Thirteen: Up Into the Light

Luna Fazekiel had an excessively ordered and compulsive mind. It had been remarked upon, not always in a complimentary manner, and accounted for her career path into the Prefectus rather than a regular Militarum command.

When the Ghost companies and the retinue had arrived at the undercroft, an event that seemed like months ago to her, she had walked every centimetre of the cellars to learn the layout.

The information was useless to her now, and that troubled her deeply. She liked to have solid, verifiable facts to give her power over her circumstances. That was gone, and she felt her long-conquered anxieties rising.

The hallway she was following was long. She knew that no single hallway in the entire undercroft was this long or this straight. The environment had turned against them, buckled by the warp-aura of whatever stalked them.

Whatever it was that made the noise she had first heard at Low Keen, a noise that had lodged in her ever since and thrown her into a downward spiral of anxieties.

She led the way, controlling her breathing to avoid the onset of panic. Merity and Meryn followed her. Merity seemed alert, but Meryn was either traumatised, or unwilling to hide his usual, sullen nature. He had said very little about what had happened to him, despite her questions. People had died. His squad. Something had torn them apart.

Information – specific detail – was a tool that allowed for greater control. Meryn’s reluctance to help her with much compounded her sense that she was losing her grip.

‘You’re sure,’ she asked, ‘that we have only been down here an hour?’

‘Thereabouts,’ said Merity.

It was difficult to allow for that. It lacked sense, and wasn’t backed up by the evidence of Fazekiel’s own experience.

‘I’m not sure any more,’ Merity added. ‘I’m not sure of anything.’

‘Why did you come down?’ she asked Merity. ‘You came down to the undercroft. Why?’

‘I…’ Merity said. She eased her grip on the carbine. ‘Does it matter?’

Fazekiel looked at her.

‘You were working with the Lord Executor’s cabinet up in the palace, but you chose to come down.’

‘I came to find you,’ said Merity.

‘Regarding the Low Keen incident?’ asked Fazekiel. She was fidgeting with the front of her coat in a futile effort to wipe the stains off it.

‘Yes,’ said Merity. She was painfully aware of the way Meryn was ­staring at her, his eyes hooded. ‘Look, it’s hardly important right now, is it, commissar?’

Fazekiel turned to Merity and presented her with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She was finding it hard to know what expression her face was actually wearing, or how much of her mounting terror she was betraying.

‘We don’t know what’s important,’ she said. ‘Things happened at Low Keen. The thing that attacked Yoncy and Elodie Daur. Mam Daur described a very distinctive noise associated with the attack, a noise I believe we have now heard. Yoncy was present at both places–’

‘So?’ asked Meryn.

‘I’m just assembling facts,’ said Fazekiel. ‘You said she was also present when your squad died. And we both saw her before the lights went out.’

Meryn said nothing. He looked at the wall. His breathing was too fast, too shallow.

‘I’m sorry,’ Fazekiel said to Merity quietly. ‘I… I am meticulous to the point of compulsion. I always have been. I like detail. I like to know the far side of everything. I suppose it is a weakness. An obsession. Detail gives me a sense of control.’

‘I’m sure it makes you a very good investigator,’ Merity answered. Merity was edgy and scared, and she could see how strung-out Fazekiel was. She didn’t feel reassured by either of the people she was with, though she was glad she wasn’t alone.

‘Detail freak,’ muttered Meryn. ‘That’s what everyone says about you. Taking great pains and giving them to everybody else.’

‘There’s no need for that,’ Merity said to him.

Meryn glared at her. ‘We’re lost, little girl,’ he said, ‘and something out of a nightmare is hunting us. But yeah, let’s swap a few personal secrets and braid each other’s fething hair.’

‘In the face of an unknown threat, assembling reliable data seems sensible,’ said Fazekiel. ‘Do you have a better idea, captain?’

‘Give me a gun,’ he replied.

‘We only have two firearms,’ said Fazekiel.

‘And she’s a fething civilian!’ Meryn growled, indicating Merity with contempt. ‘I’m a fething serving officer in the Tanith First.’

He looked at Merity.

‘Give me the carbine,’ he said.

‘No,’ she replied.

‘Commissar?’ he said, looking for support.

‘What happened to your weapon, captain?’ Fazekiel asked.

‘Feth you. Both of you,’ he murmured and looked away. Merity could see how badly his hands were shaking.

‘Why did you come down here?’ Fazekiel asked Merity.

‘I just… I just did.’

‘To find me. You had something to tell me regarding the Low Keen incident?’

‘It doesn’t matter now. It’s not important.’

‘You were in a meeting with Gaunt’s tactical cabinet, ma’am,’ said Fazekiel. ‘It must have been important to tear you away from that.’

‘I remembered something, that’s all,’ said Merity. She kept flicking her eyes in Meryn’s direction, trying to show she didn’t want to speak in front of him, but the commissar was too weary and anxious to notice the hint. Merity had always disliked Meryn intensely. She wasn’t about to throw suspicion his way. Not in front of him. So, she thought she’d heard his voice outside the shower block? So what? How did that matter even slightly now?

Meryn had turned to stare at her, listening intently.

‘What did you remember?’ he asked. There was an edge to his tone. His eyes were bright and unblinking, like a snake’s.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said.

‘It might be important,’ said Fazekiel. ‘It might relate to this.’

‘It doesn’t,’ Merity insisted.

Fazekiel sighed, and turned to start walking again.

Meryn stood for a moment, staring at Merity. When she went to walk past him, he whispered, ‘Careless talk, that’s always a bad thing. Rumour, gossip. Don’t want people getting the wrong idea, do we?’

Merity blanked him and kept walking.

They’d only gone another few metres when they heard the sound again. The saw-blade, screeching somewhere close by. It was like the shriek of an animal. The lights flickered.

‘Feth this,’ Meryn whispered. ‘Give me the gun.’

‘No,’ Merity replied. It was the only thing making her feel remotely safe.


* * *

‘What I think,’ said Ayatani Zweil, ‘is that darkness follows the light.’

‘Is that so?’ Domor replied. They sloshed, knee-deep, along the flooded hallway. Domor had his straight silver in his hand, for all the good it would do.

‘Yes, oh yes, Shoggy,’ Zweil replied earnestly. ‘Like a shadow, you know? Imagine a candle.’

‘All right.’

‘The candle’s lit, you see? So there’s light.’

I’m familiar with the fething principles of candles, Domor wanted to scream. He didn’t. The old priest was scared. He’d been talking non-stop for the last twenty minutes. Domor wanted him to shut up. He liked the old man dearly, but he longed for silence. He wanted to be able to hear things coming.

He sighed to himself. And then what? he wondered. He looked around at the half-lit gloom, the reflections of the low-power lamps flickering on the rippled surface of a waste water flood that was still rising.

This was going to be a grim old end. Not at all what he’d ever imagined. Domor had always known for sure he would die in the regiment. He was resigned to that. He’d come close often enough, including the occasion that had robbed him of his eyes and left him with the buggy optical augmetics that had earned him his nickname.

But he’d always pictured the end as a glorious one. On the field of battle, a valiant stand at Gaunt’s side. A noble death. Maybe there’d be wreaths afterwards, and a bugle call or a gun salute.

But those days were gone. Life was changing. Gaunt was high and mighty now. He’d never stand in the line with his boys again. The glory days and noble ends of the First and fething Only were memories. Reality and the future was a colder place. He had to reimagine his own destiny.

And he couldn’t ever have imagined this. Not this. A stinking, unwitnessed end in a sealed fething dungeon that shifted around him like a living thing, like a sorcerous labyrinth in the old-time myths. And a nightmare monster, straight out of those same childhood stories, coming for him, sniffing at his heels and tasting his tracks.

‘So, the candle’s lit, and there’s light,’ Zweil was saying. ‘But the candle casts a shadow too, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, father.’

‘The shadow’s only there because of the light,’ said Zweil.

Domor glanced at the old man. ‘Is it?’ he asked. ‘Or is the shadow still there when the light goes out, and we just can’t see it because it’s dark?’

Zweil frowned. ‘Shit me sideways, boy,’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s some deep philosophy there.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No, I’ve just got to factor that into my thinking…’

‘No need.’

Zweil paused, scratched his head, and then scooped the skirts of his ayatani robe up out of the water and wrung them out. He kept doing that. Domor wasn’t sure why. As soon as he’d wrung them out, Zweil would simply drop them back into the water and keep going.

‘Well,’ said Zweil. ‘That’s what I think. The darkness follows the light, you see? Like a… like it can smell it.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Opposites, light and dark, each needing the other to survive. To exist.’

‘Right.’

‘Can’t have one without the other. They can’t be separated.’

‘I’ve often thought that,’ said Domor, not really listening.

‘So we’re in this shit,’ said the old man, ‘we’re in this awful, awful shitty shit-balls mess, because she’s here.’

‘Who?’

‘Haven’t you been listening? Her. The Saint. My beloved Beati.’

‘Oh.’ Domor paused. ‘I thought you meant Yoncy.’

‘Yoncy?’ The old man asked, puzzled. ‘Why would I mean Yoncy?’

Domor shrugged.

‘Well, Shoggy? Why did you think I meant her?’

Domor shook his head. ‘Yoncy’s odd,’ he said. ‘Odd follows her around. Haven’t you ever noticed that? And this thing we keep hearing, it sounds like whatever it was came for her at Low Keen. I heard it, father. It sounds the same.’

‘I dunno, Shoggy,’ said Zweil. ‘That’s a terrible thing to think about a little girl.’

‘She’s not a little girl,’ said Domor. ‘She’s… look, I love Kolea. He’s my brother. Dalin’s a good boy. Solid and brave. And Tona, well, she’s done a hell of a thing, raising them. But Yoncy… I’m not the only one to think it. Elodie, she gets freaked out by her. Even Gol.’

Zweil thought about this for a moment, then started to laugh loudly.

‘Shhh!’ said Domor, in alarm.

‘You think Yoncy’s coming for us?’ Zweil laughed.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Yoncy. Hnnh! Yoncy? I’ve heard some notions in my time–’

‘Well, you just said it was the Saint.’

‘No, I didn’t!’ said Zweil sharply. ‘I said the darkness is here because of her. She’s light, Domor. The light of the Throne. Just so magnificent. And the darkness is drawn to that. The shadow of the warp, you see? She’s the candle–’

‘I get it.’

‘–and the warp, see, that’s the–’

‘I get it. The Archenemy, the Ruinous Powers, they’re here tonight because she’s here.’

‘In the palace,’ Zweil nodded. ‘I can feel her presence, calling to me.’

‘So we’re not the targets?’ asked Domor. ‘We’re just in the way?’

‘I suppose so. The darkness has come for her. She’s strong, and she’ll fend it off, but I hope she’s got loyal soldiers at her side.’

‘She might not even be here yet,’ said Domor, sloshing forward. ‘There was no announcement. No ceremonial welcome–’

‘Oh, she’s here. I told you, I can feel her–’

Zweil fell silent.

‘Father?’

Domor looked around. Zweil had stopped, deeply pensive.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I can feel her,’ said Zweil. ‘I can feel her close by.’

‘So you said.’

‘No, Shoggy. Think about it. I can feel her. And I thought, well, that’s nice and reassuring. A comfort. But I can feel her. Like a lodestone feels true north.’

‘What?’

Zweil turned abruptly and began splashing off the way they’d come.

‘Father? Father!’

‘Come on, Shoggy!’ Zweil called back. ‘I was stupid, is what it is! It was right before my eyes and I missed it.’

‘What was?’

‘I can feel her call,’ Zweil said emphatically. ‘Goodness, Domor. Don’t you listen? Keep up. She can lead us out of here. I only have to listen, to let myself feel. Then follow. Be her pilgrim, her imhava, just as I’ve done my whole life. Follow her path. Go to her, wherever she’s calling from. Let her guide me out of the darkness and up into the light. You too, of course.’

‘We’ve been that way,’ Domor protested.

‘We’ve been every which way,’ Zweil replied. ‘There’s no sense to this place any more. The warp’s seen to that. We just follow the light. What?’

Domor was smiling. ‘That makes as much sense as anything I’ve heard today, father,’ he said.

Zweil nodded. ‘Miracles wear disguises, my boy. Like, you know, moustaches and hats and those sash things with the pom-poms on them. Also, masks. The point is, you don’t always recognise them at first, even when your mind is a highly tuned spiritual organ like mine. The Emperor protects, Shoggy Domor, and today he is protecting us through the sanctity of his Beati. We were just too scared and bothered and worked up to see that before. But I see it now, oh yes! A revelation. The scales have fallen from my eyes, and I behold the path of salvation–’

There was an awful, blood-chilling screech and something black sawed out of the darkness right at them. Zweil cried out and fell over in a huge splash of flood water. Domor recoiled. Terror seized him again.

This was it. This was it. This was fething it–

He felt claws slice into his cheek, hot blood pouring down his face.

The darkness was still shrieking at him.

‘Shoggy? Shoggy?’

The shrieking stopped.

‘Father?’

‘Oh,’ said Zweil. He got up, soaked through, wiping his face, and peered at Domor. ‘It got you a good one. Gashed your cheek.’

‘What the feth–?’ Domor stammered.

Zweil splashed past him, and scooped a bedraggled mass out of the water, a large, tattered shape that had been thrashing around where it landed.

‘Oh, hush now, you poor little bugger,’ Zweil cooed.

It was the regimental mascot.

‘Shit,’ said Domor.

‘You see?’ said Zweil. ‘It’s Quil. Poor little bugger.’

‘Quil?’

‘I named it. Because it didn’t have a name. It’s short for–’

‘Whatever,’ said Domor.

The psyber-eagle had been damaged and wounded. Feathers were mangled, and it was matted with blood. One of its heads had been sliced off.

‘Poor old bastard,’ said Zweil, clutching the surprisingly large and heavy creature in his arms as best he could manage. ‘It’s lost a head.’

‘So I see.’

‘Like a… what’s the word? What do you call a two-headed eagle that’s missing a head?’

‘An… eagle?’

Zweil shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

The psyber-eagle started to thrash wildly in his arms, raking the air with its wings.

‘Steady! Steady!’ Zweil cried. He was forced to let it go. It flew back up the hallway away from them, feather filaments drifting in its wake.

‘See?’ said Zweil.

‘What?’

‘It’s going the same way. The way I was going. It can hear her too. Birds are very cunning. Hunters, you see? It’s attuned. It’s following her call. Saints can do that, you know? They can call animals and creatures of the wild to their side. The grazing beasts of the farm and the hunters of the woods alike, they come flocking. I’ll bet it can hear her better than I can. The sharp sense of the untamed, you see, untrammelled by conscious thought. Running on instinct.’

‘You’re saying we should follow it?’

‘Yes. It’ll take us to her. It’ll take us out of the shadows.’

‘Right,’ said Domor.


* * *

Dalin stopped, and leaned heavily against the stone wall.

‘Dal?’ Kolea asked, turning to look at him. Dalin was pale, and sweat was leaving blanched trickles in the dirt on his face.

‘Give me a moment,’ said Dalin.

‘Are you sick?’

‘I feel…’ Dalin swallowed hard. ‘My head hurts. My ears. You feel that? Like a buzzing? A scratching?’

Kolea nodded. ‘That’s been going on since before the lights failed.’

‘What is it?’

‘Some manifestation,’ Kolea said. ‘A harmonic, a vibration. I don’t know. It’s the background noise of this bad shadow.’

‘It’s making me feel ill,’ Dalin said. ‘My head, my gut. Like a fever–’

Kolea pressed the back of his hand to Dalin’s forehead. Dalin jerked back in surprise.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Checking your temperature. There’s no fever.’

‘What are you, my dad?’

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

‘Yes,’ said Kolea.

Tears welled in Dalin’s eyes. He wiped them away, hurriedly.

‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ said Kolea. ‘It’s just anxiety. I feel it too. We’re both worried sick about Yonce.’

‘I suppose.’

‘We’re going to find her, Dal.’

‘I know.’

‘No, I mean it.’ Kolea sighed. ‘I made an oath, you see? Swore I’d protect the both of you.’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh, when you were born. That was the first time. But it was after the Aigor drop. That’s when I made it, out loud. Spoke it. To myself, and to the Emperor, who I hope was listening.’

‘We could die down here,’ said Dalin. ‘I think we probably will die down here.’

‘No, that’s the thing,’ said Kolea. ‘It wasn’t a whim. It was an oath. Solemn in intent. A Kolea oath, you see? The Kolea family has a strong and proud tradition. The universe respects a Kolea oath like, Throne yes. Knows not to go breaking it.’

‘Gol–’

‘I’m serious, Dal. Even the fething Ruinous Powers know better than to try and defy an oath like that. I will stand with you, you and Yoncy, even in the darkness. I’ll stand between you and hell–’

‘Gol.’

‘What?’

‘I know you mean well. I appreciate the effort. You’re just pretty new at this father business, aren’t you?’

Kolea shrugged. ‘Not had much practice over the years,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Dalin. ‘I appreciate it. But it’s weird. Let’s just find her.’

Kolea nodded. ‘I was trying too hard?’ he asked.

Dalin smiled. ‘Just a bit.’

Kolea turned and hefted his weapon up.

‘All right, Trooper Dalin,’ he said. ‘Let’s head that way. To the left.’

He let his voice trial off. He raised his right fist and flicked the signal for ‘noise’.

Dalin raised his weapon, instantly alert.

Somewhere, not close, but still in the undercroft, there was a sawing howl.

Then, nearby, a splash.

They both wheeled.

‘Show yourself!’ Kolea growled.

‘Gol?’

‘Bask?’

Baskevyl and his squad appeared. They lowered their weapons and sloshed towards Kolea and Dalin.

Kolea and Baskevyl embraced.

‘Thank the Throne!’ Bask said.

‘You all right?’ Kolea asked.

‘Just lost,’ said Baskevyl.

‘And scared,’ Osket said.

‘What’s up with him?’ Kolea asked, looking over at Blenner. The commissar was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed.

‘This is getting to him,’ said Baskevyl quietly. ‘The tension’s making people sick.’

Kolea nodded. ‘It’s not just tension,’ he replied. ‘I think the warp is acting on us all. Dalin’s sick too.’

‘At least you found him,’ said Baskevyl.

‘Yeah. And Yoncy’s around here somewhere too.’

‘All right, let’s stay together and find her. We ran into Meryn’s team a while back, but divided again. That was a mistake.’

‘Safety in numbers?’ asked Kolea.

‘Right,’ said Baskevyl. ‘And firepower. Whatever this is, I think we’re going to need to put it down hard. It makes a real mess of people.’

‘It’s killing?’ asked Kolea.

‘Yes, whatever it is. It’s trapped us in here and it’s killing. You seen anybody?’

‘No,’ said Kolea. ‘This gakking place is playing mind-games. I was with Erish and that lot, then lost them. The walls moved. I haven’t seen anybody except Dal and Yonce. And that’s weird, because there were a lot of people down here. I don’t know where they’ve all gone.’

‘Bonin was leading them out,’ said trooper Ells. ‘But, I dunno…’

‘Maybe it’s eaten them all,’ said Osket.

Kolea and Baskevyl looked at him.

‘You’re a fething ray of sunshine, Osket,’ said Baskevyl.

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Let’s move forward,’ Baskevyl said. ‘Eyes open for Kolea’s girl, all right?’

‘Stay close to Dalin for me,’ Kolea whispered to Baskevyl.

‘Sure. Why?’

‘I think I got a little heavy-handed. Tried to do the whole caring father thing and did not pull it off. He needs a comrade and an officer.’

Baskevyl nodded. ‘No problem.’

‘And I’ll see if I can get Blenner to pull his wits together,’ Kolea said.

‘Good,’ Baskevyl whispered back. ‘He’s spooked badly, Gol. I think… I think he might be on something.’

‘Pharms?’

‘I don’t know. But I think he keeps taking something. If he’s wired, he’s a liability. I mean, I feel sorry for him. Fear is a bitch, and I know it bites us all in different ways. But he’s been a useless sack of shit since this whole thing started.’

‘You mean since he joined the regiment?’ asked Kolea.

Baskevyl snorted.

‘Don’t be unkind,’ said Baskevyl. ‘He’s had his moments. But down here today? I think he might have been more rattled over the Ezra business than we thought.’

‘What, executing Wilder?’

‘I know, I know. It was the right call after what that shit did. But I think our dear Vaynom might be struggling with it. Killing a foe in battle is one thing. Sanctioning one of your own…’

‘He’s a commissar, Bask.’

‘Yeah. But as you point out, not a very good one. I wonder if he’s ever had to do that before. I mean, carry out a summary sentence that way. I think it’s shaken him.’

‘He almost said as much to me,’ said Kolea.

‘Right. Now this, plus maybe pharms. It might be a good idea to get his weapon off him. If this goes balls-up and turns into a close-quarter firefight, he could be an utter liability.’

‘Got it,’ said Kolea.

‘Right!’ Baskevyl announced, raising his voice again. ‘Let’s roll out. Head down to the left.’

‘All right there, Vaynom?’ Kolea asked, falling in beside Blenner.

‘Oh yes, fine and dandy,’ Blenner said. He was unconvincingly chipper. Kolea could smell the stink of his fear even above the rank odour of the flood water.

‘This is a bad deal,’ Kolea said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘But we’ve got each other’s backs. I’ve got your back, all right?’

Blenner nodded. He adjusted his cap and hoped that, in the gloom, Kolea couldn’t see that he’d begun to cry.


* * *

The Saint led them to the bottom of the steps.

‘I didn’t know the undercroft was this far down,’ said Gaunt quietly.

‘It wasn’t,’ replied Hark.

Gaunt tightened his grip on his sword. He glanced at Curth.

‘I would prefer it if you went back up, Ana,’ he said.

Curth shook her head.

‘There may be wounded, Lord Executor. You need a medic,’ she said simply.

‘While we’re on the subject of staying out of harm’s way, sir,’ Sancto began.

‘Don’t even try it, Scion,’ said Gaunt.

‘Yes, my lord.’

All the lights were out, but the undercroft was lit by a dull glow, as if unhealthy light was oozing out of the stones. The Beati led the way down, flanked by her two alert officers, then came Gaunt, Hark and Curth and the four Scions. Behind them were Daur, Beltayn, Trooper Perday and the inquisitor. Gaunt had sent Grae to find aid for Onabel and direct the reinforcements Gaunt hoped to Throne were on their way from Van Voytz.

The long flight of stone steps ended in an archway that seemed too big and broad for even a palace wine cellar.

The air scratched at their ears and the insides of their heads. It was like a buzzing of flies or the restless boring of maggots, as though every­one in the party was already dead and decomposing. There was a smell in the air of waste and rot.

Beyond the arch lay a vast chamber. Gaunt could see its impossibility in an instant. No deep cellar in a massive stone edifice like the Urdeshic Palace could be so wide and low without the need for pillars or column supports. The walls were whitewashed, but that looked sallow yellow in the ugly light.

The floor was black.

They advanced slowly, weapons raised, covering each other.

‘This wasn’t here,’ said Hark softly. ‘It was a hallway, then barrack chambers off the side. Not this place.’

‘It’s getting stronger,’ said Laksheema. She adjusted the setting on the archeotech weapons built into her sleek golden cuff. ‘If it’s feeding, and growing… its ability to manipulate and warp reality is increasing.’

‘Agreed,’ said the Beati gently.

‘Woe machines were mechanical engines,’ said Curth. ‘They couldn’t–’

‘Heritor Asphodel, may the Throne curse him, was a genius,’ said Laksheema. ‘I fear we continue to underestimate what his vile imagination could make and unleash.’

Hark stood on something that broke with a crack. He looked down.

‘Oh Throne,’ he murmured. He could barely see it because it was as black as the floor. Curth bent down with him.

It was part of a human jawbone, with three molars still embedded in it. It was black because it was covered in blood, and in the odd light, the redness of the blood appeared black.

They realised what they were looking at. The whole floor of the chamber was soaked in blood, and littered with the physical debris of dozens of people. Scraps of bone, odd ribs, hunks of meat and muscle, no piece so big it couldn’t sit on a man’s palm.

‘It’s fed,’ said Laksheema.

Daur began to tremble. He fought to keep it in, but a terrible groan of anguish broke through his gritted teeth. Beltayn grabbed him and held him tight with both arms to stop him falling. Curth and Gaunt went to him.

‘Ban?’ Gaunt said.

Daur couldn’t speak.

‘Ban? Go back,’ said Gaunt. ‘Go back up. You don’t need to be here. I’ll finish this. You have my word.’

‘No,’ Daur managed to answer. His voice was tight and small as if it was being crushed by a high gravity field. ‘I need to be here now.’

Gaunt nodded.

‘Keep with him,’ he said to Curth.

They moved forwards again. The far end of the vast charnel hall became visible in the gloom. Eight doorways, forking off in different directions.

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Gaunt. ‘Not like this before?’

Hark shook his head.

‘It’s playing with us,’ said Laksheema. ‘It senses us. Senses her, I think.’

She nodded towards the Beati. The Saint was facing the doorways, her sword raised.

‘It wants to divide us,’ said Laksheema. ‘Trap us, make us lost in its little pocket maze.’

‘You seem to know a lot,’ said Sariadzi.

‘I’ve seen a lot,’ said Laksheema. She paused. ‘Nothing on this scale.’

The Beati stepped towards the doors. Auerben and Sariadzi hurried to flank her, but she held up a hand to keep them back.

‘I won’t play its games,’ she said. ‘Just so it knows, I’m saying that out loud. I won’t play these games.’

The whine of a bone saw echoed from one of the eight doorways, followed by silence. Then there was a scrape of stone against stone. The end wall was slowly shifting in front of them. They could see the stonework moving, grating edge against edge as it realigned. Seven of the doorways vanished, becoming solid wall. Only one remained.

‘It heard you,’ said Laksheema.

‘Or it’s playing another game,’ said Hark.

The Beati raised her sword and approached the doorway. They formed up behind her, following tight. After a few steps, they realised they were stepping into floodwater several centimetres deep. Lights blinked on, the old lumen lamps of the undercroft in their rusted wire frames, illuminating the white-washed walls ahead of them.

‘This… this is how it was,’ said Hark. ‘The main hall. There should be a doorway ahead to the right. The first billet.’

There was. The old wooden doors had been pushed shut but not quite closed. They looked as though someone had taken a circular saw to them repeatedly.

Gaunt moved in beside the Saint, and they approached the doors together.

‘My lord!’ Sancto hissed.

‘Shut up.’

Gaunt looked at the Saint. She nodded.

They kicked the doors open together.

The man stood facing them, just a few metres inside. He fired his lasrifle at them repeatedly. It made a dry, clacking sound. Its powercell was long since exhausted.

The man dropped it, his arms limp and heavy, and drew his straight silver. He took a step forward, then halted.

He stared at their faces, bewildered, as though he didn’t properly recognise them.

He was covered in dried blood.

‘M-my lord,’ he said.

‘Mach,’ said Gaunt.

Exhausted and traumatised beyond measure, Bonin flopped to his knees at Gaunt’s feet.

‘I tried,’ he whispered. ‘I tried. I tried to keep them safe. As many as I could. It came from everywhere. Every shadow.’

Gaunt bent down. ‘Easy, Mach,’ he said, holding the man by the shoulders. ‘Ana? Here, please.’

Gaunt looked past Bonin. Another man was nearby. He stepped out of the shadows, a chair leg in his hand ready to use as a club. He too was caked in blood, and swayed wordlessly on his feet.

It was Yerolemew. The Saint went forwards to support him.

‘Sit,’ she said. ‘Sit down.’

‘We… we have to keep going. Keep the doors shut…’ the old bandmaster murmured.

There were others. Trooper Luhan crawled out of cover, put down his rifle and started to cry. Sobs and murmurs spread through the darkness behind him. Shapes stirred. Gaunt saw the terrified faces of women and a few children, all members of the retinue.

‘How many did you save, Mach?’ he asked.

Bonin shook his head, his eyes lifeless.

‘Twenty… maybe thirty…’ he said. ‘Any we could.’

Gaunt squeezed his shoulder.

He rose and faced the cowering survivors.

‘The Saint’s here,’ he said. ‘The darkness is going to end. We’ve come to get you out.’

‘There are no stairs…’ Yerolemew mumbled.

‘There are now,’ the Beati assured him. ‘Stairs, a door, and light above. You have endured great horror, but you have remained strong. The Emperor has protected you.’

‘Not enough,’ said Bonin. ‘Not nearly enough. We tried, but…’

‘I need these people led up out of here,’ said Gaunt. ‘Fast. Now. Sancto?’

The Scion frowned. ‘I will serve your word without question, my Lord Executor,’ he said, ‘except in this one way. My primary oath is to protect you. I will not leave your side.’

Gaunt looked him in the eye. Sancto did not flinch. Gaunt didn’t like him, but he had to admire the man’s steel discipline and devotion.

‘Can they all walk?’ he asked. ‘Can you all walk?’

He was answered by moans and weak affirmative noises.

‘All right,’ said Gaunt. ‘Perday, Beltayn? Lead them out and up the stairs. Have them link hands. Take them all, one of you at the front, one at the rear. Yes, like children, Bel. Get them out and get them to the nearest medicae hall.’

‘Level three,’ said Hark.

‘Now, while the walls stay where they are,’ said Gaunt.

‘Mach? Sergeant major? Luhan?’ Gaunt looked at the three shell-shocked Ghosts. ‘Bel’s in charge. Just follow him. No arguments. Follow him, and do as he tells you. You’re walking wounded. You’re also brave as feth.’

Bonin nodded dumbly.

Beltayn took his hand and began to lead the line of shuffling, blank-eyed survivors out.

Daur looked at Bonin as he passed.

‘Elodie?’ he asked.

‘She… she was on the stairs,’ said Bonin in an empty voice. ‘I didn’t see her after that.’

The long line of survivors snaked out. Sancto’s team covered them until they had cleared the hallway.

‘It didn’t get them all,’ said Laksheema. ‘It’s still hungry, then.’

‘Agreed,’ said the Beati.


* * *

They waited until the survivors had walked clear, then exited the chamber where Bonin and the others had concealed and protected them, following the hall deeper into the undercroft. Blood stains flecked the whitewash in places, bloody hand prints smeared across the stonework.

The hall narrowed and dropped down by way of six stone steps. Flood water lapped at the steps, knee deep. The saint didn’t hesitate. They waded after her through the chill water and through an arch into another large billet. This one was vaulted, with stone pillars supporting the bowed ceiling. Pieces of bedding and splinters of wood floated on the gently rocking surface of the flood. An empty mess tin. A child’s toy.

‘It’s close by,’ said Laksheema.

The scratching and buzzing had grown louder. Curth looked down at the water around her legs, and saw that the surface was trembling as if subject to microvibration interference patterns.

They fanned out, weapons ready, leaving little frothing wakes behind them. Curth stayed with Daur.

Sancto suddenly swept his weapon around, aiming.

Yoncy was standing ahead of them, several metres away. She stared at them with big, frightened eyes. The water came up to her thighs and she was soaked, her clothes clinging to her. She hugged herself for warmth, her flesh pink with cold.

‘Papa Gaunt?’ she said.

Gaunt pushed Sancto’s aim up.

He stepped towards Yoncy.

‘Yoncy? Are you all right? Are you alone here?’

Yoncy nodded, her teeth chattering.

‘I got lost,’ she said. ‘The bad shadow was here.’

Curth splashed over to join Gaunt. They approached Yoncy together.

‘How is she still alive?’ Laksheema called out.

‘Same way as Bonin and the others,’ snapped Hark.

‘Alone?’ asked Laksheema.

Gaunt waded towards Yoncy, who held out her hands to be picked up.

Curth caught his arm.

‘She was giggling. We heard her,’ she said.

‘So?’ he asked.

‘The offspring of the Great Master,’ said Curth. ‘What Laksheema said. A daughter. Born on Verghast.’

Gaunt looked at her, and then back at the child stretching out its arms to him.

‘This is Major Kolea’s child?’ asked Laksheema suddenly.

‘Yes,’ said Hark.

‘It is possible the signal may be interpreted in a number of ways,’ said Laksheema. She strode forwards, the water rippling around her long gown. ‘Lord Executor–’

‘Yoncy,’ said Gaunt. ‘Listen to me, Yonce. Why were you laughing? What made you laugh?’

‘Because it’s time, silly,’ she said. ‘Papa says it’s time. I didn’t want it to be, but he says it is. The bad shadow won’t wait any longer.’

A low whine began, like a bone saw cycling up to full power. Violent ripples radiated out across the water from Yoncy Kolea, and out through the air around her as subspace membranes cracked and buckled.

Curth screamed. Gaunt just put himself in front of her.

Yoncy was no longer Yoncy. A stifling darkness whirled out of her as though a dead star had blinked anti-light. She fractured and rearranged in a neat but complex fractal fashion, folding like some intricate, hinged puzzle. Her smile was the last thing to disappear.

What took her place was still her. It was also the most abominable thing any of them would ever see.

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