Ascension, p.11
Ascension, page 11
Draik caught his admiring glance and nodded. ‘My duelling pistols. Look after them.’
Quintus had never held anything so beautiful or so clearly valuable. He was about to say thank you when Draik tapped the runepad next to the door and it clanged open, spewing the landing ramp into the darkness.
The words stalled in Quintus’ throat. As the landing ramp clanged down, sounds of the Blackstone Fortress flooded the Vanguard. Quintus swallowed hard, battling the urge to retreat back into the ship. There was a light source thirty feet away; he guessed it was a cluster of lumens left by a previous expedition. The warm, red light only managed to reach a few feet in either direction from a tall frame, revealing a featureless black floor and making the darkness around it even more monolithic. The floor was trembling and the lumens were shaking, like lanterns on the deck of a boat.
With little to see, Quintus’ only clear sense of the fortress was the symphony that echoed through its shadows. It sounded as though he were at the bottom of an oceanic trench, surrounded by unseen metal leviathans clanging and scraping against each other in the inky leagues overhead. He sensed movement in every direction, like the gears of a huge engine, and wind howled across the landing ramp, dragging screams from the juddering metal.
‘What is that?’ he whispered. ‘Voices?’
No one answered. The others were all looking up into the blackness. They looked like awed pilgrims returning to a beloved, fearsome cathedrum, afraid and overjoyed to have reached the end of their journey. As Quintus listened harder, he was sure he could hear other sounds beneath the wind and the metallic booms. It sounded like a choir, just at the edge of his hearing, singing words he could not discern. The voices spiralled around each other, coming close to melody then devolving into a discordant howl.
Quintus was so engrossed by the sounds that it took him a moment to realise how cold he was. After the foetid heat of Precipice it was a shock to realise that ice was forming on his face. He exhaled and his breath whipped away from him into the breeze, flashing briefly in the Vanguard’s landing lights before slipping away.
‘Raun?’ said Draik, keeping his gaze locked on the darkness.
‘Raus, sir,’ said one of the grinning ratlings, rushing to Draik’s side followed by his brother.
Draik waved a dismissive hand and peered at the distant lumen. ‘If we reach that light safely, we may assume that this landing platform is safe for the moment. From there we will need to choose a route. Either Beresmith’s Channel or the Orvieto Viaduct. Which way did you lead Taddeus last time?’
Rein and Raus grinned at each other. ‘Neither,’ said Raus. ‘There is a third route.’
Draik glared at them. ‘I have landed here dozens of times. There is no third way to the maglev chambers.’
‘We never knew about the route either,’ said Raus, puffing out his chest and looking at the rest of the group. ‘Until we came into possession of hidden facts.’
‘Hidden facts,’ asserted Rein, narrowing his eyes.
Draik looked pained. ‘How do we reach the maglev chambers?’
‘We don’t,’ said Raus with a conspiratorial grin.
Draik closed his eye and took a deep breath, but before he could say anything else, lights washed over the Vanguard, along with the roar of landing jets.
As Taddeus’ ship banked into view, Quintus saw it clearly for the first time. The moorings on Precipice were so heaped that each hull obscured the next. Seeing the Clarion’s buttresses and spires revealed in all their majesty, wreathed in the flames of its thrusters, should have left Quintus awed, but the shuttle was dwarfed by the darkness. Its landing lights flickered across the footings of structures that soared out of sight – angular, confusing planes constructed from the same black material as the fortress’ exterior.
Quintus and the others had to shield their eyes as the Clarion kicked up dust and sent scrap clanging across the landing pad. As the ship touched down, the light of its jets revealed a whole junkyard of shattered engine parts and broken hulls. Quintus realised it was the wreckage of the ships that had almost made it, reaching the landing platform but exploding on impact. Perhaps they approached at the wrong trajectory, he thought. Then, as the mountainous darkness weighed down on him, he wondered if some of them had been destroyed after they’d touched down.
‘Don’t we need enviro-suits?’ he asked, turning to Isola, who was standing closest to him.
She was as rigid as a statue, staring at Draik’s back with an unreadable expression on her face.
Quintus repeated his question.
She shook her head, still staring at Draik.
‘Why not?’ he said, breathing more hesitantly now that the idea had occurred to him.
She finally turned her flinty gaze on him. ‘The Blackstone has a breathable atmosphere.’ She shook her head. ‘You risked your life to reach Precipice and have not even researched the Blackstone Fortress. Aren’t you interested to know what you’re up against?’
Quintus was not about to explain why he had come to Precipice. ‘Of course I’ve studied it. I just misunderstood. I thought the atmosphere was toxic.’
She shrugged. ‘In some vaults, possibly. The Blackstone Fortress has more ways to kill us than you can imagine. But an enviro-suit would not help. The few times I’ve seen anyone use one down here it ended badly. The fortress does not react well when people attempt to block her out.’
‘Her?’
Isola looked annoyed and waved him away. ‘I must talk with Taddeus.’
Quintus sensed that she was annoyed with herself rather than him, but either way she was not interested in speaking any more. She unclasped a small cogitator from her belt, and as she followed Draik down the landing ramp she tapped at its runes, bathing her face in green light.
Audus and the ratlings followed Isola and Draik so Quintus did the same, taking out one of his laspistols as he went, relieved to see that the workings were similar to the gun he had used when he was impersonating a Militarum officer. Behind them, their cargo of zealots appeared, shepherded to the ramp by servitors and glaring hungrily into the darkness.
Quintus hesitated at the bottom of the ramp, staring at the fortress’ black floor. It was not, as he’d first thought, featureless. It was networked by a grid of fine grooves or divisions, as though the whole place were built of geometric tiles. It was hard to tell if the material was stone or metal, or some combination of the two but, when he took his first step onto it, bone-aching cold seeped through his boots. The chill drained his spirit, leeching the life out of him. The floor was also shaking with such violence that he struggled to stay upright. It was as if it were about to erupt. He staggered after the others, swaying and stumbling, harried by the wind and crushed by the gloom. As he crossed the landing platform, the vast expanse of darkness felt even more threatening. Footfalls echoed into the distance, describing a colossal, open space. Quintus had the unpleasant feeling that the blackness was hanging over him, like a finger over an insect.
There was a harsh clank as the Clarion’s landing ramp opened. Taddeus rushed into view, face flushed and robes billowing in the storm. Vorne was at his side, her face hidden behind her iron mask but her eyes revealing the extent of her fervour. Both of them looked at Draik with undisguised wonder and hurried to meet him. Behind them, a great crowd surged forth. Some were missionaries like Vorne, dressed in Ministorum robes and wielding sanctified weapons, but others were new converts, wearing flight suits and flak armour that had been hastily modified with the addition of Ministorum sigils and wax-sealed screeds.
The missionaries from the Vanguard rushed to join their brethren, kneeling to Taddeus and whispering prayers, but he barely noticed them, all his attention fixed on Draik.
‘Captain Draik!’ he bellowed, rushing up to him.
Draik gave a slight bow and reached for a handshake. Taddeus ignored the hand and enveloped him in a sweaty embrace.
‘I knew it!’ he shouted into Draik’s face. ‘From the very first time we came down here together, I knew that you were more than just another treasure hunter.’
Draik gently shoved the massive priest back. ‘I am no longer a captain. I would not wish to mislead you on my relationship with House Draik. My father and I–’
‘Your father is the God-Emperor.’ Taddeus gripped Draik’s arms again and stared at him. ‘He is father to all of us, but you are a special son, Janus. He has brought you here. He has brought you to the Blackstone. And He brought you here for a reason.’
Draik looked awkward as Taddeus’ followers gathered, whispering prayers and gazing at him in adoration. Quintus sensed that Draik was holding something back. He doesn’t want them to fawn over him like that, he realised. Isola was wearing her habitual expression of disapproval and Audus was shaking her head in disbelief, but Quintus could not tell who she was amused by – Draik or his adoring crowd.
‘Will you do us the honour,’ said Taddeus, ‘of praying with us?’ His eyes were gleaming, as though he were considering a mouth-watering meal. ‘It would mean a lot to hear the catechisms from your mouth.’
Draik stiffened. ‘I would be glad to, your eminence, but we may only have moments to get off this landing platform. My advisors have informed me that the heretics have control of all these outer regions. Besides…’ He looked around at the juddering floor and the debris spinning through the air. ‘I have a feeling the chamber might reconfigure itself at any moment. We must head deeper into the fortress as quickly as we can.’
Taddeus beamed. ‘Have no fear of heretics, Janus.’ He waved at the crowd of wide-eyed missionaries. They were all armed with flamers, guns and chainswords. ‘Let them come! We are ready to purge and cleanse.’
‘All the same, your eminence, if we are to reach the inner chambers of the fortress, we must–’
‘Not just any chamber,’ whispered Taddeus, staggering as the floor shifted, then leaning close to Draik. ‘My brethren and I will ensure you reach the Eudoxus Crucible. Only then will the Emperor be reunited with His glorious creation, through your willing sacrifice, Janus.’
Quintus leant close to Isola. ‘They think the Emperor made this place?’
She silenced him with a furious glare.
Draik nodded quickly, looking around for the ratlings, then he hesitated and looked back at Taddeus. ‘Sacrifice?’
Taddeus whispered another prayer. ‘You are the red-handed prophet. I did not fully understand Eudoxus’ book until I saw you climb that scaffold, your hand bathed in blood. You are not merely an adjunct to the great deliverer, you are the Anointed. You will enter the Crucible and unite your mortal, human flesh with the unknowable forces that fuel the Blackstone. Your flesh will fall away to leave a spark of divinity.’
Quintus had been a fraud long enough to recognise that Draik was not interested in crucibles or prophecies. For all his Terran pride, Draik was a conman, just like him.
He touched the bone in his wrist. Draik isn’t seeking the Crucible, he thought. He’s lying to these rabid zealots. He’d be happy to reach any of the fortress’ inner chambers. I think he’ll head back to Precipice as soon as he lays his hands on something valuable.
He will want to reach it,+ replied the Archivist. The voice was less clear than before, distorted by bestial snarls. +His reasons are purely mercenary, but he will go. He thinks, correctly, that it is his best chance of finding artefacts of real value. Besides, Rein and Raus only know the way to the Crucible, so that’s the route they will take. Whatever they say to Draik, that’s where they’re headed. Draik has no importance. His fate is not linked to the Blackstone. But he is a skilled fighter and a clever tactician. He should be able to keep the ratlings alive until they reach the Crucible. At which point you will kill him.+
Quintus kept the barb pressed into his vein. Why? Why does he need to die? If he gets the ratlings to the Crucible, you’ll have everything you wanted.
A warning flash of pain jangled up Quintus’ forearm. +When the ratlings trigger the device, it will summon me to the doors of the Crucible. Make sure Janus Draik is not waiting there. The priests will fight for him to enter the Crucible in my place. And Draik and I are old adversaries. I will be alone and there will be a tiresome delay if I am forced to fight dozens of missionaries and Draik. He must be dead before I arrive.+
Quintus was about to ask the Archivist another question, when Audus patted him on the back.
‘Always so pensive,’ she said. ‘Come on. See the sights.’
Draik was stumbling off towards the red glow, with Rein and Raus at his side. The priests were trailing in his wake, the pilot lights on their flamers glimmering like stars reflected on a dark sea. Quintus looked back at the Vanguard and saw that Draik’s servitors had already withdrawn from the landing ramp and sealed the ship.
Audus beckoned to him as she jogged after Grekh and Isola. ‘Keep up,’ she laughed. ‘You really don’t want to be out here on your own.’
Quintus raced after her, his footfalls sounding like stones falling down a crevasse.
Audus leant close to him. ‘I’m a liar,’ she said, still smiling. ‘And liars can smell other liars.’
He stumbled to a halt, staring at her.
‘Why are you really here?’ she asked.
He continued staring at her in silence, his pulse racing.
‘I don’t care what you’re hiding,’ she said. She nodded at Draik, who was running away from them. ‘As long as you don’t mean him any harm.’
‘You care about him?’
‘I care about the money he’s going to make. And the privacy it will buy. I have a price on my pretty head and I wasn’t born into the right class to escape summary execution. People like me need to pay for their safety.’
Her situation sounded so similar to his that Quintus had a ridiculous urge to share his story; then he remembered what the Archivist expected him to do once they reached the Crucible. He shook his head.
She laughed again and kept on moving. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll work you out.’
Quintus muttered a curse as he watched her go, then, remembering the Archivist’s warning to stay close to Draik, he hurried to the rogue trader’s side, shoving his way past Audus to reach him. The priests were all still whispering prayers, but as he passed them he realised the other voices he’d heard earlier had grown louder. He was getting closer to them.
‘The maglevs have been the problem all along,’ Raus was saying as Quintus caught up. ‘They travel quickly through the fortress, but there’s no way of knowing where they’ll take you. They never quite take the route you want, do they?’
Draik nodded. ‘And you have found another method of traversing the fortress?’
‘Not the whole fortress,’ said Raus.
‘But the most important bit,’ said Rein.
Raus nodded. ‘Think of the fortress as a wheel of cheese. Each of the holes is–’
‘Stop,’ said Draik, holding up his hand and causing the whole group to halt. He was staring at the light up ahead. ‘That’s not a lumen,’ he muttered, raising his pistol.
Quintus frowned, trying to make out what the thing was.
‘A tree?’ said Audus.
‘Impossible,’ said Isola. ‘Nothing could grow down here.’
‘Nothing natural could,’ said Draik. He sniffed. ‘Do you smell that?’
Isola nodded and grimaced. ‘Smells like something rotting.’
Draik nodded and continued, approaching with more caution and keeping his pistol raised.
As they got closer, Quintus saw why Audus had thought it was a tree. It was a thick bundle of cables that had sprouted up through the floor and then fanned out like branches. The light was radiating from inside the ‘trunk’.
‘Is it part of the engines,’ he asked, ‘ripped up by the storm?’
‘Wait.’ Audus looked around. ‘The storm. Do you see? The wind is rushing towards that light.’
She was right: the wind was behind them now, shoving them in the direction of the light. The smell grew worse with every step they took and Quintus noticed dark stains on the floor nearby, leading off into the darkness as though something wet had been dragged away. There were also fragments of shattered armour and torn clothes.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t go any closer,’ he muttered.
Draik ignored him and kept approaching the object, with the others all trailing after him.
As they got closer Quintus saw another resemblance to a tree – each of the branch-like cables ended in a heavy lump, as if they were laden with some kind of fruit. He was about to comment on it, but the smell had grown so bad he thought he might vomit, so he held his hand over his mouth and nose and walked on in silence.
It was only when Quintus got within a dozen feet of the thing that he realised his mistake. They weren’t cables. They were glistening strips of meat. Flesh that had erupted from the floor, bound into thick knots. They looked like the tendons or veins of an enormous carcass. Light was radiating from their centre and it revealed blood, pulsing through the arteries.
‘It’s alive,’ he gasped, feeling even more sick.
‘Impossible.’ Isola was staring at her cogitator. ‘No vital signs.’
‘I can see its pulse!’ Quintus cried, pointing his gun at it. He felt even more horrified when he realised that the chanting was coming from this tower of ligaments. The wind was still battering his back and seemed to be driving him towards the gruesome, pungent horror. He backed away, shaking his head.
Draik was undeterred and walked closer. The thing towered over him, oozing blood and chanting, but Draik looked as though he were taking an evening stroll.
