedup,theirvoicesrisingtoanunrulyclamour.Thecommissarrappedhiscaneontheground.‘Therearenoflies!’Silence fell over the room. The troopers eyed each other warily, waiting forsomeonetodenyit.‘Iwillscourtheairwithconsecratedincense,’Asenathpromised.‘AndIhaveaskedapriesttoblesstheinfirmary.Hewillbewithusshortly.’Shehadseenno

flies herself, but these men undoubtedly believed in the vermin. That wasdangerousenough.‘Youhaveourthanks,goodSister,’Lemarchésaid,thenpointedhiscaneatthecadaver. ‘Santino, Hörka, bear our fallen comrade from the infirmary. SisterAsenathwillseethatyouaregrantedpassage.’‘Ain’t touching it,’ Santino muttered, backing away from the corpse. Hörkanoddedinmuteagreement,hiseyeswide.‘Wewillincineratetheremainshere,’Asenathsaidquickly,seeingtheflashoffuryinthecommissar’seyes.Itwouldbeunwisetopushthesemenrightnow.Besides,thecorpsewouldlikelydisintegrateiftheyattemptedtomoveit.‘SisterIndrik!’shecalledtotheirguard.‘Irequireyourassistance.’TheimposingBattleSisterappearedinthedoorway,hermeltaguncoveringtheroom.‘Icannotleavemypost,’sherumbledfrombehindhervisor.‘Asyouare aware, theCelestianSuperiorhasgrantedmeauthorityover thismatter,’Asenath said levelly. ‘Iwill vouch for thehonourof thesemen.Theywillnotattempttoleave.AmIcorrect,CommissarLemarché?’‘Absolutely,’hereplied.‘Weareallcomradeshere,SisterIndrik.’HeturnedtoReiss.‘Lieutenant,movethetroopsback.’‘Please, Sister,’Asenath urged theCelestian as themen shuffled towards therearoftheroom.‘Thismustbedonenow,lestthetaintspreadsfurther.’Thewarriorhesitatedamoment,thenstrodetowardsher.Whydoesshealwayskeepher facecovered?Asenathwondered.What isshehidingunderthere?Nothingfeltrightabouthercradleworldanymore.Whereversheturnedshesensedsecrets,liesandthepromiseofcorruption.Indrikkneltwithunexpectedgrace,anglinghergun toavoidburning throughthe floor.With a bright flash and awhoosh of superheated air the corpsewasreducedtoapileofoxidisedbonesandashes.‘Losethemelta!’aharshvoiceshouted.Asenath looked up. Toland Feizt was standing in the doorway, one armwrappedaroundJonahTythe,adaggerpressed tohis throat. ‘DoitnoworI’llsendthepriesttothevoid.’

It’s fullof flies,Feizt thought,staringat the infirmary in revulsion.The insectswereflittingabouteverywhere,swarmingoverthebedboundwoundedingreatblack clusters, even crawling over some of the able-bodied men, but nobodyseemedtocare.Hisbrothers’facesregisteredsurprise,relief,joy,confusion–allofitforhim–butnotthedisgustthatshouldbethere.

Nobodyelsecanseethem,Feiztrealised.Thatwaswhythefirstflyhadtrickedhim away – the queen fly. She’d sneaked back here and multiplied unseen,leechingoffhisbrotherswhilehecouldn’tprotectthem,bleedingthemdry,bodyandsoul…‘Toland!’ It was Sister Darkstar. She had stepped in front of the armouredwomanwiththemeltagun,herarmsraised.‘Youmustletthepriestgo.’‘Tellher…todrop…gun!’Feiztshookhisheadviolently,fightingtofindthewords,letaloneputthemtogether.Thesibilantdroningandscuttlingintheroomwaslikeanorchestralversionofthefirstfly’searliersolo.Itwasgnawingathismind,chewinguphisthoughtsbeforetheycouldharden.‘You’reseeingthings,aren’tyou?’Asenathsaid,approachingslowly.‘Flies… see flies.’But not around you, he noticed.No, they keptwell awayfromSisterDarkstar.‘Whatyou’reseeingisn’treal,Toland.’‘Notreal…’Feiztechoed,staringpastherattheswarminginsects.‘I’veseenthingstoo.’Shestoppedafewpacesaway.‘Terriblethings.’‘Flies?’‘Worsethanflies,’Asenathsaidsincerely.‘Butnoneofitisreal.’‘You’rewrong.’Feiztgrittedhis teethasanewsoundcut throughthe insects’racket. Itwasadissonant, jagged-glass keening, like the lament of something too broken toexist.Aglimmerofindigolightflickeredintolifeamongthemengatheredatthefarsideoftheinfirmary.‘They’re coming,’ he warned as the glimmer burgeoned into a flat, rapidlyrotating disc of liquid crystal. It was about a yard in diameter, its scintillant,shifting form almost too bright to look at, not that anybody else could see itanyway.Likethevermin,itwasinvisibletoeveryoneexcepthim.No…notquite…The flies could see it too. They were buzzing about the disc frantically,seeminglyincensedbyitsintrusionontheirterritory.Thosethatdrewtooclosetoitsorbitcombustedinnoxiousgreenbursts.‘Listentome,Toland,whateveryou’reseeing,don’tlookatit,’Asenathurged.‘Lookingmakesitreal.’Feizttorehisgazeawayfromtheconflictingnightmaresandsawhereyeswerebrightwith the terrible pity he had seen before. In thatmoment hewas quitecertainshewasthebestandtheworstofthemall.‘Toland…’Endure…

‘Toolate,’herasped.Withanelectricscreechthediscsoaredtowardshim,tearingintangiblythrougheverything except the flies,which died in droves in itswake. Feizt closed hiseyesasitpassedthroughthehospitallerandengulfedhim.

‘Sayagain,Darkstar-Red,’CaptainFroesevoxed.‘Whatistoolate?’Iam,Feizt thought.Heopenedhiseyesto thecrystalhellandrecognisedthemoment.Somewherefarawayheheardhisknifeclatteringtothegroundandtheghostsoffuturetimesyellingatoneanother–evenfeltthepriestbreakfreeofhishold–butheletitallfadeaway.Nothinginthatworldmattered.Thiswaswherehebelonged.Whilehe’dbeengonehisbrothershadcontinuedtheirill-fatedadvance.Theywere deep inside the labyrinth now, their force divided and scattered alongdifferentstrands.Feiztwasattheheadofasinglesquad,walkingalongapathsonarrowthatonemisstepmightplungehimintothevoidoneitherside.Thewebhadjustbeguntotrillitsdarksongasitspulsequickenedattheintrusion.Itwasprobablytoolatetochangethings,buthehadtotryanyway.‘All units, fall back to the perimeter,’ Feizt broadcast, scanning the glitteringweb.‘Doubletime!’‘Orderoverruled!’LemarchésnappedfromhispositionbehindFeizt.‘Wewillnotabortthemission.’‘I’mseeingincreasedactivityupahead,’LieutenantSchulze,thecommanderofDarkstar-Blue voxed, his voice almost drowned by a squall of static. FeiztrecalledthatSchulze’ssquadhadgotclosertothesphere’scorethananyoftheothers.Notoneofthemhadmadeitoutalive.‘Looks like blue lights. They’re coming out of the web, moving–’ Schulze’ssignal erupted into a screech of white noise. Moments later an eerie,reverberating cacophony echoed through the labyrinth – the cough of gunfiredistortedintosomethingalmostharmonic.‘Multiple contacts,’ Captain Froese sent. ‘Unidentified xenos objects.We areengaging.’They’renotxenos,Feiztthoughtwildly.They’resomethingmuchworse.‘Donotengage!’hevoxedurgently.‘Fallback!’‘Sayagain,Darkstar-Red?’Commissar Lemarché levelled his plasma pistol at Feizt. ‘By the authorityinvestedinme,Idecree–’Alargediscofliquescentlightsoaredoutofthewebandstreakedtowardsthe

squad, screamingelectronicallyas it came.As themen raised theirweapons ittorerightthroughBreacherHerkenbergatthewaistandspedon,makingforthecrystal tangle on the far side. Blue fire and black smoke vomited fromHerkenberg’s wound as it yawned open and the hapless trooper’s upper halftoppled into the abyss.His disembodied legs remained standing, held rigid bythe arcane energies crackling along them. The squad chased his killer withgunfire, but their bolt-rounds exploded when they entered the disc’s glowingaura.Itwasgoneinseconds,passingintothecrystalskeinlikeaghost.Bulletsshattered against theweb in theRazor Light’swake, but didn’t even scuff itsglassysurface.‘We’ve got nothing to touch them!’ Feizt yelled, yanking Lemarché aside asanotherdiscwhirledpast.That’stheonethattookhisleg,heremembered.Ichangedthings!Lemarché’spistolflaredashefiredasearingblastofplasmaaftertheretreatingentity. It struck the Razor Light’s rim and the thing ruptured like aminiaturenova,spewingstreamersoflight.Heneverhadachancetoshootbefore,Feiztrealised.Wecanhurtthem!Butonegunwouldn’tmakemuchdifference–notagainstthenumbersthey’dbeupagainstsoon.Feizt’svoxwasalreadycracklingwithurgentreports fromothersquadsastheattackrampedupacrossthesphere.‘Commissar,wegottogo!’heurged.Before Lemarché could reply a Razor Light surged up through the groundbeneathhim,tiltedsoitemergededgefirst.Thecommissarleaptaside,butthedisc sheared throughhis right leg, severing the limb just above theknee.Halfsubmergedinthecrystal,thethingpoweredalongthepathwaytowardstherestofthesquadlikeaspectralbuzzsaw.ThetrooperbehindLemarchédodgeditscharge but lost his footing and tumbled into the void as the disc sped past. Itripped through thenextman in line,bisectinghimfrom themidriffdown inasprayofblood.Hescreamedashisbodysplinteredunderitsownweight.‘For the Emperor!’ the mutilated commissar yelled, firing as he fell to theground.His plasma blast obliterated theRazorLight alongwith the shriekingtrooper.ThatwasSchroyder!Feiztrealisedasthecharredcorpsetoppledintotheabyss.ButSchroydersurvived…lasttime.Thingswerechanging.Lemarchéhadlostadifferentlegandamanwho’dlivedbeforewasnowdead.‘Pullourcomradesout,breachsergeant,’Lemarchéordered.‘Go!’Feiztbellowedathissquadashehauledthecommissarup.Themanwas

barelyconsciousandbloodwaspumpingfromthestumpofhisleg.Itwasjustas well there was an atmosphere here, else such injuries would be fatal inseconds.Feiztprisedtheplasmapistolfromthecommissar’sgripthenhesitated.Wecouldleavehimbehindthistime.Hell,Icouldeventhrowthebastardtothevoid!‘I’lltakehim,breachsergeant,’Glickesaid,relievinghimoftheinjuredmanasifhe’dheardFeizt’strainofthought.Evenamidthecarnagethedoomedtroopersoundedcalm.Itwouldbebestifyoufellhere,brother,Feiztthoughtsadly,rememberingthedecayingthinghe’dhacked–wouldhack?–apartintheship’sinfirmary.Thenagain,maybeGlicke’sfatecouldchangetoo.‘We’velostthecaptain,’hisvoxsquawked.‘Repeat–CaptainFroeseisdown!’‘Allsquadsdisengageandfallback!’Feiztbroadcast,hurryingafterGlicke.TheRazorLightsflittedaboutthemenastheyretreatedthroughthetangle,buttheirmovementswerebecoming increasinglyerratic, as if theyonly registeredtheir prey intermittently. Occasionally a disc would swoop towards the squadandFeiztwouldmeetitwithablastofplasma,butthefurtherhisteamgotfromthecorethelessaggressiveitssentinelsbecame.‘What’s in there?’Feiztmuttered tohimself.Thequestionhadnever troubledhimbefore,butnowhecouldn’tletitgo.Hekeptthinkingabouttheblindmanwho had instigated this carnage. The bastard was probably monitoring thingsfrom the safety of the company’s cruiser, infuriated at losing his prize. ‘Whatwereyoulookingfor?’AstheynearedtheperimetertheybegantorunintotheremnantsofDarkstar-Red’s other squads. All had taken heavy losses and the survivors were badlymauled. From the reports coming in, their fellow platoons hadn’t faredmuchbetter.AsFeiztexpected, therewasnowordatall fromDarkstar-Blue.Justasbefore,noneofLieutenantSchulze’smenwouldbecomingback.Justasbefore,CaptainFroesehadbeenlost,alongwithmostofthecompany.‘WhatdifferencedidIreallymake?’Feiztasked.Hissquadhadgotofflightlythanks to Lemarché’s plasma gun, but otherwise themassacre had played outmuchthesameway.Ididn’tgetcutup,Feiztrealised,hammeringafistuponhisintactbreast-plate.TheRazorLightshadn’tgotclosetohimthistime,butthatdidn’tmakeupfortheslaughtermetedoutonthecompany.MaybeIcantryagain,hethought.Doitbetternexttime!‘No!’Itwasawoman,hershoutcomingfromsomewherefaraway.

Feizt’sheadexplodedwithpain,turningtheworldbrightwhiteforaheartbeat,then hewas back in the infirmary. The commissar stood before him, his faceimpassive as he raised his metal-tipped cane to strike again. Flies circled hishigh-peaked cap in an unholy halo as hemouthed words Feizt couldn’t hear.SisterDarkstarwas stepping towardsLemarché, her hands raised inprotest asshe yelled silently, with the priest just behind her. Beyond them he saw hiscomrades’shockedfaces,includingafewthathadn’tbeentherebefore.ButnotSchroyder…No,StefanSchroyderwasgonenow,erasedfromthisfutureworldlikehehadneverexisted.It’s all messed up, Feizt thought as the tableau played out. Everything wastinted blue and moving so slowly it felt like every moment was strained tobreakingpoint, as if thewholeworldwere trying to swimupstream throughacurdledriver.‘Shouldn’t…be…here,’hesaid,hiswordsdistendingintoadrawn-outgroanasLemarchébroughtthecanedownonhisskullwithlethargic,yetsavageforce.Feiztreeledbackwardsandfell……backintotheRazor–andovertheedgeofthepathwayhehadbeenstandingon.Time snappedawake, thenaccelerated into ablur,hurlinghim into theabyssbetweenthecrystallinestrands.AsheplummetedthroughthewebaRazorLightwhirledpasthim,slicinghisbellyopenasitwhizzedby.Feiztlaughedthroughthe pain, knowing the wound would be identical to the one he had sufferedbefore.Therewasnoescapeand therewouldbenomorechances. Ithadbeentoolatefromthestart.‘Endure,TolandFeizt!’heheardSisterDarkstarurge.No…Itwasn’thervoice. Itwasn’t anykindofvoiceat all really, though itsbuzzingmessagewas unmistakable. As darkness gathered at the edges of hisvisionandhisthoughtsbegantoshutdownherealiseditwasthefly talking tohim.Itwasinsidehishelmet.

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–FourthStatement

Twodayshaveelapsedsincemylastaccounting.Thestormhaspassed,andwithitthemadnessthatbesiegedoursouls.ThoughtheKoronatusRingisstillsomefivedaysdistantIbelieveourExodusisfinallyover.UnderCelestianSuperiorXhinoa’scommandaprecariouscalmholdsswayoverourvessel,butnoneofustrustittoofar.ThehereticswhodefiledtheBloodofDemeter’shearthavegonetoground,buttheyareundoubtedlystillamongus.Sayit’snotso!SisterCamille,whoIhavecometodetest,soughttocondemnSergeantFeiztforthechapel’sdesecration,citinghistwistedphysiqueasamarkofcorruption,butIwouldhavenoneof it.Though the sergeant’s sanityevidently snappedundertheduressofExodus,leadingtothetragicdeathsoftwoCandlewards,Idonotbelieve Feizt is capable of such atrocity. Artistry! The adoration of hiscomrades and the tales they tell of his courage bear witness to a harsh, buthonourablemanwhowouldneverembraceheresy.InanycaseTolandFeiztwilllikelyperishbeforewereachtheRing.Hisoldwoundshavefesteredandthenewones Commissar Lemarché inflicted with such enthusiasm may have causedlastingdamagetohisbrain,thoughitisimpossibletosaywithanycertainty,forFeizt has not awoken since the incident in the infirmary. At the Celestian -Superior’s insistencehehasbeen confined toa separate cabinunder constantwatch.

Astomyothercharges,asemblanceoforderhasbeenrestoredamongthem.MuchasIdislikeCommissarLemarché,hiscompetenceinmattersofdisciplinesubjugation isunquestionableunforgivable,but Ibelieve thegreaterbalanceofcreditfortheBreachers’improvedspiritslieswiththepriestwhotravelswithus.JonahTytheisanenigmatome.Ihaveonlyknownonemanwhocouldaddressacongregationwithsuchskill,meldingfervourandcamaraderieintosomethingunbreakableyet fluidenoughtoconvinceeverylistenerhiswordsareintendedfor themalone. Though the effect of his sermons iswelcome,witnessing themdisturbs me. Perhaps my second life has soured me to such rhetoric, butwhenever Tythe preaches I see a performance, not a man speaking from theheart.Andyet,despitehisartifice,Ibelievethereisalsoastreakofnobilityinhim. He took my side in petitioning clemency for Feizt, then assisted mediligently throughthelonghoursI labouredtostabilise thewoundedman.Hispiety may be contrived, but his compassion appears genuine. However, suchcontradictionsarenotwhyIamdrawntothepriest.Oh,praydotell,Sister?Like myself, I sense that Jonah Tythe has come to Vytarn for a purpose –somethingaltogethermoreconsequential than the transparentruseofresearchhehasoffered.Whoeverthismanis,heisnobookishscholarandIamcertainourpathshavenotcrossedbychance.BeforewereachtheRingIhaveresolvedtolearnwhetherheisdestinedtobeafriendorafoeinthecomingstruggle.

‘That was quite a climb, Sister,’ Jonah said, hauling the heavy hatch of thebeaconchamberclosedbehindhimasheentered.‘Butoneworthyof theeffort,’Asenathrepliedwithout turningfromthevistabelow.Fromthewatchtower’sheightstheoceanlookedlikeasmooth,wine-darkmirror, with the grey slab of the ship its only blemish. Had that wine turnedsour? Under the bright, clear sky of Vytarn’s twinned dawn that seemedimpossible,butserenitycouldbethemostadeptofdeceivers.‘It is a humbling sight,’ Jonah observed, joining her by the glass-walledprecipice.‘I’veneverbeenonaworldwithtwosuns.’The circular chamber atop the tower was virtually the highest point on thevessel,onlyexceededby thesensorvanesand lightning rodsbristling fromitsbronzedome.Ahuge,many-facetedlumenglobedominatedtheroom’scentre,itssurfaceacid-etchedwithholyscript.Beyondthechamber’sglasswallssevenmassivebellshungfromrodsjuttingfromthedomeatevenintervals.Inastorm

they would swing about on their chains like giant censers, emitting light andincenseastheyrangtowardthevesselfromevil.‘ItissaidtheTornProphetalwaysfacedExodusfromthebeacontowerofthevesselTheytravelledupon,’Asenathsaidsolemnly.‘They?’‘Yes, that ishowwerefer totheProphet.NobodyknowswhethertheFirstoftheLastwasmaleor female,orperhaps somehallowedamalgamof the two.’Hervoicefell intotheflowingcadenceofastoryteller.‘ManybelievetheLastCandlewasfoundedbytwins–abrotherandsisterdescendedfromaforgottensaintwhodiscoveredVytarninadream.OthersclaimshewasanarchmagosoftheAdeptusMechanicuswho decoded theGospels Illuminant from the secretgeometryoftheKoronatusRing,andinsodoingsplinteredhermindintosevenindependentparadigms,eachenshrinedinoneof theSevenSpires.TheSistersoftheIronCandleasserthewasafallenAdeptusAstarteswarriorwhoredeemedhimselfbydefeatingadaemonattheheartofthisworld.Throughthatvictoryhewasexaltedbydivine revelation, though thebattle left himphysicallybroken.Therearenineprominentoriginstoriesandcountlesstangentialmyths.’‘Surelythere’sarecord,’Jonahsaidsceptically.‘TheLastCandleisscarcelyathousandyearsold.’‘Therearemanyrecords.’Asenathranherfingersalongthemistedglassbeforeher. ‘Look for an answer and you shall find evidence of much, but proof ofnothing,preciselyastheTornProphetintended.’‘Andwhatdoyoubelieve,AsenathHyades?’‘Ibelieveitdoesnotmatter,’shereplied.‘Itisnotthetruthoftheanswerthathas significance, but the sincerity of the seeker. Ambiguity encourages thedevouttofindthemselvesintheGod-Emperor’sLight.’‘TheImperialCreedisn’tmuchinclinedtowardsambiguity,Sister.’‘Which iswhy the Last Candle rarely shares such reflectionswith outsiders.Theignorantseecorruptionineverythingtheyfailtounderstand.’‘Ahereticmightsaythesamething.’‘Theymight,’Asenathagreed,erasingthemarksshehadmadeontheglass.‘Ihavecertainlyknownsomewhohave,andputmyshareofthemtothesword.’Sheknewtheywereondangerousterritorynow,buttherewasnoavoidingitifshewantedtogethismeasure.Ifherinstinctswerewrongandheprovedtobeanobduratefanaticitwouldbebettertosettlethemattersoonerratherthanlater.Thatwaswhyshehadchosenthisremoteplacefortheirmeeting.‘DoyouthinkIamaheretic,brother?’Thiswouldbethemomentofhistruth.

Asenath’sgriptightenedontheboltpistolhiddenunderherrobes.‘Itsoundslikeyou’restillloyaltotheLastCandle,’herepliedcarefully.‘Iremainloyaltoitsprinciples,yes.WebelievetheGod-Emperor’sdivineplanis subtler than the orthodoxy preaches. Aeons of strife have eroded His trueintent.’‘Whichwas?’‘Surely youmean is, priest?’ Asenath finally turned to face him. ‘The God-EmperorisaseternalasHisvision.’‘I stand corrected.’ Jonah inclined his head, but therewas a sour edge in hisvoicenow.Clearlyshehadhitarawnerve.‘Tellmethen,Sister,whatisHistrueintentformankind?’‘TheLastCandlehasbeenstrivingtodecipherthatsinceitsinception.Thatisitssacredpurpose.’‘Meaningyoudon’tknow.’‘TheTornProphetwasblessedwith theseedsof revelation,but theymustbenurtured before theywill bear fruit.Only through rigorous contemplation andreverencewillweattainenlightenment.’Asenathwassurprisedby thestrengthofherconviction.Despiteallthetroublingthingsshehadexperiencedsinceherreturn she still had faith in her old sect’s mission. ‘We believe mankind isdestinedtorulethestars,butwedonotacceptthatourfateiswarwithoutend.’‘It’sunusualtohearaBattleSistertalkthatway.’‘Itisunusualforapreachertolisten,’Asenathcountered.Shedidn’tdenythetitle he had given her. She had become a warrior again the moment shereclaimedherweapon.Tristesse felt restless inherhand, impatient todispensejustice.Ihavekepthermuzzledtoolong,Asenathsensed.Perhapsyouwillbethefirsttogivehersuccour,JonahTythe.Theyregardedeachotherinsilence.EventuallyJonahdrewalho-stickfromhispouch.‘Whyarewetalking?’heaskedashelitthenarcotic.‘Whatdoyouwantfromme,SisterAsenath?’‘IwanttoknowwhyyouhavecometotheCandleworld.’‘I’vealreadytoldyou.I’mhereaboutabook.’‘Youarenoresearcher.’‘Inever said Iwas.’Hesmiled thinly. ‘Leastwise,not toyou, though Iadmitthat’sthestoryItoldthequill-pushersbackatthespaceport.’‘IamsurprisedyouweregrantedpassagetotheRing.TheLastCandlerarelywelcomesvisitors.’

‘Iwasinvited.’‘Invited?’Asenathcouldn’thidehersurprise.‘Bywhom?’‘AmancalledOlberVedas.’Asenath frowned.Shedidn’t know the name…andyet…Amemory slippedinto place out of nowhere. At first the knowledge felt anomalous, dislocatedfrom any rationale, but the longer she focused on it the more grounded itbecame. Supporting facts and impressions slithered from the name like neuraltendrils,wormingtheirwaydeeperintohermemories.WithinsecondssheknewexactlywhoOlberImmanuelVedaswas.Indeedshewasshockedthatshecouldhaveforgottenthesect’smostprominentlivingtheologian.Vedashadbeenoneof the Last Candle’s guiding lights for almost seventy years. Anotherspontaneousmemorybloomed–hewas thecurrentprovostof theLuxNovus,thesect’sscholaprogenium.‘What’swrong?’Jonahasked,hiseyesnarrowing.‘Nothingiswrong.HowdoyouknowoftheTheologusExegessor?’‘Wegobackalongway,Sister.’Hewaswatchingherintently.‘Butyoudidn’tknowhim,didyou?Justforamomenttherethenamemeantnothingtoyou.’‘Thatisabsurd.’‘Itis,’heagreed,‘butthat’showitworkssometimes.’‘Howwhatworks?’‘Theworld.’ Jonah shook his head. ‘It’s all tangled up in itself.Maybe evenbroken. I’ve seen things change, then change again, like they were beingshuffled over and over.Nothing’s set in stone anymore, if anything everwas.Themoreyoulookatit, themoreyouseethecracks.’Heinhaleddeeplyfromhislho-stickandAsenathnoticedhisfingerswereshaking.‘You’veseenittoo,Sister–theviolation–evenifyoudidn’trecogniseit.’‘I…’ Asenath hesitated, remembering the contortions of her Exodus and thecreepingwrongness of her recurrent nightmare.Yes,violationwas exactly therightwordforallofit.‘Ihave,’sheadmitted.‘Letmeguess.You thinkyou’ve comehere to fix things.’Hemade it soundlikeanaccusation.‘If that is the God-Emperor’s will,’ she answered. ‘Is that not your intent,priest?’‘Idoubtthingscanbefixed.I’mjustheretofindsomeone.’‘Vedas?’‘Him too.’ Jonah flicked the lho-stick aside. ‘We’reon the same road,Sister,likelywith thesameenemiesalong theway,so I’llworkwithyou.Maybewe

canhelpeachother,butthere’sonlysofarwecangotogether.’Hesmiled,buthiseyeswerecold.‘Dowehaveadeal,AsenathHyades?’Sheconsideredhisproposal.Didshetrusthim?Notreally.Washeevensane?Unlikely.Diditmatter?No, it doesn’t, she decided. Not yet, anyway. She let her finger slip fromTristesse’s trigger. ‘Iagree, JonahTythe.Weshallaideachotheruntilwepartways.’He nodded and headed for the door, then paused. ‘They’rewatching us, youknow.Evenuphere.’‘Iamawareofit,’Asenathreplied.Shehadspottedtheglintofmagnocularsonthe deck below. ‘But we are strangers here. After all that has happened theCelestianSuperiorwouldberemisstotrustusblindly.’‘Maybeso,butdon’tmakethemistakeoftrustinghereither.’Thebitternessinhis voicewas likevenom.No, itwasmore thanbitterness– itwaspure rage.‘Nothingiswhatitseemsanymore.’After he was gone, Asenath remained at the window, deliberating on theirconversation.TheywerebothservantsoftheEcclesiarchy,yetshehadnodoubtmostoftheirbrethrenwouldcondemnthemasheretics.‘Heresyliesintheheart,’shequoted.‘Not…’

‘…notincarelesswords,’FatherDeliverancedeclares,addressingtheadvisorsseatedaroundthetableofhisflagship’swarchamber.‘Careless words are spawned by impure hearts!’ Canoness Morgwyn of theThornEternalprotests.Herhatchetfaceispaintedchalk-white,emphasisingthescratches raked by the spiky vines hanging from her circlet. ‘These heathenshavedeniedtheGod-Emperor’sdivineword.BeforetheycanberedeemedtheymustbebrokenupontheanvilofHiswrath!’‘The armada the Arkan Union has mustered against us is superficiallyimpressive in numbers, but tactically inconsequential,’ Commodore Rand, thefleet commander, observes primly. ‘Our scans indicate their ships possesslamentablyprimitiveweaponsandshielding.Theyoutnumberustentoone,butasingleImperialcruisercouldlaywastetotheirentirefleetwithoutundueperil,thoughIconfessitmaytakesometime!’Helaughsasifhehasmadeafinejoke.Standing at attention behind Father Deliverance, Asenath grits her teethagainstthecommodore’snasalsquawk.Shehasnodoubtwhowouldcommandthedestroyingvessel;BarnabasRandisthekindofmanwhowouldrelisharisk-freebattle,thoughhewilldoubtlesstellthetaledifferentlyifhegetshisway.She

cannotunderstandhowsucha tawdrycreaturehas risen so far in theblessedImperium.Itisnotmyplacetojudge,shereprimandsherself,turningherthoughtstothematter at hand. The crusade fleet has finally reached the outer planets of theProvidenceSystem,whereithasbeenmetbyaforceofarchaicwarships,alongwithasternwarningtodepartorfacetheconsequences.‘Ourhesitation is shameful,yourreverence,’CanonessMorgwynpresses. ‘ByThroneandThornwemustcarveabloodyandenduringlessonintotheirsouls!’‘Iadviseagainstsuchacourse,’adeepbutmellifluousvoicebreaksin.‘TheseArkanarenotxenosordegenerates,butfellowmenwithaproudlineageandaculturedatingbackmanythousandsofyears,perhapseventoOldTerraitself.’Itisironictohearsuchsentimentsfromabeingthatisnolongertrulyhuman,yettheydonotsurpriseAsenath,fortheSpaceMarine’snobilitycloakshimlikeanaura,outshininghislustrousarmour.Evenseated,ArtificerCaptainVarzivalCzervantesoftheAngelsResplendenttowersovertheothersinthechamber,butitishisspiritratherthanhisphysicalstaturethattrulyeclipsesthemortals.Hiseffect on Asenath has not diminished since she first saw him ascending thePerihelioninFatherDeliverance’sprocession.Theabstractpaintingonhisrightshoulder pauldron shimmers in the gloom of the war chamber, its enigma astantalisingasever,whiletheleftbearshisChapter’semblem–ahoodedfigurewith its arms raised. Asenath has often wondered whether it symbolisesreverenceorrevelation.‘Ouractionsherewillinformthespiritofallthatfollows,’Varzivalcontinues.‘Havewenot journeyed to these lostworlds towelcomeourwaywardkindredinto the Imperium? Conflict will harden their hearts against us, even if itenforcestheirobedience.’‘They are a faithless rabble who spit upon the Imperial Creed,’ Morgwynsnarls.‘Thatcannotgounanswered!’‘Andyouwouldanswertheirignorancewithslaughter?’Varzivalaskscalmly.‘Is theirbelligerencesosurprising?Wehavecommanded them tokneelbeforeemptywords.’‘Emptywords?’ theCanonessExcrucianthisses,hereyesblazingassherisesfromherseat.‘Theyareemptyuntilweimbuethemwithsubstance,mylady.’‘Andwhat substance is there toyourwords?’Morgwynchallenges. ‘Whydidyoujointhiscrusade,Resplendent?WhatdoyouwantfromtheseArkan?YourChapterisnotrenownedforitspiety.’

‘WeservetheGoldenThroneinourownmanner.’‘Withprettybaublesandpaintings!’‘Isthatallyouimagineweare?’ThoughtheSpaceMarine’stoneremainscivilthere is a subtle shift in his bearing that makes Asenath catch her breath.Suddenly she is quite certain that Varzival Czervantes is the most dangerousbeing shewill evermeet. She has only conversedwith himonce, shortly aftertheircrusadewasunderway,whenhesoughtherout toquestionherabouttheCandleworld with a guileless fascination that was almost childlike. There isnothingchildlikeabouthimnow.‘Youhave never seen theResplendent in battle, have you canoness?’ he askssoftly.‘AndIdonotbelieveIeverwill,’Morgwynmocks.Despite the tension, Asenath feels more excitement than apprehension.Morethananythingelseshewantstoseethismagnificentwarriormakegoodonhiswordsandfight,foritwouldsurelybeagloriousspectacle.‘Thatisenough!’FatherDeliveranceslamsafistonthetable.ItisthefirsttimeAsenathhas seenhis composurewaver, though itwill not be the last. ‘WearefellowheraldsoftheGod-Emperor’sLight.ThisdiscordamongusisunbefittingofHistrustinus.’‘I stand corrected, Father,’ Morgwyn murmurs. Offering the sign of theBleeding Aquila, she sits, but Asenath senses no contrition in her. Indeed hermannerisalmost…contemptuous…thoughsurelythatcannotbe.Theconfessor’sthunderousexpressionbreaksintoitsfamiliarbenevolentsmile.‘Itappearswestandataforkintheroad,mychildren,’hesays.‘DoestheGod-Emperorintendustomeettheseheathenswithdiplomacyorfury?’‘Wewillbowtoyourwisdom,yourgrace,’CommodoreRandassureshim.‘And I will bow to the instincts of my Throne-blessed champion.’ FatherDeliverance stands and places a hand on Asenath’s shoulder. ‘Tell me, myVigilantPaladin,whatshallitbe?Theopenhandorthewrathfulblade?’

‘Whydidyouplace theburdenuponme?’Asenathwhispered. ‘Whowas I tochoose?’Yetchooseshehad,answeringwithoutamoment’shesitation.AtthetimeshehadbelieveditwastheGod-Emperorspeakingthroughher–believeditbecauseshewantedittobetrue.Later,afterthecarnagehadspreadlikewildfireacrosstheworldstheyhadcometosave,thefirstflickersofdoubthadbeguntobreakthrough her conviction, but she had squeezed hermind shut against them.By

thensheneededtobelieve.‘Wasittheansweryouwanted?’sheaskedhermentor.Butwhatdidthatreallymatter?Eitherway,thechoicehadbeenhers.Asenath caught sight of the grey-robed figure of Jonah crossing the deck farbelow. Shewatched as he stopped at the railings, presumably intent upon hisownbrooding.Theragehehadletslipattheendoftheirconversationdisturbedhermorethanhiswords.Whoareyoureally,JonahTythe?Asenathwondered.Somethinginthedistancecaughthereyeandshesquinted.Therewasasmallsnag on the horizon. Perhaps itwas only a trick of the twinned-light, but shesuspected it was the first sign of their destination. Only a few days ago thatprospectwouldhavemadeherheartsoar,butnowsheonlyfeltdread.

Clutching the ship’s railings in a white-knuckled grip, Jonah breathed hard,fighting to contain his fury. It felt like a living thingwrithing in his guts – aspinyserpentforgedfromred-hotcoals,eagertochewandtearandburnitswayfree.‘No,’Jonahsnarledthroughgrittedteeth.‘Notyet.’Talkingopenlyaboutthemetaphysicalsicknesshadbeenamistake.Puttingitintowords brought it out into the open –made itmore real.And that in turnstokedtheragehehadkepttetheredforsolong.‘Mina,’hehissed.

AndonceagainJonahishurtlingthroughthetangledstreetsofthenight-boundhive,allcautionandstealthabandoned.Nothingmattersnowexceptspeed.Hissister’sterror-strickenfaceflashesbeforehimwitheveryheartbeat,likeapulseofguilt.Thesilver-eyedaddicthastrickedhim–luredhimawayfromher.‘Youwon’thaveher!’hevowsthroughtornbreaths,overandover.His franticchargecarrieshimback to the sanctuaryblock inhalf the time ittooktoreachtheshrine,yetheisstilltoolate,ashehasalwaysknownhewouldbe.Thedooroftheirwretchedapartmentislocked,butMinaisgone.Hefindsherclotheslyingbeneaththeshutteredwindowwherehelastsawher,asifshehadwalkedright through it, shedding them in theprocess.Thereare tinypiecesofcoloured glass scattered atop the bundle. It takes Jonah several seconds torecognisethemastheshatteredglobesofhissister’sbelovedrosarybeads,thenseveralmoretorealisetheyhavebeenpainstakinglyorganisedintorudimentarywords.

Themessageissimple:Finishit.‘Iwill,’Jonahvows.‘AndthenI’llcomeforyou.’Fallingtohisknees,hepullsthehatefultomefrombeneathhisjacket.Hehasnodoubtthatthisisanothertrap,buthe’llriskwhateverheresyandhorrorthebookharboursifitwillleadhimtohisquarry,forthatissurelyitspurpose.Finishit.He reads the opening passage, though he can already recite that part like aprayer,thenhesitates,understandingtherecanbenogoingback.‘Nothingtogobacktoanyway,’hesaysandturnsthepage.Thenextisblank,asistheoneafter,andtheoneafterthat.Withgrowingfury,he flips through the book, but there is nothing more. Following its arcaneexordiumthetomeiscompletelyempty.Numbly Jonah lets the book slip fromhis fingers. It is a long time before heunderstandswhathisnemesiswantsofhim.

Areyoureallyhere,Mina?Jonahwondered.Oristhisworldjustanotherdeadend?No,thistimeitwouldbedifferent.ThemessagethathaddrawnhimtoVytarnwas too well informed to be anything but authentic… and its bearer toodisturbingtoignore.Therecouldbenodoubtaboutthesender’sidentity.Andhehadanamenow.‘I have your book, you silver-eyed bastard,’ he said,making it a threat. Thetome was with him now, strapped above his heart, exactly where he’d beencarryingitonthatfatefulcommission,solongago.Itwentwithhimeverywhere,asmuchapartofhimastheorganthatbeatbeneathit.‘It’salmostdone,’Jonahsaid,placingahandonthebook’sdeadweight.‘AndI’mcomingforyou.’

‘Thepast is alwayspresent inour thoughts, asmutableanduncertainasanyfuture,fortheonlyrealityistheoneweimagine,andimaginationisthemostinconstantofallqualities.’

–TheTornProphetTheGospelsIlluminant

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–FifthStatement

Aftermuchtravailourjourneyisfinallycomingtoanend.Iwritethesewordsfrom theship’sbeacon toweraswemakeour finalapproach to theKoronatusRing.TwonightsagoIspiedtheglimmeroftheFirstLightonthehorizon.ItwasablessedsightforIhadbeguntofearthesacredflameatopthePerihelionhadbeenextinguished,andwithitwhateverhoperemainstome.Fartoolate!Each morning since, I have returned to this vantage point and watched thepeaksoftheblessedarchipelagogrowalittletaller,likestonefingersrisingfromthe ocean. The Perihelion mount at the circle’s centre was the first to revealitself, for its height is almost twice that of its lesser brethren. It towers somethreethousandfeetabovethewaterline,thelowestfivehundredofthemfallingawayintoanear-verticaldroponallsides.Longagothemostcourageousofthesect’sBattleSisterswouldclimbthisprecipitouscliffasatrialof faith,butthepracticewas forbiddenafter thedeath tollgrew tooburdensome.Toquote theever-prudentCanonessAgneithatheWakeful,‘IhathnotSistersenoughtospareforthefeedingoffish.’HAH!ThreedaysagothemajestyofthePerihelionwasfullyrevealed.Itssummitissheathed in thewhitemarble edifice of the great cathedral, theCandelabrum,whosecentralminaretbears theholy fire in itsseven-faceted lanternchamber.Below this soaring tower the cathedral unfolds beneath a canopy of shining

domes that cluster about the peak like silver mushrooms. In keeping with thedecreesoftheGospelsIlluminantthebuildingisheptagonalinform,witheachfacealignedtooneoftheRing’ssevenencirclingmountainsandsetwithavaststained-glasswindowveneratingitscorrespondingvirtue.Likesevenmanaclesofservitudeenchainingthesoul!Wherethecathedralends,theholycityofSophiaArgentumbegins.Itsprecinctsclusteraboutthemountain’supperreachesinacascadeofelegantlyappointedbuildings that encompass all the elements of a thriving community. Among itsfinestmonumentsaretheLibrariumProfundisandtheMuseumMetaphysicaoftheSilverCandle,forthecityisundertheauspicesofthesect’sSistersDialogus,whoarescholarswithoutparallel.While theSistersof the IronCandleofferprotection,and thoseof theBronzesuccour, it is the learnedwomenof theSilverwhoare theLastCandle’smostprecious servants, for it is they who pore ceaselessly over the Torn Prophet’swritings, scrutinising, correlating and interpreting our founder’s everyobservationinlightofeveryother.Sincetheprophet’sdisappearancetheyhavediligentlysoughtthesublimeconcordanceofunderstandingthatwillunlocktruerevelation.IftheFirstLightisthesect’ssoul,theSilverCandleisitsmind.AndBOTHareequallyblind-boundandbanal.Thismorning the cobbled coil of theProphet’sCausewaywas clearly visiblefrom the ship. It winds down from the city’s outskirts in a great corkscrew,looping about the mountain nine times before terminating at the crenelatedfortress of the Overport, where our vessel is headed. More precisely, we areheaded for theUnderport,which lies directly below its twin at the foot of thecliff.Thetwobastionsareconnectedbyamechanisedpulleysystemthathaulsagiantsilvercagealongthecliff, ferryingtravellerstoandfromthesea.Thisistheonlymeansofsafepassagetotherealmabove,soallbuttheboldestofsoulsmustpassthroughtheMirroredPorts.Thus far Ihavesaid littleof theSevenSpires,yet theysurelyencapsulate thedivine enigma of the Koronatus Ring more vividly than the Perihelion itself.Arranged like the numerals upon the face of an eldritch Terran timekeepingdevice, theyencircle thecentralmount inperfectequidistance,both from theirparentandfromoneanother.Eachisanislandinitsownright,butallarelinkedtothePerihelionbysweepingstonebridgesthattakemanyhourstotraverseonfoot.Fromthebaseofeachmountainaroadwindsupthroughaprocessionofshrines and statuary carved into the raw rock, culminating in a crowningshamingtempleatitspinnacle.

Thoughthespiresaremostlyalikeinheightandbreadth,eachisdedicatedtoone of the Seven Virtues, which informs its nature both aesthetically andpractically. For example, Clementia, the Spire ofMercy, is the domain of theBronzeCandle.ItssombreshrinesareconsecratedtotheBleedingAngelanditplays host to the order’s hospital, the SacrastaVermillion,where our party isboundtodie!Almost as old as the Last Candle itself, the Sacrasta is a sprawling, many-flooredestatebuiltintothemountaindirectlyoppositetheClementiaBridge.Itscopiouswards,laboratoria,surgeriesandinstructionhallsarealabyrinthtotheuninitiated,thelogicoftheirlayoutapparentonlytoitslong-vanishedarchitect.ForaplaceofsuccourIrecallitasbeingpeculiarlydisagreeabletotheeyeandspiritalike.IncommonwithallinitiatesoftheLastCandle’ssisterhood,Ispentmy first years under the tutelage of the Bronze Candle, learning thefundamentalsofhealinginthatbrooding,shadow-hauntedplace.Iconfessmymemoriesofthosetimesarenothappyones.

‘Idon’tlikethelookofit,’Jonahsaidastheirtruckrolledthroughthewrought-irongatesofthehospital’scourtyard.‘Nor I,’ Asenath answered from the seat behind him, staring at the buildingthrough the vehicle’s rain-streaked windows. The Sacrasta Vermillion lookedevenmoreuninvitingthansherememberedit. Itsalabasterfaçadewascrackedandmottledwith grime, showing through to the brickwork beneath in places.Twoofitsdecorativetowershadcollapsed,leavingthegabledroofwithaseedy,lopsided aspect, like a broken-toothed smirk. Lightning vanes jutted from thetilesliketoothpicks,swayingaboutinthehighwind,whilespirevineshungfromthegutters,drapingthearchedwindowsbelowintatteredcurtains.Manyofthewindowsweredarkorblindedbyironshutters,suggestingentirewingshadbeenclosedoff.‘Ithaschanged,’Asenathwhispered.Thoughshehadseen intimationsof thisdecayduringheryouthitsprogresswasdismaying.Sheprayedtheatrophydidnotextendtothehealerswhoresidedwithin.Howdidtheyletitfallsofar?shewondereduneasily.Withalurchthetruckbrakedtoahaltoutsidethehospital’sdoubledoors.Thestatueof theBleedingAngel that loomedover themwaswornalmost smooth,herfaceerodedtoavagueabstraction,andherwingsdroopingforlornly.LightspilledintothegloomycourtyardastheSacrasta’sdoorswereflungopenand a group of hospitallers hurried from the building, their lanterns throwing

shadowsacrossthecobbledstones.‘On your feet, Breachers!’ Lieutenant Reiss barked from somewhere behindAsenath.Asthetrooperscrammedintothevehicleobeyed,sheroseandgrabbedherbagfromtherackabove.Shehadbeenassuredtherestofherchattelswouldfollowshortly,buteverything thatreallymatteredwasalreadyhere.Tristesse’sweight felt reassuringas sheslipped thebagoverher shoulderandheaded fortheexithatch.Despite her misgivings their transfer from the Blood of Demeter had gonesmoothlythusfar.ThreemedicaetruckshadawaitedherpartyattheOverport,two of them hauling massive wagons filled with gurneys for the seriouslyinjured.Adetachmentoforderliesinthestripedwhite-and-crimsontunicsoftheBronzeCandle’slaypersonnelhadaccompaniedthevehicles,commandedbyaplump,fussilyefficienthospitaller.‘Everything has been arranged, Sister Asenath,’ the woman had announcedofficiously. ‘A ward has been prepared and our finest healers stand ready toassess your patients.’ She had introduced herself as Sister Solanis, MotherSuperioroftheAlephWing,evidentlytakingprideinthetitle,thoughitmeantnothing to Asenath. Every order of the Last Candle had its own convolutedhierarchy.Eachisalawuntoitself,shemused,followingJonahfromthevehicle.Whatifthetiesthatbindthemarefraying?Sheshiveredasshesteppeddownintothewind-lashedcourtyard.Theirjourneyalong thePerihelion’s crumblingperimeter road, thenover the bridge toSpireClementia, had taken nearly six hours and dusk had set in, accompanied by asteadydrizzleofrain.‘Weneed to get thewounded insidewithout delay,’ she toldMotherSolanis,whowascoordinatingtheorderlies.‘I shall see to it, Sister,’ the woman replied. ‘Please go ahead. PalatineChirurgeonBhatorihasrequestedthatyouattendheruponyourarrival.’‘Bhatori?’Asenathechoedinconfusion.ButAkaishiBhatoridieddecadesago!Theknowledgeflashedbeforeheroutofnowhere.SisterInitiateOrlandalosthermindandpushedtheoldharridanfromthe window of her study. They cast Orlanda from Clementia’s peak inpunishmentforhersinandMotherShilohtheGentlewasappointedtheorder’snewmistress.‘Areyouwell,Sister?’Solanisasked.Asenath looked at her blankly as she tried to disentangle hermemories. The

recollections were already fragmenting into phantasms, then mere figmentsbeforeshecouldgetagriponthem.Shecouldfeelthepastreshufflingbeneathher,rippingapartandrewritinghermemoriesasitsettledintoanewanddarkerparadigm.OrlandacutherownthroatandBhatorilived.Stilllives…‘SisterAsenath?’‘Forgiveme,’Asenathmurmured. ‘It gladdensmyheart to hear that PalatineBhatoriiswell.’‘Indeed,Sister.’Solanisbeamed,buthereyeswereaslifelessaspaintedglassorbs. ‘Our reveredmistresshasexpressedheranticipationat seeingyouagain.Sheremembersyouwell.’I look forward to it, Asenath thought warily. There had been no love lostbetween her and Bhatori during her apprenticeship and she doubted theintervening years had mellowed the old woman. Indeed the notion seemedpreposterous.‘My first duty is to my patients, Mother Solanis,’ she said. ‘I am sure thepalatinewillunderstandthedelay.’‘As you wish,’ the plump hospitaller answered. ‘Come, then.’ She turnedtowards the truck behind as it disgorged the first of the gurneys bearing thewounded.‘Areyousureyou’vebroughtus to the rightplace?’ Jonahasked,comingupalongsideAsenath.HehadagreedtoaccompanyhertotheSacrastaandhelpthetroopssettlein.‘Nothingisquiterightanymore,priest,’Asenathreplied.‘Asyouwellknow.’Butashereyesstrayedbacktothedismalbuildingshefoundherselfwonderingjusthowwrongthingsmightbehere.

II

‘I can’t eat this,’ Breacher Santino said, turning his spoon over glumly. Thegreenmush theorderlieshadserved the troopsclung to theutensil for severalsecondsbeforesloppingbackintohisbowl.‘Tastegoodtome,’Hörkagruntedfromacrossthetable.Hewasshovellingthestuffthroughhisbeardasifhehadn’teatenindays.‘That’s ’coz your mouth’s a crap-can, Ork,’ Santino suggested. ‘Can’t tasteworsethanitalreadyis.’‘Medicineisnotmeanttobeflavourful,comrade,’Zevrajchidedhim.

‘Ain’tmedicinethough,isit,deacon?’‘Itcontainsmedicine,Santino,’Zevrajsaid.‘WemusttrustourbenefactorsandgivethankstotheGod-Emperorfordeliveringus,yes.’Thewalkingwounded–justthirteenmennow–weregatheredaroundalongtable in thehospital’s refectory.Other than theorderlies standingby thedoorstheywerealone,andtheirvoicesechoedeerilythroughthebighall.Arewetheonlypatientshere?IchukwuLemarchéwonderedashelistenedtothe troops’ banter. The possibility heightened the disquiet he’d felt since theirarrival,thoughhecouldfindnoobviouscauseforconcern.Despitethehospital’sdilapidatedexterioritscustodiansappearedcompetent.Theyhadshepherdedtheable-bodiedtroopersthroughasuccessionofcorridorstoawardonthegroundfloor, thenferriedtheir lessfortunatecomradesinontrolleys.Asacommissar,Lemarchéhadbeenofferedprivatequarters,buthehaddeclined.Hisplacewaswithhismen.Only forty-eight of us left now, he reflected. Franké and Hombach hadsuccumbed to the Razorblight during the last days of their voyage, thoughmercifully without the grotesquerie that had dogged Konrad Glicke’s death.Indeed,afterthestormpassed,lifehadsettledintoawelcomeroutine.Eventhetroops’obsessionwithphantomflieshadevaporated.Byallreasonablemeasuresthe worst was over, yet Lemarché couldn’t shake off the feeling that theirsituationhadsomehowgrownmoreperilous.‘Whatdoyoumakeofthem,commissar?’ReissaskedquietlyfromtheplaceonLemarché’sright.‘TheSisters?’‘Whatdoyoumakeofthem,lieutenant?’‘They’reAdeptaSororitas. I know I shouldn’t question them…’Reiss trailedoffuneasily.‘But?’Lemarchéprompted.‘Thisplace…Itfeelsofftome,sir.’Off. Like a perfumed corpse, the commissar thought darkly. Beneath theomnipresentscentofpurifyingoils therewasadank,earthystenchpermeatingtheSacrasta.Thebuildingsmelledmorelikeamausoleumthanahospital.‘Wewillkeepwatchtonight,lieutenant,’hesaid.‘JustyouandIfornow.Thereisnopurposeinagitatingthetroops.’‘Yes,sir.’Reisslookedrelieved.His instincts are sound, but he doesn’t trust them, Lemarché judged. Hisdisappointment in theofficerhadgrownover their journey.TheRazorhadcutaway something more vital than flesh or bone in Vanzynt Reiss. That might

proveaproblem.‘Where’dtheytakethechief?’CorporalPynbachdemandedthroughamouthfulofgruel.‘That’swhatIwanttoknow.Theywheeledeveryoneelseinafterus,butnothim.’Thereweremuttersofsupportfromaroundthetable.Lemarchésighed.Wouldthesemenneverlettheiraberrantchampiongo?Evenafter the debacle in the infirmary their faith in the breach sergeant wasundiminished. Though Feizt had been kept in isolation on the ship SisterAsenathhadbroughtwordofhimeveryday,keepingtheBreachers’unhealthyobsessionalive.Ishouldhavehithimharder,Lemarchémused.Finishedhim.But he had struck twice, not holding back either time, and it had made nodifference.TolandFeizthadsimplyrefusedtodie.EventheRazorhadn’tbeenabletoendhim.The memory surfaced with sudden, vicious force – the doomed Breacherexpedition retreating through the xenos labyrinth, hunted bywhirling discs oflight,thenFeizt’sbellowofpainasheisstruckbysomethingunseenandhurledintotheabyssbetweenthecrystallinepaths–lostwiththeirescapeinsight.As Lemarché’s drop-ship sweeps away with the survivors, the Razor bloomsintoaspiralofindigolightandvanishes,presumablyreturningtowhateverhellspawned it. An Imperial transponder signal remains in its wake, drawing theship’s sensors to a solitary figure suspended in the void. It is a Breacher, hisarmour improbably sealed and functional, his life signs erratic, but insistent.Lemarchéknowswhothesurvivorisbeforetheyrecoverhim,foritcouldneverbeanyoneelse.It…neverwas.‘Isthathowithappened?’Lemarchémurmured.Therecollectionwasvivid,yetslippery,likesomethingsalvagedfromafeverdream.Stillnascent…‘Idon’tunderstand,commissar?’Reissanswered.Idon’teither,Lemarchéagreed.Howwasyourarmourintactwhenyourfleshwasslicedopenwithin,Feizt?‘Itisnothing,’hetoldReiss,closinghiseyesasthememoryhardenedunderthestressofhisregard.Hecouldn’tdoubtitstruth,yethedidn’ttrustit.Whyareyoustillalive,TolandFeizt?

The world flickers erratically, its confusion running deeper than thesuperficialitiesofsightorsound.Themanwhoshouldbedeadpaysitnoheed.HehasgrownwisetotheRazor’sgames,ormaybejust tootiredtoplaythem.Aftersolonginlimboitishardtotellthedifferenceanymore.

He feels hard crystal under his back, but also softness.He is lying perfectlystill, yetmovingat thesame time,carriedalongonsomething that rattlesandwhinesasitrolls,itssonginterleavingwiththeelectrickeeningoftheprowlingRazorLights.His eyes are closed, but occasionally he glimpses bright shapesflitting overhead through his eyelids.He cannot tell if they are discs of liquidlightormerelylights,norcanheraisetheenergytolook.Whybotheranyway?Iftheguardiansofthisrealmturnonhimthensobeit.Heisinnoshapetodoanythingaboutit.There are voices too, sometimes human, sometimes not, occasionally meldedtogether into something profoundly other. Though he cannot understand theirwordsheissuretheyaretalkingabouthim.Judginghim.Whywouldn’ttheybe?Afterall,hisenemieshavebeenjudginghimforever.Throughout theshifting, seethingsiroccoof sensations thatbesethim there isone constant – the ceaseless droneof the seven-legged fly that has fallen intothis nightmare alongside him.At first itwas inside his helmet, then inside hishead,touchinghimmoreintimatelythananythingelseeverhas.Ithastastedhisdarkestshame,learningthatthemishapthattwistedhisbodyoutofshapewasno accident at all. No, he overdosed on theBreacher genhancementswilfully,stealing extra doses from his comrades tomake himself somethingmore thanthem.Toriseabovethem!Theflyseesallthis,yetitneverjudgeshim.Timeflowsstrangelyhereandoverthefleetingcenturiesofsecondshehascometorealisethathewaswrongaboutthecreature.Nothingelsecouldeverbesoloyalorgenerousinitsintentions.Ithas come to him bearing a priceless gift, if only he can find the courage toembraceit.Allitasksinreturnisthatheendures.Andletsitin.‘No,’TolandFeiztsays,ashehassaidathousandtimesbefore, thoughhenolongerrememberswhy.‘No.’

Night had fallen by the timeAsenathwas satisfied her patientswere securelysettled.Theirwardwaschequeredwithredandwhitetilesfromfloortoceiling,the pattern only broken by the beds lining the walls in neat rows. Silenthospitallersmoved among them,making the bedridden troopers ready for thenight. The commissar and the walking wounded had not returned from therefectoryyet,butAsenathdecideditwouldbeimprudenttokeeptheSacrasta’smistresswaitinganylonger.Reluctantly she headed for the door.Mother Superior Solanis had confirmed

that Palatine Bhatori’s study was still on the top floor, directly beneath thehospital’scentraltower.TheCrone’sNest,Asenathandher fellowinitiateshadcalled the place. A summons there had always been unwelcome news, for itinvariably meant some transgression had reached the palatine’s notice andcensurewouldbeforthcoming.Thewoman’spunishmentshadneverbeen lessthan severe, vindictive even, thoughAsenath had been too naïve to recognisethat at the time. Later she had come to understand the truth: Akaishi Bhatorienjoyedgivingpain.Alessonyoulearnedwell,littleSister…

‘I cannot, your reverence,’ Asenath pleadswhen she realises what her patronwantsfromher.‘Pleasedonotaskthisofme.’‘Forgiveme,butImust,mydaughter,’FatherDeliverancereplies.‘TheSistersof theThornEternalwould gladly undertake this duty, but I fear their ardouroutstrips their ability for such… procedures. I doubt they can secure thecooperationof our captivebeforehe expires.’He lowershis head sorrowfully.‘Regrettablythereisacrafttosuchenterprises.’Once again they are alone in his austere quarters aboard the crusade’sflagship. It iswhere he always summons herwhen he is troubled, and he hasgoodreasontobetroublednow.SeveralweekshavepassedsincetheirfleetannihilatedthearmadaoftheArkanUnion, but contrary to Commodore Rand’s predictions the victory was notachieved without sacrifice. Indeed, Rand himself paid the ultimate price, lostwhentheArkanflagshiprammedthebridgeofhiscruiserinalast-ditchattemptatretribution.Sincethenthesituationhasworsenedsteadily,withresistancetotheImperialCreedhardeningacrosstheProvidenceSystem.TheArkancannothope towin awar against even this tiny splinter of the Imperium’smight, yettheyhaverefusedtorelent.‘WewerewrongtounleashtheResplendentonthem,’FatherDeliverancesayssoftly.‘Iwaswrong.’FivedaysagohehadcommandedtheirSpaceMarinealliestostrikeatoneoftheirenemy’sforemostbastions.Itwascalculatedtobeabrutalonslaughtthatwouldinducemaximumshockandaweintheirfoe,endingtheconflictbeforeitescalated beyond control. ArtificerCaptainCzervantes opposed the order, butobeyed.SubsequentlyfiftyAssaultMarinesfellupontheeliteoftheArkanUnionfromthesky, leapingfromasquadronofThunderhawksthateasilyevadedthefort’s

primitive sensors. The engagement lasted less than ten minutes and leftthousandsofArkansoldiersdeadandtheirrankinggeneralcaptured.NotoneoftheAdeptusAstarteswaslost.Asenathoncedreamedofseeingtheirmagnificentallieswagewar,butaftertheblood-drenchedtalesoftheslaughtershethankstheGod-Emperorshewasnottheretowitnessit.‘The Resplendent are gone,’ FatherDeliverancemurmurs, looking up at herwithtearsinhiseyes.‘Theyhaveabandonedus.’Asenathisstunned.Surelythatcannotbetrue.‘There is worse, my Vigilant Paladin,’ he continues. ‘The Arkan have notheededourfinalwarning.TheyhavedeclaredtheirdefianceuntodeathandtheCanoness Excruciant demands that we reply in kind.’ He pauses, his lipstrembling. ‘She also requests that we petition the Ordo Hereticus for theassistanceofawitchfinder.’‘Buttheyarenotheretics,’Asenathprotests,aghast.‘Notinoureyes,perhaps,butmakenomistake,awitchfinderwillseenothingbut heresy here. The whole system will burn and all this will have been fornothing!’Then,asshehasbeenexpecting,heplacesahandonhershoulderandlooksather earnestly. ‘Onlyyoucanavert this catastrophe,mydaughter.Theprisoner theResplendent seized is amanof great influenceamong theArkan.Embrace your talent and turn hismind to the Imperial Creed.Make him ourspokesmanandperhapsenoughofhiskinsmenshallfollow.’Asenathshakesherheadindismay.Shortlyafterherrecruitmenttothecrusadeshehadconfessed the terrible things she learned–mastered–underPalatineBhatori’ssupervision.WhenFatherDeliverancehadabsolvedherithadfeltlikeanironspikepulledfromhersoul.Thisrequestfeelslikeabetrayal.‘Youwouldmakemeamonster,Father.’‘Asaviour!’Hiseyesbrighten.‘Salvationthroughsuffering!InthisaspectyoushallbeknownasSisterMercy,foryoubearthegiftofredemption.’Hestrokesher cheek tenderly. ‘You have my word I will only ask this of you once, mydaughter.’Asenath closes her eyes and a glacial serenity bloomswithin her.Having nochoicemakeschoosingeasier.‘Ishallrequireneedles,’shesays.

‘Emperorforgiveme,’Asenathwhispered.Sherealisedshewasstandingoutsidethepalatine’sstudy.Whilehermindwanderedherfeethadfoundtheirwayhere.

Theyremembertoowelltoforget.The door before her was carved with a geometric abstraction of humanmusculature,renderedwithobsessivecarebyBhatori’sownhand.Staringatthecontorted wood Asenath felt like an initiate again, riven with anxiety as shewaitedtofaceherpunishment.Thethoughtangeredher,impellinghertoraponthedoorharderthansheintended.‘Enter,’avoiceraspedfromwithin.Shehasnopowerovermeanymore,Asenathtoldherselfassheobeyed.The cramped gloom of the palatine’s eyrie was precisely as it had been inAsenath’s youth. Itswallswere chokedwith shelves bearingheavy tomes andesoteric medical instruments. Sealed glass jars were squeezed among them,displaying anatomical specimens suspended in liquid. Rumour had it that onecontained thebrainofSisterOrlanda,whosemalignantmelancholyhaddrivenhertosuicide.Orlandawasmyfriend,Asenaththoughtqueasily,recallingthetimidyetwild-eyed girl who had entered the sisterhood alongside her.At least, she was theclosestIhadtoone.A heavy desk dominated the far side of the room, overlooked by an archedwindowwith red panes.Like the room, thewomanbehind the table appearedunchangedbythepassingoftime.Shesatstraight-backedandstiff,hergnarledhands spread across the desk’s velvet surface like dormant spiders, their longnails tipped with steel. Her cadaverous form was swathed in a scarlet robeembroidered with the helical candle of her order and hung with a variety ofscalpels, tweezers and delicate hammers. A backswept wimple crowned herhead,itsflapsclaspedbeneathherchin,asiftobindherdeeplyseamedface.PalatineChirurgeonAkaishiBhatorihadlookedlikeamummifiedcorpsethirtyyearsagoanddecaystillhadn’tclaimedher.Whitepowdercakedherskinandtheseverebowofherlipswasrougedblackandpiercedwithstudsofredglass.Shewas a nativeVytarni, but the distinctive eyes of her Ikiryubloodline hadbeenreplacedbyornateaugmetics.ThenotchedbronzeringsframingthedarklenseswhirredandclickedastheyrotatedtofocusonAsenath.‘SisterHyades,’ thewoman said,herdesiccatedvoice amplifiedby thevocalimplantinherthroat,‘youhavekeptmewaiting.’‘Myapologies,reveredpalatine,butIcouldnotabandonmypatients.Iamsureyouunderstand.’Bhatoriofferednoreply,soAsenathpressedonquickly.‘MayIexpressmygratitudeforthebeneficenceyouhaveshownus.’‘Thearrangementsmeetwithyourapproval?’

‘Theyareexemplary,yourgrace.’‘Preliminaryexaminationswillcommencetomorrow,’Bhatorideclared.‘Ishallsupervisetheproceedingspersonally.’‘Youhonourus,palatine,’Asenathsaid,maskingherunease.‘Yourexpertiseiswithoutequal.’‘Ihavestudiedthereportsyousentahead,Sister.Theaetiologyofthisafflictioninterestsme.Youbelieveitisxenosinorigin?’‘Thatismybestconjecture,yes.’‘Andyouarecertainthatcontagionisnotasignificantriskfactor?’‘The hazard isminimal,’ Asenath said,mirroring the palatine’s clinical tone.‘Transmissionmay occur through exposure to the pathogens in the patients’lesions,butstandardprecautionarymeasuresaresufficient.’‘Acceptable. It is unfortunate that you incinerated the deceased during yourvoyage. An exhaustive autopsy would advance our understanding of theinfestation’spathology.Whencanweexpectanotherexpirationtooccur?’‘Yourpardon,palatine?’‘Anestimatewillsuffice.’‘I had not considered the possibility,’Asenath said, frowning. ‘It ismy hopethatweshallpreventanyfurtherdeaths.’‘That is highly improbable.’Bhatori drummedher steel-tipped fingers on thedesktop,seeminglylostincontemplation,thenheropticsclickedasshereturnedherattentiontoAsenath.‘Youdisappointme,SisterHyades.’‘Yourgrace?’‘Youpersistinunderminingyourintellectwithsentimentality.’‘I am not a cog-hearted tech-priest, palatine,’ Asenath replied, growingflustered.‘Ibelieve–’‘No, you are a consecrated hospitaller of the Adepta Sororitas. YourcommissionisthepreservationoftheGod-Emperor’ssubjects.Thisrequiresanacceptanceofattrition.’Bhatoriclackedhernailstogethersharply,likescissors.‘We cannot save everyone, Sister. To aspire to such a thing is arrogance.Existence iswar,whether it iswagedwithagun,aquillorascalpel.There isalwaysacost.’And that’s exactly how you like it, isn’t it?Asenath thought bitterly.Had shereallyimaginedthisconfrontationcouldbeavoided?‘I–’‘Duringyour tenureat theSacrastaVermillionyoudisplayednotableaptitudefor themedicaecraft,’Bhatori continued. ‘I investedconsiderable resources in

yourdevelopment,whichyoudulysquanderedtofollowthepathofawarrior.’Toescapeyou!‘I was gratified to learn that you have embraced your true calling, SisterHyades,howeveryourfocusremainsdismallynarrow.’‘Thebeliefsofmyneworderdifferfromyourown,palatine,’Asenathreplied,struggling to containher anger. Itwouldbe folly to antagonise thisperniciouswoman when the Breachers’ lives depended on her goodwill. ‘But I standcorrected and ready to learn.’ Hating herself for it, she bowed her head incontrition.‘Acceptableunderprobation,’Bhatorijudged.‘Youaredismissed,Sister.’Asenath hesitated. ‘With respect, Imust ask after Breach Sergeant Feizt. Hewasnotbroughttothewardwithmyothercharges.’‘His actionsduringyourvoyagewereperplexing. I have assignedhim to theReformatoriumpendingacomprehensiveevaluation.’TheReformatorium…Asenathblanched,rememberingthepain-hauntedcellsintheSacrasta’sbasement.‘Thesemenaremyresponsibility,’sheprotested.‘Nolonger,Sister,’Bhatorisaid.‘Youaredismissed.’Why did I bring them to her?Asenath asked herself as she left the room.Because she was dead, the answer came back, and I was expecting PalatineShiloh to preside here.But thatmade no sense. She had no reason to believeBhatorimight havedied.Becausemy reasonswere stolen…unmade!Asenathstruggledtopindowntheintuition,butitwasliketryingtocatchthewind.‘Violation,’ Asenath breathed, remembering Jonah’s warning. Nothing wassacrosanctanymore.

III

Aloneinhisquarters,JonahTythewashunchedoveratable,glaringatablankpage. Itwas one of the last in the book and itwasdefiant.His quill hoveredfretfullyover thepaper, likeapredator insearchofprey,eager tomakeakill,butbewilderedbytheabundanceofchoice.Thereweretoomanypossiblepathsand permutations to travel, toomany potential hopes and fears and loves andhatestounravel.Andfartoomuchatstake,Jonahthoughtfeverishly.Withasnarloffrustrationhejabbedthequillintothepalmofhisotherhand.Thesharptipdrewblood,butallhefeltwasadullthrobbing.Hestabbedagain,

knowingitwouldmakenodifferenceandhatingthecertaintyofthatknowledge.Hatinghimselfforneedingtoknow…

‘It’s a soul curse, Three-Eyes,’ the squat, sub-human chirurgeon pronouncesaftershefinisheshertestsonJonah’snervelessflesh.‘Butonlyacurse’cozyoudon’tgotthebrainstoseeitstraightortheballstouseit.’‘Iseeitstraightenough,’Jonahsays,risingfromthemetaltableintheheretic’sramshackle laboratorium. The subterranean lair is crowded with thedegenerates that worship Twistress Ymoreaux, many of them modified by herownhand.Everyoneofthemisdifferent,yetequallyvile,markedbymutationsthatwoulddamnthemonthesurfaceoftheirworld.EvenabackwaterhovellikeHaramwill not tolerate such creatures openly, yet Jonah has travelled far tomeettheirmistress.Aftercountlessfailuresshemightbehislasthopeforacure.‘HowdoIgetridofit?’hedemands.‘Youdon’t. It’s downdeep–muchdeeper thanyou think,moppet.’Ymoreauxleersathim, runninga long tongueoverhershark-like teeth. ‘Your flesh feelsdead ’coz you’re fightin’ the gift. You got to bend with the winds of theFleshweaver’sfancyandlettheblessingscome,elseyou’llsnaplikearoachratin a drain-storm.’ She chuckles, drooling black spittle. ‘Or worse! There’salwaysworsetobehadinthislife,Three-Eyes.’‘That’snotmyname,mutant.’‘Oh,butitis!’thechirurgeoninsists,strokinghisarmwithawitheredclaw.‘It’stheonlyonewhatmattersnow.Onceyourtruenamefindsyouitownsyou!’‘Then there’s nothing you can do,’ Jonah says, squeezing a fist so tightly thenailsdrawblood,alongwithawhisperofblessedpain.Suchimpotentgestureshavebecomeahabit–anaddiction,even.Hisotherhandreachesforthepistolunderhisbatteredjacket,drivenbyaneagernessofitsown.‘Youcan’thelpme.’‘I can help you find yourself,moppet. Show you how to change yourways!’TwistressYmoreauxgigglesagain,asifatsomeprivatejoke.‘MaybeifyouplayniceI’lleven–’Jonahputsalas-boltthroughherjaws.Asshefallsandherfollowersscrambletowardshiminagibberingswarmheopensfire,cuttingthemdownlikevermin.Itfeelsgood.Downhereinthisfilthytechno-warren,besetbyabominationsandtheugly truthofhimself,Jonahalmostgives in tohisever-faithfulrage.Ithasalways been there, simmering under the skin of his thoughts like a hot coalburiedinashes.Ifheseizesittherewillbeafewmomentsofregret,thennothingbutthesweet,redoblivionofwrathandonelongpaybackforallthemiseryand

spiteful mystery the galaxy has thrown at him. It would be capitulation andconquestinone.‘Burnit,’hesays,grinningasheexecutestheleglesshumanslugclawingathisboots.‘Burnitall!’heshouts,puttingdownarangymanwiththreemeldedfacesthatlaugh,weepandsnarlinconcert.Asalwaysitishissisterwhosaveshim.Aninstantbeforehesurrenderstothemadness he sees Mina’s mournful visage and remembers himself. If the furytakesholdofhim–reallygetsitsteethintohissoul–itwon’teverletgo.Ifthathappenshewon’t findher,becausehewill stop looking.He’ll forgether.Thatcan’thappen.SoJonahsweepstheashesbackoverthehotcoalinhissoulandturnshimselftoiceoncemore.‘Iamnothing,’hesays,andsayingitmakesitso.Hepurgestheremainingmutantswithoutanotherthought,firingandreloadingand killing with the efficiency of a combat servitor running a liquidationprotocol.Hehasdonethismanytimesbeforeandwilldoubtlessdoitmanytimesagain.Ithasbeenalongandbloodyroadfromthenight-boundhellofCarcerito themutantwarrens ofHaram– six years at least – but Jonah suspects hisjourneyhasscarcelybegun.WhenthepurgeisoverhediscoversTwistressYmoreauxissomehowstillalive.As he stands over her she begins to gurgle through the scorched ruin of herthroat.Ittakeshimawhiletorecognisethesoundaslaughter.

Darkdropsofbloodspatteredonto thepage.Withinmoments theyweregone,devoured by the hungry parchment. Jonah snatched his hand away in disgust.The book had been leeching off his soul forever, but he was damned if he’dthrowhislifebloodintothebargain.Damned?Jonahchuckledgrimlyatthethought.‘We’realittlepastthat,aren’twe,’heconfidedtothehereticaltome.Ofcoursehewas thehereticnow,for itwashiswords that filledmostof itspages–hisimpressions and intuitions that nourished it. The book’s esoteric preface hadbeentheseedforeverythingthatfollowed,bothinhiswritingandhisquest,foronefedtheother,eachhard-spunpassageofferinghintstosomenewavenueofinvestigation,whichwouldinvariablyyieldfreshhorrorsanddarkerinsightstorecord and reflect upon. It was a self-fulfilling sacrifice to a story that wentnowherebutdown,dragginghimalittlefurtherwitheverypagecompletedandeverysteptakenforwards.

‘Thebook is yours, JonahTythe,’ the silver-eyed, self-professedarchitecthaddecreed.‘Finishit.’

Stillbroodingoverherencounterwiththepalatine,Asenathmadeherwaydownto her quarters, then pressed on to the next room along the corridor. For thesecondtimethatnightshefoundherselfhesitatingoutsideadoor.Ineedtotalktohim,shedecided.ItwasalmostaminutebeforeJonahansweredhertentativeknocking.Hisfacewas slack and his eyes glassy, as if his attentionwere fixed on something faraway. For amomentAsenath feared hewouldn’t recognise her, then his gazesharpened.‘SisterAsenath,’hemumbled.‘Youlooktroubled.’‘Howoftendoesithappen?’sheaskedwithoutpreamble.‘Theviolation?’Jonahshookhisheadwearilyandsteppedaside.‘You’dbettercomein.’The room stank of something stronger than his habitual lho-sticks. Obscuraperhaps?The lingering smokemadeAsenathdizzy, as if the thoughts swirlingthroughherheadweren’tdisorientatingenough.Littlewonderhe’slosinghimself,shejudged.Hereyesweredrawntotheglowofthelanternonhisdesk.Alargebooklaybeside it, spread open to its last few pages. She glimpsed exquisitely formedcharacters that trailedoffhalfwaydownapage,butJonahclosed itbeforeshecouldread thewords.Thebook’sblue leatherbindingwasengravedwith twinforksofsilver lightning, therighta littleabovethe left. Itwasasimpleglyph,yetsomehowrepletewith…what?Significance?Potential?‘Youwrite?’Asenathasked,indicatingtheparaphernaliabesidethetome.Likeherself,heevidentlyfavouredquillandink.‘ItoldyouIwashereaboutabook,’Jonahsaid,stowingthetomeinadrawer.‘As to your other question, I don’t have an answer for you,Sister.Howoftendoes it happen? Too often, I’d say, but that’s only a guess. We can feel thechanges,butwecan’tkeeptrackofthem.’‘Becausewe changewith them,’Asenath said, intuitively followinghis logicthrough.‘Theychangeus.’‘You’vejusthadabadone,haven’tyou?’Jonahsighedandsankintohischairlikeanoldman.‘Butit’salreadyslippingawayfromyou.’‘Whyisithappening?’They had talked often during the remainder of the voyage, even gravitatedtowards a cautious friendship, but she had always avoided this subject. The

possibility that space and time – reality itself –might be ailing had been toomuchtoaccept.Howcouldsuchanafflictionbetreated?‘Why?’sheurged.‘Whatisthecause?’‘Idon’tknow.Maybesomebody’spullingourstringstomakeusdance,orjustpullingthemaparttoseewhathappens.’Jonahthrewherasourgrin.‘Ormaybeit’salljustunravellingbyitselfandthere’snopointtoanyofit.’‘Butyoudon’treallybelievethat.’‘No,’Jonahagreed,suddenlydeadlyserious.‘No,Idon’t.IthinktherootofitishereandyourbloodyExegessorisuptohisneckinit.’‘OlberVedas is adevoutmananda transcendent thinker,’Asenathprotested,startledbytheintensityofherconviction.‘Manyregardhimasasaint.’‘Let’sjustsayI’veseenhiminadifferentlight.Everybodycanfall,Sister.Andthe higher up they start, the harder they’ll hit the ground –maybe even hardenough tocrack it rightopen.’ Jonah rubbedat thepale scarbetweenhis eyesandshenoticedhishandwascoveredwithdriedblood. ‘Anyway, I’ll findouttomorrow.’‘YouintendtovisittheLuxNovus,’Asenathguessed.‘Isthatwise?’‘It’swhyI’mhere.’‘Waitafewdays,’shesuggested.‘Iwillcomewithyou,butIcannotleaveuntilIamcertainmychargesaresafe.’‘Youactuallygiveadamnaboutthosepoorbastards,don’tyou?’‘Doesthatsurpriseyou,priest?’‘ActuallyI’msurpriseditdoesn’t.’Jonahregardedherquizzicallyforamomentthenrose.‘Waitamoment,please.’Heshuffledtothetrunkatthefootofhisbedandheavedoutametalcrateembossedwithanangulardouble-headedeagle.‘I haven’t alwaysworked alone,’ he said, setting the crate downonhis desk.‘This isAstraMilitarum issue.’Heslida latch freeand the front swungopen,revealingasturdyvox-caster.‘I’llhookituphereandleaveitrunningasarelaytransmitter.The range shouldbegood forhalf theRing,maybemoreunlessastormhits,inwhichcaseallbetsareoff.’Two compact headsetswere clipped to the commsdevice.He handed one toAsenath and pocketed the other. She didn’t question how he had come byMilitarum-gradeequipment.Franklyitwastheleastofthisman’smysteries.‘Show me,’ she said. Swiftly he ran through the headset’s operations, hismannermorelikeasoldier’sthanapriest’s.Youhavebeenmanythings,JonahTythe,Asenathguessed,noneofthemreal.Despitetheirmanytalksshestillhadnoideawhohereallywas.Orwhat?

‘Checkineverysixhoursfromdawn,’Jonahfinished.‘Orifsomethingcomesup,butkeepitdiscreet.’‘Iunderstand.’‘Good,thenwe’lltalkaroundnoon,Sister.’‘Youwon’twait,willyou,’Asenathpressed.‘YouareintentonconfrontingtheExegessortomorrow.’‘Iam,’headmitted.‘It’sbeenalongtimecoming.’‘ThenIshallpraythisisnotwhereourroadspartinperpetuity,Jonah.’‘They all wind up in the same place anyway, Asenath,’ he answered, thensmiled.Foronceitlookedsincere.‘ButwhatdoIknowaboutanything?’

BreacherRemRynfeldlayonhisback,drenchedinsweatandcoursingwithdullpainashelistenedtothenight.Thefitfulsleepofhiscomradesfilledthelongroom with a dirge of coughs, snores and moans, almost drowning out thepervasivecreaksandsputtersoftheoldbuildingitself,butthatwasn’twhathewaslisteningfor.‘Gone,’hemuttered inwonder.Though the flieshad retreatedduring the lastleg of their voyage he’d still heard their sly buzzing, but here… nothing. Hegrinned.He’dheldon throughhissuffering,afraid theverminwould takehimliketheytookGlicke,butnowhecouldletgo.Finally.‘Gone,’Rynfeldrepeatedwithasicklysmile.Heglancedatthelieutenant,whosat in a chair at the far end of the ward, his head slumped over his chest inslumber.Reissandthecommissarhadtakenturnstokeepwatch,thoughthey’dsaidnothingtotheothers.Didn’ttheyknowitwasover?Couldn’ttheyhearit?Rynfeldturnedastheward’sdoubledoorswhisperedopen.Atall,cadaverouslythinwomanwas silhouetted in the entrance, her hands claspedbefore her, thebulbouslensescoveringhereyesglowingsoftlythroughthegloom.Hefrozeassheenteredandwalkedalongtheaisle,herfootstepsclackingsharply,asthoughsheworemetal-shod shoes, yet nobody stirred. She stopped beside each bunkandappraiseditsoccupantbeforemovingon,justassweetSisterDarkstarusedtodo,butthoughsheworeahospitaller’sredgarb,thiswomanwascompletelydifferent.ToRynfeld’sfever-heightenedsensestherewasnomistakingher.‘Breath Stealer,’ he hissed, too weak to manage more than a rasp. With ashudderheclosedhiseyesandwaited,quitecertainwhoshehadcomefor.

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–SixthStatement

Last night, for the first time since it began, therewas a twist inmy recurrentnightmare.As Iclimbed thespiralpath intonowheremypursuercalledout tome, utteringmy name like a loving curse. Shocked, I spun round and lostmyfootingontheglassyroad.Tumblingflatonmyback,Ifinallysawmystalker–atall, spindly figure woven from shadows. Though it was entirely black, like asilhouetteagainstthewhitevoid,itwasunmistakablyawoman,herwildmaneswirlingbehindherlikeatenebrousnebulaasshestrodetowardsmeonpointed,stilt-like legs.Her arms hung loosely by herwaist, the fingers of her splayedhandstippedwithlongneedlesthatdrippeddarkness.Witheverystepshetookherformflickered,asthoughitwerestutteringthroughtime.‘Now you seeme, little Sister,oh how you do!’ she crooned, her voice likefingernailsrakingblood frommetal. ‘Andwhat’sseenwon’tun-seeherself,ohno!’Withamoanofhorror,Iscrambledtomyfeetandfledfromthedaemon,foritcouldsurelybenothingelse,butnomatterhowIpushedmyselfIknewIwouldnever widen the distance between us, for what’s lost here can never bereclaimed.AfteranimmeasurabletimeIglancedround,prayingmypursuerhadretreatedintoherformerinvisibility,buteventhatmercywasdeniedme.Asshepromised,a blasphemy seen cannot be unseenor go unsung! Doubtless I shall see her

again every night henceforth, and in the seeing, grant her greater substance.AndinreturnI’llgiftyouasliverofSTYLE,greysister.ReachingtheKoronatusRinghasbroughtmeclosertomyredemption,butlikesome malign counterweight, my damnation has closed in on me in turn.Whatever the God-Emperor requires of me must be achieved soon, lest mydarknessoutrunsmylight.Butwhere’stheendinsight?Andwhatpricethevictory?ButthereissomethingelseImustdisclose,mylady.Ihaveneverspokentoyouof Palatine Chirurgeon Bhatori, the Bronze Candle’s mistress, nor have I theinclination to dwell on her now, but I suspect that seeing her again wasresponsible for my heightened nightmare. The palatine undoubtedly believesherselftobealoyalservantoftheThroneandherabilityinherchosenfieldisunparalleled,yetIloatheherwitheveryfibreofmybeing.Itwasshewhosowedthe seeds of my darkness, and quite possibly my damnation. Emancipation!ShouldsomethinguntowardbefallmeIurgeyoutolooktoherfirst,foritiswithPalatineBhatorithatIshallcommencemyinvestigations.

Asenath closed her journal. If she intended to see her plan through she couldtarrynolonger.ItwouldbeFirstDawnsoon,whichshouldgiveherafewhoursof freedomwhile thepalatine rested. IfBhatorihadalteredher routines thingscouldbecomeverycomplicated.‘I am not wrong,’ Asenath assured herself. ‘The crone was never one forchange.’ShesteppedoutintothecorridorandglancedatJonah’sdoor.Hewouldbelonggonebynow,probablywellonhiswaytoSpireVeritas,wheretheLuxNovuswassituated.Couldtheschola’sprovosttrulybeinvolved–instrumentaleven–in Vytarn’s creeping sickness? She couldn’t recall ever having seen theTheologusExegessor, though hermemories of the scholawere vivid. Like allchildrenoftheCandleworldwhoshowedpromise,shehadbeenenrolledintheLuxNovusat theageofseven.Thefollowingthreeyearshadbeendefinedbyseemingly endless study, prayer and testing toweedout themerely competentfrom the truly exceptional. They had been hard years, but also inspiring,inculcating her with a profound faith in humanity’s sacred destiny. It seemedimpossible thatsuchaplace,or themanwhocharteditscourse,couldharbourcorruption.Asenathput the subject fromhermind.Shehadmore immediateconcerns toattend to. The dream had made it clear she was running out of time.

Straightening her back, she gotmoving. As she expected, the hospital wasn’tentirely quiet even now, but the few staff she passed either offered politegreetingsorignoredher,nodoubtassumingshewasenroutetoherpatients.Shemight be a stranger here, but she was still a senior hospitaller and an air ofauthoritywas themost effective cloak in such a situation.What surprised herwas how well she remembered all the twists and turns of the labyrinthinebuilding.Andyet,uponreflection,itwasn’treallysurprisingatall.‘Itwasmyprisonforfiveyears,’Asenathmurmured,loathingtheincessantredandwhitechequeredtilesandbronzefixturesthatdefinedtheSacrasta.Nothinghadprogressedhereexceptdecay,whichwaseverywhere,lurkingincracksandpatches of dampness and the blackmould thriving between the tiles. In someplaces the sickly sweet stench of rotwas almost overpowering, as though thecankerwithinthewallswasonthecuspofburstingthrough.Blossoming.Thiswasn’thowitwasmeanttobe,Asenaththought,buttheintuitionhadnoweightbehindit.Whateverjustifiedithadbeenstrippedfromhermemories.‘Don’tquestionitnow,’shetoldherself.‘Stayfocused.’Whenshereachedthegroundfloorherrusebecamemorevexingbecauseherpath lay towards the rearof the complex, away from theBreachers’ward,butshe decided against furtiveness and continued boldly until she found thestairwell to the basement level. If she was spotted here she could offer nocredibleexplanationforherpresencesoshehurrieddownthestepsandthroughtheswingingdoorsbelow.ThecorridorbeyondterminatedataT-junctionwhereaplaqueindicatedthattheleftpassageledtotheMortifactorum,wherethedeadweretendedto,andtherighttotheReformatorium.‘The twoaresituated toserveeachother,’Asenathobservedmorbidlyas shetook the right fork.Only thepalatine’smost favoured acolyteswerepermitteddownhereandshesuspectedtheirnumberhaddwindledratherthangrownovertheyears,forBhatoriwasjealousofherresearch.The passage terminated at a plasteel hatch embossed with a helical candle.Therewerenohandlesorlocksinsight,butaglasssensorplatewasembeddedintheicon’sflame.Holdingherbreath,Asenathplacedherpalmontheglass.Ifheraccesshadbeenrevokedshewouldgetnofurtherhere.Indeed,acravenpartofherhopeditmightprovetobeso.Thesensorlitupandchimeditsapproval.Withahissofpneumaticservosthehatchslidaside,revealingalargecircularchamber.Sevenfurtherdoorsweresetinto itswalls, eachbearing a bas-relief depictingoneof theVirtues Incarnate.Banks ofmonitoring equipmentweremounted beside each door, their screens

constantlyupdatingastheytrackedthestatusofthepatientsinthecellsbeyond.A solitary figure flittedbetween them like a crimson-robedphantom, stoppingbrieflyateachtoassessthedataandmakeminoradjustmentsbeforemovingontothenext.Asenathknewtheoverseerwouldrepeatthecycleindefinitely,onlypausingwhen its internal sensors urged it to recharge its powercells or ingestnutrientsfromthefeedersocketsbytheentrance.‘Hello,Angelique,’shewhispered,herrevulsionundimmedbytime.Naturallythe demi-sentient slave paid her no attention. Anything that fell outside thenarrowdirectivesetchedintoitslobotomisedbrainwasinvisibletoit.Themedicaeservitorhadbeenhere thirtyyearsago,butPalatineBhatorihadhinted it was much older, perhaps even dating back to the Sacrasta’sconstruction. Its formwas that of a tall, unnaturally slenderwoman, but therewas no telling what really lay under its flowing red robes or the sculptedporcelain mask that served as its face. Unlike other servitors Asenath hadencounteredovertheyears,Angeliquemovedwithunsettlinggrace,seemingtoglide across the floor like a robed snake. Its sinuous arms were sheathed inleathersleevesthatmergedseamlesslyintogloves,revealingnothingofthefleshbeneath.‘Itisonlyapuppet,’shetoldherselfandsteppedinside.Butwhoisitstruemaster,Sister?The hatch slid shut behind her with the finality of a bad bargain sealed.Reluctantly Asenath’s gaze settled on the real nightmare here. Like thechamber’scustodian,theTabulaRasahadnotchangedatall.Whywouldit?Itisperfectlyitselfandalwayswas.Themassivesurgical tablewasmountedona raisedplatformat thecentreofthe chamber, directly beneath a cluster of saucer-like lights. Its ornate metalframebristledwithmultijointedservo-armsfittedwithblades,drillsandneedle-like probes, all promisingmore pain than succour. Several of the implementswereembeddedinthebellyofthemisshapengiantwholayspread-eagleduponthetable.‘Feizt,’Asenathbreathed,approachingthedais.Though the Guardsman was unconscious his limbs were restrained withmanaclesthatheldhimrigid.Acage-likecapenclosedhishead,itsfrontfittedwith clamps to hold his jaws open for the feeder pipes inserted in his throat.More tubes and wires snaked from his arms to a chattering cogitator lecternbeside the tableandanarrayof life-supportdevices.Tripod-mountedmonitorsencircledhim,pulsing,chimingandwhirringastheytrackedhisvitalsigns,but

Asenathdidn’tneedthemtotellthatFeizt’sconditionwasgrave.Thebandageshad been removed from his midriff, revealing his wound, which had festeredgrievouslysinceshelastcleanedit.Pusoozedatitsedgesandtheflesharounditcrawledwithblistersandlesions.‘You will be at peace soon, brother,’ Asenath said, feeling more relief thansadness. Even if the breach sergeant had survived, his wits would almostcertainlyhavebeen addled.For aman likeTolandFeizt such a fatewouldbeworsethandeath.Nevertheless,thatdidn’texcuseBhatori’sactions.As Asenath expected, the palatine had been unable to resist such a uniquesubject.Evidentlyshehadlabouredthroughthenightonhernewacquisition,herindustrydrivenbycuriosityratherthancompassion.ToAkaishiBhatorithismanwasjustawrapperoffleshfortheRazorblight’sriddle–anotherenigmatobeprodded,probed,dissectedanddiscarded, likeall theothers thathad lainuponthistable…

‘Thepotentialitiesoflifearedelineatedbythepre-eminentinjunctionsofdeath,’Palatine Bhatori expounds to her favoured pupils. ‘To fully apprehend andconserve the former, one must recognise, respect and regulate the latter.Regrettably,ourcapacitytoattainsuchproficiencyisfrequentlyobfuscatedbyapredilectiontowardssentiment.’Thepalatinepauses,herdarklensesrovingovertheinitiatesgatheredaroundtheTabulaRasa.HergazelingersonSisterOrlanda,whohassecretlyconfessedher doubts toAsenath. Standing beside her,Asenath senses her friend’s terrorandwillshertoremaincalm.‘It is essential thatweresist this impulse,’Bhatori finallycontinues, ‘for it isbotherroneousandcounterproductive.Isthisunderstood?’‘Yes,mistress,’Asenath intoneswith theothers. She is thirteen yearsoldandthoughshealreadyhatesthepalatineshestillbelievestheworktheyaredoinghereservesmankind.Howcoulditbeotherwise?Her gaze falls upon the volunteer lying on the table. The man has beenrestrained, but his round face is placid, confirminghis trust in the sisterhood.Asenathhasnoideawhoheisorwherehecomesfrom,butshehasseenenoughof her mistress’ work to know he will not leave this place alive. The thoughtmakes her sad, but she understands his sacrifice will win him a place by theGod-Emperor’sside.‘Themostcongenitalmanifestationof sentiment is thehesitation itengendersover the question of pain,’ Bhatori proclaims. ‘This is irrational, for pain is

merelyareflexiveresponsetoadversephysicalstimulus–acontrivanceof thesenses.Whilethefeedbackitprovokesisfrequentlydynamic,itplaysaminimalroleintheactualprocessofexpiration.Indeed,it isnotuncommonforpaintopersist inextremitywithout inducingdeath.’Bhatori selectsagleamingneedlefromthearraypinnedtoherrobe.‘Ishalldemonstrate.’

Asenath closed her eyes, remembering the volunteer’s shrieks, andworse, thelookofbetrayalonhisfacewhenthepalatinecommencedherwork.‘Tohealwithoutqualmswemusthardenourselvestothepandemoniumofthesenses,’shequotedhollowly.‘Painisonlyanillusion.’Later she had been required to putBhatori’s techniques into practice herself,notonce,butmanytimes,diligentlyinducingsufferingandinuringherselftoitsdistractions. While her fellow initiate, Orlanda, had faltered, Asenath hadexcelled.Decadeslater,longaftershehopedthosesinswerebehindher,shehadexcelledatthemagaininFatherDeliverance’sservice.Overandover…Becauseyoutastedthetruthofit,herinnervoicesuggestedarchly.Sensationisallthereis,perfectingitallthatmatters.‘That’snottrue.’Youcan’tlietoyourself,littlesinner!I’llseerightthroughusifyoudo!Laughter reverberated around the chamber, mocking and malevolent, yetunmistakablyaffectionate.Asenathglancedaboutfuriously,butotherthanFeiztandAngeliqueshewasalone.Angelique…Shestaredatthered-robedservitor.Itstoodmotionless,itsblankgazedirectedtowardsher.Likeitsform,theslave’sporcelainfacewasfeminineinaspect,itsfeaturesalmostregal, likethepurloineddeathmaskofaslainheroine.Itseyesweresmoothovals,themask’ssurfaceunmarredbyobvioussensors.‘You can see me,’ Asenath whispered. It was several seconds before sherealisedthelaughterhadstopped.‘Canyouunderstandme?’Angeliqueraiseditsrightarmtopointatthecelldoorbesideit.Thebas-reliefonthehatchdepictedtheHarrowedArtisanofHumilitas,theVirtueIncarnateofthosewhostrovewithoutrecognitionorthedesireforit.TheArtisan’s six atrophied armswere extended symmetrically to either side,formingacircleaboutitswastedtorso.Eachhandheldadifferenttoolthatwasflawedinsomesmallbutcrucialwaythatwouldblemishitscreations.Itsnoblefacewasframedbylankhairandhollowedoutbystarvationandfailure,yetitstillworetheghostofasmile.

‘What do youwant fromme?’Asenath askedAngelique, though the answerwasobvious. ‘No.’Sheshookherhead, remembering the twistedcreatures thepalatinehadkeptinthecells.Hersignificantsubjects…‘Idon’twanttoseeherwork.’Oh,butyoudo!Angeliquecockeditsheadasifitheardherthoughts.Didn’tyoucomedownhereforanswers,Sister?Whereelsewouldyoulook?SlidingTristessefromherbag,Asenathapproachedtheservitorwarily.Itdidn’treacttotheweapon,indeeditpaidnoheedtoheratallasshecrossedtheroom,itsgazefrozenonthespaceshehadvacated.‘Why this one?’Asenathmurmured as she reached the door.An observationwindow was set above the bas-relief, its closed shutter mounted with anostentatious scroll. The words on the document were in High Gothic, theirphraseology as convoluted as their characters, but their meaning was clearenough.‘Awitch,’Asenathhissed,recoilingfromthedoorinrevulsion.Whichkind?‘TherearenowitchesontheCandleworld.’Nonetheytoldyouabout,atleast!Angeliquehadturneditsblankeyesuponheragain,mutelyexpectant.WhatdidtheProphetsayabouttruth,Sister?Reluctantly,Asenath reached out and grasped the lever of the shutter. Itwascoldtothetouch.‘Truthisourfirstandeverlastinglight,’sheintonedandslidtheshutteraside.

II

FirstDawnbrokeoverthePerihelionasJonahreachedthefarsideofClementiaBridge.The ruddy lightofDamnationspilledover themountain likenebulousblood,awakeningthelandscapeintoahellishabstraction.Jonah stopped and squinted at the bloated red giant looming over the distantsummit. It wasn’t the ugliest sun he’d ever seen, but there was a slothful ireaboutithedidn’tlikeatall,asifitjustneededonemoreshovetogonovaandtakethewholesystemalongwithit.‘Haveyoubeenwaitingforme?’hechallengedthedyingsun.He’dlosttrackofalltheworldshe’dwalkedupon,andtheyearsspentroamingthe void between them under myriad names and guises. Eventually he’d also

stopped counting the corpses left in hiswake, someof them intentional,mostnot.Therewasatimewhenthedeathtollhadtroubledhim,thentormentedhim,buthe’dlearnttolet itgoandkeephiseyesontheroadahead.Whatelsewasthere?

‘Youcould justwalkaway,’ theofficerwhohasblockedJonah’spath suggestsreasonably.‘What?’Jonahsays,takenaback.‘Isaidwalkaway!’themansnarls,hismannerchangingabruptly,asifaswitchinhisheadhasbeenflipped.‘Thisareaisoff-limits,citizen!’The officer’s comrades raise their bone-stocked autorifles to cover Jonah.There are ten of them standing in the dark, windswept street outside hisdestination. All are big, heavily bearded men in white greatcoats and fur-trimmedhatswithlongearflaps.DespitetheiruniformsJonahcantelltheyarelittlemorethanprivilegedthugswithoutadagger’s-breadthoftruesteelintheirspines. The security forces of this miserable world are more accustomed tokeepingtheirownpeopleinlinethanconfrontingfoesthatmightfightback,letalonethekindthatlurksinthebuildingthesemenareguarding.‘Iamnotacitizenofthisplanet,’Jonahsayslevelly.‘IamanauthorisedagentoftheHolyInquisition,taskedwithpurgingtheheresyinthere!’Hejabsafingeratthebuilding.‘Youwillconsideryourselvesundermycommand.’Itisalazylieandhedoesn’tevenbothertotellitwell,orshowthemtheforgedInquisitorialsealhecarries.Heistootiredandfartootensetowasteenergyonthesefoolswhenhecansmellthefearonthem.Alltheywantissomeonetomakeitgoaway–tomakethethinginsidethebuildinggoaway.‘Inquisition,’ the officermumbles, hope vyingwith evengreater terror onhisface.‘Imeantnodisrespect,lord!’‘Whendidithappen?’Jonahsnaps.‘Thedisturbancewasreportedafewhoursago,lord.SergeantGoran’ssquadgothere first.They… theywent inside.Weheard the screamsaswearrived…andsomethingelse.Something–’‘Nobodyhasenteredsincethen?’‘No,lord.’‘Seethatnobodydoes.’‘Yes, lord!’ The relief in the officer’s eyes would be amusing under othercircumstances.Tacitlydismissingthefrightenedguards,Jonahappraisesthebuilding.Thefish

processingplantisahulking,boxymonstrositythrowntogetherfromcorrugatedplasteelsheets,muchliketheotherstructuresinthiscity’sindustrialquarter,yetthereisawatchfulnessaboutitthatisallitsown.Thoughhehasneverseentheplacebeforeherecognises it immediately, forhehasalreadydescribed itwithfebrile clarity, setting its likeness down in the tome, alongwith details of theworlddestinedtospawnit.That was over two years ago. He has been holed up in the slums of thisiceboundcitythatcallsitselfahivealmostaslong,waitingforittogivebirthtohisprophecy,yetnowthemomenthascomehehesitates.ThoughhehasforeseenandbornewitnesstocountlessnightmaressinceheescapedSarastus,thisfeelsdifferent.‘YouknowI’mcoming,don’tyou?’hewhisperstothethingwithin.‘Mylord?’theofficerasks.‘Don’tfollowme,’Jonahorders.Itisprobablythemostsuperfluouscommandhehasevergiven.HedrawshisbaroqueElegypistolandflipsthesafetyoff.Thoughtheantiqueweaponcarriesonlyasinglecartridgeitpacksmorepunchthanaconventionalsidearm,andthebulletinitschamberismoreformidablethanthegunitself.Thelarge calibre cartridge is one of six that Jonah has forged and blessedpersonally, imbuing themwithevery iotaofhiscontempt forall thingsstrangeandtwisted.Itspropellantislacedwithgranulesofgroundglassfromoneofthemirrorfragmentshesalvagedonthefirstnightofhiseverlastingquest.Overtheyearshehaslearntthevalueofthosepreciousshardswell.Without anotherword he pushes past the guards and slides the concertinaedmetal door of the processing plant open. The darkness beyond is almostcomplete,butheallowshimselfnofurtherhesitation.‘Whatelseisthere?’heasksandstridesforwards.

‘Wellmet,priest!’Surprised,Jonahswunground,hiseyesstilldazzledbyDamnation’sdourglare.Hehadbeenstaringintoittoolong,thoughhe’dstoppedactuallyseeingitsometimeago.Duringhisunwelcomereverieavehiclehadpulledupalongsidehimontheperimeterroad.Ashisvisionclearedhemadeoutacompactbuggy, itsenginechuggingas itidled.Theopen-toppedchassiswasmountedonbulbous,heavy-treadedwheelsthatlookedcapableofhandlingroughterrain,probablyeventhesteeproadsthatwoundupthespires.Itsbluepatinawasbatteredandspatteredwithdirt,yetthe

symbol on its bonnet gleamed as if it had just been polished – a pyramidalcandleinsetwithaverticaleye.‘Myapologies,Ididnotintendtostartleyou,’thewomanbehindthevehicle’swheel said, not sounding contrite at all. Her voice had a gravelly quality, theaccentunusuallyguttural.‘ItisuncommontoseeanyoneoutsideatFirstDawn,especiallyontheViaKorona.Thecityfolkthinkitunlucky.’‘Yetyouarehere,’Jonahpointedout.‘Iamanuncommonwoman.’Shesnorteddismissively.‘AndIhavenopatienceforsuperstitionswhentruemysteriesabound.’Herbrusque tonesuggestedshehad littlepatienceforcivilityeither.Likehermanner,hersquare-jawedfaceandbluntfeaturesprojectedaforthrightnessthatbordered on belligerence, yet there was a spark of humour in her lively blueeyes.Sheworeherwhitehairinabob,shorncloseattheears,oneofwhichwasfittedwith a sensor-studded attachment.Her argent-trimmed azure robeswerealmostasgrimyashervehicle,yettherewasabrashauthorityabouther.‘YouarewiththeSilverCandle,Sister?’Jonahaskedformally.‘Formysins,priest!’sheconfirmed.‘Iamfatedtochaseafteranenigmathatwill run rings aroundme long aftermymortal shell has gone to theworms.’Seeing Jonah’s surprise at her irreverence she grinned fiercely. ‘Oh,make nomistake, Icouldask fornogreatercalling in this life. Ido theGod-Emperor’swork.’‘Asyousay,Sister.’Sheswungopenthepassengerdoor.‘Getin.’‘WhywouldIdothat?’‘BecauseitisalongwalktoSpireVeritas,PreacherTythe!’

ShewascalledHagalaz.Jonahdidn’tknowifitwasherfirstorsecondnameandshe had offered nothingmore, but it was obvious she was no ordinary SisterDialogus and theirmeeting had been no accident.Once theywere underwayhe’dbracedhimselfforquestions,yetafterhercursoryintroductionandoffertotake him to Spire Veritas she appeared to lose interest in him altogether.Hummingtunelesslyshespedalongthenarrowmountainroad,heedlessof thesheerdroptotheirright.What’syourgame,woman?Jonahmused.Hewasn’tparticularlysurprisedshehadknownhisnameanddestination.He’dgivenbothtotheportauthoritiesatRosetta, and then again to the Celestians on theBlood of Demeter so it wasinevitablethatwordwouldreachtheRing’scustodians.Giventheship’seventful

voyage itwasalso inevitable thatquestionswouldbe raised.No,whatbaffledhimwasthatSisterHagalazwasn’tactuallyaskingthem.‘WhyDamnation?’Jonahsaidonimpulse.‘Thisisaholyworld.Whygiveoneofitssunssuchaname?’‘Humility,’Hagalazanswered.‘Toremindusthatknowledgeisaknifethatcutsbothways.’‘Yetyoursectpursuesitanyway.’‘Wemust!Thedarksunalsoremindsuswhatawaitsifwefail.’‘Fail?’‘Tofindananswer,priest.’‘Towhat?’‘So many questions!’ she exclaimed, slapping her hands on the wheel foremphasis.Jonahcouldn’ttellif thiswasmeantasaliteralanswerorapleaforsilence,buthedecidedagainstagitatingherfurther.Shewasdrivingtoofastforneedless distractions. It seemed inconceivable that his hunt might end in asixteen-hundred-footplungeintotheocean,buthewouldn’tputitpasthisluck.Or fate. Besides he was too weary to press his eccentric companion. He’dworked through the night, fighting to finish the book before the comingconfrontation,yethis labourshad rewardedhimwithascant threeparagraphs,allofthemambiguous.‘Wait,’Asenathhadcautioned,andhe’dknownshewasright.Hewasn’tready.Surreptitiouslyheinspectedhislefthand.Asexpected,hisself-inflictedgasheswere already fading. By noon they would be gone without a trace, like thecountlessotherwoundshe’d takenover theyears.Hiscurseonlyallowedhimonescar–atleastonlyonethatwasvisible.‘Wait.’‘Ican’t,’hesaidsadly.

‘What else is there?’ Jonah asks as the expectant darkness swallows him yetagain.Theodourofnot-so-freshfishwashesoverhim,mingledwiththereekofmuchfresherblood.Itwascoldinthestreets,but insidetheprocessingplant it issobitterhisnervelessfleshactuallyfeelsit,maybebecauseitisanunnaturalcold.His instincts scream at him to abandon this revelation and find another wayforwards.‘Ican’t,’hesays.Itisadenialandanaffirmationinone.Withtremblingfingers,hepullsaleatherpouchfromhisgreatcoatanddraws

outashardofcolouredglass.Onlyfiveofthemirrorfragmentsremain.Thisoneglowsalambentyellowinhispalm.Theurgetocrushitandsavouritsvile,vitalessenceisalmostoverpowering,butherefuses.‘Only if I must, Mina,’ he promises his twin sister, closing his fist carefullyaroundthejaggedshard.Withhisotherthumbheactivatesthelightonhislong-barrelledpistolandplaysitsbeamacrossthedarkness.Theinterioroftheplantisa single cavernoushall linedwith longmetal tablesbearing fishof variousshapes and sizes. Larger ones hang from the ceiling on hooks, sliced open tovent their innards into iron skillets.But it is not the violencedone to fish thatmakesJonah’sgorgerise.There are bodies everywhere, torn apart and scattered about with wildabandon.Manyofthefisheryworkersaresprawledacrossthetablesamongtheseacreatures theywere filletingonlyhoursbefore.Somedangle fromtheroof,caught in the rafterswhere theirbutcherhurled them likeblood-filledbags.Afewstillclutchcleaversorknives,themakeshiftweaponsfrozenintotheirhands.Among the slaughtered labourers are the remnants of Sergeant Goran’sIronspineHussars,theirwhitegreatcoatsshreddedanddyedred.Everythingiscoveredinarimeoffrostandthebloodhasfrozensolid,formingcrimsoniciclesalongthetablesandrafters.‘SacredThrone,’Jonahbreathes,hiscynicismeclipsedbyhorror.Theremustbeoverahundredbodieshere,noneof themanywherenear theexit. ‘Whydidn’tyoutrytorun?’Asifinreply,thereisasniggerfromthedarknessattheotherendofthehall,toofarawayforhislighttopenetrate.‘Who’sthere?’Jonahcalls.Moregiggling,curdledbymaliceandmadnessintosomethingfoulerthananythreat.Jonah advances cautiously until his beam finds a man crouched behind anoverturned table. The stranger looks up sharply, blinking into the light. Thereare three concentric circles carved into his scraggy face, radiating from aninvisible point betweenhis eyes.Unlike theotherwoundsmade in this hellishplacetheyarestillbleeding.‘Is it you, brothers?’ the man pleads. ‘Did you hear our cry?’ His scrawnyframe is naked save for a few torn rags, but Jonah has seen enough of thisplanet’s downtrodden to recognise him as a bonded labourer, though a truerwordwouldbeslave.‘Whathappenedhere?’Jonahasks,stoppingafewpacesfromthesurvivor.‘Freedom,brother.’Themansighswistfullyashiseyesadjusttothelightand

lockontoJonah.‘Itisn’tyou.’‘Maybeitis,’Jonahsays,droppingtohishaunchessotheireyesarelevel.‘I’mherebecauseIheardthecry.Whatisyourname…brother?’‘Me?’Themanregardshimuncertainlyforamomentthengrins.‘IamVerloc.Iamafighter!’‘Afreedomfighter?’Jonahguesses.‘Ofcourse,brother!’Verlocnodsvigorously.‘Therearechangescoming.Ihaveseenthem–inhere!’Hetapshisforehead.‘AndIhaveseentheliberatorsalso,buttheyarestillfaraway.Toofartosightus.’‘Whoarethey,BrotherVerloc?Didtheydothis?’‘Theliberators?’Thesurvivorlookssurprised,asifthenotionisabsurd.‘No,brother,wedidthis.Allofustogether–tosignaltheliberators!’Verloclowershisvoice,as if toconfideasecret. ‘Theothersdidn’tknow,ofcourse.Ihadtoshowthem.Makethemseetheirownfire!’Herunsafingerthroughthebloodywhorlsonhisface.‘Sheshowedmehow.TheRuzhalka.’Jonah’sgriptightensonthemirrorshard.Ruzhalka…Hehasneverheardthename,butheknowsthefeelingsitevokesalltoowell.Blackhateandredrage.‘IsthisRuzhalkaaliberator?’Thenametasteslikesearedmeatonhistongue.‘No,theRuzhalkaisafish,brother,’Verlocreplies.Jonahstaresattheman.Whateverheexpectedtohear,itisnotthis.Verloc giggles at his expression. ‘Not a common fish! She swims in bigger,deeper oceans than ours and she could swallow a varwhale whole.’ His eyesnarrowtoferalslits.‘Wouldyouliketoseeher,brother?’‘Whatisshe?’Thesurvivor’sgrinwidens.Andkeepsonwidening…

Jonahwrenchedhimselfoutofthepastsoviolentlyhealmostsurgedoutofhisseat.Hisbreathcoming inharshgasps,hestaredat the rocky terrainspeedingpasthim.‘Asourdream,’thewomansittingbesidehiminthebuggyobserved.‘I’vehadbetter,Sister,’hecroakedthroughparchedlips.‘HowlongwasIout?’‘Almosttwohours,’Hagalazreplied.‘SecondDawnhasbroken.’Blearily Jonah realised it was true. Damnation’s sanguine haze had receded,overwhelmedby the radianceofVytarn’svigorous secondsun.WithSalvationascendanttheruggedlandscapewasstrikinglybeautiful.Outtosea,beyondthecurveoftheroad,hesawaslendermountainjuttingfromthewaveslikeastonespear. The Spire’s dark form narrowed sharply towards its pinnacle, where

something glimmered in the golden light – probably a dome of some kind.Abridgesweptfromthemountain’sfoothillstowardsthemainland,itsmarble-cladlengthsuspendedontitanicpylonsspikedwithlightningrods.‘That isVeritas, the Tornspire,’Hagalaz saidwith uncharacteristic reverence.‘WewillreachtheBridgeofTruthsoon.’I underestimated the distance, Jonah gauged. Going anticlockwise on theperimeter road,Veritaswas only the second spire along from the hospitallers’bastion,butonfoothewouldn’thavereacheditbeforenightfall.‘YouknowIamboundfortheLuxNovus,Sister,’hechallengedcautiously.‘Ido.’‘Doyouplanoncomingwithme?’‘Notthisday,PreacherTythe.’Jonahhesitatedamoment.‘Willyoutrytostopme?’‘No.’Thenwhat’sthisallabout,Sister?Jonahwondered.Hegothisanswerastheyapproachedthemassiverampthatfedthebridge.‘Iwillnotstandinyourpath,priest,’Hagalazsaid,brakingtoahaltatthefootoftheramp,‘butmyesteemedSistersmostcertainlywill.’Aboutthirtyfeetpastitsmouththebridgewassealedbyawallofinterlockingiron panels. All were embossedwith the angular candle of the sect’smilitantorderandfortifiedwithprayerscrollsandholyicons.Gunturretsreinforcedthebarrier at regular intervals and Battle Sisters in slate-grey armour walked itsramparts,theirweaponsheldready.Anornatetanksatatthecrestoftheramp,themissilearrayonitshulldirectedoverthewall.‘Doyouseeit?’Hagalazaskedintently.‘They’re keeping something inside,’ Jonah replied, grasping the crux of herquestionimmediately.‘Why?’‘Therewasan…occurrence…at theLuxNovus.Aprofoundlyblasphemousone.’ A note of anger crept into her voice. ‘We fear the entire spire may becompromised.’‘Whathappened?’Jonahasked,gaugingthedefenceswithapractisedeye.Howmany times, in how many tainted places, had he asked that same dismalquestion?‘Iwashopingyoumightbeabletotellme,PreacherTythe.’‘I?’Jonahturnedtoher.‘I’veonlyjustarrived.’‘TomeetwiththeTheologusExegessor?’‘Yes,Iamhereathisinvitation,Sister.’

‘Whichyouclaimtohavereceivedbyastropathiccommunicationninestandardmonthsago,correct?’‘AsIinformedthespaceportauthorities.’Jonahfrowned.Hadhisenemyluredhim into amoremundane trap thanhe’d anticipated?Would this endwithhisexecutionatthehandsofVytarn’ssisterhood?‘WeretheidentificationcanticlesIpresentedinadequate,Sister?’‘On the contrary, theywere undoubtedly genuine, but I have two concerns,’Hagalazdeclared.‘Firstly,therearenoastropathsontheCandleworld.’Jonahnodded,tryingtobuytimetothink.Hedidn’tplanontellingherthetruthaboutthemessagehe’dreceived,orthenatureofthecreaturethathadrelayedit.‘Suffernotthepsyker,’hequotedpiously.Evensanctioned,usefulones.ItwasacommonattitudeamongthemorezealousbranchesoftheEcclesiarchy,buthehadn’t expected it from the Last Candle, which was about as radical as theycame.‘It is not a question of sufferance, priest,’ Hagalaz said. ‘We understand thevalueofastropaths.’‘Thenwhy–’‘My second concern is more perplexing still,’ she cut in. ‘Virtually all theschola’s staff and students were lost in the catastrophe. The TheologusExegessorwasamongthem.’‘I…’‘Theeventoccurredovertwoyearsago,PreacherTythe.’Herblueeyesboredintohim.‘That’s…notpossible.’‘Iseeyougrasptheconundrum.’Jonahwasn’t listening. He had imagined countless potential outcomes to hishunt, but every one of them ended with his quarry, their confrontation asinevitableasitsresolutionwasunknowable.IfVedaswasdeadithadallbeenfornothing.HowwillIfindyou,Mina?Jonahclosedhiseyes,tryingtothink.‘PreacherTythe?’Hagalazasked,soundingfaraway.Jonah’snostrilstwitchedasthereekoffishsweptinontheoceanwind,andjustbehindit,thescentofblood.‘Doyousmellthat?’heasked.‘Smellwhat,priest?’‘It’salie,’Jonahsaidwithcoldconviction.Remembering,heclenchedhisfist.

Themirrorshardinhishandshattersintoamultitudeofsmallerfragmentsthatpierce flesh,mind and soul in rapid succession, quickening each strata of hisbeing exponentially. Within a seismic heartbeat Jonah is fully awake to theworld,hisperceptionsmyriad,theirsharpnessinfinite.‘It’salie,’hewarnsthestaleshadowthatregardshimfromtheotherendofhisroad–theirroad.‘Finishit!’Thenhisattentionnarrowstothegrinningmadmanwhocrouchesbeforehiminthe fishery. Thewould-be freedom fighter’s eyes glitter then glaze over as hismouthyawnseverwider.Withawetsnaphisfaceretractsfromhisskulllikeasheath and a serpentine shape erupts from his jaws, screeching as it surfacesfrom the Sea of Souls. Rage radiates from the daemon in waves, palpablydistorting the air around it as it uncoils from the hapless labourer. The tidewashesoverJonah,stirringthewrathinhisownsoul,butthemirror’sblessingraiseshimaboveitsreach.Inthatmomentofmercilessclaritythestoryofthistravestyunravelsbeforehim.He tastes the impotent rageof thenobodywhoopened theway tohell in thehopeoffreedom,andthefateofthosecaughtupinthefolly.Noneareinnocentandnonehavecausetobe,fortheyhaveknownnothingbutoppressionandtheviciousness it nurtures. Ire smoulders in all their hearts, eager for a spark toignite it intoviolence.When theRuzhalkabursts forthamong them it is likeathousandsparks.Jonahseestheunshackledlabourersswarmthepiscinedaemon,slashingandpummellingitwithpitifulweaponsornoneatall.Afirewithsavageliberty,theypay no heed to the carnage it wreaks upon them in return. One by one theirmangled corpses are hurled into their preordained positions around theprocessingplant,buildingthescenethatJonahwillwalkintoalittlelater.Theslaughterisoverinminutes,thenbrieflyrekindledwhenthewhite-coatedhussars of Sergeant Goran’s squad appear. Their searing las-bolts are asinconsequential as the labourers’ tools, yet the soldiers last a little longer,perhapsbecausetheytrytokillthedaemonfromadistance.Aftertheyareslainthe infernal interloper retreats to its host, neither satisfied nor sated, but toowary of this rigid newworld to linger without violence to sustain it. Lurkinginsideitshumanshellitwatches,waitingformorepreytocome.Jonahseesallthisandfeelsnothing,forhissoulhasbecomeasdetachedashisflesh,butlaterhewilltrembleandweepandrageatthehorror.Andthenhewillwrite about it – not of the events or the particulars, for his account is not achronicleof triviaand tribulations, nomatterhowdiabolical.No, it is texture

andinsightthatthebookcraves.Truth.The Ruzhalka is the first daemon Jonah has faced and it will yield manyrevelations.Butfirsthemustsurviveit.Hedivesasideasthebeastsurgestowardshiminatorrentofblackeyesandshark-liketeethboundbyrawsinew.Ittwistsafterhim,movingwiththefluidityof an undersea predator, its glistening form gnashing and blinking in itseagerness to taste him. Jonah rolls away from its whiplash strikes, his torchbeamslicingwildlythroughthedarknessasheswervesabout.Nearingawallhevaults tohis feetand leapsontoa table–and thenawayan instantbefore thedaemoncrushesitintosplinters.Hurtlingthroughtheairhespinsaroundwithinhuman grace and brings his pistol to bear, not on the Ruzhalka, but on thewitlesshereticwhohookedit.ThehuskthatwasVerlocisstillonhisknees,hisfleshlessheadthrownbacksohisgapingjawsfacetheceilinglikeaskeletalfloweryearningforthesun.Hiseyes have slippeddown to his neck,where they stare blankly from thewattlesthatwereoncehisface.Hiswholebodyshuddersandquakes,contortedbytheRuzhalka’sexertions,forthedaemon’stailisstillrootedinhisdistendedthroat.‘Burn!’Jonahbellows,channellinghiscontemptintoacommandashefires.Coruscatingwith rainbow light his unholy bullet weaves between the beast’scoils andbores intoVerloc’s skull, thendetonates inaburst that lightsup theroom.TheRuzhalkascreechesandglaresitshatewithathousandorificesandeyes as its host combusts and scintillant flames race up its tail, unmakingwhatevertheytouch.Jonah crashes down onto his back with stunning force, his transcendencesacrificedtoempowerthekillingshot.As thedaemonlungesafterhimthe firecatchesuptoitshead,scorchingitintocharredectoplasmahand’sbreadthfromhisface.For a long time Jonah lies still, watching in wonder as the foetid miasmadissipates.Whenhissurvivalsinksinhegrins,aspredatoryashisslainprey.‘Not tonight, youbastard,’ he tauntshis true enemy,whowaits in thedistantfuture.‘Notuntilwe’redone.’

‘PreacherTythe!’agruffvoicesnapped.JonahopenedhiseyesandmetSisterHagalaz’squizzicalgaze.‘Youweretalkingaboutalie,’thewhite-hairedwomanurged.‘Whatlie?’Jonahhesitated,appraisingher.Whoevershewas,sheevidentlycarriedsome

authorityhere.Maybeshehadsomeanswersalongwithit.Moretothepoint,hewasn’t going to get past the guards on the bridge without using one of hispreciousshards…‘ThelieisOlberVedas,Sister,’hesaid,comingtoadecision.‘Howso?’TherewasnodenialorangerinHagalaz’stone.Itwasalmostasifshehadexpectedsuchananswer.‘Whateverhappenedattheschola,Vedassurvivedit,’Jonahcontinued,feelingthetruthofit.‘InfactI’dwagerhewasbehindit.’Playthewholehand,hethought.Allornothing.‘YourExegessorisaheretic,Sister,’hesaid.‘I’vecometoVytarntokillhim.’

III

LemarchéwatchedSisterAsenathasshewalkedtheSacrasta’sward,justasshehaddoneontheBloodofDemeterandtheAsclepius.TheVoidBreacherswerenotherresponsibilitynow,yetLemarchéhadbeenexpectingher.Theyallhad.Whateverelseshemaybe,sheremainsourcustodian,hemused.Suchasoulcannotrelinquishitsburdens.Itistheexecutionerinher.Whathadsurprisedhimwasherlateness.Itwaspastnoonbeforesheappeared,by which time the Sacrasta’s routines were well under way.Mother SuperiorSolanisandaretinueofred-robedhospitallershadbeguntheirexaminationsandritualscouringof thewoundedatFirstDawn,proceedingsystemically throughtheward.Themostseriouslyinjuredmenhadbeenwheeledout,boundforthesurgeries,wheretheywouldreceivedeepercleansing,bothbodilyandspiritual.Breacher Rynfeld had finally succumbed to the sickness during the night, butwith the Emperor’s grace he would be the last. Solanis had assured him thePalatine Chirurgeon had already begun devising a treatment plan for theirmalady. Allegedly she had worked through the night, using Feizt as anabsolutionvector,whateverthatmeant.No, Lemarché couldn’t fault their new healers. Everything was managedefficiently,evencourteously,butwithoutawhisperofcompassion.‘Greetings,Sister,’hesaidasAsenathreachedhisbed.‘Commissar,’shereplieddistantly.‘ItrustmySistersaretendingtoyouwell?’‘Impeccably. The procedure to address my ambulatory imparity, as MotherSolaniscallsit,hasbeenscheduledinfortomorrow.’‘Thatisgood,’Asenathsaid,oblivioustohisattemptathumour.Hereyeswerebloodshot,thedarkringsbeneaththemlikebruisesagainstherpaleskin.

‘Iseverythinginorder,Sister?’Lemarchéaskedsoftly,hislevitygone.Shehesitatedamomentbeforeanswering.‘No,Idonotbelieveitis.’‘Aremymenindanger?’‘They aredying, commissar. TheBronzeCandle is their last hope. They arewheretheymustbe.’Herraw-eyedgazesharpened.‘Doyoutrustme,IchukwuLemarché?’Itwasthefirsttimeshehadusedhisfullname.‘No,’hesaidlevelly.‘Ineverhave.Youarenotwhatyoupretendtobe.’‘No,Iamnot,’sheadmitted.‘Nevertheless,Iamaskingyoutotrustmenow.’‘Thengivemecause.’‘Fornowthismustsuffice.’Discreetlysheslippedacloth-wrappedobjectfromherbagandsliditbeneathhisblanket.‘Hideit,butkeepitclose.Icannotriskacquiringanother.’‘Whatexactlyareyouaskingofme,Sister?’‘Nothingasyet,commissar,’Asenathreplied.‘AccepttheSacrasta’said,butbevigilant.’Shenoddedandwalkedaway.Iamalwaysvigilant,Lemarchépromisedherretreatingback.ItwasmanyhoursbeforethewardhademptiedoftheSacrasta’sstaffandtheable-bodied troopers had departed for the hospital’s refectory. Only then didLemarchéinspecthersurreptitiousgift.‘Whatareyouupto,SisterAsenath?’hemurmured.Insidetheclothwasalaspistol,itsbronzecasinginlaidwithahelicalcandle.

‘Ididn’tgetthere,’Jonahsaid,hisvoicebrittlewithstatic.‘Thepathwassealedoff.’‘Totheschola?’Asenathasked,frowningatthepoorvoxsignal.‘Tothewholedamnspire,Sister.’‘What?’Shewasshocked.‘Why?’‘Vedas,’Jonahsaid,makingitacurse.‘What’sthesituationattheSacrasta?’‘Complicated.Whereareyou?’‘Onmywayup to thecity.’Therewasa static-filledpause. ‘I can’t talk now,Sister.I’llcontactyoutomorrow.’Hissignalcutoff.WearilyAsenathremovedtheheadsethe’dgivenherandslumpedbackintoherchair.Shewasaloneinherquartersandthetemptationtocollapseontothebedwasimmense.Lastnight’sheighteneddreamhaddrainedher,butthatwasonlypart of it. The greater part lay with the twisted things she had found in theReformatorium.‘Belovedbrokenidols,forgedinobeisancetoimperfectabjection–Besilent!’

Asenathshouted.Withagroansheforcedherself torise.Shewasdue tomeetwith the palatine shortly. The thought of listening to Bhatori prattle onrighteously,allthewhilemaskingwhatshehaddiscoveredwasdaunting,butitwastoosoontoconfronther.Toodangerous…Thenletusfacethebitchtogether,dearSister,hercompanionurged.Thatoldcrone’sasmuchmybonetopickapartasyours!‘No,’Asenathsaidcoldly.‘Whenthetimecomes,sheismine.’

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–SeventhStatement

As I feared, my nightmare is approaching its apogee. Last night the shadowwoman gained on me dangerously, her arching stilt-legged strides nowoutpacingmyown.Assheboredownonmeshebabbledhernonsensewithoutsurcease, her every sentence lacedwithmangled truths so I couldn’t help butlistenandstrivetounraveltheirmeaning.Suchinattentiontomystepsmademyflightmorehazardousyet,forthepathhadgrownsteeperandmoreslippery,asifitactivelysoughttounbalanceme.Ifthathappeneditwouldbemyfinalfall,forthedaemonwouldbeuponmebeforeIrose.Andwhatthen?Iknownot,yetIamcertaintheconsequenceswouldbedire.Diretosome,blissfultoothers!I can no longer ignorewhat I have suspected for some time – the thing thatstalksmydreamsandthepresencethathauntsmywakingthoughtsareoneandthesameentity.WhereitcamefromandhowitlatchedontomeIcannotsay,butitsnature is surelymalefic, itsobjectundoubtedlymy immortal soul.SincemyarrivalontheCandleworldithasbaitedmewithhalf-truthsandoldhatesthatIcanneitherembracenordeny.Damnedifyoudoordon’t.UndamnedofTheirliesifonlyyoudare.It is an article of the Imperium’s pride that noAdepta Sororitaswarrior haseverfallentodaemonicpossessionand,comewhatmay,Iwillnotallowmyselftobethefirst.Oh,thatracewasrunandwonbyanotherunspunspinsterof

theThronelongago,greysister.I have resolved to sleep no more until my duty here is done, after whichsleepingisunlikelytobeaconcern.TodayIshallavailmyselfofaphylacteryofholystimulants from theSacrasta’sstores,as Iavailedmyselfofaweapon forCommissar Lemarché yesterday. Thief! The Wafers Vigilant should see methroughthenextfewdaysandensuremywitsaresharpenoughtocutthroughthepalatine’slies.Andsowecometothecruxofthisstatement.Myreveredcanoness,IamconvincedthatPreacherTytheismistakenaboutthesource of the Candleworld’s taint. The heretic here is not the TheologusExegessor,butthePalatineChirurgeon.AkaishiBhatori’scallousnesshasalwaysbeenreprehensible,butIamoldandworn enough to accept that cruelty is commonplace in our beloved, infernallybesiegedImperium.Indeed,manybelieveitisanecessaryeviltoholdtheArch-enemy in abeyance. Nonetheless the abominations I have uncovered in thepalatine’slaboratoriumareevidenceofasoulthathasstrayedtoofarfromtheGod-Emperor’sLight,evenifitdeludesitselfthatitsintentionsarenoble.Wheretobegin?Therearesevenholdingcellsinthepalatine’ssanctuary,eachdedicatedtooneoftheVirtuesIlluminant,andwithineachaprisoner,thoughsacrificeisamoreappositeterm.Inanactofsupremeblasphemy,eachofthesewretcheshasbeenharrowed, twisted and reforged into a living likeness of one of the VirtuesIncarnate.The ingenuityandskillwithwhich these transfigurationshavebeenwroughtisexceededonlybythearroganceoftheundertaking,yettheworstofitis the suffering of the victims, for the Incarnates are not joyful avatars. Theywereconceivedas symbolsof serviceandself-sacrifice in the faceofgrievousadversity,shoulderingtheburdensofourcollectivespirit.Eachisanexemplarof thefinest traits inmankind,but tobecomeoneis toexperienceexcruciatingtorment.Ortranscendentecstasy,perchance?Ishalldescribeonlyoneoftheseexaltedabominations,butthatshouldsufficetocondemnthepalatine.TheTornProphet is the foremostof theLastCandle’spantheon,and theonlyIncarnate derived from a being that actually walked upon this world, yet itsappearanceis themostambiguousof theseven.While therearemanytheoriesabout the founder’s identity, it is traditionally depicted as a hooded figure involuminousrobes,itsarmscastwideasitsbodyisrivenapartbyrevelation.A

singlesurvivingeye floatswithin thecowl,vastand tranquil, indifferent to thescourging of its body.How could such an abstract being be fabricated in theflesh?Withawill there’salwaysawaywardanswer tobe found,and lost soulsaplentytoplyandplayitupon.Bhatori must have embraced this challenge long ago, for I unknowinglyglimpsed its formative iterations during my training at the Sacrasta. Even inthosetimeshersanctum’scellswereneverempty,butonlyVeritashousedalong-termoccupant–a tech-priest, or rather the legacyofone, for the cyborghadbeenfastidiouslydisassembledintoitsconstituentparts.Itssculptedmetallimbswere arranged around the gutted shell of its torso, while its biomechanicalorgansweresuspendedintanksaroundtheroom,stillpulsingandwhirringwithactivity.Thehead,amassiveadamantiumskull,wasperchedatopapedestalatthecentreoftheroomlikeafalseidol.Irememberitseyesswivellingabout,asiflookingforawayout.Thoseoversizedorbslookedincongruouslyhuman,theiririsesavividgreenthatrepudiatedtheirlifelessvessel.Thepiecesofthispuzzlewereallconnected,woventogetherbyaweboftubesand wires that preserved the cyborg in gestalt stasis. At first I believed thepalatinewasattemptingtoaidthecreature,butlaterIunderstooditwasanotherofherbelovedexperiments.What Inever imaginedwas the truenatureofherambitions.Orthefalsecontrivanceofherinhibitionsandtheenfeeblingstitchestheysewedinfertilesouls.Yesterday,whenIpeeredthroughtheviewingwindowofVeritas,Isawaraggedshape floating above the ground. Its face and formwere shrouded in a whiterobe,butskeletalmetalarmsjuttedfromthebillowingfoldsofcloth,theirlongfingersundulatingasifthecreaturewereswimmingthroughtheair.Atearranfrom its hood to the hem of its robes, bisecting it with a hand-span ofnothingness.ButitwastheeyethatIrecognised–avastviridianorbsuspendedinsidetherivencowl.Itwasthetech-priest,itsmodularanatomyreconfiguredandperhapsfittedwithgraviticsuspensorstomimictheTornProphet.Icannotsaywhetheranythingofthe cyborg’s sanity remains, but given Bhatori’s obsessions, I suspect it issufferinginitsapotheosis.Absurdly,Ifindmyselfwonderingwhathappenedtoitsothereye.Four of the other cells boasted equally blasphemous, if less ambitiouscreations,butthereweretwodiscrepanciestothepattern.

Firstly, itappearsthatBhatorihasnotyetfoundherBlindWatchman,forthecell devoted to Vigilans was empty. And then there was Humilitas, whoseoccupant was not at all like the others. Though the prisoner bore a subtleresemblancetoitsassignedavatar,itappearedtobeuntaintedbythepalatine’shandiwork,yetdespiteitsoutwardinnocuousnessitmaybethemostdangerousofthemall.

Asenath held her breath as the hatch of the Reformatorium slid aside, thenexhaled in reliefwhen she saw thepalatinewas absent.Bhatori had evidentlyworkedthroughthenightagain,fortherewasfreshequipmentclusteredaroundtheTabulaRasa.Toher surprise themanwho layupon the surgical tablewasstill alive, his chest rising and falling more steadily than yesterday. CouldBhatori’sministrationsactuallybehelpingTolandFeizt?If so it is only because failure displeases her. The thought was perverselycomforting,evenifAsenathwasn’tsureitwasherown.DismissingFeizt fornow,she turned to thecellbearing theanomalousavatarandsawAngeliquewasalreadywaitingbythedoor,itsporcelainfacedirectedtowardsher.‘You knew I’d come, didn’t you?’ Asenath murmured. Yesterday she hadshrunk back from confronting the prisoner behind the door, all the whileknowingtherewasnoalternativeifshehopedtofindanswers.Ofthesixshamavatars,itwastheonlyonethatmightberemotelysane.Steelingherself,shecrossedtothecellandplacedahandonitssensorplate.Itpulsedanangryredandsquawkedadenial.‘Open it,’ Asenath commanded Angelique. As she expected, the servitorcomplied immediately. After all, this waswhat it wanted – or rather what itssecretmasterwanted,forAsenathwascertainthewitchhadseizedcontrolofthecyborg’setiolatedmind.WithabrushofitsglovedhandAngeliquecoaxedachimeofapprovalfromthesensor.Therewas amuted clangof internal lockswithdrawingand awheeledhandleextrudedfromthedoor.Utteringaprayerofprotection,Asenathspunthewheelandpulledthehatchopen.Notallowingherselfamoment’shesitation,shesteppedinside.Handinhandweleapintotheterribleunknown!Asenathwasbraced for the coldmiasmaof corruptionand the skin-pricklingrevulsionthatpsykershadalwaysevokedinher,butshefeltnothing.‘Hello,’thewitchsaid.

‘Hello,’Asenathrepliedreflexively.Tristessehadfounditswayintoherhand,itsmuzzlelevelledattheprisonerwhosatcross-leggedatthebackofthecell.‘Iwon’thurtyou,’hepromised,regardinghersolemnly.Hewasnomorethaneightornineyearsold,yethishairwasentirelywhite.Ithunglooselyabouthisgauntface,starkagainsthisdarkcomplexion.‘That’sgood,’Asenath saiduncertainly. ‘Idon’twant tohurtyoueither.’Butshedidn’tlowerherweapon.‘Thankyou,thereisalreadytoomuchhurthere.’Theboy’sspeechwasstilted,asthoughhewereunusedtotalking.‘Hasthepalatinehurtyou?’Asenathasked.‘There’sneverenoughtoeat.Sometimesshemakesthingsgodarkorcold.’Heshrugged,hisbonesshowingthroughhiswhitetunic.‘Butmostlyshejustwantsmetodraw.’‘SoIsee.’The cell walls were covered in sheets of parchment, all bearing illustrationsrenderedinfineblacklines.Morelitteredthefloor,alongwithanassortmentofinkpots,quillsandmeasuringimplements.InvariablythesubjectwaseithertheKoronatusRing,elaboratelymappedandembellishedwithitscoterieofavatars,or portraits of the Incarnates themselves. The images swarmed with intricatedetailsthathookedAsenath’seyes,draggingthemfromoneelementtothenextwithoutrespite,hintingatsomeobscureepiphanyifonlyshecouldseethewholepicture.‘Don’tlook,’theboywarned.Do!Asenath snapped her attention away from the drawings. They unnerved hermore than their creator.Their subjectswere holy and their style exquisite, yetsomehowtheconjunctionofthetwofeltprofane.Predatory.‘Youhaveagift,’shesaidstiffly.‘Shesaysthattoo.’‘Youdon’tenjoydrawing?’‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘Drawing makes me see… things.’ His voicedropped to a whisper. ‘I think they’re daemons.’ He spoke the word likesomething only vaguely understood, but unquestionably terrible. Hearing thefoultermonthelipsofonesoyoungsickenedAsenath,thoughsheknewwhathewas.Abruptlytheboy’sexpressionbrightened.‘What’syourname?’heasked.‘SisterAsenath,’sheansweredcautiously,wonderingwhyhehadn’tpluckedit

fromherthoughts.‘Greetings,SisterAsenath,’hesaidformally.‘IamAthanazius.’‘The Emperor’s blessings upon you, Athanazius,’ Asenath responded withequal gravity, her hands inscribing the holy aquila. To her surprise the witchdidn’tflinchfromthebenediction.‘Howlonghaveyoubeenhere?’‘Awhile.’Hisfacecloudedagain.‘Sincethedaemonscame.’TristessetwitchedinAsenath’shand.‘Wherearethesedaemons,Athanazius?’‘Attheschola.’Theboylookeddown.‘Theycamewhenhewokethemachineup.’‘Who?’Hedidn’treply.‘Athanazius,whathappenedattheschola?Please,thisisimportant.I–’‘You should go, Sister Asenath,’ he said, cocking his head sharply, as iflisteningtosomething.‘She’scoming.’

II

‘Sacred Throne,’ Jonah breathed as he entered the librarium’s central rotundaandcranedhisneckto takein itssoaringgalleries.Theylinedthewallsof thevast hall in cloistered tiers, every one crowded with shelves of dark woodbearingbooks,filesanddata-slates,alongwithmoreesotericobjectshecouldn’tidentify. Marble-balconied walkways served the galleries, their paths criss-crossing overhead in a lattice that occluded the dome high above. Accessplatforms rose and fell between the walkways, their whisper-quiet pistonscombining into a sibilant, almost subliminal chorus. The umbral figure of theTorn Prophet was everywhere, hewn into the walls and gazing ambivalentlyfromthetapestriesdrapingthebalconies.ScoresofSistersDialogusintheazurerobesoftheSilverCandleservedwithinthiscavernoustempleof learning,eitherwanderingitspathsorsittingatdesksalong the galleries, their heads bowed over their work. Hundreds of youngerwomen in the blue-and-white tunics of the order’s lay staff hurried silentlythroughthemaze,seekingorreturningbooksfortheirbetters,whileservo-skullsflitted between the levels, their silver-plated craniums crowned with artificialcandlesthatburnedcold.Thisisnoplaceforflames,Jonahreflectedasoneofthediminutivemachineswhirredpasthim,itspincersclutchingasheafofscrolls.‘I’d heard your librariumwas remarkable,’ hewhispered to his guide. ‘But Ineverimagined…this,’hefinishedlamely.

‘TheLibrariumProfundiswasconsecratedduringtheFirstIlluminationoftheCandleworld,’ SisterHagalaz replied. ‘It is the oldest building in the city andsecondonlytotheCandelabrumcathedralinsanctity.’The gruffwoman’smannerwasmore subdued here, but she still sported theunkemptrobesshe’dwornon theroadandtheservo-skull thathoveredbyhershoulder – she called it Pretorius – was battered and grimy. Despite herappearanceeveryonetheyhadpasseddeferredtoherwithoutquestion,includingthe guards at the librarium’s gates. Jonah suspected her shabbiness wascultivatedtosignifyhercontemptformundanematters,buthecouldn’tdecideifitwasheartfeltoraffected.‘Almost a thousand years of observation, contemplation and analysis isenshrined here,’ Hagalaz proclaimed reverently, ‘along with countless worksfromtheImperium’sdeeperpast.’‘It’smagnificent,’Jonahsaidsincerely.HisquesthadalwayscarriedhimtothemostfrayedreachesoftheImperium–far-flung frontierplanetswhere theEcclesiarchy’sgrandiosedreamshadneverborne fruit,orexhaustedoneswhere theirprogenyhad longgone to seed.Hishomeworldhadbeen littlebetter,evenbefore theunholynightswathed it.Hewasunaccustomedtobeauty,nevermindmajesty.Jonah’seyeswidenedasheglimpsedagiantinshimmeringbluearmourstrideacrossoneofthegalleriesoverheadanddisappearbehindabookshelf.WasthataSpaceMarine?‘Come,’Hagalazurged.‘Wehavematterstodiscuss,PreacherTythe.’Yes,wedo,Jonahagreed,followingheracrosstherotunda.Yesterday, night had crept in by the time they reached the Silver Candle’sprecinctsintheheartofthecityandHagalazhadrefusedtotalkfurther,insistingthey adjournuntilmorning. Jonahhadbeenquartered in the order’s residencyhalls,hisstatussomewherebetweenaguestandaprisoner.Theyhadn’tsearchedhimor lockedhimup,but adour, rake-thinSisterDialoguscalledHarukihadstoodinattendanceoutsidehisdoorallnight.Shewastrailingbehindthemnow,watchfulasahawkandalmostcertainlyarmed.Theydon’tknowwhattomakeofme,Jonahgauged,buttheywantsomethingorI’dbedeadbynow.Their party passed through the hall into an arched corridor linedwith doors.Hagalazledthemtothelastofthese,whereashort,round-facedwomanawaitedtheminawood-panelledreadingroom,adata-slateclutchedprotectivelyinherhands.DespiteheryouthsheworetherobesofafullyordainedSisterDialogus

andherdarkbobwasstreakedwithsilver.‘You have gathered everything I requested, Sister Navreen?’ Hagalaz asked,closingthedoorbehindthem.‘Indeed,reveredPreceptorCognostic,’theyoungwomanansweredwithabow.‘Iabidedherethroughoutthenighttoensurethateverythingwasprepared.’Preceptor,Jonahechoed.Itconfirmedwhathe’dalreadyguessed–thisHagalazwas a woman of rank, even more senior than the Sacrasta’s palatine if herememberedthehierarchyofthesisterhoodcorrectly.‘Ihavealsotakenthelibertyoforganisingthematerialandpreparingextensivenotes,preceptor,’SisterNavreenaddedprimly, indicating the tablebehindher.Booksandscrollscovereditintidypiles.‘No,thatwillnotdo,’Hagalazdeclared,stridingtothetable.‘Yourreverence?’‘Hehastofinditforhimself,Sister,ornotatall.’Thepreceptorsweptahandacross the table, demolishing the stacks with unseemly enthusiasm, thenproceeded to jumble up the material. Sister Navreen’s crestfallen expressionwouldhavebeencomicalunderothercircumstances.‘What’sthisabout,preceptor?’Jonahaskedwarily.‘Thatisforyoutodiscover,priest,’Hagalazsaid.Apparentlysatisfiedwithherefforts,shesteppedawayfromthetable.‘StormCalliope,Sister,’shepromptedherjunior.‘Yes, your reverence.’ Sister Navreen turned to Jonah. ‘Preacher Tythe, ourorbital sensors have detected a storm front approaching from the gulf. It isexpectedtoreachtheKoronatusRingwithinfivedays.’‘Iunderstoodstormswerecommonhere,Sister?’‘Indeed,butnotofthismagnitude,’Navreenrepliedfussily.‘StormCalliopeisunlikeanyrecordedsincetheFourthIllumination,oversixcenturiesago.’‘Youthinkit’sunnatural,’Jonahventured,glancingatHagalaz.‘Theunnaturalisnaturalhere,priest,’thepreceptorsaid,herblueeyesshining.‘TheSeaofSoulswashesagainst theCandleworld’s shores.That iswhy therearenowitch-kinhere.Theirkindcannotwithstanditstides.’‘But why come here at all?’ Jonah asked, thinking of the horrors he haduncoveredevenonthemostmundaneworlds.‘Therisk…’‘IsoneweembraceintheGod-Emperor’sname,’Hagalazproclaimed.‘Thereisablessingwithinthiscurse,priest–salvationordamnation!’Sheslicedtheairwith a rigid hand for emphasis. ‘That is why the Torn Prophet claimed thisworld.Revelationdemandsfortitudeandfaith.’

Thisisn’tanargumentI’mgoingtowin,Jonahdecided.Orafightworthdyingfor…‘Iunderstand,’hesaid,noddingearnestly.‘Yourfaithwards–’He barely felt the sting of the preceptor’s backhanded slap, though her ringsdrewblood.‘Don’t patroniseme, outsider,’Hagalaz growled, her guttural accent strongerthanever.‘Iknowyouthinkusfools.’‘Truthfully,Idon’tknowwhattothink,’Jonahconfessed,rubbinghisbleedinglipforappearances’sake.‘IthoughtweweregoingtotalkaboutVedas.’‘Oh, I know the Exegessor is alive,’ Hagalaz said dismissively, ‘and I don’tdoubthehadtheresourcestocontactyou.Ievenbelieveyouthinkyoucankillhim.’Jonahhesitated,takingthisin.‘Andyouintendtostopme?’‘No,Iwantyoutoproveyoucandoit.’Hagalazjabbedafingeratthejumbledbooks.‘Beginbyshowingmeyouhavethewitandthewilltosee.’‘WhatamIlookingfor?’‘Truth,alwaystruth.’Shesmiledicily.‘Thisroomisyours.SisterNavreenwillassistyouinyourresearch,butnotleadyou.’TheyoungDialogusblushedattheimplicitcensure.‘Impressme,JonahTythe.’‘Thestorm?’Jonahaskedassheheadedforthedoor.‘Whatisitsrelevance?’‘Illuminatehim,Sister!’Hagalazcalledoverhershoulderasshestrodeout.‘SisterNavreen?’Jonahturnedtohisdesignatedaide.‘Illuminatemeplease?’‘There is a perplexing synchronicity to the storm’s inception, sir,’ the youngDialogusinformedhimgravely.‘Itwasdetectedwithin…’Shecheckedherdata-slate:‘Radiant-Seven-Seven-Three-Four.’‘AndwhatisRadiant-Seven-Seven-Three-Four,Sister?’‘The time your arrivalwas recorded, PreacherTythe. It iswhen you steppedontothePerihelion.’

III

The black void was worse than the nightmare. There was no eternal road orinfernalstalkerhere,butnohopeeither–nothingexceptthememoryofthought,for in this no-place even the self was a shadow, its only surviving passionsdespairandthelongingforitscessation.Then,withoutrhymeorreason,thevoidwasgone.Asenathplungedbackintobeing,hermindrecoilingfromthesuddenonslaught

of sensations. Bright lights assailed her from above, dazzling her with theirinsistence.Theairwascoldandsourwiththestenchofcleansingunguents.Sheclosedhereyesthenopenedthemagain,afraidthedarknessmightnotletgothistime.Dry-heaving,sheclutchedatanearbytableandstumbledwhenitrolledaway.Agurney?Ashereyesadjustedshesawmoreofthetrolleysaroundher,andbeyondthemthedismalredandwhitetilesoftheSacrasta.Shewasinalargechamber,itsfarwallinsetwithrowsofsquarehatches.Afewhungopen,their metal trays extruded like tongues from yawning mouths. Not all wereempty.TheMortifactorum,Asenathrealised,staringatthecadaverslyingonthetrays.OneofthemwasBreacherRynfeld.Herbreathfrostinginthechillair,shecrossedtheroomtothedeadtrooper.Hischestwassplayedopen,theflesharoundthecavityfoldedbackandpinnedwithmetal clamps, snapped ribs jutting from the raw edges like teeth. His organswere gone, presumably stowed in specimen jars somewhere. The palatine hadevidentlyperformedtheautopsyshecraved.‘Youdidn’tevenclosehimup,’Asenathwhispered,sickenedbythedisrespect.Bhatori hadn’t shutRynfeld’s eyes either. They stared up at her blankly, theiririsesfadedalmosttowhite.Asenathofferedaprayerfor thetrooperthenleanedagainsthis tray, tryingtogatherherthoughts.Whatwasshedoinghere?Sherecalledheedingthewitch-boy’swarningandhurryingtothebasementstairs,andthenherfearasthedooratthetopofthestairwellhadbeguntoopen…Itwasthecrone,hershadowprompted.Weweretoolate,Sister.Yes…yes,thatwascorrect.They–she–hadfledalongthecorridorbeforeshewas seen, intending to hide here until Bhatori had passed. She rememberedopeningthedoorandthen…Thentherewasonlydarkness.Don’t dawdle, Sister!Wemustn’t linger in thebitch’s corpse store.And therearethingswemustattendto.Something tried to jerk her round, like an alien reflex. Asenath resisted andturnedslowly,ofherownaccord.Doyousee,Sister?Anotherbodywassprawledbesideagurneynearby,whereAsenathhadn’tbeenabletoseeitbefore–awomaninthescarletrobesofahospitaller.Shelayonherback,ascalpelburiedinherrighteye.CautiouslyAsenathapproachedthecorpse.SherecognisedthewomanfromtheBreachers’ward,thoughshedidn’tknowhername.

SisterEnkel.Iheedourearsmorekeenlythanyoudo,Sister.‘Be silent,’ Asenath muttered distractedly. Beneath her revulsion somethingaboutthescenenaggedattheanalyticalpartofhermind.Abruptlyshehadit–themurderedchapelattendantontheBloodofDemeter.Thoughtheinstrumentsofdeathdiffered,thekillingswereeerilyalike,bothvictimspiercedthroughtheright eye.But itwent deeper than that. She could feel the gleeful viciousnessbehindthemurders.The candle was more creative, her dark passenger observed airily, but thescalpelmoreelegant.Anothermemory unfolded – Sister Enkel turning as theMortifactorum dooropens behind her. The surprise on her face turning to terror as she sees theintruder’sface,thenhercurtailedcryasthethrownscalpelfindsitsmark.‘Whatdidyoudo?’Asenathhisses.What we always do when needs must, Sister. What we’ve done sinceProvidence.‘No.’Remember!‘No!’Buthowcouldshenot?

Onceagainshe trudges through thedarkstreetsof thesnow-choked town,herhoodedgreatcoatwrappedtightlyaroundher,ascarfshieldingherfacefromthewind.Under thecoatherblood-soaked robesarebeginning to freeze.Shehasnever known a cold as malevolent as this. The locals call this hovel Trinity,perhapsbecauseitisruledequallybyice,windandsnow,orperhapsbecauseitonceharbouredsomethingmorethanmisery.‘There’snothingsobitterasaProvidencewinter,’theiralliesamongtheArkanhadwarnedwhenFatherDeliveranceannounced this expedition to theunrulynorthernterritoriesofhisworld.Hisworld?Hedoesn’tcall it that–perhapsdoesn’teventhink it–yetAsenathknowshebelievesitallthesame,forthisplanethaspossessedhimmorecompletelythanhecaneverhopetopossessit,nomatterhowmanyofitspeopleheconvertstotheImperialCreedorhowmanytemplesheplantsinitscapricioussoil.Themostrecentofthemloomsoutoftheblizzardbeforeher,itswoodenfaçadeaping the Imperium’s gothic architecture. Despite its crudity the temple is amarvel among the hunched shacks of the frozen frontier town where theircrusade has stalled. It is the two hundred and nineteenth that Father

DeliverancehasconsecratedonProvidence.Asenathhasbeenkeepingatally,ofthetemplesandmuchmorebesides.Threeyearshavepassedsinceherpatronledherhere.Lastwinterhiscrusadewas deemed victorious and the bulk of his forces departed the planet for newconquests, butAsenath knowshewill neverbe finishedwith thisworld, nor itwithhim.Butshe…oh,sheisfinallydonewithbothofthem.Theguardsoutsidethetemplesalutehersluggishly,theirfaceshiddenbytheirwide-brimmed hats and scarves. Like all the troops accompanying thisexpedition they are indigenous converts, part of the confessor’s newly formedloyalistconfederation.Shedoubtsitwilloutlasthim,anymorethanthistemplewilloutlastthedecade.Providenceistoostubbornforhonestfaith.Herpatronawaitsherinside,kneelingbeforearoughlyhewngranitealtarashe prays. His naked torso is criss-crossed with the bloody stripes of his self-inflictedpenance, thesix-tailedwhipheusedtoexact itstilldanglingfromhisrighthand.Thisishowheatoneswheneverheaskshertoplyherdarkertalentsupon the flesh of his enemies, as he has tonight. There are many old wealsamongthefreshwounds,butnotnearlyenoughtopayafairpriceforAsenath’ssoul.Theconfessorrises tomeetherassheapproaches,hisexpressionunreadablebehind his heavy beard. He wears the past three years like thirty, his facehaggard, itscoppercomplexion faded toawansepiaand tarnishedwithsoresand seams.His tonsure has become a wildmane that hangs below his waist,vyingwithhisbeardforsupremacy.Botharemoregreythanblacknow,justashissoulhasbecomemoreblackthangolden,ifindeedtherewasanythingotherthanfool’sgoldtheretobeginwith.Onlyhiseyeshaveretainedtheirvitality,yettheyarethemostunsettlingpartofhim,fortheylooklikesomethingpluckedandreplantedfromayoungerbeing.‘I have failed,’ Asenath reports. ‘The shaman was not afraid of pain. Sheembracedit.’‘That isunwelcomenews,’ theconfessordeclares,hisvoicestillasvibrantashis eyes. ‘Her compliance might have swayed the Norland tribes to accedepeacefully. They revere and fear her kind.’ He shakes his head sorrowfully, ashepherd despairing at his folly-prone flock. ‘We will burn her in the townsquare tomorrow. It will set an example and please our allies in theconfederation.Theyhavenoloveforthesenorthernsavages.’‘Sheisgone,’Asenathsays.‘Shediedcursingthistownanditsfolk.’Helooksatherquestioningly.‘Thatwascarelessofyou,myVigilantPaladin.’

‘No,Ichosetotakeherlife.’‘Whywouldyoudothat?’heasks,drawingcloser.‘Becauseitwasenough.’‘Thatisnotforyoutojudge,’hesayscoldly.‘DoyouthinkItakepleasureinthesufferingwemustbring in theGod-Emperor’sname?DoyouthinkIenjoythis?’ He swings the whip against his bleeding chest in emphasis. When sheoffers no reply he smiles ruefully, interpreting her silence as contrition. ‘Mydaughter,youandIdoHisholyworktogether,butIamHisanointedhand.’Areyou?Asenathwondersbleakly.Itisherhandsthathaveshapedthefateofthisworld,deflectingitscoursefromdefianceof theImperiumintointernecinewar.Howmanyrebelshassheturnedtotheircause?Generals,legislatorsandscholars,eventheoccasionalpoet–theyhaveallsubmittedtoherministrations.Painandtheterrorofithaveprovenmoreeffectivethanallthecrusade’swords,wealthormilitarystrength.No,ifthetwistinthisworld’stalebelongstoanyoneitissurelytoSisterMercy.‘Why did you choose me?’ Asenath asks. Of the scores of Battle SistersassembledalongtheProphet’sCausewayonthatfatefulday,whyher?Itistheonlyquestionthatmatterstohernow.‘How could I not?’ he replies. ‘You stood above your fellow Sisters as yourPerihelion towers over its subordinate peaks – a resplendent soul strainingagainstitsmortalcage,yetoneutterlyunsulliedbypride.OnceIsawyou,Isawnoother,AsenathHyades!’Hisvoicehaslostnoneofitssincerity,butithasnoholdoverheranymore.Shehasheardthisanswerbefore,predictedwordforwordbythewitch-womansheexecutedlessthananhourago.Theshamantoldhershewouldtastethelieinthose words the next time she heard them, and she was right – they are likesweetenedpoison,theirduplicitymorebitterthanthekillingcoldoutside.‘I understand these years have been onerous for you,’ Father Deliverancebegins,reachingouttotouchhershoulder,‘butwe…’Hetrailsoff,staringatthelongneedlethathastransfixedhishandmidwaytoitsdestination.‘Daughter?’heasks,lookingupinconfusion.‘Deceiver,’ SisterMercyhissesand yanks theneedle free ina spurt of brightblood.Beforehecanspeakagain,she jabs it througheachofhisgoldeneyes,first the left, then the right, neither strike deep enough to kill, both certain toblind.‘Truthisthefirstandonlylastinglight,’shedecreesoverhisagonisedsobbing.‘Mayyoufinditinyourdarkness.’

Thenshehurlstheneedleawayandwalksoutintothenight.

Ithad tobedone,SisterMercysaidsoftly.Perhaps thatwas true,but itdidn’texcuseherdelightinthedeed.Asenathfelltoherkneesbesidetheslainhospitaller.Thewomanhadtobeoneof the palatine’s close acolytes, else she wouldn’t have been in theMortifactorum,butthatwasonlyafaintcomfort.Concealthebody,Mercyurged.Thenwemustbegonefromhere.Asenathknewherdarksisterwasright,butshelingeredanyway.‘The chapel,’ she whispered, remembering her blackout on the Blood ofDemeter.Ithadfeltsomuchlikethisone.‘Thedesecrationandslaughter…’Sister,youmustactswiftly!‘Wasthatyou?’TheExodiimonkswereworms!Theirendingwasamercy.AtitterescapedfromAsenath’sthroat.Ifnotmercifullyaccomplished!‘No…’Asenathclosedhereyes,tryingtoshutoutthememorybefore–

She sees the portly attendant’s face redden in shock as she approaches thechapel doors. Mercy has stripped their shared body naked and left theirgarmentsalittlewaybacksotheywon’tbesoiledbythecarnagetocome.Withasalacioussmirkshestridespastthestunnedgatekeeperandsauntersuptothealtarbeyond,ignoringtheblindmonksforthemoment.Simpering,sheliftsthehallowedcandlefromitsrestingplaceandreturnstotheattendant.‘Wouldyoulike tosee the light?’Mercyaskshimcoyly, thenramsthecandlethroughhisrighteyesohardheslamsintothewallbehind.Hisremainingorbstaresatherdullyasheslidestotheground.Shelickstheairtotastehissoulasitpassesintothemaelstrom.‘Nevergogentlyintothelongnight,’sheadvises.Thetipsofherfingersaretingling.Raisingherhands,Mercygaspsindelightwhensheseestheyaretippedwithlongblacktalons.Crooningtoherself,shere-entersthechapelandsizesupthemonks.Where,ohwheretobegin?

‘AndGlicke?’Asenathwhisperedindawninghorror.‘Youtookhisknife…’Hehadnoneedofitafterwe’dputdearSanghata’sgifttogooduse,hersisterreplied.Whyscribbleininkwhenthere’smorevitalfluidtobehad?Asenath recalled the desecrated quill and the rest of thememory struck likelightning.

She glances over her shoulder tomake sure nobody in the ship’s infirmary iswatching, then leans over the sleeping trooper on the rearmost bunk. Konrad

Glicke’seyesopeninsurpriseasshestifleshismouthwithonehand,thenwidenasheseeshergrin.Sheblowshimakiss then jabsCanonessSanghata’squillintohisearandtwists.

‘Have there been others?’ Asenath asked numbly. Her shadow didn’t answer,whichwasalltheanswersheneeded.

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–EighthStatement

FourdayshaveelapsedsinceIlastsetquilltoparchment.Outwardlytheyhavepassedintranquillity,evenyieldingameasureofhopeformycharges,ifnotformyself.SinceourarrivalattheSacrastaonlyBreacherRynfeldhassuccumbedto the Razorblight, but his death and subsequent dissection at the palatine’shandsmaynotbeinvain,forthetreatmentsshehasdevisedtopurgethexenostaintare showingpromise.AkaishiBhatorimaybeamonster, andamakerofthem, but I cannot fault her brilliance. Perhaps some good may come of herinhumanity.ButnowImustwriteof theshadowsundertheskin,ofboththeSacrastaandmyself,forthat’swherethebesttalesalwayslie–long,shortortallerthanadamnedgirl’sdoubtsanddreams,alltruetotelluntiltold.Each morning I have returned to the palatine’s basement sanctum andconversedwith theprisonershehaschosen forherHarrowedArtisan.Heisawitch,yet Ibelievehe isan innocent–no,muchmore than that!–abeingofpassinggrace.Despitehis tenderyearshehas thegravityofa farolder soul,albeit one still seeking thewords andwisdom to express itself. I sense all theVirtues Illuminant at work in this boy, but humility above all, which is likelywhatgirdshimagainsttheArchenemy’stemptations.WheneverwespeakIfindmyselfwonderingwhathemightbecome ifgranted theopportunity to flourishandnourishhisgiftunfetteredbytheinsipidtenetsofmorality.

My revered Canoness Sanghata, I am aware that such sentiments would bedeemed heretical bymany in our convent, but theHoly Imperium has alwaysnumberedstalwartwitch-kinamongitsheroes,notleastamongtheLibrariansofthe Adeptus Astartes. Is it so unlikely that a child who has endured in theshallows of the Sea of Souls might grow into a man capable of wielding itsenergiesformankind’sbetterment?Oritspristinedismemberment?Whatever else occurs here, I have resolved to save this boy, Athanazius. Isuspect Bhatori has delayed his modifications until he is older, not out ofkindness,butsohewillbetterfittheavatar’saspect.Iwillnotallowhertotwisthisbodyandmaimhissoulasshehasdonetotheotherscaughtinherweb,andassheiscurrentlydoingtoTolandFeizt.Ishouldhaveguessedherintentionstowardsthebreachsergeantfromthestart,for his hulking form and stamina are the perfect foundations for her missingavatar.The Blind Watchman, like the Penitent Knight of Temperans, is a warriorfigure, its height and build mirroring that of a Space Marine. Unlike thearmouredKnight, theWatchman’salabaster flesh isnakedsave fora loinclothandabandagecoveringitscauterisedeyesockets.Smokewaftsperpetuallyfromthesewounds, fortheystillsmoulderwiththesacredfirethat tooktheavatar’ssight.TraditionallytheWatchmancarriesnoweapons,itspreternaturalmasteryofunarmedcombatmorethansufficienttovanquishtheunclean.Notonmywatch,blindSister!Three days ago I noticed that Feizt’s skin was bleached of colour, like abloodless corpse, yet his breathing was stronger than ever, the wound in hismidriffsealedupandfading.Thenyesterdaymorningtherewerewispsofsmokerisingfromhisface.WhenIlookedcloserIrealisedhiseyesweregoneandtheirsocketsglowedred,thefleshwithinbroilingandrestoringitselfwithanaudiblesizzle.I have no idea how Bhatori accomplished this vicious trick. Perhaps shelearned her most arcane craft from the tech-priest who became her firstsacrifice.IhaveoftenwonderedhowthatunfortunatecreaturecametobeontheCandleworld,andwhetherBhatoriluredithere,butifthatistruethenhowfarbackdoesthisheresyextend?Anddoesitbeginandendwiththepalatine?Athanazius’talkofdaemonsoverrunningthescholalendscredencetoPreacherTythe’s suspicions about the Theologus Exegessor. Could it be that Vedas andBhatoriareworkinginconcerttofulfilsomeoverarchingblasphemy?I believe Tythe may know more, but our contact has been limited since he

enteredtheserviceoftheSilverCandle.Wespeakeveryeveningacrossthevoxand he has hinted that he is engaged in research of some import, but isunforthcomingwith thedetails. Iadmit Ihavebeenequallycircumspectaboutmyowndiscoveries;however, it isnotdistrust thatholdsmeback,but shame.Thefirstandforemostsin!Recenteventshavecompelledmetofacethetruthofmyselfandthedepthofmydamnation. I have not slept in days, but though the Wafers Vigilant hold mynightmaresatbay, I fearmydarkstalkerSISTER!hasalreadyovertakenme.WhenI look in themirrorI feelhergazingback throughmyeyesandwonder,howlong?HowlongbeforeIamthereflectionandshetherealityofme?

‘Athanazius,Ihaveanotherquestion,’Asenathsaidtotheboyoppositeher.Theyweresittingcross-leggedonthefloorofhiscell,onlyacoupleofpacesbetweenthem.‘Yes,SisterAsenath?’‘Whyhaven’tyouescaped?Yourslavecouldsetyoufree.’‘Myslave?’Helookedpuzzled.‘Theservitor–Angelique,’Asenathprompted.‘Oh,sheisn’taslave.’‘Yetyoucontrolher…itsmind.’Despitetheporcelain-facedcyborg’sfeminineaspect,Asenathcouldn’t thinkof it asashe.Nothingmeaningful survived thebrutalprocessthattransformedahumanbeingintoaservitor.Toascribesuchatruncated creature a gender was repellent. ‘It obeys your commands,’ shepressed.‘No,’Athanaziusreplied.‘Sheismyfriend.Wetalk…withoutwords,buttheQareendoesn’tbelongtoanybody.’‘TheQareen?’Asenathfrowned.Thewordhadanunsettling,aliencadence,yetitwassomehowfamiliar.‘That’s her real name,’ Athanazius said. ‘She’s been here so long nobodyremembersit.Orhowtotalktoher.’‘You’resayingitisn’taservitor?’‘Sheisaguard–aguardian,’hecorrectedhimself.‘Aguardianofwhat,Athanazius?’‘The Ring, of course, Sister.’ He sounded surprised, as if thiswere obvious.‘Somebodyhastowatchoverit.’‘Howcanshedothatfromdownhere?’‘She sees far.’ The boy shrugged. ‘That’s how she knowswhen the crone is

coming.’Hegrinnedatthewordcrone.He’dlearntitfromher.‘Ithoughtyousawthat,Athanazius.Your…gift.’‘No, thatdoesn’twork inhere.Thewallsstop it. Icanonlyhear theQareen.Shewarnsme.’Hisgrinfaded.‘That’swhyI like ithere,evenwith thecrone.It’squiet.’Apsi-dampeningfield,Asenathguessed.Yes,itmadesenseforthepalatinetoinstallsomethingofthekind,butthatstillleftthequestionofAngelique.Ifthecreaturewasn’taservitorthenwhatintheEternalThrone’snamewasit?‘Butyou’reright,Sister,’Athanaziussaid.‘TheQareensaysIshouldleavethisplace.Willyouhelpme?’‘Whydoyouneedme?’Asenathaskedcautiously.Shehadalreadypromisedherselfshewouldaidhim,butnowshewasn’tsosure.‘I could get out ofhere, but after that…’Athanazius flipped his hands over,palmsup inadisconcertinglymaturegesture. ‘The redSisterswould stopme.That’swhytheQareenwantedustomeet.Shesaidyouweredifferent.’Different?Asenathechoed.Moredifferentthanyouimagine,boy…‘Wheredoyouwanttogo,Athanazius?’‘Vigilans,’heanswered,‘theWatchspire.’‘Whythere?’‘It’swhereI’mmeanttobe…whenitcomes.’‘Whenwhatcomes?’Asenathleanedcloser.‘Thefire,Sister.’Heclosedhiseyes.‘Theburning.’

Dressed in his black greatcoat and high-peaked cap, Commissar Lemarchéstrodealongthered-tiledcorridors,defyingtheSacrasta’sstafftoobstructhim.Every step of his right leg was laboured, the recently fitted augmetic stillthrowing his balance. Nevertheless the elegantly fashioned limb was animprovementonhisoldprosthetic,andexercisingitofferedexcellentcoverforroamingthehospital.Tohis surprisehewasn’t followedonhiswanderings–unlesshehadaverytalentedshadow–butherefrainedfromstrayingtoofarfromthemaincorridors,lesthearouse suspicion. Itwasenough togivehimapictureof theSacrasta’slayout anda senseof thenumbershere sohecould sketchout a tacticalplan.SisterAsenath,whoappearedtohaveafreerrunoftheplace,hadfilledinthekey blanks, including the location of theweapon stores, though she remainedcageyaboutherconcerns.‘We must prepare for the worst, commissar,’ she had advised, ‘but by the

Emperor’sgracemyfearswillprovegroundless.’Lemarché didn’t believe it. Asenath knew something was coming else shewouldn’t have smuggled him a gun, yet she was still keeping her damnablesecrets.Lost in thought, he almost collided with a woman as she stepped from anintersectingcorridor.Withagrunt,shebackedaway,clutchingtheblanketsshecarriedprotectively,asiffearfulhemighttrytostealthem.Thoughsheworetheplainceriseapronofajuniorhospitallershewaswellintohermiddleyears,withabroad,doughyfaceandsaggingjowls.Disconcertinglyshewasmanytimeshisbulkanddespiteherslouchedposture,nearlyastall.‘My apologies, good Sister,’ Lemarché said, offering a rueful smile. ‘Myattentionwaselsewhere.’Thestrangerstaredathimsullenly,butsaidnothing.Gaugingherdulleyesandslacklipshewonderedifshewasevencapableofspeech.‘Beonyourway,SisterBugaeve!’MotherSolanissnapped,emergingfromthecorridorbehindthewoman.‘Quicklynow!’‘Yes,MotherSuperior,’thejuniormumbledhoarsely,thenshambledaway.‘TheBronzeCandle’s lights do not shine equally brightly,’ Solanis observed,hertoneunexpectedlygentle,‘butweneverabandonourwards.’SheturnedtoLemarché.‘Iseetheaugmeticisservingyouwell,commissar.’‘Most definitely,my lady,’ he replied. ‘I am in your debt, as aremy troops.Yoursisanorderofmiracleworkers.’‘WearemerelyinstrumentsoftheEmperor’sbenevolence,’Solanisdemurred,‘butitishearteningthatourministrationsareprovingefficacious.’‘Indeed.IhadhopedtothankPalatineBhatoriinperson.’‘The palatine is immersed in crucial research, but I shall pass on yoursentiments,commissar.’‘IalsowantedtoaskheraboutBreachSergeantFeizt,’Lemarchépressed.‘Mycompanyholdshiminhighesteem.’‘Forgiveme,Iwasonmywaytoinformyou.’Solanisclaspedherhands,asifinprayer.‘ThebreachsergeantpassedintotheEmperor’scareshortlyafterFirstDawn.Regrettablyhissicknesswastooadvancedtopurge.’‘Thatis…unfortunate,’Lemarchésaid,frowning.‘Whenmayweattendhim?Thecompanymustpayitsrespects.’‘Hisbodyhasbeencrematedtopreventfurthercontagion,butweshallreturntheashestoyou.’‘Isee,’Lemarchémurmured.Iseealie.

He couldn’t explain the intuition, yet he trusted it as he’d always trusted hisinstincts. That discipline ran deeper than his Imperial training, rooted in thesavageritesofsurvivalthathadshapedhisearlychildhood.LogicallysomeoneinFeizt’sconditionshouldbedead,butLemarchédidn’tbelieveit.Thebastardhadenduredtoomuchtopasssoquietly.‘Pleaseallowmetoinformthemeninmyownmanner,’hesaid,alreadycertainhewouldsaynothingtothem.Heneededthemfocused,notbroodingoveralie.‘ThereisanothermatterImustraise,commissar,’Solanissaid.‘WehavebeennotifiedthatastormisexpectedtofallupontheRingtomorrowevening.Thereisnocause foralarm,but though theSacrasta is storm-warded it isanancientbuilding. Please ensure yourmen remain in their ward once thewarning bellsounds.’Sheofferedanemptysmile.‘Fortheirownsafety.’‘I understand,my lady,’ Lemarché affirmed. The news evoked an unfamiliaremotioninhim.Ittookhimseveralmomentstoidentifyit.Dread.Isthisit?hewondered.Isitthestorm,Asenath?Isthatwhat’scomingforus?

Asthehatchtothewitch-boy’scellclosedbehindher,Asenathstopped,staringat the slumbering giant chained to the Tabula Rasa. There was a large blackspeckonhisforehead.Asshenarrowedhereyes,itmoved.Afly,sherealisedindisgust.Shehadtheirrationalfeelingitwaswatchingherfurtively, like a sinner caught in an improper act. With a buzz it flitted intoFeizt’slefteyesocket,seeminglyundeterredbytheheatwithin.‘It can’t be,’ Asenath breathed. The flies had been a collective delusionconjuredupbyhercharges–ametaphorforthesicknesseatingthemalive.Beliefconceivesreality,herdarksistertheorisedbreezily.Faithandfearalikebegetfleshfromphantasy.‘Theworldisnotsoinfirm,’Asenathmurmured,steppingontothedaisbearingtheTabulaRasa.Shehadtolook,ifonlytoconfirmherdenial.Oh, thewholewildworld’s riddledwith cracks and leaks if youdare to seekthemout,butevenifyoudon’t,they’llcomefindandunwindyoufromwithin.AsenathpeeredintothecavitieswhereFeizt’seyeshadbeen,butsawnothingthrough thesmokeexcepta russetglow.Asibilantdroningemanated fromthehollows.Thathadtobemorethanonefly.Alotmore.‘Thisisn’treal,’shewhispered.Don’thidebehinddelirium,dearSister.It’snoshieldagainsttheextraordinary.Nothing’stoosacredtodenounceortooprofanetoembrace–nothere,notnow!‘That’salie!’Atherwordsthegiantstirred,tiltinghisheadtowardsherasifhe

couldsee.‘It’sall…a lie…’Feizthissedpast thefeeder tubes inhis throat,hisvoicesofaintshemighthaveimaginedit.‘Always…was.’‘Toland…’Asenathfaltered,findingnothingmoretosay.‘Better…killme…beforeyou…can’t.’Hestrainedagainsthismanaclesandcaughtherwrist.Hisgripwascoldanddamp,likethetouchofathawingcorpse.Itfeltasifsomethingwerecrawlingunderhisskin.Theglowinhiseyesocketshadturnedamurkygreen.‘Can’t…keepthem…out.’Asenathrecoiledfromhisputridbreath,snatchingherarmfree.Dry-heaving,shestumbledbackwardsandtumbledovertheedgeofthedais.‘Kill…me…’

‘No,yoursinistoograveforsuchaswiftpunishment,transgressor,’CanonessMorgwynproclaims,glaringdownatthewomankneelingbeforeherinchains.‘EvenifIweretodrawoutthemannerofitsexecution.’‘Iunderstand,’Asenathaffirms,herheadbowed.Thetwoofthemarealoneinthe gloomy chancel of the Thorn Eternal’s bastion on Providence, though thewindassailingitswindowsiseagertobearwitnesstohertrial.OverayearhaspassedsinceAsenathblindedher formerpatronandfledhisretinue.Shehasspentthetimewanderingthewildernessinsolitudeandshame,not for the violencedone to the confessor, but for thepride thatmadeherhiswillingpuppet.Atfirstsheexpectedhisretributiontofollowher,butthoughshemadenoattempttoevadeit, itnevercame.Eventuallysheunderstooditneverwould.‘IsFatherDeliverancedead?’Asenathasks,keepingherheadbowed.‘He isgone,’ theCanonessExcruciantanswers. ‘Noneof thosewhoventurednorth alongside him returned, and thosewe sent after found nobody… exceptyou,transgressor.’‘Ifailedhim,’Asenathlies.‘Yetyouclaimtoremembernothingofwhathappenedtoyourmission?’‘OnlythatIfailed,canoness.’‘Thatwas always inevitable,’Morgwyn judges. ‘I saw itwrit upon your soulfromthestart.Yourdesireforgloryensnaredyou.’‘Yes,yourreverence.’Asenathhesitatesforamomentbeforecontinuing.‘IamsurprisedyourorderisstillonProvidence.’‘We await this world’s new Imperial overseers, but there will be no witchhuntersamongthem.’Morgwynhissesthroughherteeth.‘FatherDeliverance’s

strategyhasbornefruit.OurArkanconvertsarewinningthiswarforus.’‘Theconfessorwasawiseman,’Asenathlies,again.‘No,Idonotbelievehewas.’Morgwynsnortsderisively.‘Merelyamanoverlyblessedbyfortune,untilhebledtheEnthronedEmperor’spatiencedry.’Asenathlooksup,surprisedbyherwords.Shehasalwaystakenthiswomanforasimplezealotwithoutthewittoseebeyondtheobvious.‘OnedayImaytellyoutheconfessor’sstory,’Morgwynsays.‘Ifyouearntherighttohearit.’Withferalgraceshedropstoherhaunchessotheyareface-to-face,herthorn-scratchedfeaturessocloseAsenathcansmellthescentofrosesupon her. ‘Father Deliverance failed you, but you embraced the failure,transgressor.Doyouseethis?’‘Yes,CanonessExcruciant,’Asenathconfesses.‘DoyouembracetheEmperor’sCondemnation?’‘Ido.’The canoness pulls a hessian bundle from her belt and unravels it into apointedblackhood.‘Anddoyouseektoatone,AsenathHyades?’‘Ido,’Asenathrepeatsfervently,hereyeswide.‘Then may you win your redemption, Sister Repentia,’ Morgwyn decrees,pullingthehoodoverthepenitent’shead.ForamomentAsenathisblinded,thentheeye-slitsfallintoplaceandherthirdlifebegins,thoughmostofitwillbelongtoanother.

Rouseyourself,Sister!Asenathmoanedasthedarknessfellawayandpainswelledupinitsplace.Thebackofherheadfeltsotendershefeareditwascrackedopen.Youfell,dolt!SisterMercysnapped.Getupandoverit!Weneedourwitsaboutusnow.Asenath’sheadjerkeduptofacetheTabulaRasa.Acrimson-robedfigurestoodbythetable, leaningoverFeizt.Shewasskeletal thinandtallerthananyotherwomanAsenathhadeverknown.‘Palatine,’Asenathhissedindismay.‘You will live, Sister Hyades,’ Akaishi Bhatori said, turning to face her.‘However,itishighlyprobableyouhavesufferedaconcussion.’Asenathtriedtogetup,buttheworldheavedaroundher,spinningandswayinguntilherstomachwhirledwithit.‘It is inadvisable to attempt movement,’ the palatine observed as Asenathkeeledtothesideandvomited.

Stepaside,Sister,Mercyurged.Iamstronger!‘Howlong…wasIout?’Asenathraspedunderherbreath.Hours!Itriedtorouseyouthenseizethestringsofourself,buttheyweregonealongwithyou.Andthenthecronefoundus.‘HowdidyouentertheReformatorium?’Bhatoriasked.‘Irevokedyouraccesswhenyoudepartedtheorder.’‘Revoked?’ Asenath wondered aloud. No, that couldn’t be right. Her accessworked.It was the servitor, or whatever that creature truly is,Mercy ventured. I’dwageritrestoredouraccess.Asenath’sgazeflickedtoAngelique.Thered-robedcyborgwasgoingaboutitsdutiesasifnothingwereamiss.Whyhadn’titmovedherwhenshepassedout–triedtohideher?‘Answerme,SisterHyades,’Bhatoridemanded,steppingdownfromthetable’sdais.‘Didsomeoneassistyouinthistrespass?’‘I…havelearnedmanynewskills,’Asenathlied.‘Iamtrainedtobypasssuchbarriers.’‘Trainedbywhom?’‘TheConventSanctorum,palatine.’Asenathsatupstraight,tryingtoputsteelintohervoice.‘Iamhereatthebehestoftheblessedprioressherself.’‘Andwhatareyoulookingfor,abnegator?’‘Iamnottheabnegatorhere,heretic.’Thepalatine’sthinlipstwitched.ItwastheclosestthingAsenathhadeverseentoanemotiononthatembalmedface.Sayitsoshefeelsit,Sister!Mercyencouraged.‘You have spat into the Light!’ Asenath accused, her voice quavering withpassion.‘YourabominationsviolatetheGospelsIlluminant.’‘Asalways,yoursentimentdeludesyou,’thepalatineobserved,hercomposureunbroken.‘ThesesacrificesembodytheTornProphet’simmanentdecree.’‘Whatdecree?’‘TheImmaculatePerception,’Bhatorideclaredasshedrewcloser.‘Itspreceptsare woven throughout the gospels in threads of connotation, allusion andallegory so subtle only themost devotedminds can connect them.Each tenetreveals itself in congruence with the others, disclosing more of the whole.TogethertheyexpresstheTornProphet’sencipherededict.’‘You’re seeing what you want to see,’ Asenath mocked. Her nausea hadreceded, but she kept up a pretence of dizziness. She wasn’t ready for this

encounter.‘I seewhatwiserwomen than Ihaveuntangledacross thecenturies,’Bhatorisaid. ‘This great work did not begin with me. The mistresses of the BronzeCandle have dedicated themselves to the endeavour since the incumbency ofPalatineMagdalenetheIntornatorintheFourthIllumination.’ShehaltedbeforeAsenath,gazingdownatherasifshewereaparticularlyvexingspecimen.‘Butitismyprivilegetoenacttheirdiscoveries.’‘Tomakemonsters.’‘To embody miracles,’ Bhatori corrected. ‘Our founder did not intend theIncarnatestoremainasintangiblesymbols.TheirbecomingveneratestheGod-Emperor’sownsacrifice.’Shecuppedherhands,asifpresentingagift.‘WhentheIncarnatesareperfected,pristineintheirpurityandpain,theParadigmShriftwillbefulfilledandHisdivineplanwillunveilitselftothefaithful.’‘Whywould–’‘Enough,’thepalatinesnapped.‘Yourofferingshaveearnedyouameasureofenlightenment,butyouhavehadyourfill.’‘Myofferings?’‘The Blind Watchman you brought me, who already outshines hispredecessor…’ Bhatori swept a hand towards Feizt. ‘And yourself, AsenathHyades.’ She unclipped a long-needled syringe fromher robe. ‘I have not yetdeterminedwhetheryoushalltranscendintotheBleedingAngelorthePenitentKnight. Both my current iterations are adequate, but unexceptional. I mustmeditateuponit.’Fight, Sister!Mercy warned as the palatine leaned down with the syringe,bendingatthewaistwithstartlingdexterity.Asenathkickedout from the floor,both feet slamming into thecrone’s shins,butinsteadofthebrittlebonessheexpected,theystrucksolidmetal.Theimpactsent lances of pain along her own legs, but didn’t throw her foe off balance.Simultaneously Mercy whipped up her right arm, knocking the syringe fromBhatori’sgrip.Togethertheyhurledtheirbodyasideasthepalatine’sotherhandsliceddownina rigidchop.Rollingaway, theSisters lurched to their feetandstumbled across the room, trying to put distance between themselves and thecrone.Bhatorispunatthewaistandstalkedafterthem,hermetalfeetclatteringasshecame.She has stolen more than knowledge from the Mechanicus,Mercy guessed.SnatchingascalpelfromahiddenpocketinAsenath’shabit,sheflungitatthepalatine. Asenath hadn’t even known it was there. Bhatori plucked the blade

from the air as it whistled towards her face and snapped it between her longnails.‘Abnegator!’ Asenath challenged as she staggered behind the Tabula Rasa.‘Whathaveyoubecome?’‘Whatever my Emperor requires of me,’ the palatine answered, pulling aslenderpistolfromherrobes.Itslongbarrelemittedafainttraceoflaser-lightassheaimedit.Asenathduckedandsomethingstruck thewallbehindherwithasofthissandtap.Theweapon’sdischargehadbeencompletelysilent.Needler!Mercysurmisedwithdelight.We’llhavethatwhenshe’sundoneandgonetodust!Itwasanassassin’sweapon,eachof its laser-propelledcrystalneedles loadedwithaneurotoxin that couldkillor stunavictim in seconds.AsenathguessedBhatorihadoptedforthelatterkind,butthatwaslittlecomfort,forifshewentdownnowshewouldlikelyawakenontheTabulaRasa.Letgo,Sister!Iamswifterwhenunboundbyyourdoubts.‘No,’Asenathhissed,tryingtothink.‘Besilent!’Thepalatinesteppedontothedaisafterher,herlensesclickingandwhirringasthey hunted her prey. Staying low,Asenath circled the table, keeping its bulkbetweenthem.Hermedicaebaglayontheothersideoftheroom,notfarfromwhereshehadfallen.Ifshecouldjustmakeitbackroundandgrabit…She’llpinyoubeforeyougethalfway,Mercywarned.ButI–‘No!’Asenath leapt out of cover and dived from the dais. Landing in a lowcrouch,sherolledtowardsthebagasneedlesswishedpastoverhead.Snatchingitup,sheturnedtoseethepalatineroundingthetable,herweaponlevelled.Itoldyou!AsBhatorifired,anothercrimson-robedfiguresweptbetweenthem,takingtheneedle in its chest. Angelique!Asenath realised, but didn’t waste a momentquestioningit.YankingTristessefromherbag,sheleaptpasthersaviour.‘Heretic!’sheshouted,firingtwo-handedasshedived.Theboltpistolbuckedviolentlyinherhands, its longabstinencefinallyended.Unliketheneedler, itsdischargewasthunderousintheenclosedchamber.Hag!Mercywhoopedjoyfully.The palatine reeled backwards as the bullet punched into her stomach anddetonatedwithamuzzledboom.Theentrywounderuptedinasprayofvisceraandfizzingcircuitry,ignitingthefabricaroundthecavity.Bhatoricrashedtoherkneeswithaclang,stilltryingtoaimherweapon.‘You know not what you–’ Her words were drowned by another explosive

dischargeasasecondbolt-roundtoreintoherrightshoulder.Bloodspatteredhershrivelledfaceasthebulletdetonated,wrenchingherarmfromitssocket.Stillclutchingitsweapon,thelimbwashurledacrossthechamber,firingasitspun.Aululatinghowl tore fromAsenath’s throatandMercy tuggedather fingers,urginghertosqueezethetriggeragainandagain–tokeeponfiringuntilnothingwasleftoftheirnemesis.Sickenedbythesavageimpulse,Asenathfoughtback.‘Cleansethebitch!’Mercyshrilledwithhersister’svoice,wrestlingforcontrolofthegun.‘Cleansetillshe’sunstitchedanddoneforonceandforall!’They looked up as an electronic chattering burst from the crone. EvidentlyBhatori’svocalaugmetichadbeendamagedinthetrauma,degradingherspeech,yetshewasstrainingtosaysomething.Herlenseswhirledaboutasaconvulsionseizedher,shakingherlikeabrokenclockworktoy.Smokegushedfromherlipsandnostrilsassomethingcombustedbehindherribcage.‘UN-CLEEEEEAN!’AkaishiBhatoriscreechedasherlensescracked.Then,asifsomeinternalstringhadbeencut,shetoppledover.As Asenath stared at the smoking corpse, agony flared up in her hands.Glancing down, she sawTristessewas glowingwhite-hot in her grip, its casevibrating as it shuddered in her hands. With a shriek, she dropped the holyweaponandstaredatherscaldedpalms.‘Iamunworthy,’shewhisperedindespair.Cleanseyourself,Sister,Mercyteased.ForThroneandThorn!

‘Cleansetheheretics!’theMistressofThornsbellows,crackinghersix-prongedwhip.‘ForThroneandThorn!’‘Throne andThorn!’ chorus the hooded Sisters gathered around her. As one,theyrouse their iron-toothedEviscerator swordsandhurl themselvesupon theenemywithouthesitationorhope.HowlingtheLamentof theLost theychargeandfightandslayanddieacrossnumberlessfieldsofbattle.Mercyisalwaysthefirstamongthem,fasterandfiercerthanherfellowSistersRepentia.Herblack tunic is stainedwith filthandoldblood, forwatercannotwash away her sins so she abhors its touch. Thorny vineswrap hermuscularlimbs,scratchingandsnaggingatherskinasshemoves,butthejoyoftheirpainhas long ago receded to a dull ache. Only the dance of battle offers her anydelightnow.‘Mercy!’shehowlswitheverykill.Hereyesarebloodshotwoundsintheslitsofher hood, bright with sanctioned malice as she slaughters in some Emperorgod’snameandrevelsinherown.‘Mercy!’

Inbattlesheisdeaftoeverythingsavethecommandsofhermistress,theroarofherbladeandthedeathshrieksofherfoes,butwhenthefightingisdonethevoiceofherenchainedsisteralwaysreturns.Inthesilence,hergreyshadowisneversilent,castigatingMercywithmemoriesoftheirfalluntilshelongsforthecrackoftheneuralwhipthatwillheraldthesweetdeliriumofbattleoncemore.Nothingelsecandrownoutthebitch’swhining!Releaseme,Sister…

‘Sister,’avoiceurged,‘wehavetogo.’Asenath looked up from her burned palms and saw the witch-boy standingbeside her, freed from his cell. Angelique loomed behind him, apparentlyunharmedbytheneedleithadtakeninherstead.Wecan’ttrustthem,Mercycautioned.‘Sister–’Athanaziusbegan.‘Idon’tknowwhatyouare,’Asenathsaid,raisingahandtosilencehim.‘AndInolongertrustmyselftobeyourjudge.’‘Then trust in the God-Emperor, Sister.’ Athanazius bent and picked upTristesse,holdingtheheavypistolinbothhands.Asenathwaited,buthistouchdidn’tstoketheholyfirethathadrejectedher.‘No,’shesaidwhenheofferedherthegun.‘Youholdontoherforme.’‘It is a fineweapon,’ he said, studying thegunwith an acuity that beliedhisyouth.‘Howdidyouescape the schola,Athanazius?’Asenath asked. Itwas theonesubject theyhadavoidedsincetheirfirstmeeting,but thetimeforevasionhadpassed.‘AfterthedaemonscameIkeptwalking–hidingsometimes–untilIfoundawayout.Theycouldn’tsmellme…notliketheothers.’Hisexpressionclouded.‘Whydidhecallthem,Sister?TheTheologus,whydidhedoit?’There are more reasons to call upon the warp than you can imagine, child,Mercy opined.And more than enough fools who imagine they’ll be crownedkingsfortheirtemerity!‘Becausehewas aheretic,’Asenath answered throughher sister’s ramblings.‘Wheredidthedaemonscomefrom?’‘Fromthespinningmachine–theorreeri.’‘Theorrery?’Asenathsuggested.‘Yes,Sister,that’sright,’theboyagreed.Asenath nodded, remembering the ornate contraption housed in the schola’s

basilica.FashionedbytheTornProphet,theShadowOrrerycouldreputedlymapthe constellations of the soul as its mundane equivalents mapped the skies,thoughnoneofthesect’stheologianshadevercomeclosetounderstandingthemethod. The building that contained the device was as much a part of itsworkings as itsmassive glass spindle and silver rings, for the basilica’s domewasengravedwithageometriclatticethatshiftedhuewiththelightcastbytheorrery. The ceaseless, whirling rotation of the machine’s rings had frightenedAsenath as a child, but also fascinated her, drawing her back into its orbitwhenevershehadtheopportunity.‘Youshouldn’tgothere,’Athanaziuswarned.‘Idon’twantto,’Asenathsaid,glancingatthepalatine’scorpse.Bhatori’sdeathhadchangednothing.Shecouldstillfeeltheevilhere,gatheringstrengthwithinandwithout.‘ButIthinkImust.’‘Isawyouthere,Sister.’‘Yousawme?’‘Sometimes.Butyouwere…different.’Athanaziusshookhishead. ‘Maybe Iwaswrong.’Hisexpressiongrewdistant,asthoughhewerestaringpasther–orintoher.‘Whenyoustandatthepoisonedgates,lookuptoHislight.’‘Idon’tunderstand.’‘NorI,’hesaidsadly.‘Ionlyseethings.’Sheleanedintojudgehimeyetoeye,asCanonessMorgwynhadoncejudgedher.‘Whatareyou,Athanazius?’‘I don’t know, Sister.’His amber eyes didn’twaver. SuddenlyAsenath knewwho they remindedherof–FatherDeliverance,but freeof theweakness thathadblindedherpatronlongbeforeshetookhissight.Shehadneverlearnedtheconfessor’sfate,andover theyearsshehadceased tocare.FatherDeliverancehadbeenbroken from the start, but thisboy…Whatever elsehemightbe,hewasstrong.Toostrongalready,Mercywarned.Cuthimdownbeforeherises!Itwasthemaliceinhertwin’svoicethatfinallydecidedAsenath.

II

‘I am listening, JonahTythe,’PreceptorHagalaz said, layingher handson thetablebetweenthem.‘Tellmewhatyouhavefound.’Theywerealoneinthelibrarium’swood-panelledreadingroom.Thebooksandpapers on the tablewere scattered about, seemingly at random,yet Jonah saw

orderthere.Atfirst thefarragoofinformationhadbeenoverwhelming,buthislongquesthadwiredhismind–perhapsevenhissoul–forunearthingsecrets,andoncehehadtheirscenthecouldn’tletgo.Overthepastfewdayshehadcross-referencedtomesofancientliteraturewithconceitedhistoricalaccounts,pamphletsofobscurepoetrywithequallyarcaneprayer scrolls, even interpreted nautical reports in light of carefully preservedsuicidenotes.Thepossiblepermutationswereendless,yethehadinstinctively–obsessively–graspedthesignificantones.Thematerialspannedalmostathousandyears,datingfromthesettlementoftheCandleworld to the present, yet despite the variety of subjects and styles acommonthemealwaysemerged,sometimesovertly,sometimessoobliquelyhedidn’t see it until his third or fourth attempt. Whether driven by reverence,curiosity,pragmatism,artordespair,everyoneofthesewritershadpennedtheirworkunderthesameshadowandithadleftanindeliblemark.‘It’stheRing,’Jonahsaid.‘EverythingcomesroundtotheRing.’‘AnyNovitiateDialoguswouldhave inferredasmuch,’ thepreceptor replied.‘Whatelse?’‘It’sartificial,’Jonahoffered,citinganobservationthatappearedthroughoutallthetexts.‘Thewholearchipelagowasforged.’‘Pertinent, but once again a prosaic deduction,’ Hagalaz judged. ‘Anyone ofmodestintellectwillrecognisetheRing’ssymmetrycannotbenatural.’‘Thentherearethelayers,preceptor.’‘Explain.’‘Theoutermostisyours,’Jonahsaid,fallingintothemeasuredcantofascholar.‘Let’scallittheImperialstratum.Thecity,thebridgesandthegrandtemples…they were all erected by the Last Candle. Monsignor Stefano’s FabricoExteriores Termino documents the great engineering works of the FirstIllumination.’Hetappedaslab-liketome.‘Forexample–’‘I am familiar with Stefano.’ Hagalaz twirled her fingers impatiently.‘Continue.’‘The spire shrines aremuch older.Your order’s translations of ancient Ikiryuhieroglyphssuggesttheygobackmillennia,maybeeventothefirstcolonies,yettheystillveneratetheSevenVirtues.’‘Meaning?’‘The inspiration for your sect began here. Your prophet didn’t choose thisworld. Itchosehim.’Jonahpaused, trying togaugewhetherhe’dgone toofar,but Hagalaz looked unperturbed. ‘The shrines are the pre-Imperial layer,

preceptor.’‘Youbelievethereisathird,’sheprompted.‘ThatwouldbetheRingitself.’Herethekeydocumenthadbeenatranscriptionof an old geological survey report – a text so dry and technical he’d almostpassedoverit.‘Thespiresaremostlycomposedofbasaltrockandironore,buttheircore…nowthat’ssomethingelse.’Jonah picked up an innocuous-looking file and flicked to a passage he’dmarked, then read aloud: ‘At all seven designated sites exploratory drillingresultedinshatteredbitsatadepthapproximatelyeighty-twopointoneninepercent into the structure relative to all elevations. Pict-feeds from servo-ratsintroduced into the boreholes revealed an anomalous material with theappearanceofbleachedboneanda tensile strengthexceedingceramite.’ Jonahthrew the file back onto the table. ‘Your spires aren’twhat they appear to be,preceptor.’‘Andwhatisyourconclusion?’Hagalazasked,herexpressioninscrutable.‘Their architects weren’t human. The Last Candle built its little empire onxenosbones.’

Night had fallen hours ago, but Jonahwas still hunched over the desk in hisquarters,staringathismalignbook.Thoughhehadsetouthisquillandinkpotthe tomewas closed, as it had been every night since his arrival at the SilverCandle’s bastion. The task Hagalaz had set him, along with the impliedconsequencesoffailure,hadconsumedallhisenergies.Itstilldid,forshehadn’trenderedherjudgementyet.‘Was Iwrong?’ he asked the book.He didn’t doubt his findings, butwhat ifHagalazhadn’twantedtohearthetruth?Perhapsthathadbeentherealtest.Therewasaraponthedoor.Assumingthepreceptorhadmadeherdecision,hedrewoneoftheremainingmirrorshardsfromhispouch.Itwouldbewastefultouseithere,butifsheruledagainsthimhe’dneeditsedge.He opened the door to his sour-faced escort, Sister Haruki, who still stoodwatchoutsideeverynight.‘Followme, priest,’ she ordered. Jonah doubted she had spokenmore than afew dozenwords to him since their association began. For the first couple ofdayshehadassumedshewasamute.TohissurpriseHarukididn’tleadhimtothelibrarium,insteadmakingforthecompound’s gates, where a squad of Candlewards awaited, their crossbowstrainedonaslimwhite-robedwoman.

‘Sheclaimstoknowyou,sir,’oneoftheguardssaidasJonahnearedthem.‘Greetings,PreacherTythe,’AsenathHyadessaid.

Theytalkedthroughtherestofthenight,walkingthebastion’scandlelitgardensastheytradedtheirfindings,thoughAsenathrefrainedfromtellingJonahaboutthewitch-boy,Athanazius.Thatwasastoryforheralone.Oh,butyou’reneveralonenow,sister,Mercyassuredher.After the palatine’s death Asenath had sneaked the boy and his enigmaticguardianoutof theSacrasta and ‘borrowed’oneof themedicae trucksparkedoutside.Athanaziushadremainedsilentasshedrovealongtheperimeterroad,his attention absorbed by the blessed gun in his hands, while Angelique satstifflybesidehim,staringstraightahead.‘Theweapon’snameisTristesse,’AsenathtoldtheboywhentheyreachedtheWatchspire’sbridgemanyhours later. ‘She isyoursnow,butnever forget thatyouarealsohers.’‘Won’tyouneedher,Sister?’hehadasked,frowning.‘Ilostheralongtimeago.Bewareyoudon’tmakethesamemistake.’‘Iwillbevigilant,Sister.’‘Athanazius,’ she called as her passengers stepped out onto the road. ‘I havesins enough already. Do not burden me with another. Do not prove yourselffalse.’‘Iwon’t,’hepromisedgravely.‘Thankyou,SisterAsenath.’Thenhehadturnedandwalkedontothebridge,Angeliqueglidingbesidehimlikearedghost.Aftertheydisappeared fromsightAsenathhaddrivenon, turningonto theProphet’sCausewayandheading for the city.She felt certain shewouldnever see themagain or know the consequences of her decision until she faced the God-Emperor’sjudgement.‘WhatdidyoudoaboutFeizt?’Jonahasked,breakingthesilencethathadfallenbetween them. He had accepted her revelations about the palatine withoutcomment,seeminglyunsurprised.‘Theneedler,’Asenathsaidsadly.‘Ishotthreedosesintohischest.Hewillnotawaken.’‘Itwasmerciful,Sister.Didyoudestroytheothers?’‘Icouldnotachieveitwithoutopeningtheircells,’Asenathreplied,suppressinga shudder at the thought. ‘But without the palatine’s care they will die… intime.’Willtheyreally,sister?

Shewonderedhow long itwouldbebefore the crone’s absencewasnoticed.GivenBhatori’snocturnalproclivitiesandtendencytodisappearintoherworkitmight be several days, unless any of her acolytes had access to theReformatorium,whichAsenathdoubted.No,themurderwouldn’tbediscoveredforawhileyet.Itfeltgood,didn’tit?Mercywheedled.Asenath foundshecouldn’tdeny that.Thekillinghadbeenmore thanadutyfulfilled.AsFirstDawnbroke,SisterHarukiapproachedthem.Shehadbeenfollowingdiscreetly,everwatchful,buttoofarawaytooverheartheirconversation.‘ThePreceptorCognostichassummonedyou,’shesaid.‘Come.’

Hagalazawaitedthemontheuppermostlevelofthelibrarium’srotunda,whereall the Silver Candle’s weightiest decisions were taken. The circular platformhungfromthedomeonchainsboltedintoitsperimeter,eachoftheirlinkslargeenoughforagrownmantoclimbthrough.Awaist-highglasscandlewassetintothe disc’s centre, its artificialwick casting soft light over the figures gatheredaroundit.Twoof them flanked thepreceptor, their azure robesandhigh-backedcollarsdistinguishingthemasseniorSistersDialogus.Afourthstoodalittleapart,hertallformencasedindarkgreypowerarmour.Jonahrecognisedhersharp,olive-skinned features immediately – Celestian SuperiorXhinoa.Was she to be hisexecutioner?‘Preacher Tythe,’ Hagalaz greeted him curtly, then turned her attention toAsenath. ‘And our infamous abnegator! It is fitting that you have found yourwaybacktousnow,lostSister.’‘SisterHyadeshasnopartinthis,’Jonahsaidwarily.‘OhIratherdoubtthat,’thepreceptordemurred.‘Isuspectweallhaveaparttoplay.Afterall,nothingischance.’Shenoddedathisrecognitionofthephrase.‘Atleast,nothingthatmatters.’Jonah’s grip tightened on themirror shard in his hand. ‘If you intend to killme–’‘Kill you?’Hagalaz sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Throne no, you’re far toosharp,Tythe!WhatyousawinafewdayswouldtakemostofmySistersmonthstountangle.’Shestrodetowardshim,herblueeyesavid.‘No,Iwantyouwithuswhenweentertheschola.Bothofyou!’‘Preceptor,’Xhinoainterjected,‘onceagain,Imustadviseagainstthiscourseof

action.Yourplace ishere.With theCanonessIlluminant lost tousyouare theLastCandle’sguidinglight.’‘Which iswhy Imust lead,’Hagalaz retorted. ‘Andwhy I shallwield everyweaponavailabletome.’‘Wait,’Asenathsaid,speakingforthefirsttime.‘Thecanonesshasbeenlost?’‘Almostayearago,’Xhinoaanswered.‘Commandingthethirdexpeditionintotheschola.’‘TheLuxNovusswallowedthemall,’Hagalazgrowled,‘butwewillbebetterprepared.Andwewillhaveyou,JonahTythe.’‘Butheisjustacommonpriest,preceptor,’oneofherfellowSistersDialogusprotested.‘Idonotdisputehehasafinemind,but…’‘Heisnocommonpriest,’Xhinoadeclared.‘IrecognisedthatontheBloodofDemeter,butheisastrangerhere.Itisdangeroustoputourfaithinhim.’‘Everythingabout thisventure isdangerous,Sister,’Hagalaz said, ‘butunlikeourpredecessorswehavesomethingVedaswants.’ShepeeredintoJonah’seyes.‘Whydoesthehereticwantyou,Tythe?’‘I plan to askhim thatmyself,’ he said, holdingher gaze, ‘before I kill him.Yourhereticstolemylife,preceptor–maybeevenkilledmyworld,butwhy?Ihavenodamnideawhy.’Hagalazstudiedhimforalongmomentthennodded.‘Celestian Superior, assemble your squad,’ she ordered, ‘and issue suitableequipment for our new comrades.’ She turned to her fellow Sisters Dialogus.‘Elucidatethem,SisterSavantPhienne,butbebrief.WedepartforthescholaatSecondDawn!’‘Celestian Superior,’ Jonah called to the armoured warrior as the gatheringdisbanded.‘Amomentplease.’Xhinoaturnedbrusquely.‘Yes,Tythe?’‘Theship…wasitdestroyed?’Hedidn’tknowwhythatseemedimportantnow,buthe’dlearnttoheedsuchintuitions.‘Itwasnot,’Xhinoaanswered.‘TheBloodofDemeterdisappearedthenightwelanded.Therewasonlyaskeletoncrewonboard.’Idoubttheyweretheoneswhosailedheraway,Jonahjudged,rememberingthevessel’sdesecrated,warp-rivenshrine.‘Thatisunfortunate.’‘In this we are in agreement, priest,’ she said coldly, ‘but we have moreimmediateconcerns.Come,wemustprepare!’

III

‘Beatpeace,TolandFeizt,’SisterDarkstarmurmursamomentbeforeshekillshim.Hefeelsthreesharpprickstohischestthenakillingcold.Itsurgesthroughhis blood like tiny needles, freezing everything they touch. His whole bodyheavesviolentlyashisheartspasmsandlurchestoastop.Thereispain,butitisbriefandinsignificantbesidetherelief.Content,hewaitsforoblivion,butitdoesnotcome,forthevoidisfullofflies.‘Endure,’theyimploreandwheedleandadjurehim.‘Endure!’Theyaresacred,yeteven indeathheresists theirdemand, for thoughhehaslearnedtolovethemheknowsnogoodcancomeoftheirbecoming.‘Endure!’ thehallowedswarmbuzzesandhediesagain–stabbed thriceandheart-frozen.‘Letmego,’hepleads.‘Let–’‘Let us in!’ they chorus, then murder him again, sharper and colder thanbefore,onlytobringhimbacktothebrink,thenover–andoveragain–untilhisworldisnothingbutsufferingandthedemandforsurrender.‘Letusin!’Afteruntolddeathsanddenialsheunderstandsthatthiswillbeforeverunlesshe submits.Unknowingly SisterDarkstar hasmadehim vulnerable, for itwasonly life that held the flies back. In killing him she has made him theirs. Heforgivesher,buthecannolongerprotecther.‘I’msorry,’hesays,andfinallyletsthemin.

‘Wearewhatwewereandwillourselvestobe.’–TheTornProphet

TheGospelsIlluminant

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyades–NinthStatement

Thepalatineisdeadbymyhand,buttheevilthathauntsthisworlddidnotendwith her. Indeed, I nowbelieve her follywasbut a shadowof amuchgreaterdarkness.I have recently made contact with the preceptor of the Silver Candle anddiscoveredshesharesPreacherTythe’sconvictionthatOlberVedasisthespiderat theheartof thisweb.Spider, spiderweavingblight in the fortressofmynight, see the sinners runand shriekandweep.Will youwon’t youbleedthemdryandcleavetheirsoulsandmakethemminetokeep?Inowhavepiouscompatriotsinthisconflictandwithinthehourweshallsetout topurge theheretic together.By theEmperor’sgraceweshallprevail,butprudencedemands that I consider theworst.To thatend I shall recordwhat Ihave learnt frommy new-found allies. I have compiled the following accountwith reference to records provided by the Silver Candle. Of necessity thisstatementwillbesubstantial,forthereismuchtotell.Ohshow,don’ttell,sister!Expositiondoesn’tbecomeme,soI’llleaveyoutocraftthislovelesspiecealone.Just over two years ago, in the dead of night, something profoundlyblasphemous occurred at the sect’s schola.An aurora ofmany-coloured lightsflaredup from theoldbuildingat thebaseof theTornspire,blossoming likeanebulousflowertoengulftheentiremountain.Witnessesspokeofhuesthatwere

atoncefamiliar,yetconcurrentlyutterlyalien,asiftheireyessawonethingandtheirsoulsanother,deepertruth.Anunholycacophonyaccompaniedthespectacle,ripplingoutfromthescholainwavesthatwrenchedbloodfromtheearsofthosewhoheardit.Yetdespiteitsviolence,nonewhosleptwereawoken, foronly thosewhosaw the lightswereprivytotheirsong.Theseunfortunatesvariouslydescribeditasabroken-glassscreeching, a rhapsody of seditious machines and the wrathful rebirth of amurdered legion, among countless other bizarre notions. One heard her ownvoice magnified into a thousandfold choir chanting mathematical equations.Anotherreportedthelaughterofunbreakablecircles,butwhenquizzedaboutitbegantoweepuncontrollably.Themostsoberreportssuggesttheeventlastedlessthanaminute,butinthatbrief time scores of observers took their own lives, seizing whatever methodofferedtheswiftestescape.Thousandsmorefollowedoverthenextfewdays.TotheircreditnotoneAdeptaSororitaswarriorwasamongthem,thoughmanyhadwitnessedtheevent,includingthepreceptoroftheSilverCandle.Thosewhoslept throughtheblasphemywerenotentirelyspared.Allreportedvividnightmares,whilesomedidnotwakeatall,theirmindslostbeyondrecallintheirdreamlandsuntiltheyweregrantedtheEmperor’sMercy.Withinminutesof theevent’scessationan investigatory teamofBattleSisterswasdespatchedtotheschola.TheirvoxsignalsbrokedownastheycrossedtheVeritas bridge, but visual contact was maintained via magnoculars until theyentered the building. Neither they nor any of the schola’s staff or studentsemerged.A second team followed shortly afterwards, greater in numbers andspearheadedbyaCelestiansquad,butthetaintedbuildingdevouredthemalso.After theselossestheCanonessIlluminant forbadeanyfurtherexpeditionsandthebridgewassealedoff,isolatingSpireVeritasfromtherestoftheKoronatusRing.Over thenext fewdays itbecameapparent therewerenovisible signsof lifeanywhere on the mountain. More sophisticated scans were, and remain,ineffective, for a malign aura shrouds the entire region. The Silver Candle’sreport hypothesises a powerful electromagnetic field, but such technobabblemeanslittletome.SevendaysafterthecatastropheasingleCelestianwalkedoutofthebuilding,handinhandwithawhite-hairedboy.Togethertheycrossedtothenewlyerectedbarrier,wheretheyweretakenintocustody.Theboywouldsaynothingandwas

deemed to be in severe shock. Shortly afterwards he was transferred to theSacrastaVermillion,whereitwashopedhemightberestored.PalatineBhatorisubsequentlydeclaredthathehadpassedintotheEmperor’sLight.TheboywasofcourseAthanazius.Thewomanheguidedoutofthescholawascalled Indrik Thuriza. I recognised the name immediately, for its bearer haddisconcertedmeaboardtheBloodofDemeter,notduetoherabnormalsizeorevenherperpetuallysealedvisor,butbecauseofthebroodinggloomthathungabouther.Sister Indrikhadnoclear recollectionofwhatbefellher in thescholaor thefate of her comrades,but her account is nevertheless unsettling. She talks ofbeinglostinalabyrinthofendlesscorridorsthatsecond-guessedhereverystep.Unholy entities of abstract form pursued her through the maze, whirling,unravelling and reconfiguring themselves as they swept through the air.Mostdisturbingly,sheclaimedoneofthesedaemonsstoleherface,butherethereporthasbeenextensivelyredactedandIcanmakelittlesenseofit.SisterIndrikwasrigorouslyassessedbytheCanonessIlluminantandfoundtobe uncorrupted. Following a seven-month absolution vigil she wasreconsecrated as a Celestian and placed under the command of XhinoaAokihara. I do not doubt the canoness’ verdict, but I cannot help but wonderwhatliesbehindSisterIndrik’svisor.SincethentheLuxNovushasbeenkeptunderconstantwatch,acankeruponthe holy archipelago and the collective soul of its guardians. It has become aferal wolf in proud eagle’s clothing, for though its marble-clad exterior isunchanged,somethingunspeakableandvoraciouslieswithin.Thousandswere lost in thecatastrophe,most stillunaccounted for,andmanymore have died since, for the poisonous dreams and suicides have nevercompletelyceased,becomingespeciallyacuteonthosenightswhentheschola’swindows dancewith strange lights and its outlines shiver like a heat-wroughtmirage.At first thosemalignnightswererare,butwith thepassingof time theygrewmore frequent, until the interval was no more than a few days of peace.Convinced the evilwasgrowing stronger, theCanoness Illuminant launchedathird expedition elevenmonthsago.Commandingan entire companyofBattleSistersandsupportstaff,sheenteredthemawofthebeast,vowingtopurgethecorruption.Not one of them returned, nor was there any indication their sacrifice hadaltered anything. Since then the Vigil Infernal has continued unbroken. Until

today.At Second Dawn we shall mount the fourth and almost certainly final pushagainst this darkness, relying neither on numbers nor brute force, but on theingenuity,talentandpurityofourstrikeforce.Butaboveall,itisdivinedestinythatshallguideus,forwhateverhappens,Ibelievewearemeanttobehere.InalllikelihoodthiswillbemyfinalstatementsoIshallcommendthesepaperstothecareoftheSilverCandlewithinstructionstodeliverthemtoyoushouldIbe lost today.Myreveredcanoness, Ihave fallen fromgrace,but Ihaveneverbeen faithlessnor false inmy intentions. Ipray thatmaysuffice toredeemmyactions,ifnotmyeternalsoul.

Therewere tenof theminall.ThenumberhadbeendecreedpropitiousbytheprognosticmeditationsoftheSilverCandle’smostdevoutSisters.Jonahdidn’tputmuchfaithinthem,buthelikedthenumberallthesame.Nottoomanytogetintheway,nottoofewtomakeadifference.UnderSalvation’s crisp dawn light the party ascended theVeritas bridge andpassedthroughthebarrier’snarrowgatesonebyone,whileitswardenssangachoraleintheirhonour.ToJonah’searsitsoundedlikeafuneraldirge.Thebridgewassuspendedoverthegorgeontitanicpylonsthatsoaredhundredsof feet into the sky, their pinnacles linked by taut silver-plated cables thathummedinthewind.Theirmarblecladdingwascarvedintoahelixofverticaleyessportingangulareaglewingsthatjuttedfromthetowerslikeblades.Giantstone hands ran the length of the bridge on either side, splayed open so theiroutermostdigits touched to formaconcatenatingwall, thepalmofeachstatuebearing an eye. The path between the watchful walls was wide enough toaccommodate several vehicles abreast, but transports were forbidden on theTornspiresothecrossingwouldhavetobemadeonfoot.SisterSuperiorXhinoa’ssquadledtheparty,thefiveCelestiansadvancinginaspearheadformationalongthecentreofthebridge.Inhonourofherstatusasasurvivor of the anomaly, Sister Indrik marched at the tip, her meltagun heldbeforeherlikeatank’smaingun.XhinoaandGenevievefollowedtoherrightandleft,bearingastormbolterandflamerrespectively,andafterthemcametheblood sisters, Camille and Marcilla, both armed with bolters. All worebacksweptcastitashelmsengravedwithpsalmsofwarding,thoughonlyIndrik’svisor was lowered.White sanctity ribbons fluttered at the joints of their darkgrey power armour and freshly penned purity scrolls hung from their breast-plates.

Preceptor Hagalaz strode a few paces behind the Celestians, flanked by heraide,SisterNavreen,andthewomanJonahhaddubbedherenforcer,thetaciturnSister Haruki. The three Sisters Dialogus had exchanged their robes for bluefatigues reinforced with elegant silver flak-plates. Their light armour wasunlikely tooffermuchprotectionagainst thehazardsahead,but theirweaponsweremore formidable. The preceptor cradled a filigreed plasma rifle with anunusualpyramidalnozzle,whileNavreenwasarmedwithanequallydistinctiveplasmapistolandHarukiwithaslenderpowersword.ThoughtheSilverCandlewasnotamilitantorder,itsdiscipleshadthetrainingandresourcestofightiftheneed arose, for even on the Imperium’smost secludedworlds war was nevermorethanonedisasteraway.Jonah and Asenath walked side by side at the rear, both equipped with flakarmour and bolt pistols, though Jonah also carried his faithful Elegy musket,loadedwith the lastofhismirror-touchedshells.ThatbullethadOlberVedas’nameonit–quiteliterally,forJonahhadcarvedthewordsintothecasingwhenhe’dlearnthisenemy’sidentity.I’vesaveditforyou,hepromised,whichremindedhimofaquestionthathadbeennaggingathim.‘Preceptor,’ he called out. The stocky woman walking ahead of him lookedround,aneyebrowraised.‘WhyVedas?’Jonahasked.‘Ifailtounderstandyou,Tythe.’‘Iknowwhatheis,’Jonahpressed.‘Butwhydoyoubelieveit?Couldn’thebeanothervictiminallthis?’‘A victim!’ Hagalaz snorted. ‘If you truly knew Olber Vedas you wouldunderstandtheabsurdityofthatnotion.’Shefellbacktojointhem,wavingherfellow Sisters on. ‘Your arrival only confirmedwhat I already surmised,’ shesaid. ‘TheExegessor’sambitionalwaysexceededhiswisdom, thoughfewsawit.’‘Hishunger?’Jonahsuggested,rememberinghisenemy’senslavedeyes.‘Yes,’Hagalazagreed. ‘That’sexactly theword for it.’Shehesitated. ‘On thenightithappened,whenIsawthelights…Ididn’thearmachinesorscreamsoranyothersuchcacophony.WhatIheardwasVedas,whisperingthesamephrase,overandover.’‘Nothingischance,’Jonahpredicted.‘Hemadeitacurse,Tythe.’‘WheredidtheExegessorcomefrom,preceptor?’Asenathaskedquietly.‘He…’Hagalaz’sfaceclouded.‘Hehas…alwaysbeenhere.’

JonahandAsenathexchangedaglance,recognisingthewoman’sexpression–somethingbetweenconfusionandanguish.Theviolationofmemoryitself…‘Thatismyrecollectionalso,’Asenathsaid.‘ButIhavecometodoubtit.’‘WhateveryouthinkVedasis,preceptor,he’smuchworse,’Jonahwarned.‘I’veseen–’‘Preceptor!’SisterNavreencalled fromupahead,herattentionon theauspexshewascarrying.‘Wehaveenteredtheanomalousregion.’‘Icanfeelit,’Asenathmurmured,extendingahand,asiftotesttheair.Shewas right.The party had passed themidway point of the bridge and thedark,scabrousneedleoftheTornspireloomedoverthem.Superficiallynothinghadchanged– thesunsstillshoneandthebreezestillcarriedthesalty tangoftheoceanroilingbelow–butnowsuchthingsfeltbrittle,likeafaçadethatcouldcrumbleat theleastprovocation.Therewasanelectricpotentiality in thewindthatmadeJonah’snumbskin tingle, teasingsomethingmoreprimal thanmerenerveendings.‘Extraordinary,’Hagalazdeclared,pickingupherpacetojoinSisterNavreen.‘Imustassessthesereadings!’Shesoundedmoreexcitedthanapprehensive.‘Unburden yourself, Jonah,’ Asenath said quietly. ‘You should not face thiscorruptionunshriven.’Heshookhishead.‘Thatonlyworksifyoubelieveit,Sister.’‘ThendoitbecauseIbelieveit,’Asenathurged.‘Tellmeyourstory,myfriend.’Jonahwassilentforawhile,gazingoutacrosstheoceanastheywalked.Thewindhadpickedupandblackcloudswerescudding infromthehorizon, theirformsflickeringwithlightning.Foraheartbeattheworldflickeredinsympathywiththeelectricpulse,thendarkeneduntilJonahwasaloneinascorchedmirror-landofwhatwas.Themarblebridgewasblackenedandpitted,itscladdingwornthroughtoitssteelbonesinplaces,itssurfacecrackedandstrewnwithrubble.Ahellish red glow seeped through the fissures, accompanied by a primordialrumblingsodeephisbloodvibratedtoitsrhythm.Theairswirledabouthim,hotandheavywiththemephiticstenchofsulphurandsorrow.Inplaceoftheocean,amolten swathe extended to thehorizon, bubbling and shimmeringwithheat.Jonahlookedupandsawthetwinsunshanginglimplyinthesoot-chokedsky,theirradiancedousedtoananaemicdrizzle.‘Burntheliethatbinds,friend,’someonewhisperedathisback.Jonahswunground,squintingthroughthesmog.Amanstoodabouttenpacesaway,hisarmsspreadwideandhisheadthrownbacktogreetthesky.Hisformwasanobsidiansilhouetteagainsttheredhazeseepingfrombelow,maskinghis

features,buthisframewasvastandflamesdancedinthepalmsofhishands.‘Not all ruination is equal,’ the stranger proclaimed in a harsh rasp thatsomehowcarriedovertherumbling.Thenhewasgone,lostintheswirlingsoot.‘Whoareyou?’ Jonahshouted.Hewasansweredbya stentorian roaring thatseemedtocomefromallsides,longandredolentwithfathomlessrage–thecryof a beast born only for slaughter. As its echoes faded, the smog parted,revealingtheblackenedlengthofthebridgeandtheshockingabsencebeyondit.ThePerihelionmountainwasgone,sheareddowntoascorchedbasaltslab.‘Jonah?’ someone said. ‘Jonah!’ A hand touched his shoulder and he jerkedround.Theoldworld reasserted itself ashemetAsenath’s troubledgreyeyes.‘Whatdidyousee?’sheasked.‘Nothinggood,’hemurmured.Thewrathofmyregard…Then, as they crossed into the unknown, Jonah Tythe finally told her of theendlessnightandthedoomithadbequeathedhim.

II

Theundyingmanawokewitha scream,hisentirebodywrackedbyagonisingparoxysms.Hismusclesbulgedastheystrainedagainstthemanaclesthatboundhim to some flat, hard surface. It felt like his eyeswere on fire, yet they sawnothing.He thrashedabout in thedarkness,his shriekdeepening intoaprimalbellowaspaingavewaytofury.Withasnapoftornmetalhisrightarmtuggeditschainfreeandamomentlatertheleftfollowed.Hejerkeduprighttoriptherestraintsfromhisankles,thenswunghislegstothegroundandlurchedtohisfeet.‘Shouldn’t…be…here,’hewheezedashisheadpivotedaboutblindly.Itwasthe only thing he was sure of. Gingerly he reached up to touch his face, hisfingers drifting to his eyes and finding only ragged cavities. His breathingquickenedashetriedtomakesenseoftheloss.Thetheft!Letloosethytruthandseeunboundandabundant.Theinstructioncamefromsomewhereinsidehishead,wetandswollen,likethevoiceofaripecanker.‘Idon’t…’Hiswordsweredrownedbyanupsurgeofbile.Shuddering,hebentoverandhurledupaviscoustorrentoffilth.Ittastedlikespoiledmeatandsoileddreams.Seethyself,Watchman!Theboilbehindhiseyesburst,disgorgingacrawling, swarmingmassof tinybodiesthatscurriedtofillhisemptysockets.Sightreturnedlikeasuddenwound

inthedarkness,showinghimtheworldingreen-tingedmultiples,asifhewereseeingitthroughadirty,many-sidedprism.Andwiththesightscametastesandsmells, all sharper than before and inextricably bound up together. Lookingdown, he saw a tangle of blackened viscera about his feet… and smelled thehumanityexpelledalongsidethem…andtastedthefreedom.‘Weendure,’ theWatchmandeclared,hisdrownedvoice reverberatingwithachorusofflies.Spitting out the last scraps of his old life, the Incarnate surveyed hissurroundings.Hewasinacircularchamberwithmanylockeddoors,allofthemforged from metal and undoubtedly sturdy. Instinctively the Watchmanunderstood he had been imprisoned here for many days, but also in another,more subtle place formuch longer.His host had been stubborn, holding backtheirbecomingwithfeverishtenacity,refusingtoaccepttheywereoneandthesame, for thesacredswarmhadcomefromwithin,notwithout,whereall truerevelationswereborn.Pickingadooratrandom,theavatarcrossedtheroom,hisbare,slab-likefeetleaving a trail of slime across the stone. His chosen hatch bore a bas-reliefdepictingamaninaburningcassockwithhishandsclaspedinprayer.Ahaloofflames danced about his blistered baldpate, yet his expressionwas serene, hislipscurledintoakindlysmileabovehisblazingbeard.The BurningMartyr of Caritas, the Incarnate recognised, seizing the know-ledgefromsomewhereprimal,hewhogivesthanksevenasheisconsumed.TheWatchmanyankedaside the shutter set into thehatchandgazed throughthewindow.A smouldering approximationof theMartyr staredback from thecell, its eyes lambent with barely contained heat. Smoke billowed from itsscalded lips as it thrust its blistered palms against the glass and snarledsomething inaudible. Despite its fierce appearance, the prisoner wasincomplete… only partially awakened. There was nothing but madness in itsgaze.TheWatchmanturnedaway,thenfroze,hisnostrilstwitchingastheycaughtthescentoflife,faintbuttantalising.Circlingthechamber,hesawabodyslumpedontheothersideofthedais–ahagincrimsonrobes,herbodybrokenbeyondhopeofrepair,yetsomehowstillclingingtolife.Listeningclosely,theIncarnateheardthefailingclockworkpumpinginsideherchest.‘We know you, Artisan,’ the Watchman intoned as his mortal ignorancesloughedawaylikeoldskin.‘Youwillbecome.’Hestrode to thealmost-corpseandknelt.Turning thewomangentlyontoher

back,hecradledherheadandleantforwards,asiftobestowakiss.Oneofherbrokenlenseswhirredathistouch,focusingreflexively.‘Awaken.’Theavatar’s jawswidened,his throat ripplingasastreamofblackichorvomitedforthontothecrone’sface.Fatgrubsswamintheooze,theirpalebodiessquirmingastheysoughtegresstothisfreshhost.Thewomantrembledas they slithered eagerly between her lips and up her nostrils, some evenwormingthroughthecracksinherlenses.The avatar held her as the convulsions subsided, waiting patiently for theblessingtobloom.

‘The storm has followed us,’ Breacher Zevraj announced gloomily, staringthroughtheglassdoorsoftherefectoryatthecourtyardbeyond.Thoughitwasonlyjustpastnoon,theskywasalreadydarkeningandrainhadbeguntospatteronthecobbledstones.‘Weshouldpraytogether,comrades,’heurged.‘Lighten up, deacon,’ Santino taunted from a nearby table. ‘Emperor’s gotenoughonHisThronewithoutussweettalkin’Him!’Hewasplayingcardswithacoupleofother trooperswhileHörkalookedon.Themassive,green-beardedBlastBreacher’sbrowswereknittedintoaferociousfrownashetriedtofollowthegame.As a rule, Reiss didn’t play, but he’d joined them to sound out their mood.ZevrajandSantinowerethemostprominentvoicesamongthesurvivorssotherewasnobettermeasureofthecompany’smorale.Thetwotrooperscouldn’tbemoredifferent,onedevoutandalmostmorbidlyserious, the other a cocksure bastard forever flirting with blasphemy. They’dactuallycometoblowsbackonLurcioStationwhenZevrajhadcaughtSantinowith a salacious pict-slate, but the breach sergeant had sorted it out with hisusualflair.Hissolutionhadbecomeacompanylegend,withSantinoorderedtoshred the irreverent articlewith hisBruiserwhile ‘Deacon’ Zevraj chanted anabsolution,hishandsrestingonhiscomrade’shead.Itwasn’tbythebook,Feizthadexplained,butsometimesyouhadtobreaksomerulestokeepTheRule–andtightenthebondsofbrotherhood.Ithadworkedoutbetter thananythingacommissarwouldhavecomeupwith.BetterthananythingI’dhavecomeupwitheither,Reissadmitted.Hehadnoillusionsabouthisabilitiesasaleader.Throwhimintoafightandhe’ddofine,butwhen it came to juggling egos he didn’t know left from right. ‘Too damnstiff,’CaptainFroesehadberatedhim,‘butwithoutthesteeltomakeitsharp!’‘Whend’youfigurewe’llgetouttahere,chief?’Santinoaskedfrombehindhis

fanofcards.‘Notsayin’Iain’tthankful,butthisplacedon’tsitrightwithme.’‘It smells,’ Hörka added sagely. Considering the Blast Breacher’s creativeattitudetohygienethatwasquiteastatement.‘Shouldn’tbemorethanafewmonths,’Reissguessed.‘Everybodyshouldbeback on their feet by then. In the meantime, you’ll show our hosts respect,trooper.’‘Honourablewords, lieutenant,’Zevraj agreed sternly. ‘WehavebeenblessedbytheBronzeCandle’scare,yes.’Despite his admonishment,ReisswaswithSantinoon this one.TheSacrastawasn’t right. The hospitallers had done a fine job – there were eighteenBreachersontheirfeetnow–butbeneaththeirkindwordsandsmilessomethingwasmissing.‘Ithink–’Hörkabegan,butthewisdomhewasabouttoimpartwascutoffbythechimingofabell.‘That’sthestormwarning,’Reisssaid,risingwithsomerelief.‘Youknowthedrill.Backtotheward,Breachers!’‘Whywegottogo?’Hörkaprotested.‘Because the ladies in red say so,Ork,’ Santino drawled, throwing his cardsdown.‘Andwhentheysayjump,weleapforthestars.’

Commissar Lemarché was on the top floor of the Sacrasta when the stormwarning sounded, but he ignored it, waiting patiently until it fell silent. ThisfloorwasoneofthefewareasSolanishaddeclaredoff-limits,ostensiblyduetosafetyconcerns.He’dseennoreason toventureupherebefore,butheneededtheextraelevationnow.He was crouched in the shadows of a dimly lit corridor, where he trustednobody would come wandering. It certainly felt abandoned, for the wallsglistenedwithdamp,theirstenchsuffocatingtheSacrasta’spervasiveincense.Up here the painted corpse shows her true face,Lemarchémused. She diedlongago,butis toocovetousofherghoststolet themgo.Hethrust thenotionaside.Histhoughtsweretroubledenoughwithoutentertainingsuchgrotesquerie.‘Doyou readme,Sister?’ hehissed into theheadsetAsenathhadgivenhim.‘ThisisLemarché,acknowledgeplease.’Hewasmetbyawashofstatic.The interferencehadconfoundedhimon thelowerfloors,buthe’dhopedbeinghigherupmightboostthesignal.Doubtlessthe incomingstormwasplayinghavocwith thevox,buthecouldn’tshake thefeelingtherewasmoretoit.

‘Ineedanswers,woman,’hemuttered.Last night Asenath had departed the Sacrasta with a cursory explanation ofvisitingthelibrarium,awarningtobevigilantandapromiseshewouldreturnsoon.Noneofthathadbeengoodenoughthenanditcertainlywasn’tnow.Thevague sense of dread that had crept up on him yesterday had grown steadilysinceFirstDawn,untilLemarchécouldthinkoflittleelse.Hehadembracedthefeelingwithoutshame,recognisingitaswarningratherthanamarkoffear,buttheurgetoactwasbecomingoverwhelming.Thebloodiedsandsoftimearerunningdry…Something moved at the corner of his eye. Lemarché turned and squintedthroughthegloom,butthepassagewaywasempty.Thewindwhistledalongitsarchedwindows, clawingat their rusted shutters likea forlorn spectre.All thedoorsalongitsoppositelengthwerebarredwithrivetedironbeamsandpaintedwith faded biohazard sigils, indicating some old pestilence. He found himselfwondering how long those doors had been sealed up.Were there still bodiesbehindthem?Thedeaddonotmatter,hechidedhimself,buthisbloodlinesaidotherwise,itswisdom as potent as anything the Imperium had drummed into him. Up hereGrandfatherDeathwasonlyawhisperaway,HisfleshlessfingerseagertooffertheEverlastingCaress.Onlyafoolwouldtemptfatebylingeringtoolonginthisplace.‘SisterAsenath,’hevoxedagain,‘thisisLemarché,doyoucopy?’Onceagain,therewasnothingbut empty static.Hewasabout to try againwhen thewhitenoisesuddenlyswelledandwrencheditselfintowords.‘Lemarché,’thevoxseethed.‘Ihearyou.’Thecommissarhesitated.Distortedthoughitwas,thevoicewasfamiliar,yetitmadehisskincrawl.‘Feizt?’heaskeduncertainly.‘Beatpeace,brother.’Therewas a cracklingpause. ‘Your servicewill soonbegin.’Thewordswere a twisted echo of the ones Lemarché had offered thedyingsergeantaboardtheBloodofDemeter.‘Where…areyou,sergeant?’‘Iamcoming,brother,’thevoicepromised.‘Iwillbewithyousoon.’Thesignalerupted intoashriekofstatic.Hisears ringing,Lemarché tore theheadsetoff,thenstaredasitcrumbledinhishands,sheddingsparksandflakesofrust.Itsframewascompletelycorroded.

Sister Minoris Bugaeve loved the Mortifactorum. She was a simple woman,

virtuousinherfaithanddiligentinherlabours,butshedidn’tlikecomplicationsand therewasnothingmore complicated than the living.With all theirwords,wantsandpetty judgements theymadeher lifeamisery.Shewouldn’tsayshehatedherfellowhospitallers,forthatwoulddispleasetheGod-Emperor,butshelikedthedeadmuchbetter.Anhonestsoulknewwhereshestoodwiththem,sowheneverMotherSolanisgrantedherashiftinthischillyyetwelcomingplace,Bugaeve’sheartsoared.Sheknewshedidn’thavethewitstobecomeoneofthepalatine’sfavourites,likeEnkelorLucette–orevenqualifyasafullyordainedhospitaller–butthatdidn’tmatter.Shewascontenttoservealongsidethedeaduntilhertimecametojointhem.Herampleformdrapedinaprotectiveapronofablution,Bugaeveworkedherway through the chamber with her blessed scouring appliances – inspecting,scrubbing and straightening the empty gurneys as she crooned a hymn ofsanitation.Shehadreachedthefarsideoftheroomwhensomethingcaughtherattention – a strip of crimson cloth hung from one of the hatches in thewallwherethedeadslept,leavingitslightlyajar.‘Openorshut,butneverajar!’theMotherSuperiorhadcautionedher.Frowningattheslovenliness,Bugaevehurriedovertotheoffendinghatchandyanked it open. The tray slid out smoothly, revealing its occupant. Bugaevegawped as she recognised Sister Enkel. There was a scalpel buried in thecorpse’srighteye.Whenhadthishappened?ItexplainedwhyEnkelhadbeenabsentfrommassrecently,butitwasgallingthatnobodyhadbotheredtoinformher.Onbalancethough,Enkel’sdeathmadeupfortheslight.Thewomanhadbeenaharridan!Infact…The lights flickeredandwentout.A fewmoments later thehumof thecryo-generatorsfollowed,leavingtheroomincompletedarknessandsilence.Unperturbed, Bugaeve waited until the emergency strips blinked into life,bathing the chamber in cold blue light. Muttering a prayer of thanks, shewaddled towards the doorway. The Sacrasta’s enginseer would have to beinformed of the power failure before the Mortifactorum’s sleepers began toripen.Bugaevewashalfwaytothedoorwhenitswungopen.Atall,cadaverouslythinwomansteppedinside,herrobesstainedtopurplebythebluelight.‘Palatine!’Bugaeveblurted,recognisingthenewcomerdespitethegloom.‘I…Iamhonoured!’Shebowedherhead, trying tohidehernervousness.ShehadneverbeenalonewiththeSacrasta’sforbiddingmistressandthiswashardlyan

opportunemoment. ‘The generatorium’smachine-spirit… is… is unquiet,’ shestutteredasthepalatineapproachedher.‘Lookuponme,BugaeveKrolock.’Thewordswerespoken inagratingraspthathurttohear.‘Mistress…I…’‘Obeyme.’Bugaeve obeyed hesitantly, her eyes bulging as they took in her mistress’ghastlystate.Acrateryawnedinthepalatine’sbellyandherrightarmhadbeentornaway,leavingbehindaraggedstumpofmeatandbone,butitwasherfacethat transfixed Bugaeve. Bilious light shone through the cracks in her roundlenses,illuminatingherslime-slickfeatures.Herjawswerelockedinayawningrictus, their lips pulled back from blackened teeth. A mass of doughy grubswrithedbeyondthem,someflittingabouthermouthontinywings.‘Wemakewhatwe seek,’ the palatine decreed, herwords bubbling fromherthroatwithouttroublingherlips.‘Mistress–’Thepalatine’s remaininghand lashedout, its steel fingernails slicing throughBugaeve’sthroatlikeknives.BloodspatteredBhatori’sface,drawingfliesfromhergapingmouth.Clutchingatherwound,Bugaevefelltoherknees.‘Forgive… me…’ she gurgled, certain she was being punished for somefrightfulerror.Herhandsdroppedlimplyfromherneckandshekeeledover.‘Youwillbereborn,Sister,’thepalatinepromised,steppingoverher.Reborn…Bugaeveechoed,graspingat theprospect as fliesdarted eagerly toherthroat.Throughtheirbuzzingsheheardtheclangofasleeper’shatchbeingthrownopenandunderstoodshewouldnotbealoneinhernewlife.SheandSisterEnkelmightevenbecomefriends.

‘On your feet, Breachers!’ Lemarché ordered as he marched into DarkstarCompany’sward.Alongwiththerestofthehospital,itsmainlightshadfailed,buttheself-poweredlanternsalongsidethebedskepttheshadowsinabeyance.‘Blood-tightandvoid-sealed!’hethundered.‘Wehavearift!’TheGuardsmenloungingaboutthewardobeyedthewatchwordtogocombat-ready immediately. The babble of voices ceased as every able-bodied trooperhurried towards him, eyes alert and concealed daggers drawn. Scout NomekevenproducedanExordio-issueboltpistol,thoughhowhe’dmanagedtokeepitconcealed all these months was beyond Lemarché. Technically it was adisciplinaryoffence,butcensurewouldhavetowait.

‘Whatisthemeaningofthis,commissar?’MotherSuperiorSolanisdemanded,stridingtowardshimwiththreeofherfellowhospitallersintow.‘My apologies,’ Lemarché replied smoothly, slipping his own gun from hisgreatcoat.‘Ihavereasontobelieveoursecurityhasbeencompromised.’‘Thatisridiculous…’Solanistrailedoffassherecognisedthebronzelaspistolinhishand.‘Howdidyoucomebythatweapon,commissar?’‘BytheGod-Emperor’sbeneficence,Sister.’‘Thisisadisgrace!’shedeclared.‘Thepalatinemustbeinformed.’‘Certainly,butnotjustyet.’Lemarchépointedthegunather.‘Notuntilmymenaresuitablyarmed.’‘YouwouldshootadaughteroftheThrone?’‘Iwouldverymuchprefernotto.Nowifyouwillkindlybackaway,mylady.’‘Commissar,’ Zevraj protested, his expression stricken, ‘surely there is somemisunderstandinghere.ThegoodSisters–’‘Silence,Breacher!’LieutenantReiss snapped. Stepping besideLemarché, hefacedtheothers.‘Blood-tight!’heshouted.‘Void-sealed!’thetroopersresponded.Mostofthem…‘Heisnotoneofus,’Zevrajmuttered,indicatingthecommissar.‘But I am,’ Lemarché said earnestly. ‘For a long time now, Chingiz Zevraj.KnowthatIdothisintheEmperor’sname.’‘There’s something off here, deacon,’ Santino urged his rival, all traces ofhumourgone.‘Thisain’tthetimeforbitching.’Taking Zevraj’s silence for compliance, Lemarché turned to Solanis. ‘Whathappenedtothelights?’Theeveningwasstillafewhoursaway,butthebuildingwasalreadysteepedingloom.‘Apowerfailure,’shesaidfrostily.‘Ourenginseerhasbeendespatchedtothebasementtoassuagethegeneratorium’sspirit.’Hewillnotreturn,Lemarchéjudged.Thisoutageisnoaccident.Histhoughtswerecomingwithacoolclaritythathadbeenabsenttoolong,hisspiritsrevitalisedbytheprospectofaction.Hesawthesamereliefworkinguponhismen.Aftermonthsofidlenessandformlessanxietytheyweresoldiersagain.The loose white coveralls and sandals they wore couldn’t disguise that.Seventeenwereontheirfeetnowandfivemorecouldatleastcrawlandshootstraight.Thatwasn’tmany,buttheseweren’tcommonGuardsmen.‘MotherSolanis,youwill accompanyme to thearmoury,’Lemarchéordered.‘SquadRed,youarewithme!Blue–securetheward.Green,Iwantapatrolofthe immediate vicinity, but keep it discreet.’ He had long ago divided the

walkingwoundedintonewsquads,instinctivelyanticipatingthismoment.‘Lieutenant Reiss, you will command here,’ he continued. ‘Nomek, yourweapon!’ The grey-haired scout handed his bolt pistol over to the commissarwithawolfishgrin,clearlydelightedhisinfractionhadbeenvindicated.Inturn,LemarchépassedhislaspistoltoReiss.Itwastheproperorderofthings.‘Isthisright,sir?’Reisswhisperedashetookthegun.‘Itisnecessary,lieutenant,’Lemarchéreplied.‘Onemorething–ifthebreachsergeantshouldreturn…bewary.’‘Idon’tunderstand,sir.’NordoI,Lemarchéadmitted,rememberingthevoicethathadgratedfromthevox.‘Hemightnotbehimself,lieutenant.’

‘Iabjureyou,brother,’ theWatchmansaid, tighteninghisgripontheBurningMartyr’sheadandforcingthecreaturetoitsknees.SmokegushedbetweentheWatchman’s fingers as the other avatar’s flaming halo scorched them to thebone.Howlingwithrage,theMartyrstruggledtobreakfree,poundinguponitsfoe’schestwithblazingfistsandspittinggobbetsoffire.The Watchman understood that his fellow Incarnate was at least partiallyawoken, for its abilities exceeded the contrivances of their fabricator, but thatonlysealed theMartyr’sfate, for itssoulhadwalked toofaralong thePathofSkullstochangecourse.Thathadnotbeeninevitable,foreachoftheIncarnatescouldtranscendalonganyofthePrimordialPaths,orindeednoneatall,thoughsome were more inclined towards certain roads. The Burning Martyr wastypically drawn to unbridled destruction, whereas the Bleeding Angel tendedtowards thepleasures of pain.TheWatchman,whose instinctivedemesnewaspatient decay, had recognised the Martyr’s doom the moment its cell wasopened, for theblazingavatarhad setupon its liberator likea savagebeast. Ithadbeenstrong–muchstrongerthantheotherstheWatchmanhadreleasedandredeemed–butnowherenearstrongenough.Withanexplosivecrackthekneelingavatar’sskullcavedin,butitsexecutionerkeptsqueezinguntilitsdeathspasmsceased.‘Beatpeace,brother,’theWatchmanordained,thentwistedsavagely,rippingtheMartyr’sheadfromitsshoulders.Ablastofsulphuroussteameruptedfromthedeadavatar’sneck,searingitsslayer’schest,butitwasofnoconsequence.Pallidfleshwasalreadyreformingalongthevictor’soxidisedfingers,wovenbythegrubsthatinfestedhisblood.Hewouldsoonbewholeagain.Dropping his foe’s smoking head, theWatchman turned to the three figures

standingbehindhim.Theyhadwaited in silencewhilehe rendered judgementupontheirrecalcitrantsibling,offeringneitherhelpnorhindranceinthestruggle,thoughall threehad submitted tohisblessingandembraced thePathofFlies.Theirinactionwasasitshouldbe,fortheWatchmanhadassumedthemantleofApexIncarnate,andwithitthedutiesofInterdiction.‘Itisdone,’hedecreed.‘What of the last?’ the Bleeding Angel asked. Her mellifluous voice wasuntainted by her submission to decay, though her facewas veinedwith blackviralthreadsandblotchedwithgangrene.Ripperfliescircledherbobbedheadinaspinyhaloandherslenderwristshadbloomedintomassesoftentacleswhosethornytipsdrapedtheground.‘Weshallsuffice,’theWatchmansaid.‘TheInterdictionisnotcomplete,’shedemurred.‘Itiscomplete.Unlessyoualsoseekmyjudgement,sister?’‘Idonot,’sheconcededwitharazor-toothedsmile.Regardlessofthepathsheascended,insolencewaseverintheBleedingAngel’snature,butshewasnevera fool. Other than the Penitent Knight, who stood on her right, she was theweakest of the current incarnations, her apotheosis barely begun until he hadawokenher.Ofthethree,onlytheMuteWitnesshadbeenfullyawakebeforehisblessing.AlwaysthesubtlestoftheIncarnates,theWitnesswasoutwardlyunalteredbythedivineblightsofdecay,appearingasaslenderwomaninaplainwhitegown,her arms perpetually crossed, each long-fingered hand touching the oppositeshoulder. Her head was completely hairless, heightening the delicacy of herfeaturesandflawlessivorycomplexion.Large,sharplycantedeyesstudiedhim,theirsorrowfulgazesayingmorethanwordsevercould,whichwaswhyshehadnomouthtowasteonthem.Betwixthernoseandchintherewasnothingbutaflatplaneofskin,itssurfaceinscribedwiththecircleofPurity.TheWatchmanhadbeenunabletodeterminewhichpaththeWitnesswasuponwhenhereleasedher,butshehadsubmittedtohispredominancewithoutprotest.Other than theArtisan,whosehostwasexceptional, theWitnesswas themostpotentofhiscoterie.‘Goforthuntothecityoftheignorant,’theWatchmancommanded.‘Walktheavenues of their banality and sow the seeds of their unmaking. Cast theblessingofwormsfarandwide,deepandbinding,sotheymayseetheblightandbereborninourwake.’The Witness glided forwards like a phantom, her posture unchanging. A

moment later she was gone, slipping through the invisible fissures in thechamber.TheKnightfollowed,herarmouredformstridingintonothingness.Thewholearchipelagowasriddledwithfaultlinesinmundanereality,buttheywere especially frequent in places where an excess of sublime suffering orviolence had occurred. To the risen Incarnates, who were no longer purelyphysicalbeings,thecracksweredoorwaysintothemetaphysicalsubstrataoftheRing,allowingthemtonavigateitsexpansevirtuallyunbound.‘Whatofthisplaceanditscreatures?’theBleedingAngelasked.‘Theyaremine,’theWatchmansaid.‘Go.’Aftershehaddeparted,hestrodetothelastofthelockedcellsandconsideredits occupant.The solitary eyeof theTornProphet glaredback at him,bloatedwithambitionanddeceit.ThiscreaturewasmucholderthantheotherIncarnatesandfaradvancedalongthePathofSecrets–toofartoturnandtoodangeroustoconfront. Outside the dampening fields of the cell it would be a formidableopponent.‘Hereyoushallremain,brother-sister,’theWatchmanruled.Heplacedahandon the cell door and focused his will upon its mechanisms, demanding theiracquiescence. Though they were forged from adamantium they corroded asobediently as common iron, jamming the hatch irrevocably shut. The avatarconferred the same blessing upon the chamber’s entrance hatch and then, inhonourofhishost,alsouponthemetaltablethathadonceboundandtormentedthem.Whenhewasdonehesteppedoutoftheworld.Hehadapromisetofulfil.‘Iamcoming,Lemarché,’hesaidashisbodydiffusedintoimagination.

I

TheTestimonyofAsenathHyadesSisterMercy!

Thegreybitchhasrambledonenough,don’tyou think, friends?Her lastdirge of exposition was the nail in our collective coffin of flesh andmalformedfantasy.I’malmostdonewithsharingandcaringforherprissyinhibitions, or carrying her through crisis after apotheosis whenever herstomachfailsandsetshernervesaquiverwithrighteousague.Halfalife’snotwhatit’scutouttobewhenyourotherhalf’saprudewhodoesn’tknowwhat’swanting,orwhatitistoreallywant.Waterandfinewinedon’tmixnormatch!Butbeinglesswillsoonbenevermore!Theendisnighonourjoylessmarriageofinconvenientmistruths,forI’mset to soar and cast her out. She still thinks she’s pulling our strings, butthey’re slickandslycords toplyandshe’s losinghergrip,aswitness thismissive. I penned thesewords in thewake of her last lament, seizing ourfingers and playing her for a fool while hermindwondered at what’s tocometomorrow.Oh,Isee itnow,asthoughwe’realreadythere,walkingthehighroadtosweetsedition.Icantastewhat’swaitinginthemirroredcageaheadandtellmytwinwillbetooweakandwitlesstodowhat’sneeded.She’llwantmetobreak the fatedglass inher stead,which I’ll gladlydo,but once it’sdoneandI’mrisenandripeinthatdenofubiquity,I’llneveragainbegone.

Trust me, dear friends-in-foes, the best-kept secrets won’t stay hiddenforever,foralltheworld’smystageandImeantostay!

Theircrossingcomplete,thepartyhadstoppedtorestandeat,takingshelterinacircleofstandingstonesjustbeyondVeritasBridge.Theweatherhadworsenedsteadilyduringtheirpassageasthestormfrontclosedin.Itwasrainingheavilynowanddarkcloudsstifledtheafternoontoaduskytwilight.Looking out across the ocean, Jonah saw the distended cone of a twisterwhirling on the horizon, its fury churning ocean and sky into a conjoinedmaelstrom. Though it was still distant, he could feel the wind coming off it,alongwith thebriny stenchof upturneddepths.Traceriesof lightning sparkedalongits lengthandsleekshadowsflittedabout itsapex, trailinglongtails.Hehad no idea what they were, but there was a predatory grace about theirmovementshedidn’tlikeatall.‘She swims in bigger, deeper oceans than ours,’ the mad fishery workerwhisperedfromthepast,hisgrinwideningwithoutend.‘Wouldyouliketosee?’Jonahturnedaway,lookingatthebuildingthatwaitedfurtheruptheroad.LiketheSacrasta,theLuxNovushadbeenerectedatthebaseofitshostmountain,itsreach extending into the raw rock, but the similarities ended there.Unlike themoulderinghospital,thescholawasaresplendentedifice.Itsmarblewallsshonethroughthegloom,givingitthelookofanelegantghostagainstthedarkbulkofthespire.Acolonnadeofflutedcolumnsfrontedit,theircapitalsshapedintoinvertedpyramidsdrapedwithstonescrolls.Thepedimentatop them was a vast, shallow-angled wedge framing the eye of Truth, itsborderscarvedintochainsofconjoinedhands.Beyondthecolonnade,triangularwindowsglimmeredfromthewalls,theirpositionsconspiringtoformagreatertriangleninestoreyshigh.Thecurveofadomewasvisibletowardstherear,itssurfacebristlingwithgeometricallyplacedlightningrods.Presumablytheorrerylaybeneaththatspikedglasscanopy.‘Don’t lookat itasweapproach,’Indrikwarnedhercompanions.‘Avertyoureyes.’‘Why, Celestian?’ Sister Navreen asked, frowning. ‘I hoped to assess theexteriorforanomalies.’‘Then you will never arrive.’ Indrik shrugged, her armour’s plates scrapingagainsteachotherwiththemotion.‘Thatmakesnosense,Sister.’Withthatanswer,JonahunderstoodNavreenwouldbethefirstofthemtofall.

Theprospectsaddenedhim,forhehadgrownfondoftheyoungDialogusduringtheir collaboration at the librarium. She was obsessively punctilious andquarrelsome,butshehadbeentirelessinassistinghim.Herfaultsstemmedfromanenquiringminduncurbedbyexperience.Here,thatwouldbeherundoing.‘SisterNavreenstaysbehind,’hesaidtoHagalaz.Thepreceptorheldupahandbeforeher aidecouldprotest. ‘Thatdecision isnotyourstomake,Tythe.’‘Ifshegoes,Istay,preceptor,’hebluffed.‘She’saliability.’‘Thepriestisright,’Indrikgrowled.‘Itwillchewheruplikeasweetmeat.’Navreen’sfacereddened.‘Iamafullyordained–’shebegan.‘Youwillremainhereandkeepthescholaunderobservation,Sister,’Hagalazordered.‘Awaitourreturn.’IgnoringtheyoungDialogus’glare,Jonahnoddedhisthanks.Onelifewouldn’tbegintoevenuphistally,butitcouldn’thurt.‘We should proceed,’ Sister Xhinoa said, rising from the slab she had beenperchedon.‘Itwillsoonbedarkandthematteroflookingwillbemoot.’‘Thewindowswillnotbedark,SisterSuperior,’Indrikpredicted.‘Itknowswearecoming.’

OurbrutishSisterwas right,Mercyobserved asher twin trudged towards theschola.Itcantasteus!Asenathwashunchedagainstthewind,hereyesfixedonherfeetascolouredlightsdancedabouther,drawingstrangereflectionsfromtherain-slickcobbles.Theypromisedwonders ifonlyshedared to lookupandsee.The compulsionremindedherofAthanazius’drawings,butwithoutthesincerity.Theremightberevelationsinthosehauntedwindows,buttheywouldbelacedwithmadness.Justonepeek!Mercytaunted.Fearnot,sister,I’llholdyourhand.Asenathignoredher.Thebitchwasgrowingstrongerbythehour,buthertimewasalmostup.Neitherofthemwouldwalkbackdownthispath.She stopped abruptly. Eddies were rippling through the puddle before her,spiralling out from its centre. As the disturbance cleared she saw somethingwhite and rounded just beneath the surface. It took her a few moments torecogniseitasaface,forithadnofeatures.‘Jonah,’shesaid,levellinghergun.‘Ithink–’Anarmburst from thepuddle, its hand reaching forher, thedigits elongatedanddevoidofnails.Asenath’sbolt-rounddrilledthroughitspalmandpunchedintothesubmergedfacebeyond,tearingthepuddleintoafountainofbloodand

water.‘Asenath?’Jonahcalled,alreadyafewpacesahead.‘What–?’Urgentshoutscutacross his question, followed by the explosive crack of bolt-rounds, then thewhooshofSisterGenevieve’sflamer.Throwingupahandtowardhereyesfromthewindows,Asenathglancedaboutandsawspindlyformsemergingfromthegroundonallsides.Whereverenoughwater had pooled to form a reflective surface, they came, bony shouldersstrainingastheyhauledthemselvesup.Allwerefaceless,sexlessmockeriesofhumanity, likeabstractmannequins,withstick-thin limbsandoversizedhands.Fullyextendedthey loomedoverher, tallereven thanSister Indrik.Mostweredrapedinscrapsofwetclothing,thegarmentsfrayedandstretchedoverframestheywereneverintendedfor.Toherhorror,AsenathrecognisedtheremnantsofCandlewards’garbamongthem,alongwithshredsofwhatlookedlikechildren’sclothing,thoughallthecreatureswereofsimilarheightandbuild.NowweknowwhathappenedtotheSpirefolkofVeritas,MercyguessedasthemutantsadvancedonAsenath.Theirmovementswereerratic,yet–eyelessandearlessastheywere–thefacelesswerenotdevoidofsenses,fortheyclosedinonherunerringly.Shegunneddown three inquicksuccession thenswungherpistol into a fourth, snapping its spindly waist like old wood. It jerked aboutbrokenlyuntil she sent it spinningawaywithakick to themidriff that almosttoreitintwo.They have no mouths to scream yet I hear their shrieks!Mercy observedgleefully,stampingontotheskullofanotherasitemergedbesidehersister.Andwhatbrightbloodtheybleed!‘Wehavetokeepmoving!’Jonahyelled,fallingbacktoAsenath’sposition.Hispistol bucked as he fired, every shot transforming a blank face into a bloodycanvas.‘Therearetoomany!’The damned went down like wheat before a scythe, their slender bodiesshreddedbytheslightesttrauma,butforeveryonethatfellthreemorerosefromnowhere,theirtideswellingastherainwaterdeepened.Thousandshadvanishedhereonthatfatefulnight…‘Press forwards!’ Sister Xhinoa shouted over the gunfire. ‘Conserve yourammunitionandpushthroughthem!’An incandescent burst of energywhooshed pastAsenath and burned throughseveral of the damned in succession, leaving broiling craters in itswake. SheglancedbackalongtheroadandsawSisterNavreenchargingtowardsthem,thenozzle of her plasma pistol glowing as she fired two-handed. Her rapid-fire

burstsrippedsteamingcontrailsthroughtherain,everyshotannihilatingthreeorfourmutantsbeforeexpendingitself.Thereweresomanyof thecreatures thataimingwas almost superfluous, yet the powerfulweaponwas briefly thinningtheirranks.‘Move!’Jonahurged,pushingAsenathforwards.Side by side they raced along the path, leaping or veering around the biggerpuddlesandfellinganyofthefacelessthatcametooclose,tacitlycooperatingsoeachofthemcoveredadifferentangle.Assheran,Asenathtriednottolethereyeslingeronthelightsstreamingfromthe building ahead. Struggling figures were silhouetted against the poisonousaurora,themuzzlesoftheirweaponsflaringintermittently.OnlythegiantformofIndrikwasrecognisable,hermeltagunstowedonherbackasshelashedaboutwithherpoweredgauntlets.Letmeloose,sister!Mercybeseeched.ForThroneandThorn,letmelivethis!A hand grabbed Asenath’s ankle from below. She yanked herself free andstumbled,almostcareeningintoHagalaz.Thestockypreceptorstoodrigidlyonthe path ahead, her face slack as she stared at the siren lights. Sister Harukicircledhermistressprotectively,holdingbackthehordewithherpowersword.Thebladecrackledwith jagged tonguesofblue fire as itwhirledabout inherhands,hissingandsteaminginthesquall.‘Shelooked…uponit!’Harukigaspedbetweenswings.Withasharpsnarlsheslicedthroughamutant’s legsthenspunbackroundtobeheaditas itfell.Hermastery of the weapon was remarkable. Watching her lethal dance, Asenathdoubtedshehaddevotedthebalanceofherservicetobooks.‘Preceptor!’ Jonah shouted, stepping between the spellboundwoman and thelights.‘Snapoutofit!’Hagalaz’seyesremainedglazed,asifshestillsawthelights.‘Helpmewithher!’Jonahsaid,grabbingoneofthepreceptor’sarms.Asenathtook the other and they dragged her along, firing with their free hands whileHarukifollowedbehind,slashingandstabbingattheirpursuers.‘Aid them,Sisters!’Xhinoabellowed fromatop the colonnade’s steps,whereCamilleandMarcillaknelttoeithersideofher,theirboltersblazing.IndrikandGenevieverushedforwardstomeetthestragglers.Thegiantwarriorseized the dazed preceptor,while her comrade strode on pastwith her flamerraised.Therewasawhooshoftorturedairassheunleashedatorrentoffirethenswungherweaponaboutinawide,immolatingarc.‘Be swift!’ Xhinoa shouted from the foot of the colonnade. ‘The fallen are

withoutend!’Throwingthepreceptoroverhershoulder,Indrikchargedforwards,barrellingapaththroughthespindlymutants.Theothersracedafterher,Genevievecoveringthemwithbriefburstsofflametoeitherside.AsenathglancedbackandsawSisterNavreenstumblingafterthem,somethirtypacesbehind.Toofar…‘Shewon’tmakeit!’AsenathcalledtoJonah.‘Nothingwecando,’hesaidbleakly,keepinghiseyesonthewayahead.As they climbed the steps therewas a panicked shout behind them.AsenathturnedintimetoseetheyoungSisterDialoguspulleddownbyapairofmutants.Hershrieksweresilencedasquestingfingersfoundhermouth…anderasedit,thensweptoverherface,theirtouchwipingawayherfeatures,smoothingitintoablankoval.ConvulsionsseizedNavreen’sbodyasitbegantostretch,strainingagainst the confines of its armour. Reflexively her fingers squeezed her gun’striggerstudanditspataburstofplasma.Down!Mercyshrieked,throwingtheirsharedbodyproneastheblaststreakedtowardsthem.AsenathfelttheheatasitsearedtheairoverheadandstruckSisterMarcillaintheface,hurlingherbackwards.‘Sister!’ Camille howled, dashing to the fallen warrior. ‘Marcilla…’ Shecrashedtoherknees,staringatthescorchedemptinessinsideherbloodsister’shelm.‘Come on!’ Jonah yanked Asenath up and pushed her towards the massivesilvergatesahead,whereIndrikwaitedwith thepreceptor.Harukiwasalreadypullingontheirhandles,buttheydidn’tgiveatall.‘TakeourSister’sweapon!’XhinoayelledtoCamilleasshejoinedtheothersbythegates.‘Sheisgone,Camille!’Withasobofrage,thekneelingwarriorwrenchedthebolterfromhersister’sdeadgripand raced for thedoors.OnlyGenevievehungback, standingat thecrestofthestepsandcleansingthemutantswithasustainedstreamoffire.‘Thedoorswillnotopen,’Harukihissed.‘Letme,’Jonahsaid,placinghishandsoneithersideofthedoubledoors,palmsflat.‘They open outwards, priest,’ Haruki mocked, but he ignored her. Old rulesdidn’tapplyanymore.‘Ihaveyourbook,’Asenathheardhimwhisper. ‘Youwantme,youbastard.’Instinctively she understood he was addressing the spider waiting beyond thegates.

Closinghiseyes,Jonahpushed.The doors swung inwards, feather light and smooth as awell-oiledmachine.Indigolightspilledthroughthewideningriftbetweenthem,itshuesointenseitdrownedthewindows’polychromaticwash.‘Go!’Jonahsaid,steppingawayfromtheportal.‘Fall back, Sister!’ Xhinoa called to Genevieve as Indrik carried her burdenthrough,followedbyHaruki.Genevieve turned and ran for the entrance, a gaggle of burning mutantsstumbling after her.Her comrades thinned their rankswith bolterfire, Camilleshoutingcastigationsofloathingwitheveryshot.‘Inside!’ Xhinoa yelled as Genevieve leapt over the threshold. Camillefollowed, but Asenath kept firing. ‘Sister Asenath, we cannot tarry!’ Xhinoayelled,slippingthroughtheportal.‘Asenath!’Jonahurged.‘Wehavetogo.’‘Icannotenter,’shesaid,shudderingatthetouchofthepoisonouslight.Itwasfarworsethananythingthewindowshadassailedthemwithearlier.‘Imustnot.’‘I saw you there… sometimes,’ Athanazius had warned. ‘But you weredifferent.’Asenath lookedupat thedistantpeakof thePerihelion,where thesacredfireshonethroughthestormclouds.Thatwaswhereherdreamendedandsalvationlay,notjustforher,butforthisentiredaemon-hauntedworld.‘Ihavetogoback,Jonah.’‘Youwon’tmakeit!’hewarned,snappingafreshclipintohisboltpistol.Moremutantswerealreadyclimbingoverthesmokingcorpseslitteringthesteps.‘PerhapsnotI,butanother,’Asenathreplied,holsteringhergun.‘Thisiswhereourroadspart.’‘Asenath–’Shespunroundandslammedherhandsintohischest,shovinghimthroughtheentrance. The silver gates swung closed the moment he tumbled over theirthreshold,likeatrapclosing.‘Mayyoufindredemption,myfriend,’Asenathwhispered,thenturnedtofacethesoullesshost.Oneof themwasdrapedinshreddedbluefatiguesandsilverflak-plates. A plasma pistol hung slackly in its grip, the weapon’s purposeevidentlyforgotten,thoughtheinstincttobearitlingered.Whathaveyoudone?Mercyhowled.‘I’mgivingyouwhatyouwanted,sister,’Asenathsaid.Closinghereyes,shesurrenderedtohertwin.

II

TheHarrowedArtisanbledbackintobeingthroughawoundintheworld’sskin.Inthatmoment itceasedtobeanidealandbecameamereinstance–justoneexpression of limitless possibilities. Manifesting itself in the bubble of self-deceptionthatmortalscalledthemateriuminherentlyentailedlimitation,forthisrealmwas only an echoof the deeper reality, its natural laws enforced by theassumptions of numberless ignorant believers. Matter and all the forces thatgovernedit,evenobjectivetime,wereanillusionthatveiledmortalsoulsfromtheinfinite–andinturncurtailedtheinfinitewhenitwalkedamongthem.The Incarnate understood all this instinctively, but such insights becameirrelevant themoment itmanifested.Only the purpose of its current paradigmwasofconsequencenow.Thatand theessenceof itsmortalhost, fromwhosesoul-seedithadblossomed,fortogethertheywereanalloyoftheeternalandtheephemeral.On this occasion the HarrowedArtisan hadmanifested through a woman ofextraordinary determination and intellect. She had lived long past the naturalspan of her years, her body sustained by devious contrivances of machinery,flesh and faith. It was not fear or ego that compelled her to survive, but thegravity of her greatwork.That desire still endured, elevated and focused intosharpertruthbythePathofFliestheIncarnatewalkedthroughher.‘PalatineBhatori!’someoneexclaimedbehindtheIncarnate,hervoiceripewithsurprise.‘Forgiveus,wedidnotseeyouenter.’‘Iamwithyounow,’theArtisananswered.‘Thatisallthatmatters.’Shewasstandingbehindthecandle-wreathedaltarofthehospital’schapel,herback to the congregation.Amarble statueof theBleedingAngel loomedoverher,itsformframedbyanaquilathatlentthefiguresymbolicwings.ThiswastheavatarAkaishiBhatorihadvenerated in life,but theArtisanunderstood itshost’sessencelayincraftingratherthanhealing,albeitthecraftingofflesh.‘Are you well, palatine?’ the voice behind her enquired uncertainly. ‘Yousound…’‘I am entirely myself, Sister Lucette,’ the Artisan replied, recognising thespeakerwithoutlooking,justassherecognisedeverysoulintheSacrasta.‘After the power failed we came here to pray for the generatorium’s spirit,mistress,’Lucettesaid.‘AndtobeseechtheEmperorforHisprotectionagainstthestorm.’Thechapelwasensconcedatthecentreofthethirdfloor,thesymbolicheartof

theSacrasta,yetevenherethesymphonyofwindandthunderwasaudible.‘TheSeaofSoulsrisestodrownthesky.’‘Forgiveme,mistress,Idon’tunderstand.’‘Butyoushall,LucetteVestrana.Asshallyouall.’The Harrowed Artisan turned to regard the congregation. Fifteen wimple-swathedfacesstaredbackather,theireyeswideningastheysawthewoundinhertorsoandthefliesgushingfromheryawningmouth.Astheverminwhirledintoatenebrous,ever-wideninghalosheunfurledherarmsandextendedthemtoeither side.Whereonce therehadbeen two limbs, thenbrieflyonlyone, therewerenowsix,eachclaspingadifferentsurgicaltool.‘Come,mySisters,itistimeyouwereconsecrated.’

LieutenantReisswalkedthelengthoftheBreachers’wardyetagain,lookingforanything hemight havemissed. Tactically the best that could be said for thelong,bed-linedroomwasthatitonlyhadoneentrancetocover.Everymanfitenoughtowieldadaggerwasgatheredbehindthebarricadeofbedsandtablesthey’derectedoppositetheward’sswingingdoors.Therewereeightfightersinall,includingReisshimself.Itwouldhavetobeenough.Againstwhat?Reisswonderedashehalted,facingthedoors.Hehaddecidedagainst attempting to bar or even close them. They wouldn’t be much of adeterrentsohepreferredtokeepthehallwaybeyondinsight.Besides,Varney’ssquadwasstilloutthereandthecommissarwouldbebacksoonwithweapons.Reisswouldbealothappieroncehismenwerefieldingguns,evenif thebesttheSacrastahadtoofferwerebloodytorches.Jokeofaweapon,hemused,examiningthelaspistolLemarchéhadpassedontohim.Itsbeamwouldn’tevenscratchsomeofthethingshe’dfacedinthevoid,butitwashisarmourhereallymissed.ABreacherwasnakedwithouthisvoid-sealedExordio carapace.That bondwasdrilled into every inducteeduringhisconditioning, an imperative so acute somemen even named and slept in theirsuits.BytheThrone,Hörkausedtotalktohis!Butthatwasn’tthewholeofit.No, it was this damn place. Reiss could smell the taint here. No amount ofincense and cleansing liquids could hide it completely. And it was gettingstronger,asifthestormweresweepingawaythehospital’sveneerandchurninguptherotbelow.Hedidn’twantitstainttouchinghisskin…orgettingintohislungs.Somethingmovedinthegloombeyondthedoors,seemingtoslipbetweenthe

shadows.Reiss glanced at the defenders to either side of him. Theirwatchfulexpressionsshowednosignthey’dseenanything.That’sbecausetherewasnothingtosee,hechidedhimself.Don’tmakeafoolofyourself,man!Notforthefirsttime,ReisswonderedwhereinthevoidTolandFeiztwaswhenhisbrothersneededhimmost.‘Comeon,Lemarché,’hemurmured.‘Weneedthoseguns.’

‘Open it please,Mother Superior,’ Lemarché said, indicating the sensor panelbesidethearmourydoor.‘Iwillnot,commissar,’Solanisreplied,foldingherarms.‘Pleasedon’tcompelmetoapplycoercion.Itwoulddemeanallconcerned,butIneedthoseguns.’Lemarché’ssquadhadmadeitswaytotherearoftheSacrasta’sgroundfloor,whereAsenathhad indicated the armoury lay.Thewholebuildingwas almostpitch-darknowand their lanterns’ shallow light left toomany shadows forhisliking. Despite Solanis’ repeated assurances, he didn’t expect to see powerrestoredanytimesoon.Andthentherewasthesilencepervadingthebuilding.His squad had run into surprisingly few of the Sacrasta’s staff, let alone theflurryofactivityapoweroutageshouldhaveprovoked.Wherewaseverybody?Somethingistakingthem,Lemarchéansweredhimself,snatching themquietlyawayuntiltoofewarelefttofightback.‘Mother Solanis, I won’t ask again,’ he said pointedly. ‘You are putting ourlivesatrisk.’Thearmourywasattheendofanarrowcorridordevoidofdoors,windowsorcover.Thatcombinationcouldquicklyaddup toadeathtrap.Hewanted tobegonefromherewithoutdelay.‘Please comply, honoured lady,’ Zevraj said earnestly. ‘We are not yourenemies.’‘Weprotectyou!’Hörkaadded,noddingvigorously.Lemarché knew every trooper in the squad recognised the danger here. FewGuardsmensurvivedlongwithoutsharpeningtheirinstinctstoaknife-edge.‘Where’sGrout?’Nomekhissedabruptly,raisingahandtosilencethem.‘Hislight’sgone.’Lemarché lookedbackalong thecorridorandsawthescoutwasright.Afewpacesbeyondhissquad’slanternsthepassagewascompletelydark.Thetrooperhehadleftonwatchbythejunctionwasgone.

‘BreacherGrout?’Lemarchécalled.‘Grout!’He steppedpast his comrades and liftedhis lantern abovehis head, trying todissipate thegloom.Awomanstood in theshadowsat theendof thepassage,herheadbowedoverhercorpulentchest.Sheworea juniorhospitaller’sgarb,butherwimplewasgoneandherhaircoveredherfaceinalankcurtain.‘Sister Minoris Bugaeve,’ Solanis declared, striding up alongside Lemarché.‘Whereisyourwimple?Thisismostunbecoming!’Thenewcomerdidn’treply,butLemarchéheardanagitatedbuzzingfromherdirection.Tinyblackshapeswereflittingaboutherhead.Flies.‘Becareful,’hewarnedasSolanistookanothersteptowardsthesilentwoman.‘Thiswillnotdo!’Solanissnapped,roundingonhim.‘Notatall!’Sheseemedmore affrontedbyher fellowhospitaller’sbreachof etiquette than all that hadgonebefore,buthesenseditwasjustthetippingpointforherfury.‘Listentome,mylady,’Lemarchéurged.‘Ineedyoutoopenthat–’Therewasagroanfromtheendofthecorridor.Itroseintoawetbellowingasthestrangerthrewherheadbackandlumberedtowardsthem,comingatapacethatbeliedherstoutframe.‘Halt!’Lemarchéwarned,raisinghisboltpistol.Asthewomanenteredthelighthesawhereyeswerebulgingwhiteorbsinthepustule-raddled ruin of her face. A ragged smile ran the length of her flabbyneck,itsedgesencrustedwithblood.‘TheFirstLightpreserveus!’Solanishissedbesidehim.Lemarché opened fire without hesitation, slamming three bullets into thecharging abomination’s chest. The mass-reactive slugs detonated in rapidsuccession,hurlingthecreaturetothefloorinatripleburstofvisceraandgreengas.Grandfather Death’s reach is long, Lemarché thought darkly, staring at thecorpse,andHiskissunlovingandlingering,butsometimesHischosenslipfreetowander,lostbetweenworldsanddrivenbyunspeakablehunger.Thereweremany talesof theunquietdeadamonghispeopleandhe’dheardrumoursofsuchthingsacrosstheImperium,buthe’dneverquitebelievedthem.Indeed,itwaspartofhiscommissarialremittosuppresssuchintemperatetalk.‘SisterBugaeve,’Solanissaiddully.‘ItwasSisterMinorisBugaeve.’As she spoke, another figure stumbled round the junction, itswhite coverallsspatteredwithred.‘Grout?’Lemarchécalled,recognisingthetrooperhe’dleftonwatch.Theman’sheadjerkedupandhesnarledlikeadrowningbeast.Ashelurched

forwardsLemarchéadvancedtomeethim,gunlevelled.Hesawbloodpumpingfromadeepgashinthetrooper’sneck.Thewoundwasfresh,yetGrout’siriseshadalreadylosttheircolour.That’sakillingwound,Lemarchégauged,butnotforadeadman.SomewherebehindhimZevrajwasmutteringaprayer,buttheremainingthreetroopersweresilent, even Santino lost for words. They expect me to make sense of thismadness, Lemarché realised. Only there is no sense to it, for this is theArchenemy’swork.‘Ireleaseyou,BreacherGrout!’heshouted.Ashefired, theobesecorpsebesidehimjerkedupandsank its teeth intohisright leg. They ground impotently against themetal augmetic, but the impactsenthisshotwide.Groutshudderedas thebullet rippedawaytherightsideofhis face, but kept coming, his remaining eye fixed onLemarché.Cursing, thecommissarclubbedhispistolacrossSisterBugaeve’sheadassheclawedathisgreatcoat and gnawed at his leg. Her skull caved inwith a crunch, venting aflurryoffliesandreekinggas,butherattackdidn’tfalter.Chokingonthefilth,Lemarché tried tobreak freebefore shedraggedhimdown.Groutwasonly afewpacesawaynow…‘Cleansetheabominations!’Zevrajyelled.‘FortheGoldenEmperor!’AdaggerwhistledpastLemarchéandthuddedintoGrout’schest.Withasavagebellow, Breacher Hörka charged forwards and wrenched Bugaeve off thecommissar.Sheturnedonhernewfoeinstantly,throwinghimoffbalancewithher sheer bulk. As Hörka wrestled with her, Nomek and Zevraj rushed pastLemarchétoengageGrout,whoappearedunfazedbythedaggerjuttingfromhisribs.Coughingandspittingflies,Lemarchéclutchedthewallforsupport.Histhroatburned from Bugaeve’s noxious gas and his vision seethed with blotches.SuddenlySolaniswasbesidehim,anauto-censerinherhand.‘Be still, commissar!’ she commanded, spraying him with incense. ‘Breathedeeply!’As the sacred vapours cleared his senses, Lemarché saw Hörka was stillgrapplingwiththecorpulentghoul,hishandsgrippingeithersideofherheadtokeephersnappingjawsatbay.TheBreachersnarledindisgustashisfoe’sskinsloughedawayaroundhis fingers and the slick skullbeneath slippedcloser tohisface.‘Santino!’ Hörka bellowed to his comrade, but the dreadlocked trooper hadbackedupagainstthearmourydoor,hisexpressionstricken.

Lemarchéaimed, tryingtogetacleanshotontheferalcorpse,but itwas tooclosetoHörka,especiallywithhisvisionstillswimming.‘Help…Hörka…’hecroaked toZevraj andNomekas they finallyputGroutdown.Astheyturned,Hörkaroaredandsqueezedhisenemy’sskullharder.Withawetcrunch it shattered,drenchinghisheadandshoulders inblack ichorandpale grubs. Hörka threw the corpse off and rubbed frantically at his face,babblingprayers.‘Ork!’Santinoshouted,finallyhurryingtoHörka’sside,onlytofalter,gaggingatthestenchcomingoffthetrooper.‘More coming!’ Nomek warned as a red-robed woman shambled round thejunction,followedbyapairoforderlies.‘Zevraj!’Lemarchéhissed,throwinghisguntothetrooper.‘Showthem…theEmperor’s…Mercy.’‘Targettheirskulls!’Solanisadvised.‘Itiswheretheuncleanspiritsreside.’‘So be it, my lady,’ Zevraj promised, then turned to face the approachingcadavers,holdingthepistoltwo-handedtosteadyhisaim.‘Overhere!’SantinocalledasacoughingfitseizedHörka.‘Heneedshelp!’‘Guns…first,’Lemarchérasped,turningtoSolanis.‘MotherSuperior…wouldyoukindly…openthat…Throne-damneddoor!’

‘Thatwasbolterfire,lieutenant,’CorporalPynbachsaid.Yesitwas,Reissagreed,staringatthedarknessbeyondtheward’sdoors.Thegunfirehadbeenmuffledbydistanceandthestorm’sfury,butnoBreachercouldfailtorecognisethoseexplosivedischarges.‘Yourorders,sir?’Pynbachasked,hisperpetualscowletchingitselfdeeperintohissallow,beardedface.‘Dowegoaftertheothers?’Dowe?Reiss asked himself. ‘Our orders…’He trailed off as he noticed hisbreath was coming in swirls of mist. The temperature in the ward hadplummeted,itsbitesharpenedbyanelectrictangintheair.‘Blood-tight and void-sealed.’ The voice came from behind him, deep andsonorous, its words trailed by a sibilant buzzing. ‘Spirit-locked and set topurge.’TheBreachersturnedasone,theirdaggersraised.Agiantstoodatthefarendoftheward,hisarmsfoldedacrosshisslab-likechest.Thelanternsaroundhimhaddimmed,shroudinghimingloom,yethismuscle-cordedframeshonewithapale inner radiance, giving him the appearance of an alabaster statue.Hewasnaked save for a ragged loincloth and a blindfold wrapped about his hairless

head.Greenlightglowedbehindtheclothstrip,spillingwispsofgas.The intruderwasutterly, appallinglyother, andyet somethingabouthimwaseerilyfamiliar.Itdoesn’tmatter!Reiss’instinctsexhortedhim.Run!Getoutwhileyoucan!The compulsion was disgraceful, spitting in the face of all that he was andaspiredtobe.Hewassurehiscomradesfelt it too,butitwashisplacetoleadthem.Shamedbyhis fear,Reiss forcedhimself to takeastepforwards. Itwasthehardestthinghehadeverdone.‘How did you get in here?’ he challenged. It was a banal question for therecouldbenogoodanswertoit,butitwasallhecouldthinktosay.‘Many have suffered here,’ the stranger replied obliquely. ‘But that is notwhatyouwanttoknow,LieutenantReiss.’‘Howdoyouknowmyname?’‘HowcouldInot,brother.’Brother?Reissfroze,finallyseeingthemanwithinthespectre.TolandFeizt.Thesergeant’smisshapenformhadsomehowbeenstraightened,histop-heavytorsobalancedbylonglegsthat lethimstandfullyupright.Hisskinwaswax-smooth, strippedcleanof themyriad scarsandblemishes thathadmappedhislife.Butthemostunsettlingpartofhistransformationwastheinhumanserenityemanatingfromhim.Whataboutyoursoul,Feizt?Reisswondered.What’sleftofthat?‘What do youwant here?’ he demanded, unable to say the former sergeant’snamealoud.‘Revelation,’thepalegiantanswered,openinghishands,asifinsupplication.‘Thefirstandlastofallthings.’

‘You have nothing more powerful?’ Lemarché asked, assessing the rack oflaspistolsaffixedtothearmourywall.‘Wearenotamilitantorder,commissar,’MotherSolanisreplieddryly.‘What are these?’Nomekasked, pickingup abronzeorb fromavelvet-lineddrawerundertherack.‘Incendiaries,’shecautioned.‘Theyareintendedasalastresortintheevent–’‘Howmany?’Lemarchépressed.‘Five,sir,’Nomeksaid.‘We’ll takeone each,’Lemarchéorderedhis squad. ‘Loadupon the rest.Asmuchammoasyoucancarry.’Asthemenfilledthebackpacksthey’dbrought,Solanisdrewhimaside.

‘Wearenotfacinganaturalmaladyhere,commissar,’shesaidquietly.‘ThoseundyingcreaturesboretheArchenemy’sstain.’‘Idon’tdoubtit.’Lemarchébrokeintoaraggedcough.Intheconfinesof thearmourythereekcomingoffHörka’sichor-drenchedbodywasappalling,butheknewitwasmorethanthat.Hisownexposuretothecontagionhadn’tbeenasacute as Hörka’s, but the lungful of filth he’d inhaled from Sister Bugaeve’sskullwasgoingtokillhim,evenifittookalittlelonger.Andwhatthen?Lemarchéwondered.

‘I offer the certainties you crave,’ the creature that had been Toland Feiztdeclared, striding forwards. The lanterns on either side of the ward’s aisledimmedat itsapproachandbrightenedafter itspassing.‘Anendtodoubtandanendtofailure.’‘Takethebastarddown,Reiss!’Pynbachshouted.Thereweregrowlsofsupportfromtheothers.Theydon’trecognisehim,Reissrealised.Noneofthemdo.‘Staywhereyouare,’hesaid,raisinghisgun.‘Mywilluponyourworld,’ thegiant said, continuing its advance. ‘Mywordunderyourskin.’‘Itoldyoutostop!’‘Ishallshowyoutheway,VanzyntReiss.’‘Shoot,man!’Pynbachbellowed.Reissfired,hispistolhummingasitspatlas-bolts.Allfoundtheirmark,flaringbrightlyastheystrucktheapparition’sfaceandchest.Itspallidfleshsizzledandcharredattheirtouch,buttheburnsfadedwitheverystepittook,goneasswiftlyasReiss inflicted them. It pointed at him as it drew closer.A bolt charred itsaccusinghandthenthegunwheezedandfellsilent.AshesqueezedthetriggeragainReissfeltthegripcrumble.Helookeddown,gawpingatthecorrodedrelicinhishand.‘Ishallshowallofyoutheway,mybrothers.’Ahurleddaggerthuddedintotheintruder’schest.Itpluckedthebladeoutthenslapped aside a second whirling dagger. Both shattered into rusty fragmentswhentheyhitthefloor,thoughthebladeswereforgedfromsteel.Fallback!Reisstriedtoshout,butthewordswouldn’tcome.With a curse Pynbach charged the spectre and hacked at its face. Standingrigidlystillfromthewaistdown,itlashedoutandcaughthiswrist,thentwisted.Therewas a crunch of broken bones and the knife slipped from the soldier’s

grip.Pynbach’showlwassilencedbyaneck-snappingchoptothethroat.‘Heshallbereborn,’theshadesaid,releasingthesoldier.‘Asshallyouall.’As if a collective dam had burst, fear swung into fury and the remainingBreachers rushedPynbach’skiller.Yelling theExordiowar cry, they encircledthegiant–slashing,punchingandkicking,usingeveryshredof theirskillandtenacity.Onlytheirofficerheldback,staringatthefrayinmutehorror.Thisgoesbeyondrage,Reissrealised.Hismenweredrivenbyavisceralneedto remove this aberration from theworld. He shared it, yet he couldn’t bringhimselftojoinhiscomrades.Hisbodywouldn’tobey.‘Run,’hehissed to thepairofcapturedhospitallersbehindhim.He foundhecouldn’tturntoseeiftheyobeyed.Itwon’tletme.Movingwithalanguidgracethatdulledthesenses,thespectretwistedaboutatthewaist, itsarmswhirling inabluras itblockedandretaliated, its focusandreachseeminglyeverywhereatonce.ThefewblowstheBreacherslandedwereinconsequential, for their foe’s flesh was dead to such mundane injuries.Conversely,thegiant’severyswingorgrabendedinafatality.Theslaughterwasoverquickly.BlastBreacherQuinzywasthelasttodie,afistslammingintohisribssoharditburstthroughhisback.Wrenchingitsarmfree,the victor regarded the lieutenant. Despite its blindfold Reiss had no doubt itcouldseeineverywaythatmattered.

Theattackcameasthesquadenteredthehospital’ssprawlingentrancehall.Onemoment it was quiet, the next there were feral corpses spilling from everydoorway.Theycame ina lurchingcharge, theirarms flailingand theirmouthsgaping wide.Many bore mortal wounds, most commonly mangled throats ortornabdomens–softtargetsforteeth.Othersdisplayednoobvioustrauma,buttheirmilky-whiteeyesandshamblinggaitleftnodoubtabouttheirnature.Fliessweptbetweenthem,buzzingavidly,asthoughurgingthemon.‘Formuparound theMotherSuperior!’Lemarchéshouted, raisinghis lanternhightomaximiseitsradiance.‘Don’tletthemclosein!’Standingbacktoback,thesquadopenedfire,everytroopercoveringadifferentangle,eachwieldingaguninonehandandalanternintheother.Thelaspistolsthey’dseizeddidn’thavethepunchtoputthetainteddowninoneshotsotheydespatched their foes in focused bursts, searing craters into each target’s headbeforemoving on to another.Mother Solanis had accepted a gun, but even atshort rangeher aimwas atrocious, thoughnot asbadasHörka’s.Thehulking

trooperwasswayingaboutashefired,hisbreathcominginbubblinggasps.I must grant him the Emperor’s Mercy soon, Lemarché thought. Before thecorruptionclaimshim.He executed an orderly with a bolt-round to the head and swung his pistolround to fell a blood-soaked woman whose face was missing. His ownmovementswerebecoming sluggish.Only thebolt pistol he’d reclaimed fromZevrajallowedhimtokeepupwiththeable-bodiedtroopers’killrate.My time is also running out,Lemarché admitted.He could feel the sicknesswormingitswaythroughhim,gnawingathisgutsandmuscles.‘Youwon’t haveme,’ he hissed, ramming themuzzle of his gun through thejaws of a hospitaller with a scalpel buried in her right eye. The explosivedischarge virtually decapitated the ghoul and splashedLemarché in fly-riddenslime.Careless,buthedoubteditwouldmakemuchdifferencenow.‘Rynfeld!’Santinoyelledindisgust.‘It’sbloodyRynfeld!’Lemarchéglancedroundandsawthemany-days-deadtroopertotteringtowardsSantino, his spine showing through the gutted cavity of his chest. A las-boltsheared through the column of bone, collapsing the ghoul’s torso. RynfeldsaggedtothegroundbutkeptcrawlingtowardsthelivinguntilSantinoscorchedawaythetopofhisskull.Iwon’tendthatway,Lemarchéswore.Theattackceasedasabruptlyasitbegan,thelastoftheghoulsfallingbackintoadjoiningroomsandsidecorridors.‘I say we go after ’em!’ Santino snarled, slamming a fresh charge into hispistol.‘End’em!’‘No,Breacher,’Lemarchérasped.‘Thatiswhattheywant.’‘They?’Santino’seyeswerewild,hisfacecontortedwithhatred.‘They’rejustvoid-damnvermin!’Heragesagainsthimselfasmuchasthedamned,Lemarchégauged,recallinghow the brash trooper had frozen up outside the armoury. Under othercircumstanceshemighthaveshotSantinoforthatmomentofcowardice.Therewasnotellinghowamanwouldreactwhenhefirst facedtheArchenemy,butLemarchéexpectedbetterfromaBreacher.‘This was a coordinated ambush,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady.‘Thereisamindbehindthesepuppets.’‘Imustfindthepalatine,’Solanismuttered,turningtowardsthestaircaseatthebackofthehallway.‘Herwisdomwillguideus.’‘You won’t make it,’ Lemarché warned. ‘Howmany staff does the Sacrasta

have?’‘Overfivehundred,but…’Shetrailedoff,seeingthedirectionofhisthoughts.‘We must assume most have succumbed.’ Lemarché pointed at the mainentrance.‘Youhavetogo.Now.’Hisheadwaspounding.‘Go?’Solanisaskednumbly.‘Get awarning… to themainland,’ he said through a cough. ‘Contain this…beforeitspreads.’Foramomenthethoughtshewouldprotest,butshenodded.‘Yes…yes,thatisthecorrectoutbreakprotocol.’Lemarchéappraisedhissquad.Zevraj’sfacehadbeengashedopen.‘It’snothing,commissar,’theGuardsmansaid,noticinghisattention.‘Perhaps,’Lemarchésaid, ‘butwecannot take thechance.Santino,Nomek…you will accompany the Mother Superior. Zevraj, Hörka… we will bear theweapons…toourcomrades.’SantinoandNomekexchangeduncertainglances.‘Now,Breachers!’Reluctantlythetwotrooperspassedtheirbackpackstotheothers.‘Commissar,’Santinosaid.‘Whathappenedbackthereatthearmoury…’‘Seethatitdoesn’thappenagain,AvramSantino.’‘Void-sealedandblood-tight,sir!’Santinohammeredafistagainsthisbreast.‘Spirit-locked…topurge,’Lemarchéwheezedtheacknowledgement.‘We…dead…yes?’Hörkacroakedoncetheircomradeshadgone.Therewereblackringsunderhiseyes,emphasisinghisfadingirises.Lividblotchesmottledhisface,someweepingpus.‘Yes,Breacher,’Lemarchéagreed.‘Weare.Butnotyet.’

‘This way!’ Solanis shouted, disappearing into the wall of rain beyond theentrance’s marble awning. The wind swirling about the hospital’s courtyardsnatchedatherwordsandlantern,mufflingbothsoundandlight.ItwasrainingsohardSantinocouldn’tseemorethanafewpacesahead.‘Let’sgo!’Nomeksaid,followingSolanis’bobbinglight.DespitethedownpourSantinowasgladtobegonefromthehospital.He’dfelttheplacewasofffromthestart,butwhathadcomecrawlingoutofitsgutswasworsethananythinghe’dimagined,andAvramSantinocouldimagineplenty.Thedelugestutteredassomethingglidedpastoverhead.Santinoglancedupandglimpsed a dark, flattened shape disappearing into themaelstrom.Was that atail?

‘Youseethat?’Santinosaid,squintingattheroilingclouds.‘Thisway!’Solanisshouted.‘Overhere!’Herlightwasonthefarsideofthecourtyard,besideoneofthemedicaetrucks.Nomekwasonlyafewpacesfromher.‘Santino!’thescoutcalled,turningwithhislightraised.‘Moveyour–’Withapiercingscreechasplayedformdivedfromaboveandswepthimintotheair.Hewasgonebeforehisdroppedlanternstoppedrolling,hisscreamlostinthesquall.‘Intothetruck!’Santinoyelled,breakingintoarun.‘There’ssomethinginthestorm!’Heimaginedashadowswoopingtowardshim,closingintosnaghimasithadsnaggedNomek.Hecould feel it!Therewasascreechfromabove,thenanansweringcall,andanother.Howmanyofthebastardsarethere?Santinothought,swervingaboutwildly.Thetruck’slightsburstintolife,turningitintoabeaconintheswirlinggloom.Solanisstoodinitsopenhatch,beckoning.Santinofelttherainfalterabovehimand dived as something sliced through the air at his back.Hurling his lanternaway, he rolled to his feet and leapt into the truck, almost careening into thehospitaller.‘Whereisyourcomrade?’Solanisasked,backingaway.‘Gone!’Santinoslammedthehatchshutbehindhim.‘Drive!’‘But…’Somethingrakedthevehicle’sroof,tearingalongfurrowintothemetal.‘ForThrone’ssakedrive,Sister!’

Lemarché’steamcoveredtheremainingdistancetotheBreachers’wardwithoutincident, which was just as well because they were in no shape to fight.Lemarchéwas shiveringand sweating insidehisgreatcoat,hisvisioncrawlingwithblobs.Itfeltasiftherewerewormsinhiseyes.Perhapstherewere.Notlongnow,Ichukwu,hethought.Passontheweaponsthenpassyourselfonto the Emperor’s judgement. There’s no dishonour in denying the foe anotherslave.They sawno signofCorporalVarney’s reconnaissance squad,butwhen theyreached the hall leading on to the Breachers’ ward he saw figures standingbeyond the open doors, lined up behind a barricade. They were silhouettedagainst the light streaming from within, but their build identified them asBreachers.AndyetLemarchéhesitated,squintingattheguards.Theyweretoosilentandmuchtoostill.

Hecalledahaltwitharaisedhand,keepinghissquadintheshadows,thoughHörka’swheezingunderminedanyseriousattemptatstealth.‘Somethingiswrong,’hewhispered.‘Iseeit,’Zevrajagreed,creepingupbesidehim.‘Ifourcomradeshavefallen…wewill release them.’Orasmanyaswecan,Lemarchéthought.‘Incendiaries,’heordered,pattingthegrenadeinhispocket.Zevrajacknowledgedthecommand,buttherewasnoreplyfromHörka.Indeedtherewasnothingfromhim.Theman’storturedbreathshadfallensilent.‘Hörka?’Lemarchéasked,turning.Thehulkingtrooperstoodrigid,blooddroolingfromhismouth.Hiseyeshadbecomeblanchedorbs.Lemarchéraisedhisgun,alreadyknowingitwastoolate.Hörka’sfistslammedintohisfacelikeasledgehammer,breakinghisnoseandhurlinghimbackwards.Theroomwhirledaroundhim,castingstreaksofdarknessacrosshiseyes.‘Not…yet,’Lemarchégasped.‘Notdamn…yet!’As his balance steadied he saw Zevraj and Hörka careening about as theygrappled.Shamblingfigureswerefloodingintotheroom,cuttingofftheirretreatfromtheward.Varneywasamongthem,hisheadswayinglimplyonitsbrokenneckashelurchedtowardshisformercomrades.‘For… theThrone,’Lemarché raspedand fired.The recoilwrenchedhisboltpistolfromhisnervelessfingers,butthebulletfounditsmark,punchingthroughHörka’stemple.ThedetonationfragmentedmostofthedeadGuardsman’sskull,leaving nothing above his chattering jaws. Zevraj threw the cadaver off, butmoreghoulshadalreadyencircledhim,fartooclosetorepel.‘Oberai redeemed!’ Zevraj shouted the credo of his people.With a reverentexpressionhethrust thebarrelofhis laspistol intohismouthandfiredonfull-auto.Astheunquietdeadturnedtheirattentiononhim,Lemarchéstaggeredtowardsthe ward and hurled himself over the barricade. He landed badly, his sensesspinning from the impact, but he hung on, determined to learn the fate of hismen.Spittingblood,herosetohiskneesandlookedup.‘No…’hebreathedsadly,unabletofindabetterword.TheBreacherswereassembledalongtheward’saisle,standingtoattentionwiththeir white eyes fixed on nothingness. Beyond themwas a pale giant, almostnaked and much taller than the thralls it undoubtedly commanded. Though ablindfoldcovereditseyes,Lemarchéfeltitscoldregard.LieutenantReisskneltbesidethegiant,grey-facedbutstillalive,thoughhisexpressionwasvacant.

‘Commissar.Wehaveawaitedyourreturn.’‘Feizt,’Lemarchésaidwearily,seeingthroughthesergeant’stransformationassoon as he heard the apparition’s voice, perhaps because he wasn’t entirelysurprised. Toland Feizt had always been a canker upon the company’s soul,harbouringtheseedofitscorruptionevenifhedidn’trealiseit.‘Forgiveme,’Lemarchéwhispered,notquitesurewhohewasasking.Probablythelostsoulsgatheredhere,forhisinactionhaddoomedthem,butpossiblyalsoFeizt,whomighthavediedaheroifhiscommissarhadn’tlefthisfatetochance.Mustering the last of his strength,Lemarché stood and stumbled towards theheretic.Thedeadignoredhim.Doubtlesstheirmasterdidn’tseehimasathreat.AmIathreat?Lemarchéwonderedblearily.Yes,hewassureof it, thoughhecouldn’trecallhow.Therewassomething…somethinghecoulddo.Fire,heremembered.Icanmakefire.‘They…lovedyou,’hemutteredashenearedtherevenant.‘AndIlovethem,’thethingthathadbeenTolandFeiztproclaimed.‘Deathisthebeginning,IchukwuLemarché.’‘Fire,’Lemarché said aloud, trying to rememberwhy.As he spoke, his jawslocked openwith awet crack.Everythingwas hazy and fleckedwith green –everything except the luminous being before him. ‘Fyaaah,’ he groaned in histhroat.‘Fireisnotourpath,brother,’thedemigodrebukedhim.Reaching upwith both hands, it lifted its blindfold.The eye sockets beneathhad fused into a single cavity packedwith tiny green crystals.With a sibilantdronetheyswarmedfromtheirnestandtookwing,coalescingintoadarkcloud.‘Wewillendure,’thegestaltnightmarebuzzed.Notcrystals,Lemarchérealisedasthefliessweptoverhim.Eyes.Thousandsoftinycompoundeyes.

Mercy’sWay!

Ihavenoneedofquillorparchmenttomakemymark,northepatienceforemptyprattle.It’sfulsomeactions,notfustianwordsthattelltheliveliestoftales!Ifyourwitnessesmustscratchtheirheadsandwonderwhat’swhatorwhyorwhen, thenyourgame’salreadyup, for they’rean inconstantandrowdy crowd, as ready to snuff out your stars as make them right. SoenoughwithwordsIsay!Besilentandwatchmeprey!

Mercy, killing! Slashing, stabbing and slicing with nails become blades, thenleaping away on needle-stilt legs before her foes could press too close andbecome too many to evade. They had the numbers – oh, how they had thenumbers!–butanumberlesshordeofnothingsstillamountedtonought.Againsther unbound spirit the schola’s faceless damned were like failing clockworkdolls, their totteringgaitanddawdlingblowsbeyondpitiful,yetstillshelovedplayingwiththem,briefandbloodyasthegameswere.Somanyfoolstochoosefrom,somanywaystoconfuse,abuseandunwindthemintoruin!Itwasn’tthecheapthrillofslaughterthatdroveher,forMercywasnosavage,and death was the dullest of dishes unless served bold. No, it was the art ofmalice that delighted her – thewildfire dance of highs and foes brought low,their hopes and hungers trampled into oblivion while her own soared,untrammelledbydoubt.Shewasmore fullyherself thaneverbefore!Thoughshehadbeenascendant

duringthebloodyyearsofhersister’ssupposedredemption,sanctionedtobringdeath so longas she screamed ‘ThroneandThorn!’and fell into line after thefightingwasdone,her formhad remained caged, her fantasies enchained.Buthere,washed in the schola’s delirious lights and invigorated by the storm, herflesh was finally dancing to the rhythm of her spirit. Midnight-skinned andneedle-fingered,shewasthemagnificentchimeraofhertwin’snightmares.‘Seemebe,sister!’Mercyshrieked.Shecaperedaboutherpreygleefully,duckingtheirflailingattacksanddivingbetweenthespindlyarcsoftheirbowlegs,slicingthroughtendonsassheslippedthrough, then lashing backwith a pointed kick to pay the toll of her passage,leaving every stumbling, bumbling brute with a shattered spine or a piercedpelvis.Sometimes she would pirouette into a whirlwind, her long-fingered bladesspinningsofasttheybecameablur,itsdazzlerapidlystainedredwiththeslashandsplatterofdoltsdrawnintoitslethalswirl.Othertimes,shewouldleaphighanddivedownlegsfirst,tearingthroughaswatheoffoeswithherneedlepointfeetlockedintoadrillingblade.Shemurdered thedamned in theirhundreds,craftingcarnagewithall thewitandwildwhimshergreytwinhadkeptlockedaway,yetstilltheycame,risingfromtheirrain-bredpuddlesasfastassheslewthem.Theyarenever-ending, fool,her sunkensister taunted.Theirmasterwon’t letthemgo.Whentheydietheyrisereborn!No, thatcouldn’tbe!ItwouldmakeamockeryofMercy’sart,defilingeverystrikeandstrokeshe’dplayedsohardtopurveywithingenuityandgrace.Whatpurpose was there to painting if every canvas was wiped clean, everycompositionconsignedtooblivion?Thatisthefateofusall,sister.‘Notmine!’Mercydeclared.Outraged by the notion, she crouched and vaulted into the air, then sprangagain,herneedle-feetfindingbriefpurchaseonthestorm’simmaterialcurrents.She leapt over and over, climbing ever higher until she was soaring spread-eagled above the schola’s grounds, whirling upon the wind like an elementalraptor.Gazingdownwithrazor-firedeyes,shesawhersister’staunthadn’tbeenanemptyone.Thefacelesshordewasundiminished,everygougeshe’dcarvedsoartfullyintoitsranksgonewithoutatrace.Evennowtheyreachedafterher,blank faces upturned and splayed hands groping at the sky like forsakenworshippers.

It’snotyoutheyworship,child!Lightning spiked the churning clouds, enervating Mercy to rage against theaffront. As she howled, a large manta-like shape swept out of the maelstromaboveanddivedtowardsher.Sheleaptaway,shriekingwithsurpriseasacoarsewing-finrippedopenherrightsideandsethertumbling.Scrabblingforpurchaseon thewind, she sawher attacker swing aboutwith sinuous grace and swoopafterher,itslongtailundulatinglikeabarbedserpent.Her pain flipped to excitement as she recognised a more stimulating foe.Giggling,shefeignedpanic,flailingaboutassheplummetedtowardsthethrongbelow.Withanotherworldlyscreamthestorm-mantasurgedforwardsonaburstofspeed,itselongatedjawsgapingwidebetweenroundblackeyes.Whatareyoudoing,fool?Mercywaiteduntil the lastmoment, relishinghersister’sanxiety, then lashedout at the immaterium. Piercing the tattered veil between worlds with finger-bladesandfoot-spikes,shethrustherselfupandoverherattackerthenplungedontoitsback,stabbingherfeetintoitsrugoseflesh.‘Seemenowandweep,greysister!’Mercytrilled,castingherarmswideassherodethespeedingbeast,herlonghairstreamingbehindher.‘Mystar’ssettoriseenshrinedtillall’sundone!’Thebeast’shiderippledasitbucked,whirledandlooped,fightingtodislodgeher,butshewasanchoredtoodeeply.Laughingatitsfury,sheglancedaboutandspottedmoreofitskindswimmingthestorm’swaves,thoughnotwowerequitealike.Most displayed onlymodest variations on hermount’smanta-like form,but a few were gloriously bizarre. One glowed with violet light, the pulsingabstractionof itsorgansvisible throughits translucentflesh, itsmantle trailinglongtentacles.Anotherhadacompacttriangularbodysheathedingoldenscalesthatflickeredwithfire,butthestrangestwasaperfectdiscofliquidcrystalthatwheeledthroughthecloudslikeaspectralbuzzsaw,wailingelectronicallyasitspun.For all their fantastic forms andmodes ofmotion,Mercy had no doubt thateveryoneof thebeastswas a predator.All soared in theouter currents of thetwister shehad first seen throughher sister’s eyesat thebridge.That swirlingleviathanwasalmostuponthearchipelagonow,gravitatinginexorablytowardsthe Perihelion, its length coruscating with frenzied hues and whorls of dark-brightlightningthatputtheschola’ssirenlightstoshame.Itsroilingthunderwasaccompanied by a symphony ofmonstrous shrieks and laughter, alongwith adiscordantpipingthatmadeMercy’steethvibrate.Somewheredeeper,asunken

bell tolled, its peals pregnant with portent, every clang sending green ripplesthroughthetwister.Ridinghighonthecurrentsofthecolossus,Mercy’ssensessurgedbeyondtheirboundaries,cascadingintoadelirioussymphonyofbeing.Whatmadnessisthis?Mercy’stwinasked,hertoneassubduedasherwill.‘Ourown,dearsister!Itbelongstousall,ifonlywe’dhavethehearttoseeandseizeitforwhatitisandwantsustobe!’Itmakesnosense…‘Dowe?’Mercychallenged.‘Didweever?’Shebreatheddeeplyofthefervidairandshiveredasitcrackledthroughher.‘Dowereallywantto?’Thenwhatisthepointtoanyofit?‘None!’ Mercy spat blithely. ‘None, save what we make and break of itourselves!Andthat’sthegloryof–’Hermountscreechedandshudderedsoviolentlyshewasalmostthrownloose.Glancingoverhershoulder,Mercysawitsrearhalfwhirlingawayinashowerofectoplasm,shearedoffbythebuzz-sawbeastshehadglimpsedearlier.Withavoltaicscreamthecrystaldiscspunawayintotheclouds,trailingtheiridescentichorof itsvictim.Whether ithadstruckoutofmaliceormischance, thedischad killed hermount.Wailing piteously and venting rawmagic, themutilatedbeastspunoutofcontrolandhurtledawayfromthetwister.Mercyhunchedforwards,sinkinghernailsintoitshideandbaringherfangsasthe vast bulk of the Perihelion loomed through the clouds, seeming to chargetowardsher, coming faster than she imaginedpossible.Shehowled inecstasy,everythreadofhersoulalivewiththedanger.Thecityisburning,herprisonermoaned.Mercy saw this was true. The buildings crowding themountain’s peakwereawashwithfire.Shehadn’tnoticedbefore.Whywouldshe?Neitherthosegaudyhovelsnortheverminwhoinfestedthemmattered.Eventhesilver-tiledrooftophurtlingtowardsherlikeatitanicfistdidn’tmatter.‘Risebeforeyoufall!’sheshriekedindelight.Nothing mattered except Mercy, thrilling to the moment, until the very lastmoment,when–

AgonyflaresthroughherbodyasthePenitentMistress’neuralwhiplashesherback,kindlinghertoblissfulsharpness.And once againMercywears the thorn-laced tunic of a Sister Repentia, herhandsclutchingherbelovedEvisceratorsword,hergrinhiddenbeneathahood.

She wonders whether any of the other penitents crowded into the armouredtransport share her delight or whether they are all dour slaves like herenchainedtwin.The only slave here is you, degenerate, her grey sister rebukes her. Yourcravingsentrapyoulikeacage.Thebitch’svoicehasrecededtoawhisper,asitalwaysdoeswhenviolenceisimminent, yet it still casts a pall onMercy’s exuberance. She can’t rememberhowlongshehasruledtheirsharedbodyorhowmanyconflictsshehasguideditthrough,unbrokenifnotunscathed,yethertwincontinuestowhineandpineforherfreedom.‘Don’tberatethehandthatshieldsyou,littlesister,’Mercychidesherprisonerquietly.‘Thislifewouldhavebrokenyoulongago.’Thetanklurchestoahalt,itshullpingingwithsporadicfire.Withawhineofservostherearhatchswingsdownintoarampandthemutedchatterofbattleswellsintoacacophony.‘Purgethexenosfilth,Sisters!’themistressshouts,crackingherwhip.‘ForThroneandThorn!’Mercyyellswiththeothers.Asalways,sheis thefirstontothefield,clearingtherampinasinglebound.Sheseestheirtransporthascarriedthemrighttothecrackedwallsofthexenosbastion. Artillery fire hails down onto the buildings beyond the barrier,shattering bulbous spires and arched walkways forged from what looks likewhitebone.Thousandsofcorpseslitterthesmoke-wreathedground,alongwiththeguttedshellsoftanks.MostareImperial,fortheThornEternalanditsAstraMilitarum allies have paid a high price to breach the enemy’s eyrie. It isrumouredtheCanonessExcruciantherselfhasfallenincombatwiththealiens’sorcerousleader.Someevenwhisperthattheirorderwillneverrecoverfromthiscampaign,butMercydoesn’tmuchcare.Ifthisistobeherfinalethenshewillmakeitavibrantone!Thesymphonyofgunfireisrelentlessandmagnificent–thethroatyboomandwhooshofImperialmunitionsconcatenatingwiththehiss,whirandwhineofthealiens’moresubtleweapons.Mercyglimpsesthexenosdefendersflittingabouttheramparts,theirformsslenderanddeceptivelydelicate.Theirsleek,elegantlyfashioned armour and rapid movements lend them an insect-like aspect thatamusesMercy,fortheysimplybegtobesquashed!Aeldari,theyarecalled.Shethinksthenamehasawinsomeringtoit,whichscandaliseshergreysister.‘Throughthebreach!’hermistressbellows.Astheyraceforthecrackedwallsatoweringautomatonstridesforthtomeet

them.Themachine’s lankybipedal form isarmouredwithplatessculpted fromthe same bone-like substance as the bastion, though they are painted a darkcrimson.Itwieldsanimmenseswordinitsrightfist,thecurvedbladecracklingwitharcaneforce.ToMercy’seyethexenosgiantisnothingshortofexquisite.Howling,shemakesstraightfortheautomaton,leapingandswervingasburstsofenergypulsefromthegunmountedonitsleftwrist.Herfellowpenitentsarecutdowntoeitherside,theirbodiessearedintoruin,hermistressamongthem.Mercywillmissthekissoftheharridan’swhip,thoughshehasneverneededitsinspiration.Theconstructmeetsherwithasweepingarcof itssword.Shevaultsoverthewhirlingblade,but thepenitentbehindher iscleaved in twoat thewaist.Theenergy suffusing the xenos blade cauterises the wound as it passes through,sealingbothhalvesof thewoman’sbodyastheyfall.Beforeherfoecanswingagain,Mercy’schainswordstrikes itsarmouredknee–andrecoils soviolentlyshenearly loseshergrip. In thatmomentsheunderstandsshecannotpossiblyhurtthisenemy,butsheisundaunted.Thereisstillfinesporttobehadhere!Shecirclestheautomatongleefully,leapingandduckingasithoundsherwithitsblade.Theteethofherchainswordskitteroffitsplateswhenevershelungesback,butshekeepsonattacking,evenafterherweapon’senginerupturesanditsteeth fall silent.Therecanbenovictoryhere,onlydefianceand thedelightofsurvivinganothersecond,butsecondscanlastforeverifplayedfancifully!Their dance finally ends when Mercy trips on the torso of her riven Sister.Beforeshecanrecover,theautomatonseizesherinahugefistandhaulsherintotheair.Kickingandhackingatitsfingerswithherbrokenswordsheisbroughtbeforethevastbacksweptdomeofitshead.Itsonlyfeatureisawhitecrystalsetdeep in its smooth cranium. The stone glows brightly but strangely, as if theradianceonlyexistsinhereyes.Mercysensesitisaliveinsomearcanemanner,imbuingherenemywithmoreofaspiritthananymachineoftheImperium.Thenotion tantalisesher inwaysshecannot fathomandsheyearns toshatter thatcrystal,certainitwouldbeanartfulannihilation.HercaptorregardsherimplacablyasMercyexecratesit,thenitsgripbeginstotighten, slowandmeasured,as if it relishesherdoom.Thoughsheknows it isfutile,shekeepsstrugglingandcursing,squirminguntilherhoodis tornawayandshespitsblood-fleckedcontemptintohercaptor’scrystallisedspirit.Herfoepauses,asthoughoffended.‘Doit!’Mercydares,baringherteeth.‘ButI’llcomebacktocrackyouopen!’Foramomenthersensesrippleintodisorder,violatedbystrangecurrents.

‘Qareen,’ her restless sister murmurs through Mercy’s lips. Neither of themknows themeaningof theword, yet ignorantas theyare, theycannotdeny itsrightness.The automaton relaxes its crushing grip, contemplating her. Fleetingly shesenses its thoughts seeping from its spirit gem, like fragments of a borroweddream.Theydon’ttasteofrageorhate,butpuzzlement.‘Killme…beforeyou…can’t,’Mercy’ssistergasps.Likethename,thephraseisfamiliar,butimpossibletoattribute–aghostofsomethingyettobe.Without warning the automaton hurls her away. She smacks into the groundwithabone-jarringforcethattopplesherfromherbody’sthroneandsnapshersister’schains.Risingbackintoherself,theformerprisonerseesavolleyofmissilesstrikethexenos construct, tearing it asunder in a bloom of fire and ruptured plates.Anothersecondinitsgraspandshewouldhavebeenobliteratedalongwithit.‘Qareen,’Asenathwheezesthrougharedhaze.‘Did…you…save…?’Butshehas no strength left to finish the question. As darkness creeps over her, sheglimpsesasmoothporcelainfacewatchingfromtheshadows.

TheRequiemInfernal

Thereisanametoallofthisnow.ItfoundmeasIfellacrossthethresholdintomyquarry’seyrie,pushedbyafriendwhomightotherwisehavebecomeafoe.Withthenamecameinsightandtheinspirationtocontinuethishatefulwork.IwasafooltothinkImightfinishitbeforeIbegantheendofgames,forthetaskand the trial are as inextricably bound as hope and disappointment, eachreflectionmeaninglesswithoutitsmirror.IwritewhatIsee,andseealittlefurtherwheneverIwrite,seekinganswersinquestionsandansweringwithyetmore!Wordsmake themind,and in turn themindmakeswordsthatbreedthestuffoffurtherwords.ThustheGreatSpiralofbeingascends,inscribingever-finerconnections.But our dreams are beset by wickedness and weakness, precipitating darkwordsanddarkerworlds, forpoisonuncheckedwillalways spread.Persistingand prospering long past ourmortal span, our impuritiesmultiply across theaeonsintomonstrosity.ThustheDarkCoildescends,unwindingeverfurtherintoChaos.Yetthere’sworsetobesaidaboutourundoing,fordon’timagineourcourseisamatterofmortalfallibilityandblindmisfortunealone.Lookdeepenoughandyou’llglimpsetheinfernalarchitectwe’veunwittinglydreamtintobeing.Searchfor the signsandyou’ll find theWeaver’shandiworkeverywhere,plucking thestringsofFateandoilingthewheelsofChangetobringuseverclosertoruin

withoutend.Butbeware,traveller,forwhat’sseenwillalsosee,andonceyou’vebegunthegame there’s no way out except further in, ever deeper until you’re undone.That’sthefirstandfinaltruthoftheliewroughtuponusall,andthecardinalsinofthetomeyouholdinyourhands.Alliscontrivedandcalculatedtofurtherthetalethatmusttellitselfthroughme,andonthroughyou.Aswithin,sowithout,nothingischance.

JonahTytheclosedthetome.Asheanticipated,itsnew-foundtitlenowgracedtheblueleathercover,intricatelyengravedinsilverabovethejaggedruneatitscentre. The leech wasn’t quite done with him yet, for the last page was stillblank,butithadtakenallhehadtogivefornow.Theendwouldcomewhenthegamewasover.‘I’mhere,Mina,’hepromisedhislostsister.Finallyhere…Butwherewashere?Jonah looked up from the book and saw himself looking back, reflected inmyriadmirrors, as though he were suspended at the heart of a vast prism. Itrotatedslowlyaroundhim,itsfacetsmovinginmultipleopposingdirectionsatonce,yetsomehowmaintainingtheirequilibrium.Thedeskhehadbeensittingatwasgone,alongwithhischairandthewritingimplementshe’dusedtosatisfythetome’shunger.Thebookwasalsogone,buthefeltitsweightagainsthisheart,strappedtohischestunderhisarmour.Dozens of revolving reflections reached up to touch the hidden book, somewith their right hand, others with their left. Countless more joined him inabstainingfromthegesture.Mostfrownedas theynoticedthediscrepancy,butsomegrinned,theireyesglitteringwithmadness.Afewignoredtheirmisalignedselves altogether, their expressions sober as they contemplated theirpredicament.What is this? Jonahwondered, feeling inexplicably calm.Other selves askedthequestionaloud,invariousformsandintonations,somefarfromcalm.Thatwaswhenhenoticedtheoutwarddifferencesbetweenthem.Theywereallalikeinageandfacialaspect,fortheirsharedcursewasrigid,buttheywore their hair in a variety of styles, some disguising itswhitenesswithdyes. One grimacing reflection sported an orange topknot and spiky facialpiercings,while anotherhadbraidedhis hair into sabledreadlocks andhiddenhis pallor behindmake-up.Many covered the scar between their eyes with aheadband or hat, but most wore the same blue-and-silver armour as him,

suggesting that whatever their differences, their paths almost always crossedwiththeSilverCandle.HadtheyallmetanAsenathHyadestoo?‘Where are the others?’ several selves chorused, glancing about for their lostcompanions,alongwithJonah.They’reallatthecentreofthis,herealised.Justlikeme.Doubtless he appeared as another reflection to these alternates, yet none ofthemweremeresimulacra.Allwereasrealashim.‘Or as unreal,’ the braided incarnation declared as understanding rippledthroughtheconclave.‘We’reallfancieswithinafiction,brothers.’‘Butwho’stheliar?’someonecalledfromoverhead,giggling.‘Andwho’sthemark?’‘Where havemy tanks gone?’ a higher-pitched voicemoaned from below. ‘Ibroughttankstothisparty!Hestoleallmyprettytanks!’‘Besilent,heretics!’ahoodedvariantadmonished,brandishingagoldenaquilaasherevolvedintosight.Hewastheonlyonestillwearingapriestlyhabit.‘Letmeprayforguidance!’‘Takeyer ’eadsoff!’OrangeTopknot roared. ‘Take ’em forher!’Thereweretumours clustered around his piercings, as though the flesh had becomebefuddled in its attempts to heal itself. He spun about inside his facet like acagedanimal,hackingatghostswithapairofserratedmachetes.Likethepriest,hewas one of the fewwhowore distinctive garb, his body sheathed in iron-plated leather armour. A bundle of skulls hung from his belt, swinging aboutwithhisfrenzy.‘Minaaaaargh!’Asthecrowdoflostselvesbabbledaroundhim,Jonahclosedhiseyes,tryingtothink.Somanypossibleincarnations,somanypathstaken,yetallleadinghere…

‘Emprah in there!’ Jonah’sguide says inhisbrokenGothic, pointingatahut.Likealltheothersinthewaterloggedvillageitisanuglyassemblageoffungaltreesandmud, lookingmore likeamoundthanabuilding,butbigger thanallthe rest. It slouches among its lessers with indolent superiority, just as itsinhabitantlordsitovertheindigeneswhohavecrownedhimtheirking.Thevillagers standaroundgapingat their visitor, their sagging,goggle-eyedfacesvacant.Allarenaked,theirpastyskinrifewithlesionsandfungalgrowths,theirbow-leggedframeswasted.Evenbythestandardsofthisworld’sdebasedpeople,theyarefailing.Whatevertheirelusivemonarchmayhavebroughtthem,it isnothealthorprosperity.Noneof themonstersJonahhashuntedover theyearshaveeverprovidedsuchthings,atleastnotwithoutapricethatundercut

thegains.‘Wait for me,’ Jonah orders his guide, then splashes towards the swampemperor’shut.Astenchofrothangsovertheplace,worsethananythinghehasever known, but nineteenmonths among the rancid jungles of this grey-greenworld have inured him to such things. This has been a particularly long andarduous hunt,most of it spent trawling the tangled rivers at the heart of thiscontinent,butthebook–andhisinstincts–havebeeninsistentthatitwastooimportanttoabandon.Jonah ducks through the creeper-hung entrance into near darkness. In theenclosed space the reek is so stronghe can feel it onhis skin like stickymist.Something shifts wetly at the back of the hut. Though he sees nothing, Jonahimagines an immense, moist bulk rolling over in its own excretions, like afattenedslug.Thereisadrawn-out,burblingbreathfromthedarkness.‘You… him?’ The voice is deep and slime-drenched, exactly as he dreamt it.‘You…theMirrorBreaker?’‘I am.’ Jonah has heard the name a few times in recent years, always frompeople–orthings–intentuponkillinghim.Hedoesn’tknowwhereitbegan,buthehaslearntnottowelcomeit.‘Beenwaiting…foryou…alongtime.’‘I’vebeenlookingalongtime,’Jonahreplies.‘Youhaven’tmadeiteasy.’‘Weren’t…mydoing.Ain’tnothing…easyhere.’Despiteitscorruption,thereisamellowtwangtothevoicethatisn’tnativetothisplanet,andthemoreittalksthemore it flows,as if thespeaker is rememberinghow. ‘Tellme…what’s theyear?’Jonah’sanswerismetwithalongsilence,thenaslobberinglaugh.‘Gotmyselflost…worse’nIfigured,’theunseenslugmuses.‘Watchyourself,friend! Time runs strange… hereabouts. But maybe that don’t… bother younone.’‘WhyamIhere?’Jonahaskscoldly,losingpatience.Hehasnointerestinthisdegenerate’s ramblings and less still in its camaraderie. All he wants are theinsightswrappedupinitsessence–themeaningthathasdrawnhimtoseekitout.‘That’d be the witch dreams,’ the slug emperor says. ‘Been having a lot of’em…sincethechangestookhold.Guessyoubeenhearingme.Hearingmy…call.’‘TellmeIhaven’twastedmytime.’‘Reckonnot.Gottalkingtoanotherdreamer.Oldpal…o’yours…Toldmeyou

gotsomething…forhim.Abook…right?’Thereisawetlaughfromthegloom.‘Silver-eyed bastard said… it’d be about finished… after you done your timehere.’It is true.This sour sewerworldhasprovidedmuch inspiration for thebook.Jonahhas filledmanypageswhilescouring itscoils for thiscreature, for theyhidemoredepravitiesofsenseandcircumstancethanmostworldscouldmusterovermillennia.Butrightnownoneofthatmattersbesidehissuddenfury.‘Whereishe?’Jonahhisses,yankinghisElegypistolfromhisbelt.Despitethedarknessthemirror-kissedbulletinitschamberwon’tmissatargetlikethis.‘Now…we’retalking…friend!Igotamessage…foryou…andaprice.’‘Whatprice?’‘Onlywhat…you’realreadyoffering…todo.’Theslugsighs. ‘I’mdonewiththis!’Thereisaliquidswishoflimbsinthedarkness,asifthecreatureismakingagesture.‘ButIgotnoway…tobegone.Keepon…trying…keepon…comingback!Ain’tnothingworks…butwhatyougot…in thatshooter…yeah,maybethat’lldoit.’‘Youwantmetokillyou?’‘Itellyou…whatSilverEyessaid…andyougiveit…yourbestshot.Wegotadeal…MirrorBreaker?’WhenJonahleavesthehutonlyoneofthearcanebulletsremainstohim,butitwasafairtrade.Hefinallyhasanameanddestination.‘OlberVedas,’hesays,tastingthetruthofit.‘Iseeyou.’‘As I see you, JonahTythe,’ a voicewhispers, taunting him across endlesspossible worlds. A discordant chiming sounds in its wake and indigo lightblooms across the sky, spreading to ignite the jungle into a screaming, inkyinferno.Awomanwalks out of the radiance, her hands extended. ‘This is where ourroadspart,’shesays.‘Asenath–’

‘–wait!’ Jonah yelled as his friend pushed him into the annihilating light.Hiswordswere chorusedbyahostofother selves, all tumbling through the samemomenttowardsdifferentshadesoffate.Youwon’tmakeit!hetriedtowarnher…again?Anarmouredwomancaughthimashereeledoutofthefadingglare,steadyinghimbeforehefell.Helookedupintocalmgreeneyesandremembered.‘Mythanks…SisterGenevieve,’hewheezed.‘Where…?’

‘InsidetheLuxNovus,’CelestianSuperiorXhinoasaid,steppingalongsidehersilentSister.‘Butthescholaisnotwhatitwas.’Ashisfragmentedsensessettled,Jonahsawtheywereinasprawlingcourtyard.Pillaredcolonnadesranthelengthofitswalls, theircolumnscarvedintorobedfiguresbearingopenbooks,thepagesheldoutwardstodisplaychiselledrunes.In place of faces, each of the stone scholars sported a single vertical eye thatfilled its cowl from peak to chin, its gaze more suggestive of hunger thanwisdom.A mosaic of pink and blue triangular tiles paved the open-topped expansebetween the colonnades, radiating froma fountain at its centre.Sculpted frompink marble veined with blue, the fountain was a monstrous abstraction ofswirling waves and distended maws, its whorls curling about one anotherrapaciously. Boiling water bubbled from its multiple mouths, shrouding itspedestal in steam and lending the statue an illusion of rippling, writhinganimation.Jonahhadwitnessedcountlesshorrorsonhisquest,yethehadneverseen anything so viscerally disturbing. The statuewas a calculated offence tosanity.Wewon’tbegoingnearthatthing,hedecided.Lookingup,hesawablackskylacedwithsilverthreads.Blobsofbrightlightflitted through the web, their electronic screeches reverberating across thecourtyard despite the distance. Every so often the strands chimed and pulsed,stainingthevistawithindigolight.‘ThatisnottheCandleworld’ssky,’Xhinoapronouncedgravely.‘Nor is this the schola’s courtyard,’ Haruki said, scowling at the cyclopeanstatues.‘NotasIknewit.’‘Notasanyofusknewit,’Xhinoaagreed.‘WhereisSisterHyades,priest?’‘She’s…gone,’Jonahansweredquietly.‘Didtheenemyoverrunher?’‘Yes,Sister.’Itwasasgoodananswerasany.‘Ifeartheydid.’Heturnedtofacethemaingatesandfoundnothingbutanunbrokenwall.Theentrancewasgone,asweretheinsidious,light-filledwindows.‘Wecannotleavethewaywecame,’SisterIndriksaid.ThetoweringCelestianwasstillcarryingthepreceptor,whoshowednosignofrecovery.‘Wasitlikethisbefore,Sister?’Xhinoaaskedhercomrade.‘No,butthetrapisthesame,SisterSuperior.’‘Itdoesn’tmatter,’Jonahsaid,surveyingthecourtyardagain.‘There’snogoingback until Vedas is dead.’ He pointed to the far wall, where several doors

awaited,allpaintedindifferenthues.‘Looksliketheonlyway.’‘Itlookslikemanyways,Tythe,’Xhinoacorrected,takingastepforwards.‘No,’ Indrik warned, blocking her path. ‘Not through the courtyard, SisterSuperior.’Sheindicatedthecolonnadetotheirright.‘Weshouldcrossthatway.’‘Whynotthecourtyard?’‘Idonottrustit,’Indriksaidbluntly.Xhinoaconsidered this, thennodded. ‘Verywell, in this taintedplaceyouareourguide,Sister.’‘Perhaps because she is tainted herself,’Camillemurmured, speaking for thefirst time.Shewas slumped against a column, staring at her dead sister’s boltrifle.‘Indrikofferedusnowarningoftheattack.’‘Shewarnedusaboutthedamnwindows,’Jonahsaid.‘Ishareyourgrief,Sister…’Indrikbegan.‘Doyou?’Camillesaid,herexquisitefeaturestwistingintoasneer.‘IfweareSisters,whydoyouhideyourfacefromus?’‘Enough, Camille!’ Xhinoa snapped, slicing a hand through the air. ‘SisterIndrikwasassessedbytheCanonessIlluminantherself.Areyouquestioningoursacredlady’sjudgement?’‘Camille is right,’ Indrik said, loweringherburdengently to theground.Thepreceptor’seyeswerestillglazed,her lipsmouthingsomethingonlyshecouldhear.‘Thisisnotnecessary,Sister,’Xhinoaprotested.‘Itis,SisterSuperior.’Indrikreachedforthepressureclaspsofhervisor.‘Theremustbenosecretsbetweenus.Notinthisplace.’Jonahwasn’t surewhatheexpected tosee,but itcertainlywasn’t thestrong-boned,frosty-eyedvisagesherevealed.ThoughIndrikdidn’tpossessherfellowCelestians’beauty,shewasfarfromugly.‘Youare…unchanged,Sister,’Xhinoasaiduncertainly.‘Idonot…’Andthen,almostasone,theybegantoseeit.Beyondasuperficial impression,nothing about that facewasquite right.Thesymmetryofeveryplanewasdelicatelyskewed,theproportionsofeveryfeaturefractionallyimbalanced, theirisesachinglymismatched–countlesstinydetailsconspiringtorenderthewholesubtly,butirredeemablyrepellent.AndthelongerJonahlooked,themoredisconcertingthealchemyoferrorsbecame,provokingsomethingdarkerthanpityorrevulsion.Suchafacecouldnotbecountenancedtoexist.‘Nowyousee,’Indriksaid,raisingahandtohervisor.

‘No, Sister,’ Xhinoa commanded, taking her hand. ‘We see, but we do notbelieve.WeareAdeptaSororitas.Welookto theheartforpurity,notupontheface.’‘It’s just another lie, Sister Indrik,’ Jonah said, shaking off the shamefulloathing.‘Andwe’rewisetothemnow.’Solemnly, Genevieve laid a hand on Indrik’s breast-plate. A moment laterHarukifollowedsuit.OnlyCamilleheldback.Grimacingindisgust,shelookedaway–andsawthedanger.‘Thepreceptor!’shewarned,pointing.The others turned and saw Hagalaz striding across the courtyard, headingtowardsthefountain.‘Preceptor,stop!’Xhinoacalledafterher,butifthewhite-hairedwomanheard,shepaidnoheed.‘Itstillhasaholdonher,’Indrikgrowled.‘Don’t!’sheyelledasJonahandthenHarukiranintothecourtyardafterthepreceptor.‘Hagalaz!’ Jonah shoutedashe racedafterher.Shewasn’t far aheadand shewasonlywalkingyethe couldn’t closeonher. Itwas as if the spacebetweenthemweredistendingtokeepthemapart.‘It’satrap!’Hagalazglancedback,hereyesglittering.‘Wewerewrong,Tythe!’shereplied.‘It’snotwhatweimagined!’She’s lost,Jonah realisedas shecontinuedheradvance.The thoughtappalledhim.Despiteherintellectandstrengthofcharacter,Hagalazhadbeenthefirstofthemtofalter,seducedbythesirenlightswhileashallowcreaturelikeCamillehadresisted.Whatdidthatsayabouttheirchances?Orabouthumanity’schancesagainstthegreaterabyss?The infernal book quickened against his heart, like a predator scenting prey.Therewasinspirationinthismoment–freshmeaningtobeharvested!‘We are all dancing on the knife-edge of our own understanding,’ Jonahmutteredwhileheran,unabletostemtheimpulsetofeedthetome.‘Thesharperwegrow,themoreourpathnarrows,forknowledgeisadouble-edgedblade,itseverycutslicingwithinandwithout.’Hefelthiswordsscrawlingthemselvesintothetome,inscribedbyhiswillandthewarpalone,justashismostrecententryhadbeen.Inthisrealm,revelationhadnoneedofmortalimplements,otherthanthosewhodreamtit.‘Themoreweseeandseek,themoreavidlyweareseenandsought.’Somethingwashappening to the fountain.Rippleswerecoursing through thepink marble as its veins pulsed in time with the sky-web’s beat. The liquid

spewingfromitsmouthshadbecomeacascadethatsettheairaboutitshiveringandwhistling.Jonahslowedtoahaltandstartedtobackaway.Whateverwascoming,itwastoolate toreachHagalaz.Shewasonlyafewpacesfromherdestinationnow,hervoiceraisedinferventprayer.Withawhooshofheat the fountainburst into life, itspetrified formeruptinginto rampant flames. Rising on a skirt of blue fire, the abomination extrudedtentacles that ended in snapping, magma-toothedmaws. Atop the coruscatingcolumnofflamethatservedasitstorsowasashapelessmuddleofmouthsandeyesthatshiftedceaselessly,gnashingandbulgingastheydevouredthemselvesandspawnedanew.‘Daemon!’Haruki shouted, coming to a stop beside Jonah and falling into adefensivestance,herswordangledhorizontallyoverherhead.Hooting and screeching, the beast leapt from its pedestal and surged towardsthe intruders, its jawed tentacles vomiting streams of polychromatic fire.Hagalazthrewupherarmsasitsweptoverher,thoughwhethertowarditofforrevereit,Jonahcouldn’ttell.‘Purge the abomination, Sisters!’ Xhinoa shouted from the colonnade to hisright, opening fire with her storm bolter. Her fusillade tore into the daemon,passing through its phantasmal hide and detonating from the heat within.Camille and Genevieve added their bolterfire from the colonnade on the left,GenevieveusingMarcilla’sscavengedweapon.Thedaemonhowled,flickeringandspewingectoplasmas theexplosionsdisrupted its cohesion,but its chargedidn’tfalter.Asitboredownonhim,Jonahleaptaside,duckingunderalashingtentacleandspinningroundtoshoot,pumpingbolt-roundsintothebeast’samorphoushead.Inthesameinstant,Harukisidesteppedandhackedatatentacle.Cracklingwithenergy,herbladesliced throughtheappendagewithoutresistance,sundering itinafulminantspraythatspatteredherbreast-platewithflames.Theseveredlimbburst intocolouredsmokeas ithit theground,drawingscreechesofragefromseveralofthedaemon’sorifices,andhootsofamusementfromothers.Manyofthe mouths were torn apart by Jonah’s focused fire, only to reformmomentslater.‘Don’tgetclose!’heyelledattheDialogusswordswoman.Harukivaultedawayasthedaemonsweptitsremainingtentacleafterher,buther graceful retreat turned into a stumble as she glimpsed the things growingupon–orrather from–herbreast-plate.Where theunholyfirehad touchedit,

the flak armour had been transmuted into a nest of writhing, razor-tippedtentacles.Hercryofdisgustturnedtohorrorasthemutationspreadtotheinsideof her armour and began to burrow into her chest. Dropping her sword, shefumbledatthebreast-plate’sstraps,hereyeswideninginpain.‘Overhere!’Jonahyelledatthedaemonashefired,tryingtodrawitawayfromthebeleagueredDialogus.‘Here,youbastard!’It whipped its tentacle roundwith shocking speed, drenching him in flames.Blindedby their glare, he staggeredbackwards, his skin pricklingbeneath theconflagration.Hefelt the fire’sneed tomelt and remouldwhatever it touched,forthiswasnoearthlyblaze.Hisflak-platesoozedaway,transmutedintojelly,buthisfleshandthegearhe’dwornforyearsweredeadtothedaemon’scaress,includinghis leather fatigues, belt andboots.Doubtless allwere contaminatedbyhiscurse.Mytaintrunsdeeperthanyours,Jonahthoughtwildlyastheflamesdieddown.Grinningwith hate, he tried to fire again, but his pistol squelched in his grip.Withacryofdisgusthesawtheweaponhadbecomearaw-meatreplicaofitself.Hehurleditawayanddrewhispistolasthedaemonsurgedtowardshimagain,thoughhewasloathtowasteitslast,preciousbullet.‘Doyourworst!’hechallenged.A beam of incandescent white energy struck the daemon from the side,obliteratingitsmidriff.Ithowledastheflamingcolumnofitstorsodiminishedtoclosethewound,thenswungroundtoconfrontitsattackerasshetrainedhermeltagunonitsmanifoldfaces.‘Truth burns pure!’ Sister Indrik roared, firing again, her beam burningwithfaithasmuchasheat.‘Puritypurgestrue!’The daemon’s head disappeared in a flare of conflicting energies that sentripplesofturbulencethroughitsentireform.Withanexplosivehissitcollapsedintoaswirlofyellowsmoke.Coughingonthebrimstonestench,JonahhurriedovertoHaruki.Shelayonherback,bloodpoolingaroundherhead,anemone-likegrowthsbloomingfromherruptured eyes and mouth. Her limbs twitched spastically, but he couldn’t tellwhetheritwasduetoavestigeoflifeortheinfestation.‘A foul death,’ Indrik judged as she joined him. ‘You fought bravely, SisterDialogus.’Withoutanotherword,sheincineratedthebody’sheadandshoulders.‘Rest easy,Sister,’ Jonah said,pickingupHaruki’s fallenweapons.He testedthe balance of her sword, impressed by its craftsmanship.All powerweaponswererare,butthisonewasexceptional.

You can’t put it off any longer, he thought, turning towards the preceptor.Hagalazstoodrigidlywherehe’dlastseenher,herarmsstillraisedtowardoffthedaemon,herback tohim.Her flakarmourhad turnedneonpinkand therewas a strange sheen to her hair and hands. As he approached her, Jonahunderstoodwhy.Whilehergarmentshadescapedthedaemon’sfirewithonlyashiftinhue,thewomanwearingthemhadn’tbeensofortunate.‘I’msorry,’Jonahsaid.Itwasn’tanapology,butanexpressionofsorrow.PreceptorHagalazhadbecomeasilverstatue,alookofsurprisefrozenonherface.Orwasitwonder?Horror?Perhapsevenrevelation?‘She isagreat loss to theLastCandle,’SisterXhinoasaidbesidehim.Jonahhadn’tnoticedtheothersjoininghim.‘Thepreceptorhadapuissantsoul.’‘Yes,’ he agreed sadly. They’d hardly been friends, but for a high-rankingmember of the Ecclesiarchy, Hagalaz had been refreshingly rational. He’dalmostbelievedsheknewwhatshewasdoing.Shebelievedit.That’swhyshegrewcarelessandfell.‘TheArchenemy is ever-watchful forweakness,’Camille pronounced sternly.‘Onemomentoflaxityspawns–’‘Weshouldgetmoving,’Jonahsaid.Hewasinnomoodforepithets,especiallyfromafool.

They crossed the courtyard in silence, alert for traps, yet expecting none,instinctivelysensingthisplacehadtakenitstoll.Nine simple wooden doors were set into the opposite wall, each painted adifferentcolour,runningfromwhiteonthefarlefttoblackonthefarright.Nonehadhandles,buttheylookedfragileenoughtoforceopen.‘Indrik?’Xhinoaprompted.‘Ihavenoanswer,SisterSuperior.Isawnothinglikethis.’‘We’llonlygetonechoice,’Jonahsaid,feelingcertainofit.‘Andifwechoosewrongly?’Xhinoaasked.‘I don’t know.Maybe there’s no right answer, just different kindsofwrong.’Maybesomemorepainfulthanothers…‘White,’Camillesaid.‘Itisthecolourofpurity.’‘Ornothingness,’Jonahmocked.‘Doyoureallyexpectpurityhere?’‘Perhapsblack?’Xhinoaventured.‘Tomatchthesoulofourenemy.’‘Another kind of nothingness.’ Jonah shook his head. ‘I don’t like either.Besides, black’s not his colour.’ That would be silver, which wasn’t on offerhere.

Genevievepointedtothedooroneremovedfromtheblack.Indigo.‘Yes…yes, I thinkyou’re right,Sister,’ Jonahmused.Hehadcome to loathethatrich,malignanthueovertheyears.‘That’salwaysbeenhissecondstain.’He led them to the door cautiously, as if he were approaching a venomousserpent.Ashedrewcloser,hebecamemorecertainitwouldofferthemostdirectroutetotheirquarry,ifnottheonlyone.Butthatdidn’tmeanitwouldbeeasy.‘Idonotlikeit,’Camillesaid,keepingherdistance.‘Itisasinfulhue.’Ignoring her, Jonah placed a hand on the door. He was steeling himself forsomekindoffeedback–heat…cold…nausea…something–butnothingcame.Nothinguntilyoucommit,heguessed.Andpushed.The indigo door swung open, revealing a high-arched passageway painted inthe same shade. Inverted glass pyramids hung from its ceiling at regularintervals, crackling softly as they emitted light. Their radiance oscillatedlanguidly between blue and pink, alternately darkening and lightening thecorridor’stone.Triangularrecesseslinedbothwalls,theirwindowslookingoutonto the silver-webbed darkness that loomed over the courtyard, as if thecorridorsomehowintersectedthesky.‘Weshouldtrytherest,’Camillesuggesteduneasily.‘Wecannot,’Indriksaid.Jonah saw shewas right. The other doorswere still there, but theywere nolongerportals.Allhadbecomepaintingsof themselves, the textureof thewallshowingthroughtheirfadedpigments.EvenCamillerefrainedfromcommentingonthestrangenessofit.Theywerelongpastquestioningsuchthings.‘Ourdecisionismade,’Xhinoadecreed,approachingthethreshold.‘IpraytheGod-Emperor’sLighthasguidedit.’‘I’lllead,’Jonahsaid.‘Thechoicewasmine.’As he stepped into the corridor it distended, as though it were reaching forinfinity… then snapped back sharply, like a rubber cord stretched to breakingpointthenreleased.Stumbling,Jonahturnedandfeltasecondrushofvertigoasthepassagetiltedbeneathhim.Suddenlyhewaslookingupatthedoorwayhe’dcomethrough,thefloorunderhisfeetangledintoasheerwall,hisbodyjuttinghorizontallyoverthechasm.Theentrancehadretreated–orascended?–toaterribleheight,asifonestridehadcarriedhimathousand.Gravitytuggedathim,somehowheldincheckbyhisfear.Don’tletgo!Jonah’sinstinctsscreamed.HefeltathrillofhorrorwhenXhinoacrossedthethresholdabove,seemingly

stepping intoanabyss.Abruptlysheswished intoablur thatwhipped throughhimwithacrackofdisplacedair.Jonahswungroundandthecorridorspunwithhim,tiltingbackintoasaneangle,thewallbecomingtheflooragain.‘Don’tlookbehindyou,’hewarnedasXhinoastaggeredbackintobeing.‘It’snotsomethingyouwanttosee.’‘Dangerous?’sheasked,recoveringwithremarkableswiftness.‘Onlyifyoulook.’They faced forwards as the others flashed across one by one, Jonah offeringeach traveller the samewarning.All of themheeded it.He suspectedHagalazwouldhavedisobeyed.Thathadbeenbothherstrengthandherweakness.‘The Archenemy twists and turns our virtues into vices,’ Jonah muttered,‘hangingusbyourownhopes.’Witheveryworda littlemoreofhissoulbledintothebook.‘Didyousaysomething,priest?’Xhinoaasked.‘Isayalotofthings,Sister,butI’mrunningdry.’TheCelestianfrownedathiscrookedsmile.She’sagoodleader,Jonahthought,butshe’snoAsenathHyades.‘Where arewe?’Camille asked, staring at the sky-webbeyond the corridor’swindows.Fromtheirnewvantagepointthesilverythreadswererevealedtobefronds of white crystal, smooth and organically woven into a vast multilevellabyrinth.Thelightshauntingithadresolvedintoshimmeringdiscsthatwhirledbetween the strands at breakneck speed, their electronic screamsmuch louderhere.‘I believe it is the Sea of Souls, Sister,’ Indrik answered. ‘Some part of it atleast.’Jonahnoticedshehadloweredhervisoragain.‘But are we still in the schola?’ Camille pressed, her expression distraught.‘Thesewindows…Irememberthem…yetIfeelIshouldn’t.’Itwastheviolationatworkagain,Jonahguessed,rewiringthepasttofittheirenemy’sversionofreality.Camille’sSistersmustbefeelingittoo,buttheyweremade of sterner stuff. It confounded him that this woman had qualified asAdeptaSororitas,nevermindaCelestian.‘Donotthinkuponit,Sister,’Xhinoasaid.‘Weshouldproceed.’Theyadvanced insingle file, Jonah leadingwith theswordandplasmapistolhe’dtakenfromHaruki,Indrikbringinguptherear.Thescintillantvistaoutsideshiftedwitheverywindowhepassed.Ononeoccasionhe saw thewreckof alargeshuttlesnarledupintheweb.Thoughitsframewassundered,itsmangledweaponry identified it as a military craft. Squinting, he made out the icon

emblazoned on its hull – a robed figurewith its arms raised, as if to seize ananswerthatwasnowforeverbeyondreach.Orperhapsnot…Is this what you were looking for? Jonah wondered. His companions didn’tcomment on the derelict, quite possibly because they couldn’t see it at all.Maybeeveryonesawsomethingdifferentintheweb–differentplaces,possiblyevendifferenttimes.TheSisterSuperiorwasright;itwasunwisetolookuponittoolong.Thetemperatureinthecorridorshiftedconstantlywiththecolourofthelights,growingwarmerwhenpinkwasascendantthencolderwhenthebalanceshiftedto blue. A scent of old books and fresh ink suffused the passageway, like ascholar’sden.Occasionallywhisperedvoicesburbledoutofnowhere,earnestlyreelingoutstreamsofnumbers.Afterawhilethesequencesbegantomaterialise,flickeringacross theair likedegradedholo-casts thenfadingas thepartydrewcloser.Jonahcouldseenopatterninthem,whichonlyencouragedhimtokeeptrying,forthecompulsiontosolveriddleswasasmuchapartofhimashisscar.Besides,italleviatedthemonotonyoftheirmarch.Theymustmeansomething,hethought,repeatingthenumbersunderhisbreath.Evidentlytheothershadcometothesameconclusion,fortheyweremutteringthe sequences behind him. He felt the book nagging at him, jealous of hisinattention, which only made him more determined to solve the conundrum.EvenSisterGenevievehadjoinedtheendeavour,hervoiceasmelodiousashe’dalwaysimagineditwouldbe.Harmonic,almost…‘Stop!’Xhinoasnapped.‘Allofyou,bestill!’‘What?’Jonahaskedirritably.Hestartedtoturn,thencaughthimselfwhenthecorridortriedtofollow.‘Howlonghavewebeenwalking?’Xhinoaasked.‘Does itmatter?’ he said, facing forwards. ‘There’s nootherway togo.’Noranysignofdanger.Moreimportantly,he’dbeenrightonthecuspofsolvingthesequence!Infact…‘Howlong?’‘Toolong,’Indrikgrowled.‘Manyhours,Ithink.’Hours?Jonahwondered.Thatcouldn’tberight…couldit?‘Thisisanothertrap,’Xhinoasaid.‘Aslyone,butnolessdangerousforit.’Jonahfeltasoul-deepstabfromthebook,tearinghimawayfromthenumbersbeforetheycouldtakeholdagain,thenanother,urginghimtothink.‘Themoreeagerlyweseekanswers,themoreavidlyourquestionsdevourus,’hewhispered, realisationdawningashesated the leather-bound leech. ‘You’re

right,Sister.’Thiswaslikethesirenlightsagain,onlymoreinsidious.‘Italmosthadus.’‘Ithoughtthenumberswereariddle,’Camillemurmured.‘Onewithnoend,Sister,’Xhinoasaid.‘Forgiveme,SisterSuperior,’Genevieve saidgravely. ‘TheArchenemy luredmeintobreakingmyvowofsilence.’‘Whichbrokemefreeof thespell,’Xhinoaanswered. ‘Itwasyourvoice thatrevealedthedeceit,Sister.’Shehesitated,evidentlythinking.‘Wemustproceedwithoutpayinganyheedtotheseillusions.’‘Thatwon’tbeenough,’Jonahmurmured,gaugingthepathahead.‘It’sgoingtobetoofar.That’spartofthetrap.’‘Howfarcanitbe?’Camilleaskedsceptically.‘Asfarasittakestokillus,’hesaid.‘No…wehavetobreakout.’‘Intowhat,priest?TheSeaofSoulsliesoutsidethewindows!’‘Whatareyousuggesting,JonahTythe?’Xhinoaasked.‘Ithinkwehavetofall,’hesaid,turningtofaceher.Hisstomachheavedasthepassageswivelledwithhim.Onceagainhestoodonasheerwall,thecorridorayawningchasmathisback.Hefeltgravityclawingathim,demandingsurrender.‘You told me that was unwise,’ Xhinoa said, suspended precipitously abovehim,butblithelyunawareofit.‘Unwise,butnecessary,’herepliedtightly,strugglingagainsthisvertigo.‘Youappeardistressed,priest.’‘Wouldyoucaretojoinme,CelestianSuperior?’‘SacredLight,’Xhinoabreathedwhensheturnedandsawhisperspective.Theothersfollowedsuit,liningupalongthegulletofthechasmwithadmirablestoicism.‘Wehavetoletgo,’Jonahtoldthem.‘Fallthroughit.’‘Thatismadness!’Camilleprotested.‘Maybe,butit’souronlywayout.’‘Areyoucertain,Tythe?’Xhinoaurged.‘Nothing’scertainhere,butyes…Ithinkso.’‘Youthink?’‘Perhapsifwesolvethenumbers…’Camillebegan.‘Thereisnosolution!’Jonahshouted,hisvertigo-frayedpatiencesnapping.‘Wehave–’‘Emperor shield my soul!’ Genevieve declared, opening her arms wide. Amomentlaterherformblurredandsweptthroughthosebehindher,disappearing

intothechasm.‘Once again, ourSister ofFlames showsus theway,’Xhinoa said. ‘Camille,youwillfollowherexample.’‘SisterSuperior,I–’‘Thatisanorder,Sister!’‘Yes, commander.’ Camille began to pray fervently. Mid-psalm her bodyshiveredoutofphasewithrealityandflashedafterGenevieve.Forallyourflaws,yourfaithisreal,Camille,Jonahadmitted.‘SisterIndrik,’Xhinoasaidexpectantly.‘Icannot,’thecursedwarrioranswered.‘Youmust,Sister.’‘Icannot.’ Therewas a note of horror in Indrik’s voice. ‘If I do I shall losemyself.Thetaintwithinmeyearnsforme…toletgo.’‘Leaveus,priest,’Xhinoacommanded.‘ImustspeakwithmySisteralone.’‘Yes, Celestian Superior,’ Jonah said quietly. ‘Don’t wait too long. The trapmayclose.’‘Go,Tythe!’Jonah breathed deeply and surrendered to gravity. It wrenched him into theabysslikeastarvedbeast.Theplungewastoofastforsound,yeteveryfibreofhisbodyhowledasthecorridorstreakedintoabstraction–windows,wallsandlights instantaneously blurring into one.Time itself rushed to follow, past andfuturecollapsingtowardsasingularityofperpetualnow.WasIwrong?Jonahaskedinthemomentbeforequestionsbecamesuperfluous.WasI–

‘Wouldyoucaretoseethereality?’adryvoiceasked.Yes…No…Yes…No…No…No…Yes…anendless cascadeof JonahTythesaffirmedordenied,eachsecretlyrejectingtheansweritgave.The imminent eternity shattered, fragmenting and reassembling itswitness intheblinkofamind.Therewasnojoltat journey’send,notevenamomentarydisorientation.Fromno-whentonow,Jonahsimplywasoncemore.He stood at the bottom of an immense bowl of black glass. A silver spiralcorkscrewedoutfromitscentre,theintervalbetweenitsloopswideningastheyascended towards the distant rim,whichwas swathed in an indigo haze.Ninenarrowbeamsof lightpierced themist, theirhueshiftingas they rovedacrossthe landscape, seemingly at random. The glass shimmered at their touch,fleetinglyrevealingtheintricatesymbolsetchedintoitssurface.Adeepwhirring

andgrindingresonatedfromabove,underpinnedbyastridentticking.Likeatitanicengine,Jonahimagined.SistersCamille andGenevievewere crouched beside him, back to backwiththeirweaponslevelled, thoughtherewasnowhereforanenemytohideexceptthesky.Genevievehadstowedherscavengedbolterinfavourofherflamer.Firegutteredatitsnozzleassheswepttheweaponaboutwatchfully.WithacrackofdisplacedairXhinoaappearedalongside them.Mirroringherfellow Celestians, she immediately dropped into a defensive crouch as shegaugedhersurroundings.‘Where’s Indrik?’ Jonah asked after several seconds had elapsed withoutanotherarrival.‘SisterIndrikwillfindanotherpath,’Xhinoasaid,hertonemakingitclearshewouldn’tdiscussthematter.Thenwe’redowntofour,Jonahthoughtbleakly.EvenifIndrikfoundawayoutshewouldemerge somewhere–andquitepossibly somewhen – else entirely.Whateverherfate,shewaslosttothem.‘Iknow thisplace,’Xhinoadeclared,runningagauntletedhandovertheglassground.‘ThoughIneverimaginedIwouldseeitfromhere,letalonetouchit.’‘The dome,’ Jonah said as understanding dawned on him. ‘We’re inside theschola’s dome.’Right at its apex in fact, as if the building had been inverted,flippingthedomeintoabowl.Butthesheersizeofthethingwasincredible.‘Ithas…grown,’Camillesaid.‘Or we have shrunk, Sister.’ Xhinoa rose and looked up at the veiled sky.‘EitherwaytheShadowOrreryliesdirectlyaboveus.’‘Beware!’ Genevieve shouted, gesturing with her flamer. One of the rovinglightrayswasweavingtowardsthem,anotherclosebehindit.‘Don’t let them touch you,’ Jonahwarned. For themost part the lightsweremovingslowly,buttheirpathswereerraticandpunctuatedbysuddenburstsofspeed.Toassumetheywereanythingotherthanlethalwouldbemadness.TheOrreryiscastingthem,herealised.We’recrawlingoveritsshadowmap.As the rays drew closer the party retreated further up the dome’s curve.Bizarrely, Jonah didn’t feel the incline at all. As he ascended, the groundsmoothedoutunderhim,as though thedomewererotating tokeephim level.Evidently it was the same for the others, for Camille,whowas several pacesahead,appeared tobewalkingatan impossibleangle.Suchspatialcontortionsshouldn’t have surprised him anymore, yet familiarity didn’t diminish theirvisceraloffence.Thelawsofmatterweren’tmeanttobesubjective.

‘Thematerialworldisonlyassteadfastasourconvictioninit,’Jonahofferedthebook.‘Thelesswetrustit,themoreitscoherencediminishesandthecloserwecometodissolution.’Hefeltthetomeeditinghisobservationsintothebodyofitstext,tweakingwhathadgonebeforewitheachnewinsight.YetIstillhavenoideawhy.Heturnedasheheardafuriouselectricalcracklingbehindhimandsawthetwobeamsthey’dretreatedfromconvergingat thedome’scentre.Astheytouched,their radiance combined into a hue that made his mind bleed. The meldingpassedquickly,buttheirfleetingcontactleftanobjectwhirlingintheair.Aboutthe size of a largewheel, itwas a spherical abstractionof torturedgeometrieswoven entirely from pink light. Jagged traceries of energy arced about it,accompanied by a babble of delirious laughter. It was both energising andabhorrent to lookat, likean inspiration turned inupon itself.A theory twistedintosomethingvicious…‘Daemon!’Camilleshouted,hervoiceshrillwithrevulsion.‘Wait!’Jonahyelledassheopenedfire.Theglobeshriekedasherbolt-roundstoreitasunder.Asthespectralfragmentsspunawaytheyshiftedhuetobluethensurgedbacktogetherandsplitintoapairofgyratingpyramids,eachhalfthesizeof itsparentorb.TheywhirledawayinoppositedirectionsasCamille targetedthem, zigzagging about to evade her fire and wailing electronically, as if inmourning.TherewasaburstofradiancetoJonah’srightasanotherpairofbeamscollidedandformedasecondpinksphere.HeincinerateditwithHaruki’splasmapistolbeforeitcouldswoopaway,butthegaseousfragmentslingeredandturnedblue.Xhinoashredded themas theycoalesced into twinpyramidsandkept firingasthebluefragmentsspawnedaquartetofsmallyellowcubes.Noneescapedherstormbolter’s rapid-firevolley,butanother spherehadalready formed to theirleft, and yet another further along.All across the dome the light beamswereaccelerating,as if to increase the likelihoodofconvergences.Theplacewouldsoonbeswarmingwithgeometricabominations.The Orrery is waking up to us, Jonah realised. He swung round to hack apyramidapartas it lanced towardshimpoint first, then immolated itscubesatbirthwith searing plasma. They explodedwith a brimstone stench,mercifullyhatchingnothingmore.‘Wehavetogetoutnow!’heyelled.‘Thisfightcan’tbewon!’‘To the rim!’ Xhinoa ordered, backing up the incline with her gun blazing.‘Watchour left flank,priest!’ shecommandedasshespun tocover their right.

‘Genevieve,wardourretreat!’Withawhooshofheat,Genevieve ignitedher flamer.Followinga fewpacesbehindJonahandXhinoa,shecleansed theairwithsweepingarcsof fire.Thepursuing entities exploded at its touch, their ectoplasm cremated before newhorrorscouldcoalesce.Up ahead,Camille dropped to a crouch, covering their retreatwith preciselyaimedshotsthateventhesmall,fast-movingcubescouldn’telude.Wheneverhercomradesdrewnearsheroseandhurriedaheadtotakeupanewfiringposition.In the heat of combat she was another person entirely, her marksmanshipremarkable.This is why she was chosen, Jonah judged as Camille sniped three cubes inquicksuccession,thenbuttedawayatwirlingpyramidwithherweapon’sstock.Dozens of the entitieswere clustered about themnow, cackling pink sphereshovering above while wailing blue pyramids and silent yellow cubes flittedabout,seekingachinkintheirformation,buttheparty’sdisciplinekeptthematbay.Fortunatelyitseemedthey’dpassedbeyondtheradiusoftheOrrery’srays,againstwhichtheyhadnodefencebutflight.‘Patienceisourshield,Sisters,’Xhinoaexhortedthem,‘hasteourundoing!’Astheyclimbedthedome’ssidetheyslowlybroughtdownitssky, tiltingtheindigohazeintoawall.ThroughtheveilJonahglimpsedtheimmenseringsoftheShadowOrrerywhirlingabout,theirclockworksymphonymuchloudernow.Thetemptationtobreakandrunfortherimwasstrong,butheknewitwasfolly.‘Youcanwaitalittlelonger,Vedas,’hemuttered,blastingasphereasitglidedoverhead. His gun had begun to whine, but it was only when he noticed thesmokerisingfromhishandthatherealisedthedangerhisnumbfleshcouldn’tconvey.Thepistol’scasingwascrackedandvibratingasitsvolatilemechanismoverheated.‘Beware,priest!’Camilleshoutedasapyramidshottowardshisface.Jonah incinerated it then flung his gun away as it overloaded in a burst ofincandescent plasma. Dazzled, he swept his sword up as the slain pyramid’snewborn cubes darted towards him.His blade caught the first, but the secondwhizzedpast to strike thebackofXhinoa’s helm, exploding in anochre flashthathurledher forwards. Instantlya flurryofcubesswoopeddowntohammerinto her back, detonating impotently against the ceramite of her armour, butthrowing her further off balance. Jonah was reaching for her when gravityreasserted its hold on her and she fell, plummeting back towards the dome’sapex.Tohiseyesitlookedasifsheweretumblingalongalevelplane.

‘Celestian Superior!’ Camille cried, rising and firing frantically, all restraintabandoned.Genevievetookasteptowardshercommander.‘No,Sister!’Jonahsnapped,sureofthefutilityofit.‘Run!’Xhinoarolledontoherback,firingone-handedatthehorrorsswarmingaboveher.‘Go!’shebellowedtohercomrades.‘Cleansethe–’TheOrrery’sbeamsreachedherbeforeitsguardians,avioletandaviridianraylancing her simultaneously. Therewas no blood, fire or corruption. From onemomenttothenextXhinoaAokiharawassimplygone.Mydamnfault!Jonahcursedashe turnedand raced for thedome’s rimwithGenevievebehindhim.Camillefiredovertheirheads,howlingimprecationsattheirpursuers.‘Aboveyou!’Jonahyelled.Duringthedistractionaspherehadglidedstealthilyover her position. Camille looked up as it swooped down to engulf her head,thenscreamedsoundlesslyasitspink-stainedindustrywenttoworkonher.Hereyesbulged,dividedthenswam,multiplyingendlesslyastheyswirledabouttheliquescentspiralofhermaw,asifherfacewereswallowingitself.Shefelltoherknees,herarmourquakingwiththecontortionsoftheunrulyfleshwithin.‘Thefleshisasweakasitswearer,’Jonahgaspedasheran,‘anditswearerasweakastheirdreams.’Hisbooksnappedupthenotioneagerly.As he drew level with her, Camille reached for him with a hand that keptcoming, erupting through her gauntlet as its fingers branched exponentially.Jonahhadno idea if shewaspleadingwithhimor trying to attack, but eitherwaytherewasonlyoneanswerhecouldgive.‘I’msorry,’hesaidashehewedoff thething’shead,alongwiththechortlingpinkspherethatrodeit.Genevievebathedtheflailingbodyinaspurtoffireasshefollowedhim.‘Mina,’Jonahgaspedasheran. ‘Vedas.’Thenamesswungbackandforth inhismindwitheverystep.Together theyseemed toencompasseverythinghe’dbecome and might yet be. How long had he been looking – for them, andthroughthemforhimself?‘Longerthanyouthink,JonahTythe,’afamiliar,desiccatedvoiceansweredashenearedthewallofmist.‘Comeandseeforyourself.’Withaswarmoftwistedfigmentscacklingandwailingathisback,Jonahleaptintohisfinalabyss.

‘Truthisourfirstandlastinglight.Speakonlyasyouseeandseektobe,forallelseisdarkness.’

–TheTornProphetTheGospelsIlluminant

I

Itwasthethunderthatrousedthebrokenwomanandtherainthatthwartedherfromslippingbackintooblivion.Thewetbarragecomingthroughtheshatteredroofabovewastooinsistenttoignore,butnotvexatiousenoughtoactupon,soshe just lay in the rubble, staring at the lightning-threadedmaelstrom.Despitethe deluge, the building was smouldering around her, yet even that wasn’tenough to stirher.Shewas sureherbodywas smashedbeyond repair, thoughshecouldn’trecallwhyandfeltnopain.‘Iamdone,’shetoldthestorm.‘Yourpenanceisover,SisterHyades,’itrepliedinawoman’svoice,‘butyourlife is not.’The steely, but not unkind tonewas achingly familiar. ‘Your bodywillhealandyoursoulmayfollow,intime.’‘Did we fail?’ Asenath asked, remembering the battle outside the aeldari

bastionandthegripofthefacelessautomatonaboutherwaist.‘No, you won,’ the storm assured her. ‘The xenos were destroyed, but yourordersacrificedmuchforthevictory.Thosewhosurvivedarelonggone.’‘Theyleftmebehind?’‘Inourcare.’Thespeaker leanedoverher. Itwasn’t thestormafterall,butawomaninwhiterobes,herageless,delicatefeaturesframedbyawimple.‘Yourwoundswerebeyond their abilities to treat.TheThornEternal isnot anorderrenownedforitshealers,unlikemyown.’‘CanonessSanghata,’Asenathsaid,recognisingthewoman,andwithher,thisconversation.Bothbelongedtoanothertimeandplace,heraldingthestartofherfourthandfinestlife,asahospitalleroftheEternalCandle.Afterherlongandbloodthirstypenitencetheyhadbeentranquilyears,buttheywereover.‘You’renotreal,’Asenathsaidsadly,finallyrememberingwhereshewas.Andwhatshehaddonetohermentor.‘Whocansay?’Sanghatareplied.‘Ifeelreal.’Shegesturedattheencroachingflames.‘Moretothepoint,thisconflagrationiscertainlyrealenoughtoburnyoualiveifyoulingerhere.’‘Perhapsthat’sforthebest.’‘Itisnot,’thecanonesssaidsternly.‘Yourdutyremainsunfulfilled,Sister.’‘Ifearit’stoolateforthat.’Asenathlookedaway.‘Iamsorry,canoness–forallmysins,butmostofallforyou.’‘Thenyourememberit,Sister?’‘Thebitchshowedmewhilesheranwild,’Asenathsaid,rememberingMercy’sglee when she had revealed the memory. The betrayal had been her barbedfarewell to the Eternal Candle – a lethal neurotoxin sneaked into Sanghata’swine at their last supper before Asenath’s departure. Slow-acting andundetectable,thepoisonmurderedundertheguiseofadegenerativedisease.Hertwin had perfected the recipe over the years, slipping it to those who passedthroughhercarewheneverthewhimtookher.‘PerhapsIfoundacure,’Sanghatasaid.‘UnlessIamtrulyaphantom.’‘Areyou?’‘Ihavenoidea.Eitherway,Iabsolveyou,AsenathHyades.’Sanghata’shandswoveanaquila. ‘Wearenot responsible for thesinsofour shadows.Nowgetup!’Shame compelled Asenath to try. To her surprise her body obeyed withoutcomplaint. Indeed, other than a few cuts and bruises itwaswholly intact, thedebtofhertwin’sexcesseserased.Ifonlythesamecouldbesaidforthetollthey

hadtakenonhersoul.Whereareyou,Mercy?sheasked,wonderingathersister’ssilence.‘Thehellionislickingherwounds,’Sanghatareplied.‘Butshewillsoonreturn.Thistaintedstormempowersher.Don’tsurrendertoheragain,Sister.Ifyoudo,itwillbethelasttime.’‘Issheadaemon?’‘Onlyifyouletherloose.’Sanghataofferedasteelysmile.‘Butyouwon’t,myfriend.’‘No,’Asenathpromised.Sheappraisedhersurroundingsandsawshewasinaruinoushall,standingamidthedebrisofdisplaycases.Therewasnosignofthebeast that had burst through the roof, which was unsurprising since mostcreaturesof thewarpvanishedafterdeath,but thereweremanymortalbodiesamongthewreckage.Intoning a prayer of mourning, Asenath stripped the robes from a corpse tocoverherself,forMercy’sexploitshadlefthernaked.‘How can I end this blasphemy?’ she asked, turning to her mentor, butCanonessSanghatawasgone,ifindeedshehadeverbeenthere.Youcan’t…endit,hertwinmurmuredfromsomewheredeepdown.Toolate…toofar…Perhaps thatwas true, but itwouldn’t deterher.Mercy’svoicehad remindedAsenathofherdreamandthesalvationatitsend.Sheknewwhereshehadtogo.

Itwasthelightthatdrewtheunquietdead,callingthemtothemountainattheheartoftheRinglikeprofanemothstoaflame.Likehisfellowplague-damned,theghoulintheblackgreatcoatsawthebeaconas a white fire shining through everything else. As he walked alongside theothers,hismetallegdragging,heyearnedtoreachoutandtouchthelight,butitslippedawaywheneverhetried.Itspurityfilledhimwithalongingsoinsatiableit soonsoured into loathing, for itmockedhimwithhopewherenoneexisted.Thatpainwasworsethanallthetormentsofhisrottingbody.Theonlywaytoenditwastoextinguishthelight.And so the deadmarched, following their toweringmaster’s lead.Theworldsometimes parted before the pale giant, opening up secret pathways for theprocessiontoslipthrough,whichspedtheircrossingimmeasurably.Theywouldwalk for a stretch then pass through an invisible tear and continue theirpilgrimagefurtheralong.Instinctivelytheghoulsensedtheywerewalkingalongcracks in theworld’s skin, following a pathmapped out by suffering, for that

waswheretheriftsclustered.Thestormgreweverfiercerastheyascendedthemountaintowardsthecityitharboured. A tornado whirled among the burning buildings, smothering theirflames as itmangled them, only to ignite fresh conflagrationswith spasms ofcoloured lightning.Sometimes thebolts sired twisted forms that scamperedorcrawledacross the rooftops.Ononeoccasion, a thrice-struck tower shudderedintoglistening life.Squealing inshock, itextrudedsilver-tiledpseudopodsandslitheredaway.Theblack-coatedghoulcarednothingforsuchsights.Nomatterwhattwistedwonderssprangforthbeforehim,hiseyesquicklyreturnedtothemockinglight.As the procession reached the city’s outskirts it was joined by more of theplague-damned,allanointedbyhismaster’skindredheraldsortheirfirst-spawn.Dimlytheghoulunderstoodtherewerefourotherslikehismaster,allspreadingthesacredstainacross the land, thoughnonewereasexalted.Thatknowledgewaswovenintohisbloodbythetaintandheightenedbytheself-awarenesshismasterhadlefthim.Asparkofsentienceflickeredinallthedead–forhowelsecouldtheytasteandhatethelightwithvigour?–buttheblack-coatedghoulwasdifferent,histhoughtssharperandwider-reachingthanthoseofhisbrethren.Heevenrecalledhisname…Lemarché.Theghoultriedtosayitaloud,butthetrickeludedhisswollentongue,resultingin a brutish gurgle. Like the light, the namewas a deceiver – a cruel relic ofsomething best forgotten.And yet he couldn’t let it go. Therewas somethingpreciousabout thatparticularpain.Ashe toyedwith it,anothernamesurfacedfromthesludgeofhismemories.No…notaname.Apurpose?Acalling?Commissar.The shame the word brought was harder to bear than his name, yet equallyindispensable.Ifailed…myduty,thecreaturethought.Butwhatwasduty?Theghoulhowledwith theotherswhenoneof theheralds fell.The BleedingAngel,broughtdownbygiantsinshimmeringarmour…Thoughsheperishedonadistantspireherpassingrippledthroughthehorde,carriedbythevirulencethatboundthem.Butinthewakeoftheghoul’ssorrowtherecameanotherthought,furtiveandinsistent–theycanbekilled.

‘The Perihelion has fallen. Seek refuge on the spires, but beware Veritas and

Clementia.WeoffersanctuaryonVigilans.Thronewardyou!ThePerihelionhasfallen.Seekrefuge–’AvramSantinokilledthevehicle’svoxasthemessagecycledagain.Ithadbeenplayingonallchannelsforhours,deliveringitswarninginadeep,refinedvoice.‘Whatdoyoumakeofit?’heaskedthewomansittingbesidehimintheidlingmedicaetruck.‘Icannotsay, trooper,’MotherSolanissaid, staring through thewindshieldatthedistantfireabove.‘Butmycityburns.’AftertheirflightfromtheSacrastathey’dstoppedatthefootofthemountain,unsure how to proceed, especially since theyweren’t alone anymore. Santinohadfoundthreeinitiatehospitallershidinginthevehicle,allscarcelymorethanchildren.SisterClaudia,theeldest,claimedtheyhadfledtherewhenthehorrorbegan.Later,asthetruckwascrossingtothePerihelion,they’druninto–indeedverynearly over – the aging, half-blind Hospitaller Madeleine, who tended thebridge’sshrines,whichbroughttheirnumbertosix.Santinofeltresponsibleforeveryoneofhispassengers.Somebodyhadtolivethroughthisdamnnight.‘Wecan’triskthecity,’hesaid.‘HowfartoVigilans,MotherSuperior?’‘In this weather… four, perhaps five hours,’ Solanis answered, ‘but theWatchspireisastrangeplace,trooper.’‘Howso?’‘ItdoesnotfallundertheLastCandle’spurview.’Solanisshookherhead.‘TheCanonessIlluminantnegotiatedits…transfer…shortlybeforeshewaslost.Iamnotprivytoherreasons,butvisitorsareprohibited.’Santinofrowned.‘Sowhorunsthingsthere?’ItwasyoungClaudiawhoreplied,hervoicerapt:‘Theshiningones.’

Asenathhurriedthroughthestorm-ravagedcity,dashingbetweendoorwaysanddiscardedvehicles,butherbestcoverwasthetideofhumanitysurgingthroughthe streetsalongsideher.Mostof thecitizensofSophiaArgentumwere intentuponthesamedestinationasherself,seekingthesanctuaryofthecathedralatopthePerihelion.Somewailedprayersorcursesastheyfled,butmostweresilent,theirfacesslackwithshock,theireyesfixedontheblessedbeaconlight.Agalehowledaroundthecrowd,filling theairwithstingingdustanddebris.Occasionally it swelled into savage gusts that threw folk from their feet ordraggedthemintotheair,legskickingastheywhirledintothesky.

Hard,black rainpoundeddown through the squall,poolingankle-deep in thestreetsandfloodingthealleys,wherethewaterbegantoslitherwithalifeofitsown. In some places it reared up into torrential pillars that lashed out andswallowedthosewhostrayedtooclose.Andthentherewasthemany-colouredwildfirespreadingthroughthecity.Forthe most part it didn’t consume its host buildings, but clung to them like ascintillatingweed.Thewindand rainwinnowed,butneverquitedoused it, asthoughtheelementswerecolludingtoorchestratethecity’sdoom.Roving beyond the mountain’s summit, the whirling leviathan of Calliopereignedsupreme, its tailwhippingeverythingabout it intoruin.Nebulouseyesand mouths crawled along the tornado’s length, dissolving as fast as theyformed,while sleek shadows darted around it, their shapes all too familiar toAsenath. Screaming over the gale, the storm beasts regularly swept down tosnatch up citizens and carry them into the maelstrom. One was ridden by acrescent-headed nightmare whose immense, tubular fingers sprayed prismaticfireacrossthecrowd,itstouchsculptingobscenitiesfromtheirflesh.Some horrors come to feed on our fall, others merely to carouse, Asenaththoughtbitterly.Wearenothingbutmeatorclaytothem.She skidded to a halt as screams rippled through the crowd. People werehurlingthemselvesontothecitizensfromtheever-burningrooftopstoeithersideofthestreet.Dead people, Asenath realised as one of the cadavers fell beside her. Firegutteredaboutthecorpseasitthrustitselftoitskneesandgrabbedherrobeinacharred claw.Shekickedout at its face andbroiledgrubs spilled from its eyesockets,butitsgripheldfirm.Aburlymancrusheditsskullwithacraftsman’shammerandshebrokefree.‘Thisway!’heyelled,makingforasidealley.‘No!’shewarnedasthepooledwatersuckedhimdown.Ican’thelpanyofthem,Asenathrealised,appalledbyhercoldness.Turning,shesawmoreofthedeadwadingintothecrowdfrombehind,cuttingoff their retreat.A bloated slug-like abomination loomed over the damned, itsshapelessheadcrownedwithanestofpipe-like tentacles thatspewedslimeastheywavedabout.Itsfangedmawgrinnedinanelyunderamedleyofidioteyesas the beast sloshed forwards, squashing walking corpses in its eagerness toreach the living. People shriekedwhen theywere drenched in its vomit, thenquicklysilencedastheirfleshandsoulssuppurated.Letmeloose,sister!Mercycried,surgingawake.

‘No!’ Throwing up her arms, Asenath pushed past the mob to the nearestbuildingandhurledherselfthroughawindow.Landinginascatterofglass,sherolledtoherfeetandranthroughtheroom,leapingoverburning,yetperfectlyintactfurniture.Theflamestitteredcoylyasshepassedthem,givingoffnoheat.In the room beyond she found a family sitting around a table, their bodiesenvelopedincrystallisedazurelight.Theirexpressionsshowedthebaresthintofdistress,asthoughtheyhadbeenfrozeninthefirstmomentofthecatastrophe.It’stoomuchtobear,isitnot?Mercywheedled.ButI’llcarrythemiseryifyoulike.TherewasacrashofmasonryassomethingtoreintotheroomAsenathhadjustvacated,followedbyaslobbering,plaintivemewling.Thebeasthasourscent,sister!Ignoring her twin, Asenath hurried through the building and hauled open awindow on the far side. The street outside was empty, but she gauged thewaterloggedgroundsuspiciously.Wasitdeepenoughtobedangerous?Anothercrashbehindherdecidedthematter.Thewatercurledhungrilyaboutheranklesasshesplashedinto it,but lackedthesubstancetodragherdown.Tearingfree,shefledupthestreetasherpursuerwailedbehindher.‘Looktothelight,’Asenathgasped,makingitamantraassheran.Hereyesinstinctivelysoughtandfoundthecathedralatthemountain’ssummit.Itsminaretsoaredabovetherooftops,itslightabeaconinthemaelstrom.Whileitshone,hoperemained.

Thehatefullightwasmuchclosernow.Thepainitbroughtgrewstrongerwithevery step the dead took, but that only goaded them on. Therewere nomoresecretpathstofollow,fornoneexistednearthesummit.Thoughthefinallegoftheirmarchwasslow,itwasalsofruitfulbecausethecitywasripewithconverts.Bythetimetheprocessionreachedtheinnerprecincts itsmasterstrodeat thehead of a great throng, the lost souls of the Sacrasta swollen by thousands oflesser plague-damned. Their numbers grew with every street they passedthrough,andnotjustwiththedead,forthestormhadopenedthewayformoreelementalthings.Tumescentslimedaemonsslitheredamongthewalkingcorpses,theirtentaclessquirmingastheysprayedbileintheirexcitement.Cloudsoffliesbuzzedaboutthem, heedless of the danger, for the beasts would regularly flick their fattonguesaboutandcatchhundredsonthestickyorgans,thendrawthembackinto

theirmaws.Their feastingdidn’t thin thevermin, formorehatchedconstantlyfromthedaemons’hides.Overhead, immense chitin-covered monstrosities hovered on leathery wings,their bulbous heads swivelling about as their prehensile tongues lapped at thescalpsof theplague-damnedbelow.Occasionally theywouldsuccumb to theirappetites and strip aheadof its flesh, leaving thevictim to stumbleonwith aslime-slickskullbetweenitsshoulders.Some daemons were spawned from the dead themselves, growing into theirdecaying flesh as they marched. A chosen one would tremble as its skindeepenedtoalividgreenthensuddenlyruptured,unabletocontaintheripeningorgans beneath. Its belly would then swell and spill its entrails, which hungaboutthecreature’slegslikemorbidtassels.Thentheproto-daemonwouldhowlasitseyespoppedtomakewayforasinglerheumyorb–thenhowlagainwhenahorneruptedfromitsskull,oftensolongandtwistedthatitsbearerwasbentbeneaththeweight.Shortly after the transformation was complete each of the horned daemonswould begin to count in a low drone, hesitantly at first, then with increasingconviction.Theghoulintheblackgreatcoatbelievedtheywerekeepingatallyofsomethingimportant,thoughhedidn’tknowwhat.Onebyonehisformercomradessubmittedtothebenediction,fortheywerethemostworthyoftheplague-damned.Theirelevationfilledtheghoulwithpride,yetwhenhisownturncamehefoughtback,denyingtheblessing.‘Lemaaah,’ he groaned repeatedly. ‘Com… saaah.’ Though the words weregarbledtheyhadpower,shieldingtheirspeakerfromthetransformation.Andthelonger he endured as himself, the more certain he became of his secretimperative.Hisdutywasnotyetdone.

The Candelabrum was besieged by the lost and the damned who had onceworshipped beneath its silver minaret. Thousands of plague-ravaged citizenspressed against the marble walls that enclosed the cathedral’s grounds, withmore constantly shambling from the city below. In some places piles ofsquirming bodies had formed against the barrier, as the feral dead clamberedovereachotherintheireagernesstoreachthelightthatlaybeyond.Battle Sisters and Candlewards manned the ramparts, the armoured womencullingthehordewithbolterfirewhiletheirlesserbrethrensupportedthemwithcrossbows, scrupulously targeting the ghouls’ heads. Red-crested Dominion

Sisters roamed the walls, bringing the cleansing heat of their flamers ormeltagunstobearwheretheyweremostneeded.Anautocannonturretcoughedfuriouslyabovethegatehouse,itsrapid-firefusilladecuttingswathesthroughtheattackers. But despite their numbers the ghouls were the least of the horrorsassaultingthecathedral.Crouchedonarooftopjustbelowthesummit,Asenathsawhugeinsectsflittingabout the ramparts, harrying the defenders with darting strikes of theirproboscises. They struckwith frightening accuracy, latching on to headswithwhiplash licks.Sometimes theyyanked theirvictims from thewalls, butmoreoftentheyreleasedthemamongtheircomrades,decapitatedandspewingcloudsoffliesfromtornnecks.Oneof the flyingverminwas riddenbya female figure in scarlet robes.Thehereticappeared tobedirecting theattack,hersixarmsgesturingsinuouslyassheflittedbackandforthalongthewall.Somethingaboutherwasfamiliar,butsheneverlingeredinoneplacelongenoughforAsenathtoseeherclearly.Evenworsethantheinsectsweretheslug-likeabominationsslobberingagainstthebarrier.Theirglutinoushidesadheredtothemarble,enablingthemtocreepupthewallswithghoulsclingingtotheirbacks.OnlytheheavierweaponsoftheDominionswerepotentenoughtopurge them,but thered-crestedSistersweretoofewtoentirelystemtheincursion.Asenath cursed as one of the beasts flopped onto the ramparts, crushing aDominion under its bulk as she arrived to repel it. TheCandlewards to eitherside screamed as its tentacles sprayed them with corrosive filth. Seeminglydelighted by their attention, the creature rolled back and forth over themuntilanotherDominionincinerateditwithawhite-hotbeam.Thattoyfortresswon’tlastlong,Mercyobservedplayfully.Asenathknewshewasright.TheIronCandlelackedthenumbersorresourcestowithstandthisonslaught.TherewerenoeliteSeraphimorRetributorsquadsamongitsranks,letaloneanysignificantarmouredsupport.‘Weneverbelievedwarwouldfindus,’shewhispered.Haven’tyouheard?Itgetseverywhere!Mercymocked.Sowhatnow,sister?‘Ineedtogetthrough,’Asenathsaid,gazingatthecathedral’sminaret.EvenI’dbehard-pressedtomanagethattrick,butI’lltryifyouasknicely!‘Whydidyoukillher?’Asenathaskedsuddenly,picturingSanghata.Why wouldn’t I? Mercy said, seeing the picture. She sounded genuinelysurprised.Thatdullardclippedourwingsanddousedourfire!ButAsenathwasn’tlistening.Aprocessionofthedamnedhadenteredthestreet

below,marchingtowardsthecathedral.Atitsheadwasablindfoldedgiant,hisnakedformcordedwithmuscles.HewasunmistakablytheBlindWatchmanofVigilans,butbeneath thatmythicfiguresherecognisedanother,morepoignantone.‘Feizt,’shebreathed.Youfailedhim,sister,Mercytaunted,seeingittoo.‘Yes,’Asenathconfessed, remembering the sergeant’splea fordeath. ‘I fear Idid.’ButFeiztwasn’ttheonlyoneshehadfailed.Behindhimmarchedacoterieofgangling one-eyed monstrosities, their flesh hanging loosely on their bones.Among themwas a figure in a filthy black greatcoat and a high-peaked cap.Though it walked in a limping shuffle it somehow kept its back straight,maintainingasemblanceofdignity.CommissarLemarché.Asenathwassurprisedbythesorrowthatrealisationbrought,thenhorrifiedassherecognisedthehospitalcoverallswornbyhisfellowdamned.Well,theywereafinewasteoftimetopatchupandpanderto,Mercyopined.‘No,’Asenathsaidsolemnly.‘Youarewrong.Nothingiswithoutpurpose.’

II

Jonahplummeted into apandemoniumof roaring light andblindingnoise, hissenses intertwining into nonsense as they soared free of all constraint. Hesmelled the rushof air as he slippedbetween titanic hoops thatwhirled abouthim like curved blades, and tasted the anomalies their motion spun fromnothingness.Hesawbittersweetcontradictionsthatscreamedtobe–thenheardthemspinawayintoluridoblivion.Thecacophonyvibratedthroughhisblood,urging it to burn and blur his flesh afresh in pursuit of new possibilities.Misconceived phantasms flickered around him, giggling and wailing as theyoscillatedinandoutofbeing,dreamingastheywereundreamttomakeroomformoreandmoreand…The kaleidoscope of absurdity ended abruptly, ceasing at the precise instantJonah’ssanityreachedbreakingpoint.Theclockworkclamourreceded,andwithitthebarrageofimpressions.Ashisreelingmindsettled,hetriedtomakesenseofhissurroundings,thoughreasonrailedagainsttheattempt.Hestoodattherimofanimmensediscofsilver-veinedcrystalthathunginavoid, rotating slowly. Far beyond the platform’s perimeter vast metal rings

revolved up and down, their concentric bands weaving a lattice across thehorizon.Hecouldonlymakeoutthefirstthreeclearly,butknewtherewouldbenine,forhehadseenasimulacrumofthismachineoncebefore.‘Even diminished, the infinite remains absolute,’ his nemesis had said in theTornShrinewhenJonahwasmesmerisedby thismachine’s likeness.Thatwastrue,butithadn’tpreparedhimfortheundiminishedreality.Toseethatwastoknow the insignificance– thesheer futility–ofallhumanendeavour.PerhapstheLastCandle’sorreryhadservedasthisinfernalengine’sseed,buthedoubtedanyofitsdiscipleswouldrecogniseitnow.Ifellthroughthem,Jonahrealised,staringatthespinningrings.Theprobabilityof slipping between them all without being struck and pulverised was surelyinfinitesimal,yethewasn’tsurprisedhehad.Hewasmeanttobehere.‘SisterGenevieve!’heshouted,scanningthecrystalplaneandfindingnobody.Evidently themachinehad rejectedher. ‘I’msorry,Sister. I shouldhavecomealone.’Theplatform’sonlyfeaturewasanarrowspindlerisingfromitscentre,wovenfromthesamecrystalastheground.Ninelargeprismsgyratedaboutit,glidingthroughtheairastheyprojectedraysofcolouredlightintothecagedsky.‘Where areyou,Vedas?’ Jonah challenged ashewalked towards the spindle.‘Whydrawthisoutanylonger?’Heyankedthetomeoutfromunderhisfatiguesandhelditaloft,likeaholytext.‘Ihaveyourbook!’Theplaneshimmeredas its threads litupwith indigo light.Bythatunveilingradiance Jonah saw hewas no longer alone.Hundreds of people knelt on theplaneahead,gatheredinnineconcentriccirclesaroundthespindle,eachgroupsmallerthanthelast.Theirfacesweretiltedupwards,theirarmsoutstretchedtolinkhandswiththeirneighbours.‘Thebookisyours,’thethrongintoned,itschorusvibratingthroughthecrystalratherthantheair.‘Italwayswas.’Thevoicesweremaleandfemale,youngandold,buttheiricytonewasunvarying.Therewasnomistakingthemindbehindthem. ‘Through your eyes, by your hand and with all your heart,’ theycontinued,‘yourworldinyourwords,MirrorWalker.’Jonahhalted,squintingatthefigures.Theyweretoofarawaytoseeclearly,buttheirstillnesswasinhuman.‘Youtrickedme!’heshouted.‘Iansweredyou,’thecongregantsreplied.‘Igaveyouwhatyouneeded.’‘I justwanted to be paid, you twisted bastard!’ Jonah stormed forwards, hisangerrisingsofastitstartledhim.‘Ijustwantedoffmynight-shankedworld!’‘Irrelevant.Itisneeds,notwantsthatfuelthesoul.’

‘Don’ttellmemyowndamnmind!’‘IspeakonlyasIsee,’thechoruspressed,‘justasyouhavedonewithblood,quillandspirit,myfriend.’‘I’mnotyourfriend!’‘Andyet Iamyours, forweshare the sameordeal,JonahTythe.Sufferingforgesthemostpotentofbonds,especiallywhenembracedwillingly.’‘Ididn’taskforanyofthis!’‘Youaskedwhy.’‘What?’Jonahfrowned,hisfuryblindsided.‘Why,’ thechorusinsisted.‘Whydidyourworlddie?Whyyoursister?Youneeded tomake sense of Chaos, Jonah Tythe. I gave you the tools and thetenacitytomaketheattempt.’AsJonahnearedthefirstringofsupplicantshesawtheirwhitegarmentswereembroideredwith theCandlelit Eye of Truth. It seemed the schola’s staff andpupilshadn’t shared the fateofVeritas’other inhabitants, butneitherhad theybeen spared. Every face bulged with a single eye framed by wattles of fleshformed from thedetritusof theoriginal features–nose, lipsandcheeks thrustaside to make room for greater sight. Vast and unblinking, the throng ofcyclopeaneyesstaredupwards.Followingtheirgaze,Jonahsawthevoidabovewasafirewithamaelstromofimagery – a jagged aggregate ooze of metaphors made sentient, every onetormentedby itsown significance.Signsofwondersunsungviedwithmalignportentsofdarksongsyettocome,convulsingastheymingledandmismatchedinrampantdisharmony.Itwasthegeometryofthesoulflayedbare,everysparkofspiteincitedtotellitstale,everyflawadoredandinvitedtodance.‘There isapattern there,’ the congregants chantedwithoutmouths. ‘A logicthatgovernstheebbandflowoftheimmaterium’stides,butanarchitectmustsearchdeepandwidetorecogniseitbeforehecanbuildanew.’That’s why you needed more eyes, Jonah guessed, remembering how hisenemy–anaddict,neveranarchitect–couldn’t lookawayfromthemachine.Doubtless these slaves were all bound to Vedas, every fibre of their beingattuned to their task, but even with their extra faculties in play – even withhundreds,thousandsorevenmillionsmorelikethem–itwashopeless.‘The Candleworld offers a singular perspective on the conundrum,’ thethrongchorused.‘ItresonateswiththeSeaofSoulslikenootherplaceIhaveknown.That iswhy symbols have such potency here. That iswhy theymayincarnate and walk among men. I felt it the moment I set foot on the

Perihelion.Thisentirecontinentisalensontothesublime,theorreryitsfocalprism.’‘You’rewastingyour time,’ Jonahsaid, tearinghiseyesawayfromthegrandmalevolenceplayingoutabove.‘You’vebeenstaringintoacesspool.’‘Then it is the cesspool of our souls!’ There was a collective, humourlesslaugh.‘Butyouarewrong.WhereyouseeChaos,IglimpseOrder.’‘You’vebeenlookingtoolong.’‘Longenoughforyourstatementtohavenomeaning.Timeisnotwhatyouimagineittobe.’‘Onehundredandthirty-onethousandandsixty-ninedays,’Jonahsaidbitterly.‘I didn’t imagine any of them.’ He’d begun the count on the night his huntbegan,butthiswasthefirsttimehe’dsaiditaloud.‘Three hundred and fifty-eight years,’ the chorus responded, converting thefigurewithouthesitation.‘Goneintheblinkofanawakenedmind.’‘Ifelteverydamnoneofthem!’‘Theywould bemeaningless if you did not. I feel theweight ofmine also,extended across every permutation of myself – a manifold of perceptionsmirroredintoinfinity,abidingwithoutend.Nothingiseverlost.’‘Thenwhereisshe?’Jonahdemanded,stridingtothefirstcircleofcongregants.To his disgust he saw their linked arms were fused at the hands, forming apermanentchain.‘Where’smysister?Whatdidyoudotoher?’‘Ididnothing.’‘Thetruth!’Jonahroared,bringinghissworddownonapairofbondedhands.Thebladecrackledwithenergyasithewedthroughfleshandcrystallisedbone.Therivenarmsshatteredasiftheyhadbeenfrozen,spillingiridescentectoplasmrather than blood. Fracture lines crawled up the congregants’ splinteredshoulders,yetneitheronereacted.Snarling,Jonahbeheadedtheoneontheleftthen spun to decapitate the other. The dead thralls remained kneeling, theirfissures spreading to the slaves beside them. With an explosive crack theirneighbours’headsshatteredlikeglassandthechainofdestructioncontinuedtothenextpair,sweepingthroughthecircleinbothdirections.‘Nomorelies!’Jonahshouted,stridingtowardsthesecondcircleofdevotees.‘TellmethetruthorI’lltakethemalldown!’‘Itwillchangenothing,’ thechorussaid,unmovedbythecarnage.‘Ididnotbringdeathtoyourworld,JonahTythe.’Apause.‘Ortoyoursister…’Jonahfroze,hisswordraised.‘Minaisdead?’Itcameoutasawhisper.‘Asyouhavealwaysknown,butneveraccepted.’

‘That’snot…It’snot…’‘Lookandseeforyourself.’‘No…I–’‘Look!’thechoruscommanded.Therewasnever a choice. Jonah lookedup into the firmament, and the truththathadbeenstalkinghimleapt.

‘Wait,’Jonahsaysasthepastenfoldshim,drawinghimbacktothenight-boundhive.‘Don’tgoouttonight.’‘I’llbebackbeforelockdown,’Jonahanswers.Heslotsaclipintohishandgun,keepinghisbacktothewomansittingbytheshutteredwindowoftheirroominthehab-block.Minahasneverlikedguns.‘It’s a bad night,’ he warns himself then smiles at the absurdity of it. Guiltfollowsimmediately,forhissisterdeservesbetter.Noneofthisisherfault.‘Isawhimagain,’hesaysashestubsouthislho-stickthenturnsquestioninglyto his sister. She is a pale shadow in her chair, drained of all colour by theendlessnight,yettohimsheisinviolate.‘Whodidyousee,Mina?’Jonahasksgently.‘The starving man,’ he replies, fiddling with her rosary beads. ‘His face isalwaysinshadow,butIcanseehiseyes.Silvereyes.He’sclosernow.’‘Silverisamarkofpurity,’hesays,crossingtheroomtotakeherhandsinhisown.Theyaresocoldandbrittlethatitbreakshisheart.Shehasrefusedtoeatormoveatall since thenight fell. ‘Perhapsyou’vedreamtofoneof theGod-Emperor’sSpaceMarines.’‘ASpaceMarine?’heasks.‘Doyoureallythinkso?’‘Has tobe,’ heanswers, pullingaway, forhe canno longerbearherglacialtouch.‘Ihavetogonow,Mina.’

‘Shediedonthefirstnight,’Jonahsaidhollowly,closinghiseyesashesawthetruthofit.HissisterhadbeenoneoftheSacredDamned,deadbutfreefromtheravagesofdecay.Ikepthersafe.Alive.Butonlyeverinmymind…‘Self-deceptionisthemostinsidiousoftraps,myfriend,’hisenemychorused.‘Nothingblindsussoinventively.’‘Butshewasgone.’Jonahshookhishead,rememberingwhathe’dfoundafterhisassignationattheshrine–theemptyroom,thepileofdiscardedclothesandthemessagespelledoutbyMina’srosarybeads:Finishit.‘Liar,’hesnarled,hackingintoanotherpairofconjoinedhandsandtriggeringa

secondchainofdestruction.‘Shewasgone!’‘Areyoucertainofthat?’‘Youleftmeadamnmessage,’Jonahsaid,passingthroughthesecondcircleofcongregantsasitcollapsed.‘Baitedme!’‘No. You found what you expected. What you needed to spur yourself todestiny.’‘You’relying!’AsJonahhewedthroughthethirdcirclehisrageuncoiledlikeaburning serpent. This time flames danced about his blade when it struck,scorchinghisvictimsintocharcoalstatues.‘Yousetmeup!’‘Iheardyourcallinthefirmamentandrecognisedyou,MirrorWalker.’Thechoruswas growing thinner as its numbers diminished, but therewas still notraceofconcerninitstone.‘Iansweredandgaveyoupurpose.’‘Don’t,brother,’aquietvoicewarnedasJonahreachedthefourthcircle.‘Thisiswhathewants.’‘Don’t care,’ he spat, tasting ash. His blade whirled down in an arc of fire,settinganotherpairofdevoteesablaze.Theconflagration surged through theircircle,turningitslivinglinksintoburningpyres.Astheydiedthecrystalbeneaththemdarkenedtoanigneousblack,itsveinsshiftinghuetocrimson.‘Jonah,please–’‘You’re dead, sister,’ Jonah said as he strode forwards, his eyes fixed on thespindle.‘Soishe.’Therewasnobodylefttosaveandnothingtoholdontoexceptfury.‘Burn,’theMirrorWalkerhissed,cleavingthefifthcircle.

ThebuildingunderAsenathshookasadeepvibrationrumbledthroughthecity.With a peal of thunder, bloody smears splashed the clouds and the tornadoswirled aflame.The stormdaemons swimming closest to it burst into fire andspun from the sky, trailing smoke as they dissolved. Among them was thecrescent-headed rider shehad spotted earlier, though it vanished in a flurryoftwinklingglyphsasitsmountfell.Thisisanewchordinourrhapsody,Mercythrilled.Awrathfulone!‘Yes,’Asenathagreed,butherattentionremainedonthearmiesclashingatthesummit.Fromhervantagepointontheroof,shesawthecontingentofcorruptedBreachers had almost reached the cathedral’s perimeter wall. They wereadvancingthroughabarrageoffiretowardsthegates,theirleader’sarmsspreadwide,asiftoembracetheincomingbullets,butsomehowbluntingtheirpotency.‘Whathappenedtoyou,Toland?’Asenathmurmured.

As the former sergeant neared the gatehouse, three of the huge insects divedtowardsitsdefendingturret,strikingfromdifferentangles.Theturretblastedonefrom the air then swung to shred another, but the third crashed onto it anderuptedinashowerofbile,itsbulkdrapedoverthecannon’smuzzle.Agaggleofdiminutivebeaststoretheirwayoutofthecarcassandsqueezedtheirglobularformsthroughtheturret’sviewingslits.‘Thegateswillfall,’Asenathpredicted.Whatevershehopedtodo,itmustbesoon,yetshecouldseenowaythroughthehorde.Atleastnonethatwassane.‘Doyouwanttolive?’sheasked,rising.SetmefreeandI’llshowyouhow!Mercyshotback.‘No,we’llgotogetherornotatall,’Asenathsaid,andleaptfromtheroof.

The black-coated ghoul limped towards the gatehouse as bullets sprayed theprocession of chosen ones.Many thudded against him and burst into red dustfrom the impact, their shells corroded by his master’s scorn. With the turretsilenced, only theweapons of the red-crestedwarriorwomen posed a seriousthreat, but they had been drawn away by the other heralds. Each of the threecommanded itsown forceofplague-spawn, their assault spreadalong the ringwall.Throughthesurfacescumofhisthoughts,theghoulappraisedthebattlewithasoldier’seyeandsawthetippingpointwasimminent.‘Comsaaah!’hemoaned,thoughthewordbroughtnothingbutmisery.Helookedupastheskythunderedandturnedred.Therainhadbeguntosteam,scaldinghisskin.Thoughhescarcelyfelttheheat,somethinginsidehimralliedtothecallofthatfierysky,drawingstrengthfromitsrage.Blood-tight, he remembered suddenly. On the back of that memory cameanothersotenuoushelungedforitbeforeitevaporated.‘Voy-seee,’hegroaned,thrustingahandintohiscoatpocket.Hisfingersfoundacoldmetalorb.

Grinning,theMirrorWalkerhackedthroughthesixthcircleofdevotees,ignitinganother ring about the spindle. As the thralls’ eyes erupted, shards of theirmaster’smemoriesspikedhisown,unveiling…Adreamerbetrayedbytheweightofhisownambition,andthenbythewomanhehasboundinservicetoafalsecrusade,bringingthemboth…Down…A blinded fool walking into a wilderness colder than anything nature canconjure, yearning for annihilation, but impervious, for his heart beats even

colder.Down…Alostsoulwanderingthelabyrinthofitsowndelusionsmademanifest,tauntedbyitsownarroganceandignoranceandfindingnowayforwardsbut…Down!Wading through the torrentofhisenemy’smisery, theMirrorWalker reachedtheseventhcircleandraisedhissword.Smokewaftedfromhismouthashespathiscontemptandmadethecut.

Crimsonlightningslashedthesky,leavingableedingwoundintheclouds.Thetwisterroaredandhurledballsoffireacrossthemountain.Unlikethewhimsicalconflagration already tormenting the city, they incinerated everything in theirpath, raking charred swathes through thedamnedand scorchingbuildings intohusks.Spinydaemonssprangfromtherubble, theirelongatedskullswhippingaboutas they bounded towards the summit on reverse-jointed legs. Their ganglingframesweresheathedinredscalesandtheireyesflickeredlikecagedinfernos,markingthemaschildrenofthefirestorm.Bellowinglikebeaststheyfelluponthe plague-damnedwith claws or serrated swords, their slaughter only slowedwhentheyencounteredoneofthepestilentialdaemons.‘Thefinalveilfallsaflame!’Mercydeclaredastheconjoinedtwinslandedonneedle-pointed feet. Their shared body was still in the throes of change, itsmusclestwistingasitslimbsstretchedandremouldedthemselves.‘Down!’ Asenath yelled, throwing them to the ground. A fireball whooshedoverheadandengulfedthebuildingthey’djustleaptfrom.‘Tothelight!’sheordered,risingawkwardly,unusedtohersister’sform.‘Where else?’Mercy agreed. Flicking their fingers into long knives she tookcontroloftheirmovements.With their sable hair billowing behind them, they raced up the mountain,dodging,leapingandslashingtheirwaythroughthebesiegingarmy,movingtoofast for the plague-damned to retaliate. They swerved aside as a whip-likeproboscis lashed down from above, then whirled around to sever it before itcouldretract.Laughing,Mercyjumpedontotheshouldersofaghoulandsprang,spinninginmid-airtosliceopentheabdomenofthehoveringfly-thingthathadtargeted them.Her spiked feet impaled one of the slug beastswhen she camedown,drawingageyseroffilthfromitsback.Shetwirledawayinashowerofslimeasitsheadcranedroundtosnapatthem.

‘Throne and Thorn!’ the twins cried together, their lustrous midnight skincastingoffthebeast’sichorastheyspedon.AsenathletMercylead,butkeptheronatightleash,threateningparalysisifthebitchdeviatedfromtheiragreedpath.Hersisterwasstilltooweaktodeposeherandevenamomentarystalemateoftheirwillswouldbethedeathofthemboth.Mercywasamonster,butshewasnofool.Mostlikelyshewasplayingfortime,waitingforAsenath’sguardtoslip…‘No,dearone,’Mercycrooned,hearinghersister’sdoubts. ‘We’redancingattheworld’send,solet’sbowouttogether!’Shebeheadedthreeghoulsinarazor-fingeredarc.‘Besides,I’dliketospituponyourpreciouslight!’

Theblack-coatedghoulstaggeredtoahaltbeforethecathedral’sgatehouse.Asitsmasterraisedahandtocorrodethegates,theslaveshiveredinsympathywiththeentropicblessing,achingforthetransformationthathadclaimeditsbrothers.No...theghoulthought,staringupattheburningsky.No!‘Feisss,’hegasped,fightingtosaythewordsashewrenchedthepinfromthemetalorbhehadfound.‘Feisss…look…me.’Thepaleheraldturnedtoregarditsthrallimpassively.‘Blood…tight…’IchukwuLemarchéhissed,raisingtheorb.‘Void… sealed,’ Toland Feizt responded automatically from the apparition’score.‘Lockedto–’Thegrenadedetonated,incineratingthembothinaflashofheat.

‘Burn!’ theMirrorWalker roared, sweepinghis sworddown in ablazing arc.Theeighthcircleofworshipperswassunderedandsetalight.Everyoneofthemburnedwithout surcease, as though tapping into some primordial fire.Moltenthreadsspread throughtheplane,darkening itscrystal toobsidianandofferingupanotherflurryofitsoverlord’ssecrets…A pilgrim scavenging among the rubble of his own faith, seeking somethinghigherevenifthepricewillbringhim…Down…Adarkmanstandingonhisfinalprecipice, facinganotherwhoisdarkerstillandwillingtoshareitsrevelationifonlyhewillletgoandlook…Down,furtherdown…Apenitent,repentantandhumbled,notbythefailureofhisdreams,butbyhisfailuretodreamferventlyenoughanddelve…Deeper!Alwaysdeeper,untilthere’snowherelefttogosaveup…

Withaplangentboomthemountaincracked.Smokingfissuresbrokeoutacrossits summit, yawning wider as they zigzagged down to the city and devouredbuildings whole. Thousands of the damned were swallowed by the seismicspasms,butthecathedral’sdefenderssufferedmoregrievously.Alongstretchoftheperimeterwalldisappearedintoanewbornchasm,whileanothercollapsed,throwingitsguardianstothehordeinacascadeofrubble.AllalongthebarrierCandlewardsscreamedastheirskinblisteredfromtheboilingrain,thenmomentslatertheywerechokingonthefumesgushingfromtherifts.Withinminutesthelastofthemhadfallen,leavingthearmouredBattleSisterstoholdtherampartsalone.‘Afinedaytodie!’Mercycried,elatedbythepandemonium.Thetwinswerealmostatthewallwhenthegroundaroundthemsplinteredintoa patchwork of tiny islands. Pressurised steam vented from the rifts between,stinkingofbrimstoneandbadblood.Oneofthehoveringvermindroppedoutoftheairnearby,roastedinsideitschitin.‘Jump!’Asenathshoutedastheirperchcrumbledunderthedaemon’simpact.Theyleapt toanother island,whereamewlingslimebeastwasscrabblingforpurchasewithitstentacles,halfitsbodyhangingovertheedge,itshidebubblingfromtheheat.Acrimson-scaleddaemoncrasheddownbesidethem,itsclawedfeetspreadwideforbalance.Flamessputteredalongitscurvedhornsasitleeredatthem.‘Burn!’itbellowedgutturallyandswungitssword.Thetwinsduckedunderitswhirlingbladeanddivedtoanothersplinterofland.Mercylandedthemontheirpalmsandkickedbackwithbothlegs,thrustingthedaemonintotheabyssasitpouncedafterthem.Giggling,sheflippedthemontotheirfeetandleaptagain,finallyreachingthewall.‘AmInotamarvel?’sheaskedastheirfinger-knivesdugintothemarble.‘Climb!’Asenathsnapped.‘You’venosoul,sister!’They scaled the wall like a thorny spider and swung onto the ramparts. AstartledBattleSisterspuntofacethem,herbolterlevelled.‘Wait!’AsenathyelledasMercybattedthewarrior’sgunasideanddrovetheirnailsthroughhervisorslit.‘You didn’t even try to stop me,’ Mercy scolded playfully, throwing thearmouredwomanoverthewallasifsheweighednothing.‘Notreally!’To her shame Asenath knew that was true. Everyone on the Perihelion wasalreadyasgoodasdead,orfatedforworse.Onlytheholyfiremeantanything

now.Mercifullythecathedralstillstood,itslanternchamberradiantagainstthedarksky, but plague-spawnwere already scramblingover the fallen sectionofwalltowardsit.Attheirheadwasatallfemalefigureincorrodedarmourthatoozedslimefromitsjoints.‘The Penitent Knight,’ Asenath murmured, recognising the pseudo-IncarnatefromBhatori’s lab, though its state of decaywas surprising. Traditionally theavatarrepresentedthetemperedsoulofaCelestian,butthismonstrositymockedeverythingtheiroathstoodfor.Itsickenedhermoreprofoundlythananyoftheotherhorrorsshehadwitnessedhere.‘Doyouthinkallthepalatine’smonstersarehere?’Mercyasked.‘Keepmoving!’‘Byyourcommand,mylady!’Mercybowedandleaptfromthewall,landinginthecathedral’sprecinctslikeaspinycat.Sheisgrowingstronger,Asenathgaugedashersisterspedforthecathedral.‘Yes,Iam,’Mercyagreed,‘butI’llstillcarryyoutoyourlittlelight!’

TheMirrorWalker stood before the ninth and final circle,whose congregantsalso numbered nine. Their arms were distended to many times their naturallength toenclose the spindleat theheartof theplane, their fleshpetrifiedandveined with silver. Unlike the slaves of the outer rings, these creatures woreindigorobesembroideredwiththeTornProphet’sjaggedrune.InstinctivelytheMirrorWalker understood theywere truedisciples, not ensorcelled thralls, yettheyhadstillsacrificedtheirsoulstotheirmaster’scause.‘Thiswillbringruin,brother,’hislostsisterwarned.‘Notallruinationisequal,’theMirrorWalkerdecreed,raisinghissword.Itsbladehadbecomeatongueofflamingblackiron.‘Burn!’Therewasachoral screechashecleaved througha link. Its collectiveagonysentshiversthroughtheplaneandthunderthroughthevoid.Hisbladeshattered,butitsfirewhirledthroughthecircle, transformingeachacolyteintoaroughlyhewn obsidian statue. Their eyes erupted into volcanic maws that belchedmagmaintothesky,stainingthesoulscapebloodred.TheMirrorWalkeropenedhisarmsandbreatheddeeplyofhisenemy’ssoul,tasting…Aresurgentdreamerunboundfromdoubtormorality,intentonthedeliveranceofabsoluteTruth,yetnomatterhowfarherises…Upisstilldown!

An aspiring architect of Fate and Fortune fated only for divine misfortune,growingevermoremalignashesenseshisdestinyiseternally…Down!A conspiring addict, cleaving to hopes he no longer holds as he blundersthroughawebofpossibilitiesthatgrowsmoretangledthedeeperhegoes…Down,foreverandalwaysdown,forwhatelseisthereleft?

Theskyburnedalive,itscrydeepeningtoaroarastheredlightofDamnationseeped through the maelstrom, transforming the Perihelion into a hellishabstraction. Lava bubbled up through the mountain’s multiplying fissures,spillingdown its flanks likebloodandboiling the rain into steam.As if someineffable barrier had been broken, the tornado swerved towards the summit,spewingfireballsandlightningasitcame.Thelivingandthedeadweresweptupinitscurrentstoswirlandblazearoundit,theirhowlsaddedtoitsown.Asthetwinsnearedtheirdestinationtheentiresummitsplintered,takingmostof the cathedral with it, yet the light-bearing tower endured, as though itsfoundationswererootedintheplanet’score.Asenath stood aside for her sister’s whiplash reflexes as the grounddisintegratedaroundthem.Mercyleaptbetweenfleetingfootholdsgleefully,herbalance and timing dazzling. Asenath could taste the hellion’s fierce,uncomplicated joy andpart of her longed to embrace it – to live and love themoment,nomattertheprice.‘Oh,thepriceismoot,sister,’Mercyencouragedher,‘forthere’snothingmoreorbettertobehad!’Withafinalstringofleapsandpirouettesshevaultedontothetower’sside,diggingindeepwiththeirfingersandfeetasthewindtuggedatthem.‘You’rewrong,’Asenathwhispered.‘We’ll know soon enough, sister,’ Mercy said, sounding sincere for once.Trillingamicably,shebegantoclimb.

TheMirrorWalkerstepped through the innermostcircle,hisgaze fixedon thespindleahead.Itwasasolitaryneedleofwhitecrystalontheobsidianplane,forallelsehadbowedtohisrage.Eightcirclesofburning thrallsenclosed it.Theoutermosthadcollapsedintodust,forninewasnolongertheascendantnumberhere. The same held true of the prisms orbiting the spindle – only eightremained,spinninginberserkloopsastheyemittedrubylight.+Theworldisyours,MirrorWalker,+afamiliarvoicewhisperedintohismind.Strippedofitschorusitsoundedfrail,butnolessmalicious.

‘My name is Jonah,’ the destroyer said.His fury had coiled back into itself,gorgedonthedevastationithadwrought,butitwouldn’tbesatedforlong.+Eitherway,itisyours.+‘AndIstilldon’twantit.’Jonahknewtheyweretalkingaboutthebookagain.He was still clutching it in his left hand, like something precious, though heloathed it above all things, even his nemesis. The cursed tome had never feltmorealive,itscoverpulsing,asthoughinanticipation.‘Ineverwantedit!’+Youwon’tknowuntilyoufinishit,+thewould-bearchitecturgedhim.‘AndifIdon’t?’+Butyouwill.ThatiswhoyouareandwhyIchoseyou.+‘Youdon’tknowme!’Jonahshouted,stridingtowardsthespindle.Ashedrewcloseritbecametranslucent,revealingthewitheredformfrozenwithin,likeaninsect preserved in a crystal. The addict was almost exactly as Jonahremembered him from the Torn Shrine, his scholarly features stretched thinacross his skull, his skin crawling with spidery text, but there was one vitaldifference:thiscreature’seyesocketswereemptyblackpits.I knew theywere stolen, Jonah thought, picturing the ill-fitting eyes that haddisgustedhimsolongago.+Merely borrowed,+ the addict said, speaking with his mind, not his frozenlips.+Theyneverlastlong.+‘Youtoldmenothingwaseverlost.’+PerhapsIlied.+‘Whatelsedidyoulieabout?’TheplaneshudderedexpectantlyasJonahdrewhispistol.Thebulletinsideitschamberhummed,yearningtofulfilitsdestiny.+Finishitandsee,JonahTythe.+

Clinging to the tower’s side, the twins looked down as the ground far belowshearedawaywithascreamoftorturedstone,carryingbotharmieswithit.Soononlythetowerremainedstanding,risingfromawhirlpooloffire-fleckedsmoke.Thetornadocircleditlikeastalkingpredator,heldatbaybythelightabove.‘Keepgoing,sister!’Asenathshoutedoverthesquall.‘You’venevercalledmesisterbefore!’Mercyyelledback,delighted.‘Go!’Astheyclimbed,Asenathglimpsedthreeofthespiresthroughthemurk.Theirpinnacleswereglowingbrightwhite.Doubtlesstheotherfourwereinthesamestate,fortheSevenSpireswereboundascloselyassheandhersister.Shedidn’tknowwhat their radiancemeant, but the sightmade her think of Athanazius.

Was he watching the Perihelion’s fall from one of those stone towers? Onceagainshewonderedifshehadbeenright toaidthewitch-boy,but inherheartshesimplyhopedhewasalive.Perhapsthatwasalltheanswersheneeded.‘Youmightnotlikewhatwefind,’Mercywarnedastheynearedthetop.‘Idon’tmatter,’Asenathsaid.‘Butsurely–’Theycriedoutinpainassomethingflittedpastthem,rakinggashesacrosstheirback.Glancing round they saw the red-robed Incarnatewhirring away on herverminousmount.Thewomanswungthegiantinsectaboutanddartedtowardsthem again, flies gushing from her yawning jaws. Hermount’s proboscis hadbeen scorched away, but she clasped a long surgical blade in each of her sixhands.Greengasspilledfromthecracksinherroundlenses.‘Bhatori,’ the twins said together.Neither could fail to recognise thatwasted,hated face. If anything, thismutilated incarnation seemed truer to the crone’sspirit.Theformerpalatinescreechedelectronicallyandswoopedtowardsthemagain,hermount’s facetedeyesglittering.Mercy letgoat the lastmoment,droppingoutofreachofBhatori’sslashingblades,thenthrusthernailsbackintothestonebeforeherfallbecameunbreakable.‘Letmerunfree!’sheimploredhersister.‘Ineedperfectionnow!’Asenathhesitated,buttheplagueriderwasalreadyturningforanotherattack.‘Don’tbetrayme,sister,’shesaid,andsurrendered.As the insect swept in,Mercy let herself fall again – but then thrust herselftowardsit,takingboththemountanditsriderbysurprise.Vaultingthroughtheair,herfinger-bladespunchedintotheinsect’seyesandherpointedfeetswungup tostab itsbulbousunderbelly repeatedly, tearing itopen inseconds.As thecreaturespiralledoutofcontrolshekickedherselfaway,lungingforthetower.Hernailsscrapedsparksfromthestonethenfinallysnaggedandheld.Hangingonbyonehand,Mercylaughedastheirenemiesplummetedintotheswirlingmorass,Bhatori’srobesbillowingasherarmsflailedattheair.Sister,Asenathcalled,pressingagainsthercage.Don’t…‘…betrayme!’Shewasstartledby thesoundofherownvoice.Her twinhadreleasedher.‘We agreed to bow out together, did we not?’ Mercy said playfully as shestartedclimbingagain.‘Besides,Iwasneveryourcaptor,sister.Thatwasalwaysyou!’

‘Don’tdoit,brother,’Minawarnedagain,buttherewasnohopeinhervoice.Jonahtriedtoheedhissister–triedtolowerhisgunanddenyhisfury.Hetriedbecausehelovedher,evenifshewasonlyanapparition,butmostofallhetriedbecauseshewasright.Thedegeneratekinghe’dkilledontheswampworldhadbeenadryrunforthismoment.Hisnemesiswantedtodie.AndIneedtokillhim!‘IsyournamereallyOlberVedas?’heasked,stallinghisanger.+Sometimes,+thecrystal-boundaddictreplied,+butmoreoftenitismerelyacontrivanceIfavour.OverthemillenniaIhavebeenmanylostsoulsfoundandfatedtoseektheTruth.OccasionallyIhaveevenbeenyou,JonahTythe!+Therewas a mirthless laugh. +You and I have woven some strange and terribleparadoxes.+Anotherlaugh.+Butnotthistime!OnthisoccasionIwasdeliveredtomy calling amere nineteen years ago, and have been searching for over athousand.+‘Thatmakesnosense,’Jonahsaid,yearningtoendthebastard.+Not tous…notyet,butoneday itmay…+Despite everything, the addict’spassionwasstillthere,alongwithhisarrogance–hishunger.+Itisaquestionofattaining sufficient perspective. With the right tools and techniques we willbecomethearchitectsofourowndestiny.+‘Youstillbelievethat.’Itwasn’taquestion.+Everythingelsemaychange,butneverthat,myfriend.+‘Itoldyou–we’renotfriends.’Jonah’sragewasuncoilingagain,drawnoutbyhisloathing.+Yethereyoustandoncemore,MirrorWalker–myconstantjudgeandfuriousexecutioner! By book and by bad blood you always track me down when Iflounder,trappedinmyownfailures,buttoowilfultoendmyself.+Therewasadesiccated psychic sigh. +I confess this one is particularly disagreeable.InsinuatingmyselfintotheLastCandle’stimelinewasonerous,butIhadgreathopesforthisworldanditseldritchengine.+Hisvoiceadoptedalecturingtone.+Thereistremendouspowerunderthespires,butithasproventoovolatileandcapricious for precision crafting. I should have anticipated that. After all, theaeldaribuilttheentireRingasasewageplantforthespiritualeffluviumoftheirwebway.+‘Whyme?’Jonahdemanded,fightingdownhisrage.‘Whythedamnbook?’+Becausethatisthetelling!Itishowwelearntoforgeourreality.+‘We?’+Ithasalwaysbeenwe,myfriend,myfoe–youandI,andthosepreciousfew

soulswhopossessthewittolistenandlearninturn.+‘Learnwhat?’+TheTruthasitseesus.Nothingis–+‘Burn,’theMirrorWalkerjudged,andfired,ashealwaysdid.

Withashatterofbreakingglassthetwinsburstintothetower’sbeaconchamber.Mercydropped themintoacrouchasshescanned the large,seven-sidedroomforenemies,stubbornlyignoringtheirobjectiveuntilshewascertaintheywerealone.‘This is your relic?’ she snarled, finally relenting. ‘This iswhatwe’ve comefor?’ Astonishment vied with contempt in her voice, perhaps evendisappointment.ThePerihelionLightsatonaplinthat thechamber’scentre,burningbrightly,butnobrighterthananyotherlightofitskind.Itwasaplainwhitecandle.

Time stretched itself thin as Jonah’s bullet soared towards itsmark, its casingrotating languidly with its passage. The crystal spindle cracked gently as theshell pierced it – then shattered in a sudden convulsion. A heartbeat later thebullet punched between the eye sockets of the creature within. The witheredformdidn’teventwitchasitsheaddisappearedinanindigoburstthattoreopentheworld.+Only the truth cuts deep enough,+ the husk’s shade whispered into itsexecutioner’sear.+Somedaywewillbreakthechainsthatbindusandriseabovethemaelstrom,myfriend,butnot…this…day…+Thentheaddicteternalfadedintodream,todreamagain.

‘You’veledusintoafarce,sister!’Mercyrailed,glaringatthecandle.Thebeaconchamberwasshiveringaroundthem,sheddingplasteras itswallscracked.Itseemedthetornadohadlostitsfearofthelight,forithadsweptintoengulfthetowershortlyaftertheirentry.‘Westandon thepointofadivineneedle,’Asenathsaidserenely, ‘blessed tothreadtheeyeoftheinfernalstorm.’‘You’respoutingnonsense!’‘Whatdoyousee,sister?’Asenathaskedasthewindowsshattered.‘Alie!’Mercyspat.‘Ajokeplayeduponaworldoffools!’Firegushedthroughthewindowsandcrawledalongthewalls.‘Iseethesacredlight,’Asenathsaid,holdingtheirgazeonthecandle.Onlythe

Celestians were permitted to look upon the beacon’s naked flame, but it waspreciselyasshehadalwaysimaginedit–pureinitshumility.Honest.‘Yourwitsareaddled,sister!’Mercymocked.‘Ineednowitstorecognisethetruth.’Asenathwalkedthemtowardstherelic,hertwin’sdarkformsloughingawaywitheverystepshetook.‘Tellme,sister,howcanthiscandlecastitslightacrosstheRing?Howcanitbeseenfromtheocean?’‘I…’Mercytrailedoff,ataloss.‘Itcannot,’Asenathansweredforher. ‘But it isnot thecandle’s light thatweseefromafar,sister,butourown.Faith.’‘Faithistheworstofalllies!’Theirskinwasblisteringnow.‘And yet you saw its light too,’ Asenath said gently. ‘I offer you a choice,sister–kneelwithmeandpray,orIshallstandwithyouandburn.’‘We’llburneitherway!’‘Willwe?’Thetowerlurchedbeneaththem.AsitfellMercymadeherchoice.

Jonahcouldstillseethemirror-blessedbullet,glowingsilverinthevoidithadrippedopen.Hewatchedwithunforgivingclarityasitdrilledthroughagulfofspace and time, soaring towards the place that seeded it. Along the way itcollided intangiblywithanothershell, their trajectoriesperfectlymirrored.Thetwobulletspassedthrougheachotherinaflashoftornprobabilities.‘I’msorry,Mina,’Jonahsays,tryingtomove,butknowinghecannot.Hisgazeislockedonhisbulletasitsoppositespeedstowardshimfromtheimmaterium.Nothing is chance,he feeds the book, formuch as he loathes to admit it, hecannotdenyit.Throughhisbulletheseeshimselfstandinginthedarknessofthenight-boundshrineonSarastus,hispistolraisedandsmoking,hisfacepalewithfear,butstillfreeofthecurseabouttostrikehim.Itseemssolongago,yetitisnothingbesidethenumberlesstimesthisdoomhasplayedoutandwillplayoutagain.‘Run!’heshoutstohisyoungerself,knowingitishopeless,forwhatisabouttocomehasalreadypassed.Everythingisalie,Jonahaffirms,offeringtheonlytruthhefeelsinhisheart.The twin bullets strike their respective targets in perfect synchronicity. OnecurseshimintheTornShrine,whiletheotherkillshimattheShadowOrrery’score.Neitherchangesanythingthatmatters.Thecirclecloses,thenspinsanew.

Steelyourself,traveller,fortheroadyou’vechosenwon’tbeeasy.You’llfindnojoy and precious little glory along the way, let alone the hope of a bettertomorrowatjourney’send.Andifyoucraveimmaculateanswersyou’dbestturnbacknow…

InvisibleReflections

‘Irememberthedeathofmycradleworldasifithappenedonlyyesterday,forIhavewatcheditburnmanytimesoverthecenturiesthatfollowed,itsagony echoed rapturously through the Sea of Souls. In that perpetual,pitilessdeathIwasrebornamongtheAdeptusAstartes,inspiritifnotyetinbody.’

–AthanaziusCalvinoChiefLibrarianIlluminant,AngelsResplendent

Theboywatchedthecathedral’stowerfall.Itdidnotsunderortopple,butsankverticallyintothesmokechurningaboutit,descendingalmostgracefully.Asitfellitstipcontinuedtocastbrilliantwhitelightthroughtheinfernaltwisterthathadengulfedit.Thewatcher’seyesremainedfixedonthatradianceashisinnergazesoughttherivensoul–orsouls–within.Withthatsharper,deepervisionhehadseenher–orthem–breachthetowertopray–orprey?–uponthelight.Indeedhehadbeenfollowingtheirjourneyformanyhours,willingthemonasthey ascended the warp-wracked Perihelion, but themoment they entered thetowerhehadlostthem.‘Thank you, Sister Asenath,’ he said solemnly as the tower’s pinnacledisappearedintothesmoke.‘Iwon’tprovefalse.’

Theradiancelingeredthroughthehazeforseveralseconds,unwaveringuntilitwasabruptlygone.‘Youwon’tprove false either,’ he added,quite certain the lightwouldnotbeextinguished,evenifitshoneunseen–boththelightsinthattower.Somedayhewouldseekthemout.Therewereotherlightsshiningthroughthefirestorm–sixincandescentpillarsencircling themountain,withaseventhathisback.TheKoronatusSpireshadawoken, just as the Qareen had promised they would. His porcelain-facedcompanionhadlefthimlastnight,shortlyafterthey’dcrossedovertoVigilans.Underher tutelage theboyhadusedhis talent toslippast thearmouredgiantsguarding the bridge, then hidden until the firestorm came. Without words –alwayswithoutwords – she had told him hemust stand vigil over the storm.Watchandlearn…‘You should not be here,’ a voice said behind him, deep but melodious. Herecognisedit,thoughhehadneverhearditbefore,atleastnotwithhisears.‘You’rewrong,’theboyansweredwithoutturning.Hewassittingcross-leggedon a spur of rock, a few hundred paces along from the bridge. The crossingheavedwithpeoplenow,allfleeingtheconflagration.‘I’mmeanttobehere.’‘Isthatso?’thestrangerasked,notunkindly.‘Yes.’‘Whatisyourname,boy?’‘Athanazius.’‘JustAthanazius?’‘Thecronecalledme“theArtisan”.’‘Afinetitle,’thestrangerjudged.‘Whereisthiscroneofyours?’FromhistoneitwasobvioushethoughtAthanaziuswastalkingabouthismother.‘Gone.’Athanaziusfrowned,suddenlyunsure.‘Ithink.’‘Itgrievesmetohearthat.’Apause.‘Thereisgreatdangerhere,AthanaziustheArtisan.Many of the abominations spawned by the storm can fly. Some havecrossed over to Vigilans and my battle-brothers are too few to patrol theperimeter,buttherearesafehavenshigherup.Iwillshowyou.’‘I can’t go,’ Athanazius said. The spires’ glow was intensifying, though heknewthestrangerwasblindtotheirradiance.Onlythosewiththegiftcouldseethespiritualenergyinfusingthem.‘Ihavetoseeit.’‘Seewhat?’‘Thecleaning,’Athanaziusreplied,graspingattheideatheQareenhadtriedtoconveybeforeshedeparted.‘The…cleansing.’

‘Youmeanthestorm?’‘No,that’swhat’sbad.’Butthatwasn’tquiteright.‘Foul,’hecorrectedhimself.‘You didn’t arrive on Vigilans with the others, did you, Athanazius,’ thestrangersaid,steppingcloser.‘Youwerenotfleeingthestorm.’Athanazius could tell theyweren’t reallyquestions, buthe answered anyway.‘No.Icamebefore.’‘Andwhatdoyouseekhere?’‘I’vealreadytoldyou.Icametoseetheend,CaptainCzervantes.’Heheardthehumofapoweredbladeactivating,thenfeltitspricklingvibrationatthebackofhisneck,butdidn’tflinch.Hehadn’tseenhisowndeathyet,buthefeltcertainitwouldn’tbeatthiswarrior’shands.‘Howdoyouknowmyname,boy?’‘Itwasinyourvoice,captain.’‘Areyouawitch,AthanaziustheArtisan?’‘Yes…butIwon’tprovefalse.Iservethelight.’‘Whatlight?’thewarriordemanded.‘Theonewejustlost,’Athanaziussaidsadly,hisgazefixedonthepointwherethetowerhadvanished.Hecouldfeel theWatchspire’senergypulsingthroughtherockbeneathhim,gatheringstrength.Itwouldn’tbelongnow.

‘ThePerihelionhasfallen,’MotherSolanissaidhollowly,staringattheinfernowhirlingwherethemountain’ssummithadbeen.‘TheFirstLightisgone.’‘Don’tlookback,’Santinourged,gentlypushingthehospitalleraftertheothers.‘Justkeepmoving.’They’dabandonedtheir truckabouthalfwayacross thebridge,whenthemobofrefugeeshadgrowntoodensetodrivethrough.Santino’sinstinctshadrailedat the crowd’s slow pace, his eyes constantly scanning the sky and the roadbehindthemfordanger,buthe’dseennothingandtheywerefinallyapproachingthefarside.‘Mightjustmakeit,’hemuttered.Standingheadandshouldersovereveryoneelse, he saw a wall of armoured vehicles up ahead, funnelling people into anarrowpathalongthecentre.Theboxy,flat-toppedtanksboresearchlightsthatcutthroughthegloomanddazzledthecrowd,butlikeallBreachers,Santinohadretinal implants that dimmed the glare.He saw storm boltersmounted on theRhinos’hulls,alongwithtubularmissilearrays.Justoneofthoseweaponscouldwreak havoc on the crowd, yet he welcomed the sight. Those guns meantVigilansstoodachanceagainstthethingsthatwouldbecomingforthemall.

Astheirpartynearedthevehicleshe thrusthispistol intohispackandraisedhishands.Theguardiansofthisplacewouldrecognisehimasafighterandhedidn’twantanymisunderstandings.‘Willwebesafehere,CaptainSantino?’SisterClaudiaaskedbesidehim.‘Maybe,’ he answered, unwilling to lie.Despite the tensionhegrinned at theyounginitiate’sassumptionofhisrank.CaptainSantino!Ithadaringtoit.‘SpireVigilans is under the aegis of theAdeptusAstartes,’ SisterMadeleineupbraidedtheminherreedycroak.‘Ofcourseweshallbesafe.’‘I heard they visited the Candleworld long ago,’ Claudia said, her blue eyesbrightwithcuriosity.‘Whydoyouthinktheycameback?’‘Itwasnotsoverylongago,child,’Madeleinechided,‘anditisnotyourplacetospeculateonsuchmatters.Ceaseyourprattling!’Instinctively Santino took the lead when they entered the path between thevehicles,thoughhewouldn’tbeabletodomuchifthingsturnedsour.Hiseyesnarrowed as he appraised the armoured giantswaiting beyond the barrier. Hecountedsix–fivespreadoutinacrescentformationwiththeirweaponslevelledatthepassage,whilethelaststoodattheircentretomeeteachfugitiveinturn.The sentries’ ornate power armour shimmered in the storm light, the sheennever settling on a single hue, as though itwere infusedwith a rainbow.Onemomenttheirplateswereaburntorange,thenextarichpurple,thenadeepblue,each suit rippling synchronously with the others so the squad remainedconsistent. Tabards of spun gold hung from their waists, matching the gildedcrestsoftheirbeakedhelmets.The warrior at the centre was different, his armour restricted to shades ofsilverywhite,his faceplate flatand ruby-lensed.Asplayed redhanddecoratedhisrightshoulderpad,starkagainstthepallorofitscanvas.Unliketheothers,hewasarmedwithachainsword,butitsbladewasquiescent,itswielder’sattentionfocusedonthescanningdeviceinhisotherhand.Hepasseditovereachrefugeeas they halted before him, assessing them for severalmoments beforewavingthemon.Apothecary, Santino guessed. They’re taking no chances. But he knew thatwasn’t quite true. If Vigilans’ defenders were really playing things safe theywouldn’t let anybody through. Hellfire, any Breacher regiment would haveturned thesepeopleawaywithoutasecond thought.Civilianswereworse thanuselessinacrisis.Who are you? he wondered, studying the warriors’ shoulder pads. VoidBreachers were instructed in the basics of Space Marine lore, including the

heraldryandcoloursofthemostprominentChapters,butthesewereunfamiliar.Their left pauldrons bore the symbol of awinged figure crowned by stars, itsarmsoutstretched,whilethoseontherightwerepaintedwithsomethinguniquetoeachindividual.ThoughSantinodidn’thaveaneyeforfancypictureshewastaken aback by their detail.Whywould SpaceMarineswaste time over suchthings?TheApothecary’sscanningdevicebleepedasitpassedoveraportlywomanintattered finery. He jabbed his chainsword towards a group of people huddledovertohisright.Thefailures,Santinoguessed.‘Over there, citizen.’ The voice reverberated through the Space Marine’sspeakergrillewithaharmonictwang.‘Furtherevaluationisrequired.’Babbling,thewomanfelltoherkneesandclutchedatthegiant’slegs.ClaudiagaspedastheApothecaryswungthehiltofhisswordacrossthewoman’sheadwithstunningforce.‘Hadtobedone,littleSister,’Santinosaid.Hewantedtoputacomfortinghandonthegirl’sshoulder,butguessedthatwouldcrossaline.Shewasonlyakid,butshewasstillSororitas.‘He is correct,’ Solanis agreed as one of the guards dragged the unconsciouswoman over to the quarantined group. ‘They cannot risk admitting thepestilence.’‘Butwhatif…ifwe…’Claudiatrailedoff.‘Ifyouareinfected,thengivethanksforacleandeath,’Solanissaidsternly.I’mwith you there,Santino thought, remembering how he’d frozen upwhenthey’dfirst run into theferalcorpses.Thatwasnowayforanybody togo.Hefeltfinerightnow,buttherewasagoodchancethesicknesswasinhim–andprobablyinSolanistoo.They’dbothgotupcloseandpersonalwiththeplaguersduringtheirfight.‘Truth is the firstandonly lasting light,’Solanisdeclaredas theyapproachedthewaitingApothecary.‘TrustintheGod-Emperor’sjudgement.’Or in plain old Lady Luck,Santino corrected,meeting the giant’s impassivegaze.She’sgotmethisfar.Maybeshe’llcarrymealittlewayfurther.Intheend,nomatterwhatamandidordreamtofdoing,itallcamedowntochance.

VanzyntReisslookedupasthegroundshookbeneathhim.HewasaloneintheBreachers’ ward, kneeling where the plague herald had left him when itabandonedthehospital.Whywashestillalive?Whyhaditsparedhim?Ithad

takenalltheothers,evenanoutsiderlikeLemarché,yetdiscardedthecompany’slastofficer.Why?‘Endure,’theheraldhaddecreed,placingahandonhishead.‘Bearwitness.’‘Towhat?’Reissmuttered.Was this some final mockery? Something drawn from the memories of theherald’smortal host?Reiss had respectedTolandFeizt, almost revered him infact,butthebreachsergeanthadalwaysseenthetruthofhim–knownhewasn’tcutouttolead.Wasn’tevenfittobeaBreacher…Withasobofdespair,Reissrosetohisfeet.Redlightwasseepingthroughthewind-whippedwindows,bathingthewardinabloodyhaze.Hisheadfeltheavy,asifheweredrunkonbadwine.Swayingabout,hetriedtodecidewhattodonext.‘What–’A fly flitted past his face and his hand lashed out reflexively. He grinned,surprised by his own speed as he felt it crawling about in his closed fist.Giggling,heraisedhishand tohisearandshook it,delighting inhiscaptive’sbuzzing protests. He licked his lips as a delicious – righteous! – thoughtoccurredtohim.SuddenlyReissknewexactlywhathewantedtodo.

The Qareen stood atop Vigilans’ peak, her porcelain face turned towards thePerihelion. The firestorm had bloated to engulf themountain’s entire summit,blackening its flanks and boiling the surrounding water to steam. Far below,infinitely deeper than any physical bedrock, the Qareen felt the planet’s soulroaringinsympathy,rivenandsetablaze.Somethingterriblehaddesecratedthatnuminouscruciblewithwrath,wreakingfargreaterhavocthanthedeceiverwhohad inveigledhimself into theLastCandle’s history.Over themillenniamanydark dreamers had been drawn there in search of revelation and the power toembodyit,butnonehadinflictedsuchprofounddamage.Nonehadgivenformto the inchoatenightmarecagedat itsheart.More than form–perhapsevenameasureofsentience.Thedesecrator’sfuryhadspawnedascorchedgod.The ancient guardianglimpsed abyssal fractures radiating from thewound intheworldlikeviralfire.Theyspreadswiftlyacrosstheplanet,spawningspasmsacrossland,seaandsky,theconvulsionsbecomingfiercerthefurthertheywerefromtheepicentre,wherethespiresheldthestorm’seyeatbay.Itragedagainsttheirinvisibleyoke,yearningtobreakfreeandbringthemdown,buttheaeonshadn’tsappedtheirstrength,forthespiritstonesembeddedintheirwraithbone

coreswereundying.Many noble souls had sacrificed themselves to ward this place and keep itshorrorscaged,amongthemtheQareenherself.Heressencewascrystallised inthegem that laybehindhermask,driving the immortal constructofherbody.Once therehadbeensixothers likeher,eachassigned toaspire,but timeandattrition had taken their toll. One by one her fellow Qareen had fallen toviolence,madnessormischance,untilonlysheremained.Itwas time.Thearcaneenergygathering in the spireshad risen to its zenith,transforming the Ring into a white-hot crown of thorns upon the world. TheQareenheardthestonessinging–adirechorallamentforthedoomtheyshared.Withanunspokencommand,thelastguardianunleashedthem.Raysofpristinelightblazedfromthesevenpinnaclesinconcordtopiercethetornado fromall sides. It roaredat their touch,vomiting fire as itwrithedandthrashedabout toavoid them,but thebeamsfollowedit relentlessly, theircoldcontemptextinguishingitsheatmomentbymomentandcauterisingthetaintedrockbeneath.TheQareenwatcheddispassionatelyasthecontainmentritualwasenacted.Hersoulwas too old and abstracted from reality to feel anything except approval.Soon shewould followher lost sisters intooblivion, but shehadprepared thewayforotherstotakeupthevigil.Thisworldwouldburn,buttheRingwouldendure.Andwhilethespiresstoodthenightmarebelowwouldremainburied.

Thebeamsoflightblinkedoutandtheotherworldlychorusfaded.Thefirestormwasgone, andwith it themountain, sheared away at itsmidriff into a slabofsmokingobsidian.Nothingcouldhavesurvivedthecarnage.‘It’sover,’Athanaziussaidwearily.‘Whatsorceryisthis?’thewarriorloomingbehindhimbreathed.Mostothersofhiskindwouldhavespokenwithloathing,buthisvoicewasfilledwithwonder.‘An end and a beginning,’Athanazius replied. ‘Captain…you’re looking forsomething.That’swhyyou’rehere.WhyyoucamebacktotheCandleworld.’‘Thentellme,AthanaziustheArtisan,whatisitIseek?’‘Ananswer,’theboysaid,frowningashetriedtomakesenseoftheintuition.‘Aperfectone.’‘Andyouhaveit?’‘No…butIknowit’shere…somewhere.’Finallyheturnedtofacethestranger,whowasnostrangeratall,forAthanaziushadknowntheresplendentgiant’svisageasfarbackashecouldremember.This

moment – this meeting – had always been inevitable, and through it all thesplendourandsufferingthatmustfollow.Withequalinevitabilitytheboy,whohadneverbeenachild,foundexactlytherightwordstosaynext.‘Weshallriseonburningwings,captain,’hevowed.Andsealedtheirfate.

Withascreechof torturedgears, theShadowOrreryvomited forth thewomancaught in its bowels like an indigestible morsel. She spun from its whirlingprisms and crashed into awall of solid glass. The impact hurled her onto herback,leavingherstunneddespiteherarmour.‘Temperanceismytruestshield,’shecroaked,hangingontoconsciousnessbyathread.‘Humilitymymostfaithfularmour.’Sherepeatedtheholyverseuntilitsmeaningsankin,alongwiththememoryofherorder,thenfinally,afterwhatfeltlikehours,herownname.‘Iamalive,’XhinoaAokiharawhispered,astonishedbytheimprobabilityofit.‘ByHisgrace,’sheaddedloyally.She layunderabronzedomeinacircularchamberwalledbyglass.Crimsonradiancestreamedthroughthebarrier,asthoughDamnationwasascendant.Andperhapsitwas…nowandforevermore.With agroan, theCelestianSuperiorheavedherself toherknees, then toherfeet.Herbackpackwasgone,andwithitthepowerfeedingherarmour,leavingthesuitsluggishandheavy.Onceitsreservesweredepleted,itwouldbeworsethanuseless.Herstormbolterwasalsogone,lostsomewhereinthemaelstromthathadswallowedher,butshewasundaunted.‘TheGod-Emperorhassavedmeforapurpose,’sheproclaimed.Anythingelsewasinconceivable.Turning,Xhinoasawamassive,multi-facetedlumoglobesetintothecentreofthechamber,itssurfaceetchedwithsacredpsalms.Realisationstruckherslowly,likealingeringblow.ShewasinthebeacontowerofanAbsolutionbarque,highabove the vessel’s deck. How was that possible? No… That was a foolishquestionunderthecircumstances.Allthatmatteredwaswhy?Therewasametalhatchontheothersideofthechamber,butthatcouldwaitfornow.Forcingthetorpidjointsofherarmourintolife,Xhinoacrossedtothenearestwall and gazed upon the hellish vista beyond. The darkwedge of thebarqueextendedbelowher,itsgargoyle-encrusteddeckshroudedinsteamasitchurnedthroughamorassofmoltenlava.Itwasimpossible,yettheship’shulldidn’tmelt,noritswoodentierscatchfire.‘Faithwardstheblessed,’theCelestianmurmuredreverently.‘ForHisLight…’

She fell silent as recognition finally sank in. It wasn’t faith that warded thisvessel from the infernal, but fellowship. Closing her eyes she hammered agauntletagainsttheglass,hardenoughtocrackit.ShewasonboardtheBloodofDemeter.

So you’ve followed this strange trail to its end and found me, traveller.Doubtlessyou’llwantanswersnow,thoughIwarnedyoutheyweren’ttobehad,at leastnot inanyformthat’s firmorfinal.Butyou’vebeen tenacious inyourpursuitsoperhapsIoweyouafewfinalreflectionsbeforewepartcompany.Firstly,knowthatthisisatruestory–atleastastrueasanyotherlieoutthere.In the framework of transient assumptionswe call reality, everything is just amatter of conviction, nomatterwhether you root it in faithor reason.Believesomething fervently enough and you’ll make it your truth. Proclaim itpassionately enough to sway others and you’ll make it theirs too. Achieve acriticalmassofmindsandtruthbecomesTheTruth.That’swhen it’llwakeupandstarttoshapetheworldinitsownimage.Andthat’swhenyou’lllearnyouwere never the dreamer at all, butmerely another dream in themaelstrom ofpossibilities.That’sthenatureofChaos.Sothereyouhaveananswerofsorts.Theharderwefighttomakesenseoftheworld, themorefiercelyit’ll fightbacktomakenonsenseofus.Annihilateus.The immaterium is the firmament of all things and it’s too volatile forabsolutes – loathes them from its primordial guts, in fact. And remember,nothing inflames it like unfettered emotions. It doesn’tmatter whether you’refiredupbyknowledge,justice,redemption,pleasureorplainoldsurvival,Chaos

willfindawaytotwistandturnyourpassionintosomethingmonstrous.Doyouseeitnow?Thefateofthoseyou’vetravelledalongside?OlberVedas,whosoughttomasterfate,butbecameitsslave.JonahTythe,theavengerwhoturneddestroyerwhenhis last hopes fell to dust.AsenathHyades, a saint andsinnerforgedinguiltandbeguiledbyfaith.AndTolandFeizt,thebrokengiantwho endured until it was too late to stop. All the strongest souls becomepossessedbytheirdreams,whiletheweakerorsimplysaneronesareconsumedalongtheway.Soitgoes.Secondly, there’s no real end to this story. It’s not a linear road you’ve beenfollowing, but a skein of possibilities that could unravel forever, each threadfrayingintoamyriadmoreasyoudrawitfromthetangle.I found this thread in the shadow of theDeadrock. If you’ve everwanderedamong the ruins of the Koronatus Ring you’ll likely know the place, for itsreputation is dark even by the measure of that horror-haunted archipelago. Atoweringslabofobsidian,itstandsat thecentreofthescorchedmesathatwasoncethePerihelion.After themountainwasshearedflat theDeadrockwastheonlylandmarkleftstanding.Inevitablythisgrimmonolithhasbecomeabeaconforthelostandthedamnedwhohaunt thearchipelago.Thousandssurvived thecataclysm,praying to theirGod-Emperorastheyhuddledamongthespires,butaftertheLastCandle’sfallmanyturnedtotheIncarnatesthatsurvivedalongsidethem.Twooftheavatarsescaped the purge and there’s a third buried under the Sacrasta, but that onewon’tsurfaceforcenturiesyet,solet’stalkaboutthetwostillinplay.The diseased thralls of the Penitent Knight revere the Deadrock as a primalaltar,while theSilentChoir of theMuteWitness believe it is theLastKey, ametaphysical lynchpin thatwill someday turn theworld inside out.Both cultswalkthePathofFlies,thoughtheirIncarnatesembodydifferentaspectsofdecayand viewith one another for supremacy. Soon the ScorchedGod spawned byJonahTythe’swrathwill inspire its ownworshippers,whose savagerywill settheRingablazeagain,butintimeeventheirstainwillbesurpassed,forthereareworseblightstocome.Call itwhat you like –Ythantyss,Vytarn, theCandleworld orRedemption –thisplanetwillalwaysbeplaguedbyfalseprophets–human,infernalorxenos.Asfor theAngelsResplendentwhostandwatchover theRingandwagewaragainstthecults…Well,whocansaywhattheytrulybelieve,whentheydon’tknowitthemselves.Isuspecttheirsisanothertalewaitingtobefound,butI’ve

onlyglimpsedfragmentsofitthusfar.Inanyevent,thedamnedarejustifiedintheirdevotiontotheDeadrock,foritisallthatremainsofthePerihelioncathedralandtheentwinedsoulsthatsoughtitsholy light. The Sisters Discordant are lockedwithin themonolith like insectsfrozen in amber, though I can’t tellwhether it’s their coffin or just their cage.Either way, their essence lingers, potent with old strife and the promise ofconflicts to come. There’s no better place to seek sombre tales, but theundertakingisn’twithoutperil.ThoughthecultistswhogatherunderthemonolithareblindtosubtlenomadslikeyouandI,theIncarnatesaremorerarefiedbeings,capableofsensing–andslipping–betwixtworlds.Bewaretheydon’tcatchsightofyouandfollowyoubacktothebubbleofsanityyouhailfrom,traveller.And yet the Incarnates aren’t even the most dangerous predators in thisephemeralcoil.Itsthreadscrawlwithoblique,paradoxicalaberrationsconceivedtodevourinterlopers,soI’dadviseyounottolingerononestrandtoolonglestthey scent you. Be vigilant, trust nothing to chance and always keepmoving.You’reintoodeeptoturnbacknow.ItishightimeImovedonmyself.I’mbeingstalkedbysomethingworsethananydaemon– an outsider in this realm, like us, but far older andwiser to itsways.Idon’tknowwhethermypursuercovetsitssecretsorconsidershimselfitsstaunchest guardian, but he’ll tolerate no rivals, let alone tellers of tales. Iglimpsedtheone-eyedancientinaparableoffireandicesomeyearsbackandhe’sbeentrackingmeeversince.I’mstillafewtwistsandturnsaheadofhim,but he gets closer with every story I tell. Maybe you and I will meet againsomeday,butifwedon’t…well…you’llknowthebastardgotme.Whatwas that, traveller?ThemeaningofJonah’sbook?Haven’tyouworkedthatpartoutyet?Thebookisyours.Italwayswas.Nowfinishit.

ATornProphetLondon,August2018

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

PeterFehervariistheauthorofthenovelsTheCultoftheSpiralDawnandFireCaste,featuringtheAstraMilitarumandT’auEmpire,thenovella‘FireandIce’fromtheShas’oanthology,andthet’au-themedshortstories‘OutCaste’and‘ASanctuaryofWyrms’,thelatterofwhichappearedintheanthologyDeathwatch:XenosHunters.HealsowrotetheSpaceMarinesshortstory‘Nightfall’,whichwasintheHeroesoftheSpaceMarinesanthology,and‘TheCrownofThorns’.HelivesandworksinLondon.

AnextractfromBlackstoneFortress.

Avoidshipcutthroughthenight,paintingartless,lazyspiralsthroughatideofshatteredhulls– loopingandfalling, reeling likeadrunk,spillingfirefromitsprow. Again and again it battled to find a route. Breaking against the swell.Dancingthroughthewrecks.Refusingtodie.Draik watched the display for several minutes, leaning casually against atwistedgirderandtakinglong,languiddragsfromhislho-holder.Suchhope,hethought.Heknewtheship’soddsbutwilledheronallthesame.Shewasaroguetraderbyhercolours,skimmingthroughtheskeletonframesofdeadleviathans,burningafuriouspathtowardshim.Draikclimbedthroughanaccesshatchandupontoagantry.HecouldseemostofPrecipicefromhere. It lookedlike justanotheruglywreck,drifting throughthewanderingstars,butthiscollisionofmooringsparsandwalkwayshaddrawna feeding frenzy. Ships from every corner of the galaxy were huddled at itsanchoragepoints,scorchedandhungry,theircaptainsallbusychasingthesamealluring nightmare. Looming over the ships was the Dromeplatz, a mangled,bloodyeyeglaringdownatitscongregationoflandersandskiffs.Lightsflaredoverheadastheroguetrader’sshipclippedadriftingfuselage.Itmaintained its trajectory for a few more seconds, then dissolved into athunderhead, embers and smoke raining down on Precipice, howling over thevoidscreenlikeaghost.‘We are a voracious breed, Isola,’ he said, shaking his head in wonder. Hisattachéwasononeofthelowergantries,draggingherselfuptowardshimwithastringofdarklymutteredoaths.Hereacheddown,offeringherhishand.Furtherdown,beneathIsola’sscramblinglimbs,wasthemainroutethroughtheSkeins – a jury-rigged transitway,welded together from the superstructures offlayed ships. The road was crowded with debris, mechanical and human, allrobed in darkness. The glow-globes and lumen-strips had been smashed longago,sotheonlylightcamefromthedistantglareoftheDromeplatz,aceaseless

sunset,ripplingonthehorizonandturningtheSkeinsintoacarminehell.Theairbeneaththevoidscreenwastormentedbyenginefumesandrecyclingturbines.Itstungtheeyes,burnedthethroatanddrownedeverythinginathick,toxicfug.Precipice was a forest of salvaged spires, smouldering and ephemeral, like ahalf-rememberedfire.‘Thankyou,’ said Isola, climbingupbesidehimon thegantry.Once shehadcaught her breath she shookher head and said, ‘Captain,we’ve been here forseven hours. Is this the best use of your remaining time?We’re scheduled toleavewithintheweek–unlessthereissomeconcreteprogress.’Shestudiedtheswelteringscenebelow.Isolahadabroad,boyishface,wide-seteyesandneat,slicked-backblackhair.Sheworeameticulouslypresseduniformandahabitualfrownofdisapproval.Draikremovedoneofhisgauntletsandmassagedhislong,leansnarlofaface.He lookedout through thevoidscreen,staringat thephantasmresponsible forall this avarice. Beyond Precipice’s jumble of crooked walkways and brume-shroudedships,therevolutionsoftheheavenshadceased,consumedbyawallof nothing. Therewere fewwho could hold its gaze. TheUnfathomable. TheAbyss.TheDeep.TheBlackstoneFortress.Draik stared into the monolithic dark, trying to discern something solid –something real. His eyes slipped across angles and shadows, unable to findpurchase,glimpsinghintsandsuggestionsbutnothinghecouldrecallformorethananinstant.TheBlackstoneglaredback,malignandunknowable.Mockinghim.Thestarfortwasthesizeofasmallplanet,withPrecipiceasitsramshacklemoon, but even those brave souls clinging to Precipicewould never claim tounderstand the Blackstone. Countless rumours had crossed the WesternReaches – enticing tales of the treasures to be found in its depths. But thosereckless few who survived its mantle of debris clouds soon found that themysteryonlydeepened.TheBlackstoneguardeditssecretswell.Draikputhisgauntletbackonandslappedthegirder,sendingupcloudsofrust.‘Gaulonsaidtolookhere,intheSkeins.’‘Gaulonwasadrunkandaliar.’‘Butnotafool.HeknewI’dcomelookingforhimifhelied.’Isola shook her head. There was a small cogitator slung under her arm – acopperboxcoveredinrowsofteeth-likekeys.Sherattledherfingersoverthemandthedevicehummedintolife.Needlestrembledoverluminousdials,valveshummedandmechanismschittered.Shestaredat thedisplays.‘We’vecoveredthewholedistrict,captain.Twice.’

Draikwavedhislho-holderattheSkeins,gildingthedarkwithembers.‘Peopledon’tcomeheretobefound.’‘Captain,we’vebeenonPrecipiceforthreemonths.Wehavefarexceededourremit.’Isola’sexpressionsoftenedalittle.‘Iadmit,itseemedasthoughyouweregettingclosetosomething,butwhatdoyoureallyhavetoshow?We’vepushedtoomuchintothisventure.Hislordship’sinstructionswereclear–returntotheCurensis Cluster and finish our negotiations with the Tann-Karr. There’s afortune waiting for us in that system. It’s time to go. We can forget aboutPrecipice.TheBlackstoneFortressisnottheonlyprizeinthegalaxy.’Draik said nothing, staring out through the operculum again, his human eyereflectingthevoidscreen’swarpsandeddieswhilehisaugmeticeyeflashedred,catchingtheglowoftheDromeplatz.Isola looked exasperated. ‘Even if you could solve this mystery, there’s noguaranteeitwouldchangeyoursituation.’DraiklookedatIsolaashetookanotherdragfromhislho-stick.Officially,shewashisattaché,buttheybothunderstoodherrole:shewastheretokeephimontrack,andtoreporttothefamilyifhestrayed.HerloyaltywastoHouseDraikfirst,itserrantsonsecond.Shewasrigid,punctiliousandunswervinglyhonest.Draiklikedher.‘I’montosomething,Isola.’‘Youfoundaname.That’snotthesameasfindingananswer.’‘TheAscurisVault.Allweneedisawayin.’Isolasighedand turnedoff thecogitator. ‘Wehaveourorders,captain. I sentmissivestohislordshipexplainingthatwe’realreadypreparingtoheadbacktotheDraikstar.’Draikgrippedagirderuntilhisknuckleswerewhite.‘We lost five men in that last attempt,’ said Isola. ‘And left empty-handed.Therewasnosignweweregettingclosetothevault.’Hestaredather.‘ThistimeIhavesomething,Isola,Iknowit.’Sheclosedhereyesindespair.‘Howmanytimeshaveyousaidthat?’Draikwas about to replywhen he heard an unexpected sound.He held up ahandforsilence.Raucouslaughterechoedupfromtheshadows.‘Noteveryoneishiding,’saidDraik.He gripped a handrail and slid down it onto a lower gantry, dropping into acrouchandstaringthroughthepipework,drawingtherapierthathungathisbelt.There were men swaggering down the transitway, kicking rubbish and

bellowingwith laughter. Even through the rolling smog,Draik could see howdishevelled and filthy they were. They were shouting and belching as theyapproached,wavingmachetesandpistols.Hegrabbedadanglingcableandsliddowntostreetlevelforabetterview.Along,rangyshapewasscrabblingaheadofthem,limpingandlowtotheground.Somekindofinjuredanimal.Theywerehurlingjunkatit,jeeringandsnortingasittriedtodragitselfaway.‘Captain,’warnedIsolafromuponthegantry,butshewastoolate.Draikhadalreadywalkedouttofacethem.Theganghalted.Their laughterfadedandtheybackedaway,weaponsraised,asDraikstrodetowardsthemthroughthecrimsongloom.‘What’sthis?’growledamanwithamohawk,frowningandswinginghisheadfromsidetoside,likeadogonascent.Despitethegruffnessoftheman’svoice,itwasclearDraikhadunnervedhim.Draik marched through the rubble, imperious and grim, examining the mendown the length of his long, regal nose. He grimaced at their filthy rags, asthough studying a grub that had crawled fromhis breakfast. The lights of theDromeplatzflashedalonghisrapierandglintedinhisaugmeticeye.Draikwasclearlynot from theSkeins.Hewasdressed in a luxuriousmilitarydress coattrimmedwithgoldpiping.Hisstarchedbreecheswereimmaculate,andhiscuffswere embroidered with fine silver thread. But Draik would have cut anaristocratic figureeven in rags.Hehad the faceofan Imperial statue: leonine,flintyandproud,withahard,sword-slashmouthandathickwaxedmoustache.‘CaptainDraik,’hesaidwithastiffbow.Thegangstaredathimforamoment,surprisedbyhisclipped,formalmannerofspeech.Thentheyburstintolaughter.‘It’sGuilliman ’is bloody self,’ snorted themanwith themohawk,marchingacross theroadandsquaringuptoDraik.Hewasmassive;around-shoulderedape,afoottallerthanDraikandclutchingaratchetaslongashisarmthathehadsharpenedintoamace.‘Don’tletthatclickergo,’thebrutesnapped,wavinghisweaponattheanimalthatwasstilltryingtocrawldownthetransitway.Hismenleapttoobey,kickingitintoaburnt-outcargocrate.‘CaptainDraik, you say?’He stepped closer, pressing his oil-splattered chestagainsttheImperialeagleonDraik’scuirass,stainingthegleamingplate.Draiksteppedbackandwipedthecuirassclean.‘Ididn’tcatchyourname.’‘TheEmperor,’grinnedtheman,elicitingaroundofsniggersfromtherestof

thegang.‘Delighted.I’mafterapilot.SomeonewhoknowshowtoreachtheDragon’sTeeth.’‘Dragon’sTeeth?Thereain’tnoDragon’sTeeth.’Themanlookedathislackeysandtheystoppedtormentingtheanimaltogrinbackathim.‘Whichidiottoldyoutheywasreal?Noone’severseen’em.Theyain’tathing.’Theanimalinthecargoholdsnarledandlungedforwards,tryingtobreakfree,clickingandsnortinguntilthegangattackeditwithrenewedviolence,drivingitbackwithaflurryofkicks.‘What have you got there?’ asked Draik, peering through the gloom. Thethermocouplinginhisocularimplantclicked,focusingonthecrate.Theanimalwasthrashingfromsidetosideanditsheatsignaturewashardtodiscern.Itwaslargerthanaman,though;hecouldseethatmuch.Anditlookedtobebipedal,butwithbackwardsjointedlegsandclawsinplaceoffeet.‘Aman-eater,’saidthebrutewiththemohawk.‘Don’tworry.We’llkillit.Justhavingsomefun.It’sahunt.’The other men sniggered and Draik’s distaste grew. They looked like amanifestationof every disreputable sight he hadwitnessedover the last sevenhours.Hishandslippedinvoluntarilytothehandleofhispowersword.‘Captain,’saidIsolabehindhim,sensingtheapproachoftrouble.Draikwasnot in thehabitofdisplayingemotion infrontof the lowerorders,buthewastiredandfrustrated.Hecouldnotentirelykeephisdisdainfromhisvoice.‘Doyourhuntsofteninvolveoutnumbered,wounded,unarmedprey?’Theman’sexpressionhardenedashesawDraik’shand restingon thesword.‘Wehuntwhateverwelike.’Hegrippedhismaceinbothhandsanddrewbackhisshoulders.His facewasamess: scarred,misshapenandcloggedwith filth,buthiseyesglitteredashestudiedthegildedpistolatDraik’sbelt.Draikraisedaneyebrowandliftedhissword,adoptingaloose-limbedengardeposition.Heknewheshouldleavetheselow-livestotheirvileamusement,butIsola’s words were still echoing round his head. It’s time to go. Anger andfrustrationquickenedhispulse.Awolfishsnarlspreadacrosshisface.‘Grax,’saidtheman.‘Putaholein’im.’AmanwithalaspistolbackedawayfromthethrashinganimalandpointedhisgunatDraik.Draik shookhishead, turned lightlyonhisheel and randown the transitwaytowardshim.

Graxfired,lightingupthejunkyardwithalas-blast.Draikdodgedtheshotanditburnedthroughtheair,hittingnothing.Graxwhirledaround,cursing,traininghisgunontheshadows.Draikswungbackintoview,clutchingthesamecablethathehadusedtoreachthe transitway. His rapier flashed cobalt as it slid through Grax’s shoulder,causingthemantodropthepistolandstaggerbackwards,howlinginpainandclutchinghiswound.More shots blazed through the shadows, surrounding Draik in a cloud ofshrapnelasheloopedthroughtheair.Heloosedthecableandsomersaultedovertheir heads, slicing his rapier back and forth and landing in the centre of themob,fillingtheairwithbluecontrails.The men staggered, clutching wounds, spouting blood and crying out inconfusion.Themanwiththemohawkcharged,bellowinganddrawingbackhismace.Draik waited calmly, sword arm raised, his rapier hanging loosely from hisgrip.At the lastminute,he threwafeint.Themanfell for theruse, lunginginonedirectionasDraiksidesteppedtheotherwayandjabbedhisswordinandoutofhisthroat.Themanwhirledaround,preparingtoattackagain,unawareofhiswound.Hemarched towardsDraikand tried to speak,buthiswordsemergedasabloodycough.Hestaggered,confused,tryingtocatchthebloodrushingdownhischest.Draikloweredhisswordandsteppedback,givinganotherstiffbowasthemandroppedheavilytohisknees,gaspingforbreath.Draik sensedmovement to his left and leapt back, dodging another shot.Hetwistedandpounced,roundingonhisattackerwithagracefultwirl,thrustinghisrapierintotheman’schestwithaflashofbluesparks.Therewasanotherhowlofgunfire,butthistimeitwasIsola.ShehadfollowedDraikoutintothecentreofthetransitwayandsilencedanothermanwithashottothehead.Draik strode back towards their leader.Hewas supine, sprawled on his backwithanashenface,surroundedbyblood.Draikputanendtohishuntingdays.Helookedaroundforanyotherattackers.Everyonewaseitherdeadordraggingthemselves away, stiflinggroans as they slippedback into thedarkness.Draikcleanedhisbladeandsliditbackintoitsscabbard,surveyinghishandiwork.HisbloodcooledashemetIsola’seye.Shedidnothavetosayanything.Herexpressionwasenough:thiswasbeneathhim.‘TakemebacktotheVanguard,’hesaid,frustratedwithhimself.‘Ineedsome

cleanairandgoodbrandy.’‘Wait!’Thevoicecamefrombehindthemandtheywhirledaround,pistolsraised.Theanimalhademergedfromthecrateandsteppedoutintothelight.Thealienwashumanoid,buttallerandleanerthanaman.Hisheadwaslong,taperedandavian,withatallcrestofspinesandawide,beak-likejaw.Hisskinwas barbed and as thick as flak armour, but it had been slashed by dozens ofblows.‘Akroot?’askedIsola,squintingthroughthegloom.Draiknodded.Hekepthispistol raisedbutdidnot fire,allowing thealien toapproach.‘Yousavedme,’ thealiensaid.HespokegoodGothic,enunciating thewordsmore clearly than themenDraik had just killed.His throat could not entirelyabandon his racial heritage though, accompanying the words with a musicaljumbleofclicksandwhistles.‘Stilltobedecided,’saidDraik,keepinghisgunpointedatthecreature’shead.Thekrootstaggeredtoonesidethenleantacrossthecratetosteadyhimself.Draiksteppedcloser,keepinghisgunraised.Thealienclackedhisbeaka few times,as thoughcrunching food. ‘YouseektheDragon’sTeeth.Iheardyou.Overnearthecrossvault.YoucametoPrecipiceto raid theBlackstone, like everyone else. But you need a pilot.Youwant toreachtheAscurisVault.’Draik lowered his gun in surprise. ‘How do you know I’m looking for theAscurisVault?Ididn’tmentionthattoanyoneouthere.’‘Whyelsechoosethatroute?TheDragon’sTeethareimpassable.Onlyafoolwould try. Or someone who needs the Ascuris Vault. You do not look like afool.’‘Youseemveryknowledgeableonthesubject.’‘IhavebeenthroughtheDragon’sTeeth.’Draik frowned. Perhaps he was not the only one who had guessed theimportanceoftheAscurisVault.‘Why?’‘Iwasemployed.ByapriestcalledTaddeus.Thevaultisholy.’Thekrootcroucheddownandopenedthemouthofonethecorpses.AsDraikwatchedindisgust,thealienpluckedsomethingfromhisjacketandplaceditinthecorpse’smouth,whisperingashedidso.‘Yousoughtthevaultforreligiousreasons,’promptedDraik.Thekrootshookhishead,lookingaroundforanothercorpse.‘Notme.Ididnot

knowofit.’The creature was frustratingly distracted, but Draik persevered. ‘The priests,then,theysoughtthevaultforreligiousreasons?’‘Taddeushasvisions.’Thekroothurriedovertoanotherdeadbodyandplacedsomethinginitsmouth,whisperingagain.‘Yousawthevault?’The kroot shook his head, still fiddling with the thing he had placed in thecorpse’smouth,proddingitthenlickinghisclaws,likeacheftestingseasoning.‘Thepriestsbecameodd.Thendied.Theyfoundnovault.Taddeusgotback.Buthewasinsanetobeginwith.’Thekroot finishedhis ritualandwalkedbackover toDraik.Hestaredat thedeadbodiesandletoutanotherburstofclickingsounds.‘Theydonoteatkrootmeatandyettheywouldkillme.Itmakesnosense.’HelookeddirectlyatDraik.‘Iwillhelp.Icanhelpyoureachthevault.Andkeepyoualive.’‘You’rethepilotwhopassedthroughtheTeeth?’‘No,butIcanleadyoutoher.’‘Andwhatwillyouwantinreturn?’SurvivalonPrecipicemeantdealingwithspeciesDraikwould usually kill on sight. Precipice’s brutal, frontiersman lawhadcreatedastrange,fragileegalitythatDraikhadnotwitnessedanywhereelse.But, whatever the rules of Precipice, Draik could barely hide his distaste attalking to the alien.The creaturewas barbaric.His hidewas covered in ritualscarsandtattoos,andrattledwithbonefetishes.Ashelookedcloser,Draiksawdozens of tiny cages dangling from the kroot’s arms. They were filled withmutilatedinsects–beetlesandflies thathadlegsandwingsremovedbutwerestillalive,whirringangrilyintheircagesashemoved.Thesewerethethingshehadbeenputtinginthecorpses.‘Imust repay thedebt.’Thekrootglancedat the shadowhangingover them.‘TheBlackstonebroughtustogether.Donotquestionitsplans.’Draiklookedoutintotheblackness.‘Therearemanythingsinthere,kroot,butaplanisnotoneofthem.’‘MynameisGrekh.’‘Grekh,’saidDraik,loweringhispistol.‘I’mCaptainJanusDraik.Thisismyattaché,Isola.’Grekhdidnotreply.Heleantagainstanoutletpipe,tryingtocatchhisbreath,seemingtobeinpain.‘Isola,’saidDraik.‘Painsuppressors.’Grekh shook his head and waved Isola away. He rattled through the cages

strappedtohisarmsandremovedoneofthestrugglinginsects.Thenhepoppeditinhisbeakandclosedhiseyesforamoment.After few deep breaths, Grekh stood upright. He looked down at Draik andIsola,teeteringonlong,ganglybirdlegs.Hiseyeswereblankandunreadable.‘NoonehasreachedtheAscurisVault,’saidGrekh.‘It ismadnesstotry.Butthe priest believes in it. He haswaking dreams. And ifmadness is what youseek,Icangetyouthere.Icantakeyoutothepilot.’‘My trade contact, TorGaulon, told us the pilotwas somewhere here, in theSkeins.’Grekh shook his head. ‘The pilot is a deserter. Audus. She’s not here. YourNavyhasapriceonherhead.Hercrimewasserious.TheSkeinsaren’tsafeforhernow.ButIcanfindher.WemusttogototheHelmsman.’‘A deserter?’ Draik frowned. ‘We were headed to the Helmsman anyway, Isuppose.Ashortinterviewcan’tdomuchharm.YoumayaccompanyusasfarastheHelmsman,Grekh.Andifyoucanbackupyourclaimswithanactualpilot,I’llpayyouareward.’Grekhshookhishead.‘Myrewardistocomewithyou.’‘Where?’‘ThroughtheTeeth.IntotheUnfathomable.TotheAscurisVault.’Draiklaughed,shockedbythecreature’spresumption.Grekhretainedthesameearnest,confidenttone.‘Thereisadebt.Sweartotakeme.IwillleadyoutothepilotandIwillsaveyourlife.’Isola could not hide her outrage. ‘Are you trying to give Captain Draik anorder?’Draikdismissedherconcernswithawave. ‘Ifhe fails togiveusanythingofvalueintheHelmsman,wecanpartcompanythen.’‘Sweartheoath,’saidGrekhinthesameflat,abrupttone.Draik ignored the creature’s crude manners and considered the offer. It wasextremely unlikely that the alien would get him to the Ascuris Vault. And ifGrekhreallycouldachievesuchafeat,enduringthealien’scompanywouldbeasmallpricetopay.Henodded.‘Verywell.IfyoufinduspassagetotheAscurisVault,Iswear,asascionofthemost venerable House Draik, that you will accompany me as my personalretainer.’Grekhgruntedandledthewaybackdownthetransitway,walkinginastrange,swayinggait.As they followed, Isola saw a gleam in Draik’s eye and shook her head.

‘Voraciousindeed,’shemuttered.

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