Aaron Dembski-Bowden - The First Heretic

Cyrene stood where she was led to stand, and she smiled at Lorgar. Directly at him – directly at his face.

‘Hello, Blessed Lady,’ the god’s son chuckled. She was just tall enough to reach his waist.

‘I... I can see you,’ she almost laughed. ‘I can see your smile.’

Lorgar saw his warriors begin to come closer, ready to examine her, to see if her sight was returning. He gestured them back with a hand, and shook his head.

+Argel Tal+ The primarch’s voice was sibilant in the captain’s mind. Despite the gene-link between them, it was unpleasantly invasive – a spike of cold cutting right to the brain. The captain felt his muscles bunch, and both hearts beat faster.

The Word Bearer nodded, hoping his liege didn’t detect his discomfort, but knowing he almost definitely did.

+It is said she was abused on Khur+ came the primarch’s voice.

The Word Bearer nodded again.

+What a creature is Man+, Lorgar’s silent voice seemed to sigh. +So much of life is wasted seeking dominance over all around us.+

Emboldened by his father’s familiarity tonight, Argel Tal tapped two fingertips beneath his eyes, one after the other.

+No+ Lorgar’s silent voice was weighted by emotion. +She cannot see me. She senses me, my aura, and her mind misinterprets it as sight. But her eyes are still dead. They will always be. Guilliman’s incendiary rage blinded her forever.+

All of this transpired in three beats of Argel Tal’s twinned hearts. Lorgar hadn’t even glanced in his direction.

‘Yes,’ the primarch said to Cyrene, and lowered himself to one knee. It brought his face almost level with hers. Her sightless gaze followed his movements, and he smiled to see the effect he had on her. ‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘You can see me.’

‘As bright as the sun,’ Cyrene whispered, crying now. ‘I see gold, and gold, and gold.’

A hand the size of her head touched her with a ghost’s softness, thick fingertips brushing her cheeks, drying her tears. She breathed out a sigh without meaning to, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

‘Cyrene,’ Lorgar’s voice was resonant and low in her ears. ‘I am told you are something of a talisman to my warriors. A lucky charm, if you will.’

‘I couldn’t say, my lord.’

‘I am not your lord,’ Lorgar gently stroked her features, fingertips smoothing along her nose, her cheekbones, her jawline. It was as if he were the blind one, needing to touch her to imagine her features. ‘Your life is your own, not mine – not anyone’s – to claim.’

She nodded, unable to speak through the mask of tears shining on her face.

‘Do you know why I wished to see you, Cyrene?’

‘No,’ her voice was strengthless and breathless. She merely mouthed the word.

‘To ask you for something. A gift only you can give.’

‘Anything,’ she mouthed. ‘Anything.’

‘Will you grant me forgiveness?’ the primarch asked. He took her tiny hands in his own, the golden fingers enveloping hers completely. ‘Will you forgive what I did to your world, to your perfect city, to your precious eyes?’

She managed a nod, looking away from the golden light she thought she could see.

Lorgar kissed her knuckles, the barest touch of his lips against her skin. ‘Thank you, Blessed Lady. My soul is lighter in the wake of your words.’

He released her hands, and rose to his feet, moving away.

‘Wait,’ she called out. ‘Let me serve you. Let me serve your Legion. Please.’

Argel Tal repressed a shiver. Cyrene’s words were achingly similar to the vow he’d made himself upon first seeing the primarch. How curious it was, when the past reached through to the present with such clarity.

‘Do you know,’ Lorgar asked her, ‘what a confessor is? Did they have such positions on Khur?’

‘They did, master,’ Cyrene said. She’d still not recovered her voice. ‘They called themselves the Listeners. They would hear our sins, and forgive them.’

‘Exactly,’ Lorgar chuckled. ‘Your life is your own, Cyrene Valantion of Monarchia. But if you wish to walk with my warriors and journey through the stars, then there is the perfect role for you to fill. You have heard my sins, and forgiven me. Would you do the same for my sons?’

Her answer was to kneel, abasing herself in thankful prayer. Instead of replying, her whispering voice spoke invocations of piety, straight from the scriptures she studied as a child.

The primarch cast a last affectionate look at Cyrene, before turning to Argel Tal. ‘Captain,’ he said.

‘My lord.’ Argel Tal saluted, fist over his chestplate.

‘Erebus had much to say about you in the month I was secluded. When I recalled who pulled me up from my knees before my brother Guilliman, Erebus spoke of you.’

‘I... am surprised to hear that, lord.’

Lorgar wasn’t deaf to the hesitance in Argel Tal’s tone. ‘I had assumed your discomfort with Erebus had faded with time. Have I erred in that belief?’

Argel Tal shook his head. ‘No, lord. Forgive me a moment’s distraction. Our difficulties are in the past. The trials were long ago.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ Lorgar chuckled. ‘To be trained by Erebus himself, and choose the blade above the crozius. You walking another path is a great blow to his pride, and a disappointment that cut him to his core. But he has forgiven you. I wondered – could the same be said for you? Have you forgiven him?’

Choosing another path. That, Argel Tal thought, was putting it very delicately.

‘There was nothing to forgive,’ he said. ‘His anger at my decision was understandable.’

Lorgar watched him closely, the primarch’s grey eyes forever judging, despite the affection that lay within them.

‘Your compassion has always done you great justice, Argel Tal.’

‘I am honoured you believe so, sire.’

‘So now we come to the crux of why you were summoned.’

‘I stand ready.’

‘There will be some changes to the Serrated Sun when you return to the Great Crusade. I have chosen four Chapters to play host to our Custodes sentinels – each Chapter dealing with five of the twenty. It is with regret that I inform you the Serrated Sun is one of them. I understand you met Aquillon in the city of glass? I have granted his request that one of the Custodes groups travel with the Serrated Sun. I saw no harm in throwing the Emperor’s watchdogs this one bone.’

‘By your word,’ said Argel Tal.

‘There’s more, I’m afraid.’ Lorgar smiled again, every inch the charming, golden hierarch who led a revolution on this very world. ‘I trust you above and beyond the call of duty. You lifted me from shame, dragging me from the dust, and I thank you for it. So I would ask, in all humility, if you would grant me a favour, Seventh Captain Argel Tal.’

The words, and the tone in which they were spoken, drove Argel Tal to his knee in supplication. What other primarch – what other godlike being – would be so humble as to ask one of his own sons for the gift of a favour? It humbled Argel Tal to be born into this being’s bloodline.

Lorgar laughed, the sound melodious in the night’s faint breeze. A dozen metres away, Cyrene heard the sound and felt the threat of tears again.

‘Rise,’ Lorgar said through the smile. ‘Have you not knelt enough, Argel Tal?’

He rose, but kept his eyes at the primarch’s feet. ‘Ask anything of me, sire. Anything, and it will be done.’

‘I have travelled with thousands upon thousands of my warriors, decade after decade, acting the general, playing the admiral. I grow weary of such games. While the Legion scatters across the stars, I have no wish to cross paths with my brothers now. Their righteous indignation will grate on my last nerves. You could say I wish to hide, but that would be a lie. I simply wish not to be found. There’s a beautifully subtle difference between the two.’