The harsh, brownish-yellow light of Aghoru fell upon its salt flats, dotted with a hundred crimson tents, each housing a squad of Thousand Sons.
Beneath the scarlet canopies, Phosis T'Kar, Captain of the 2nd Fellowship of the Thousand Sons and Magister Templi of the Raptora Cult, paced restlessly, staring at the towering, thirty-thousand-meter-high mountain range at the plains' center.
"It wasn't formed naturally. It was shaped from nothing by some supernatural power."
"I agree." Hathor Maat, Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons and Magister Templi of the Pavoni Cult, nodded.
Even without expertise in tectonic uplift, orogenesis, and compressive forces, simple logic led to that conclusion.
"Father should have returned by now. Why hasn't he come back?" Phosis T'kar looked at Hathor Maat, standing beside him.
"I do not know."
"Can you see him?" Phosis T'kar pressed, turning to Ahzek Ahriman, the Magister Templi of the Corvidae Cult, on Hathor's other side.
"No," Ahriman shook his head. "My sight extends only to the dead-stone."
"Aaetpio's vision cannot pass those stones either."
Those lacking aetheric sight could not see the Tutelaries.
To the Thousand Sons, the Tutelaries were, in general, beautiful, shimmering apparitions, but each was unique.
Ahriman's Aaetpio was delicate and ethereal, with a constantly shifting halo and bright eyes.
Hathor's Peokk was an eagle of a million golden stars.
Phosis T'kar's Utipa was a belligerent mass of formless energy, as combative as himself.
The Tutelaries were incarnations of aetheric power, drawing directly from the Great Ocean's might, even more powerful than the force the Thousand Sons themselves could command.
"I thought you would see more, being of the Corvidae," Phosis T'kar said impatiently, sweat trickling down his shaved head onto the curved scar on his neck.
Even for an Astartes, Aghoru was oppressive. Only Hathor and the other Illuminators were free of sweat.
"Three months!"
"We have nothing to do here. We don't know what he is doing."
"And father has forbidden us from interfering with the Aghoru."
Ahriman took a bronze water jug from his apprentice, Sobek, as he approached. "Father has ordered us to remain here."
He poured a cup for Phosis T'kar; Hathor gave a slight wave of refusal.
"Lord Nareth is about to arrive." Ahriman looked at the golden scarab stamped into the inner rim of Hathor Maat's right pauldron, a flicker of gloom passing through his eyes.
He had been the Legion's first captain; the position of Chief Librarian should have been his.
Unexpectedly, Maat had risen, earning their gene-father's trust and becoming the Legion's second-in-command.
Though Ahriman led the First Fellowship, Maat was Chief Librarian and commanded the Legion's elite, the Scarab Occult Terminators.
"Maat, Lord Nareth is arriving."
"He has always favored you. I believe you can ask him to help us find our gene-father."
Flashes of the flesh-change, a blur of images, passed through Ahriman's mind: Lord Nareth and the Emperor approaching their father together.
Hathor, a full-fledged "Telepathist," caught the envy and resentment flickering in Ahriman's eyes.
'Praise my Lord!'
'All that I am, I owe to the Black Emperor's gifts.'
The Magister Templi of the Pavoni Cult, Hathor Maat, his finely sculpted features holding a perfect smile, his golden hair flowing in the hot wind, unmarred by dryness, spoke.
"Of course, Lord Nareth will be happy to help us. He will meet with our gene-father."
Hathor understood why Ahriman was asking the Black Emperor to find their father.
The gene-father had ordered them to stay away from the mountains. Disobedience would bring punishment but the Black Emperor was different. Their father would not be angered by His arrival.
Ahriman drained his cup. As Sobek offered another bronze jug, he shook his head.
"No. Give it to the Remembrancer Gaumon. He is by the dead-stone."
He said to Hathor, "We should prepare a welcome for Lord Nareth."
Sobek, carrying the jug, trudged towards the foot of the mountain.
He saw the Remembrancer Lemuel Gaumon, his canvas-wrapped water jug at his lips.
The warm, brackish water was still refreshing in this heat.
"How can anyone live in a place this hot?"
"Lemuel," Camille Shivani, the architectural archaeologist, in a sleeveless vest and dusty sandals, a camera-recorder device hanging from her neck, said, "Most Aghorui live in the fertile deltas along the northern and western coasts."
"But some have lived in this wasteland for generations. It defies logic," Gaumon said, puzzled.
"What about your friend?" he asked, referring to Ankhu Anen, the Guardian of Prospero's great library.
"Ankhu has returned to camp to prepare for Lord Nareth's arrival."
"Lord Nareth..." Lemuel's hand trembled. He thought of his wife, Marika, taken by the Shadows of Order.
Kallista Eris, the historian in a white dress, also a powerful divination-psyker, noticed Lemuel's reaction.
She and Camille had been equally shocked when they first heard the news.
Lord Nareth was renowned for his victories and power, and the Shadows of Order, with its many compliant worlds, was a treasure trove of history and architecture.
They had applied to both the 28th and 33rd Expedition Fleets, but had ultimately been assigned to the Thousand Sons.
Kallista had pondered the reason, eventually concluding: most of the Thousand Sons' remembrancers were psykers, while the Shadows of Order showed no such preference.
They were both psykers, so they were assigned to the 28th Fleet.
Kallista knew the reason for Lemuel's distress, his wife.
Wanting to lift her friend's spirits, she changed the subject.
"Camille, Ankhu, and I have spent hundreds of hours deciphering parts of the elegant, rounded runes carved on the dead-stone."
"Most of the credit goes to Camille. She's a psychometric, she just touches an ancient object and reads its secrets..."
Camille, not wanting Kallista to continue praising her, said, "It's an early Aeldar script. Even by their standards, it's very old, so I haven't been able to lock down the exact meaning."
"Ankhu says his Rosetta Scrolls have similar records that can help me understand the Aeldar's complex emotions and semantics."
Lemuel was about to press for more; the secrets of the Rosetta Scrolls fascinated him.
Anything, books, scrolls, that might contain a way to save Marika drew him.
The aura-reader Lemuel suddenly saw a blazing light. He followed it to a Thousand Sons warrior approaching.
He had a flat face, black, serpentine eyes, and golden skin.
"Lord Ahriman sent me with this water," Sobek said.
Lemuel didn't take the jug. "Lord Sobek, is Lord Nareth coming to Aghoru?"
Camille quickly took the jug, the Astartes-sized vessel, filled with water, was heavy and unwieldy in her hands.
"Yes," Sobek said curtly, and turned away. He had no desire to waste words on mortals.
He didn't understand why his teacher Ahriman had sent him with the water, but he would complete the order.
Lemuel watched Sobek leave, biting his lip. "I need to see."
"But we don't know where Lord Nareth will land."
"I can find him." Lemuel, the aura-reader, looked towards the direction of the rolling, shifting colors, and walked.
Camille Shivani and Kallista Eris exchanged a glance, and followed.
They would not abandon their friend.
They, too, yearned to see Lord Nareth for themselves.
It might be their only chance; if they missed it, they would regret it forever.
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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