Warhammer 40K - Farseer Read online

  'Nonetheless Janus Darke has come far, quickly, and has yet to be swallowed.'

  Janus thought back to what he had done to Fat Roj and his boys in the meat-packing factory and was not sure of that. He hid his guilt with aggression.

  'Am I supposed to be flattered?'

  'Perhaps you should be. This may well be the first time a seer of my people has ever tried to explain any of this to one of your folk. I feel you are being needlessly aggressive considering I am trying to help you.'

  'If this is an unprecedented event why are you doing this? Why now, and why with me?'

  Auric took a long draw on the mouthpiece of his hookah and exhaled smoke. It was the first time he had even slowed before answering a question, and Janus sensed that he was considering his words carefully. Given the lightning speed at which the eldar seemed to think, he suspected this meant the self-proclaimed seer was being very careful indeed. After a long minute of silence, he looked up.

  'Now we come to the nub of it. I am speaking to you because in all my visions of the future you are there. Our fates are intertwined, and in ways that are not entirely uncertain. I only know that it is so.'

  He paused for a moment and closed his eyes. His features went slack for a moment, and a faint glow appeared behind the thin, clear skin of his eyelids. 'Moreover, you are a nexus of probability, Janus Darke. A focus for forces far greater than you can imagine. A bringer of dooms to my people and others.'

  Janus heard Athenys gasp. 'Is this a true seeing?' she asked.

  Auric did not reply at once. He remained silent for many heartbeats and his eyes snapped open. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'My gift sometimes comes upon me unawares.'

  'A product of all those decades of training, no doubt,' said Janus ironically.

  'We are more alike than you can guess, Janus Darke. I too know what it is like to have wild and uncontrollable gifts. My masters spent nearly a century trying to bring them fully under my dominion and they did not entirely succeed. Sometimes my gift still surfaces whether I will it or not.'

  'It is your gift to see the future?' Janus considered this. If it were so, the services of a being such as this would be worth a fortune—if he could be persuaded to use them for profit, and if people could be convinced his powers were not daemonic.

  'It is not that simple, Janus Darke. There are many futures fighting to be born, waiting to be shaped. There are many paths forward from the present. I am one of those who have the gift of seeing a few of those. I am a farseer.'

  Janus looked at him and smiled savagely. 'And I am the Emperor of the Imperium.'

  Auric cocked his head to one side quizzically and waited for Janus to expand on his point. Janus was not slow to do so. 'I know little of your people, but I have studied many histories, records of conflicts and battles mainly. I know that farseers are rarely seen, and when they do appear it is to take command of armies at the greatest and most savage of battles.'

  'Such are the least of a farseer's duties,' said Auric mildly.

  'If you are a farseer, where is your army? Where is your bodyguard of warlocks? Where are your ships? Why do you need my help?'

  'Regardless of what you believe, Janus Darke, I am a farseer. The title goes to one who possesses the ability. Armies, companies of bodyguards, robes, riches—these are only trappings. What makes a farseer is possession of the gift and the power to use it, and the training to understand what he does. You do not know whereof you speak, and your words are empty things. Listen and gain wisdom.'

  Something in the eldar's tone compelled obedience. Janus found himself straining to hear what the xenogen had to say, and filled with resentment that he was doing so. Was there some power at work here, some sinister alien sorcery that held his will enthralled? He resolved that if this was the case to fight it, and yet his resolution came to nothing, and he held his tongue and waited.

  'You are in great danger, mortal, and you present a great danger to others, not the least my people, for you are a man the Great Enemy would give much to have under his dominion.'

  'The Great Enemy?' asked Janus with some scorn, trying to hide the fact that the farseer's words had impressed him.

  'The Dark Lord of Unspeakable Pleasures,' said Auric.

  'The Lady of Forbidden Knowledge,' said Athenys.

  'One whose name it is not well to utter, lest he hear,' said Auric.

  'Her power is great, her malice unending,' said Athenys.

  The Lord of Pleasures, thought Janus. There was something familiar about that phrase. Where had he heard it before? Something nagged at the back of his mind.

  'You are talking of one the daemon-gods of Chaos,' said Janus.

  'So you humans call them, yes. Although their true nature is beyond your understanding.'

  'Like so much you want to tell me, it seems,' said Janus dryly. Anger sparked in him. He was suddenly tired of these aliens with their superior manners and their endless hints. They seemed incapable of saying anything in a straightforward manner, and he suspected that their evasiveness concealed manipulation.

  'Spell it out for me, as you would for a simple child,' he said. 'Tell me about Slaanesh!'

  The quiet that suddenly filled the room was chilling. Both of the eldar looked like he had slapped them in the face or insulted their mother in the crudest way possible. They had frozen to stillness and seemed to be waiting, as if expecting something terrible to happen.

  'That is not a name that you should speak aloud,' said Auric very quietly. 'Or even think in your innermost thoughts until you have learned to shield them.'

  Of course, having been told this, Janus found himself unable to think of anything else. Slaanesh. Slaanesh. Slaanesh. The refrain ran though his head like some old song dimly remembered just brought to mind. It was not that he wanted to think about it, he was incapable of avoiding doing so. As if in response, he felt something stir deep within his soul.

  Like most well travelled men, Janus knew a little about the four great powers of Chaos. Little was known for certain save hints, conjecture and rumour. There were said to be unspeakable cults who worshipped the Dark Gods on many worlds. On Medusa he had heard rumours of the name of Slaanesh in connection with certain secret societies bound over to the pursuit of excess and pleasure. They were said to meet in solitude and secrecy and give themselves up to hedonistic orgies of debauchery, sin and carnality.

  He had thought little about them, for he was of the view that what people chose to do in their spare time was up to them as long as it did not interfere with his pursuit of profit and adventure. Indeed, such people had been the source of considerable profit to him, for he had brought home to Medusa many exotic liqueurs, foods, spices and narcotics, and they had provided him with a ready market. It had been through just such an avenue that he had met Justina.

  Justina! Now he had it. Eruk had claimed to come from her, and he had mentioned the Lord of Pleasures. Thinking back, he recollected other hints Justina had dropped about such things. He recalled once she had suggested he attend one of her special conclaves, but he had been too involved in some ongoing deal to do so. Was it possible that Justina was a follower of the Dark Gods, that she had attempted to draw him into their web? And was it possible that they had wanted him because they knew what he was?

  He pushed the thoughts aside. All of these things were possible, but he was making too many assumptions based on too little information.

  'And how may I shield my thoughts? Sadly it is a skill I have neglected to master.'

  'You have the dreamstone we gave you?'

  Janus shook his head.

  'You gave it to a woman, a lover of pleasure.'

  'You mean Justina.'

  'Her name means nothing to me, but her soul is steeped in evil.'

  'Perhaps.'

  'We are not here to fence with words, Janus Darke. We are here to see that you do not fail your people or mine.'

  'You are the ones who seem to do little else but fence with words.'

  Surprisingly
, Auric smiled. 'That may be how it seems to you. Such is the manner of our people. We are circumspect and take a long time to get to the point. We lack the bluntness of you short-lived folk.'

  'I accept your apology,' said Janus, ignoring Athenys's snort. 'And I will accept any help you can give me.'

  Auric rose to his feet. It was a swift, sinuous motion, almost eye-blurring in its quickness. Without seeming to move at all, he was suddenly standing over Janus. Something glittered in his hand. Janus just had time to flinch before something cool was pressed to his forehead. There was a burning sensation and stinging pain. It felt as if a red-hot coal had been pressed to his skin. He tried to pull his head back but found his head locked in place by one of the farseer's coolly delicate hands.

  'The discomfort will pass in a moment,' said the eldar.

  'Easy for you to say,' muttered Janus. 'You're not the one with his head on fire.'

  The eldar muttered something that Janus at first took to be a reply, but then realised was not. The seer was singing something in the lovely liquid tongue of his people, and as he did so the pain in Janus's forehead increased. It felt like the hot coal was eating right through his flesh into his brain. As it did so, flickers of stinging shocking sensation passed through his skull, making him grind his teeth and close his eyes. He was determined not to howl in pain. He was not going to give these xenogen scum the satisfaction, no matter how they tortured him.

  As the pain increased, Janus felt himself grow dizzy. Pictures began to form in his mind's eye, pictures of masked eldar faces, and a spacecraft the size of a small continent limned against the gloom of space. He saw long sleek ships flash back and forth in the void, and towering war machines being born in its heart.

  He caught flashes of other tales, other songs and other visions. For a moment, he felt himself on the brink of an understanding of things that were beyond his ability to imagine, and then the sensation departed leaving him feeling more tired and drained than ever.

  'It is done,' said Auric, and stepped back. The pain had vanished.

  Gingerly Janus reached a hand to his forehead, not knowing whether he expected his fingers to encounter melted flesh or a charred hole. Instead they touched something cool and smooth and unyielding, gem-like in its consistency.

  'What is it?' he asked. Athenys handed him a small round mirror and he studied his features. Something glowed and pulsed in the middle of his forehead. Its colours shifted from shimmering green to deep blue, to angry red and back. 'What have you done to me?'

  'We have given you a dreamstone.'

  'You could just have attached it to a pendant,' said Janus sourly.

  'Normally that would be our way, but in your case it seemed wisest that it never leave close proximity to you. For maximum effectiveness it should be in contact with naked flesh. We have ensured that is always the case.'

  Janus let out a long breath and strove for calm. It was obvious that at very least Auric's claim to be a psyker was true. How else could he have fused this hardened stone to his flesh? The eldar continued to speak, seemingly unaware of the turmoil he had caused.

  'We sometimes use this ritual with the very young among us, those likely to throw away a pendant or amulet, or swallow it, or use it as a toy. I apologise for treating you so, but under the circumstances it seemed like the easiest way. Your safety rather than your honour is our paramount concern.'

  The eldar's words hardly penetrated Janus's consciousness; he was too busy considering the implications of what they had done. They had marked him with their alien magic, as surely as if they had tattooed the mark of Khorne on his brow. Any inquisitor he ever met would immediately be interested in the unhealthiest way. He was branded in a manner that would be difficult to hide unless he took to wearing a helmet the whole time.

  'What is it? What will it do?'

  'It is a talisman created in the heart of our world. It is grown from something similar to wraithbone. It is used to shield against the influence of Chaos. It guards the mind while you sleep and are more vulnerable to the subconscious lure of the Great Enemy. It provides protection against mind-altering effects. It should prevent you from becoming a vessel for any thing of the warp that sees you as a potential host, at least for a time.'

  'It is a thing of great power then?'

  'You should consider yourself greatly honoured. Granting possession of dreamstones is the prerogative of our seers and warlocks. Normally they are granted only to those in whom they show great interest. You have been marked in a way that will let our people know that you are special to us. Should anything happen to Athenys or myself, others of the Old Race will act to shield you, should you encounter them.'

  'It's well that they will, for my own folk are likely to tie me to the autorack or purify my body with fire and the scourge when they see it.'

  'I suspected as much but it seems the lesser risk at the moment.'

  'I would prefer to make such decisions for myself.'

  'Alas, you are not qualified to assess the risks involved.'

  'That is because you have spent a great deal of time not telling me them.'

  'I am not entirely sure of all of them myself. I can speak only in terms of probabilities and paths I have seen. It is not yet certain which path you will take. The future is untrodden as yet, and your way is unclear.'

  'You've taken a lot on yourself for someone who sees only the vaguest of things.'

  'I am a farseer, Janus Darke. It is my burden to do such things, for in doing so there is a chance I will shield my people from great doom. A doom that it may be your fate to be bearer of.'

  A sudden thought struck Janus. It was not one that he liked to voice but the words seemed to emerge from his lips of their own accord. 'Then why not simply kill me and have done with it?'

  'Do not think I have not considered it, Janus Darke, but I have my reasons for not doing so—yet.'

  'And what might they be?'

  'While you live, I live. While I live, you live. Neither of us will survive this journey without the other.'

  'Well, praise be to the Emperor in all his mercy. My life is spared for a little while longer.'

  Athenys laughed. It was a savage sound with no mirth in it. 'Do not be so certain that it will always be so. Your death may yet be the only option left open to us.'

  She rose to leave.

  TWELVE

  THE PERILS OF THE WARP

  Simon Belisarius carefully unrolled the ancient parchment, smoothed the cracking vellum flat on the tabletop and placed a paperweight at each corner. Charts and starmaps already covered the desk and table of his large cabin. Like all Navigators he was in possession of hard copies of all the necessary astro-cartography. After all, you could never tell when the ancient machine spirits might become temperamental and turn against you, or when a datacore might fail.

  Simon had been trained to bring his ship home even if every navigational system on it failed, and the charts were normally just one extra way of ensuring this. But this map was special. It was his pride and joy, albeit a very dangerous one.

  The musty smell of the thing told how old it was. It had probably been copied and recopied since the founding of the Imperium, and probably in secret too, for this was one of those documents the Inquisition would burn a man for possessing.

  Simon had always liked being party to forbidden secrets, providing they were not too forbidden, and he had always been fascinated by the relics of ancient days. And this map was something special—a chart of warp currents through the Cadian Gate running into the Eye of Terror. He might not even have recognised it for what it was when he came across it in the antiquarians had he not spent every spare moment in the libraries of Belisarius when he was younger.

  He gave a wry shake of his head thinking about the pleasure he had got from that. He had not possessed much spare time for rummaging about during his childhood and youth. From the age of three years old he had spent a minimum of twelve waking hours in training. First it had been exercises to d
iscipline his body and mind—seven years of it. Next came seven years of higher learning—history, astronomy, various advanced mental disciplines and martial arts, all designed to strengthen his mind, his soul and his body for the rigours of his career. Then came the final seven years of studying the actual discipline of warp navigation, the ones that many did not even survive, let alone pass through. He did not want to think about those.

  Instead he breathed deep of the stale scent of the scroll, and used the mnemonic recall techniques he had learned as a youth. Immediately he was back in the great library of Belisarius. He could picture the great painted ceiling one hundred metres overhead, the fresco showing the Emperor granting his charter to Mikael Belisarius, while his primarchs grinned down and all his defeated enemies gnashed their teeth in the background. In his mind's eye, Simon could visualise the massive cabinets of books, piled on top of each other so high that the ancient ancestral librarians needed ladders ten times their own height to reach the top volumes. He could almost touch the endless rows of leather-bound librams, and stick his fingers into the countless alcoves containing scrolls and star charts and aide memoires. He could remember the nooks and crannies, each with their tables of carved wood inlaid with leviathan ivory, where he had done his reading by the soft buttery light of a hovering glow-globe until the chimes of the monstrous clock tower in the west wing of the palace had told him it was time for sleep.

  Once one of the librarians had told him that there were over a billion volumes in the library, a copy of almost every book released since the foundation of the Imperium and of millions of tomes printed or copied in the Dark Age that had preceded it. He had been told there were books in tongues no longer spoken, written in the glyphs of extinct races. He had been told that a copy of the logbook of every Navigator of House Belisarius that had ever been recovered was there too, along with all of those rutters captured or acquired by stealth from other Houses. He was not sure now that there really had been a billion books, but even if the librarian had been wrong there had been too many to catalogue or index. So much knowledge, he thought, gathered since the dawn of human civilisation. Who knows what secrets we might find there, if only we knew where to look?