‘Afflicted? You mean the warp madness?’ Now the woman began to cry. ‘But those with the warp madness are–’
‘No. Not like that. I will not give him the Emperor’s final mercy. The Emperor will help us. We must take him to a holy space. The way chapel your people wished us to use. Is it far?’
Lyasona shook her head.
‘Find me four strong men. I will need rope, and pins to tie them to the deck. Be quick!’
The woman rushed off.
‘Warp madness?’ said Clydeus. ‘He is doomed. No one can survive that.’
Mathieu turned to Clydeus. ‘He is not mad. He is possessed.’
‘Possessed? What do you mean?’
‘By a spirit from the warp. A Neverborn,’ Mathieu said quietly. The boy looked at him sharply and growled.
‘A what?’
‘A malevolent supernatural creature.’
‘Like the devils from the scriptures?’ said Clydeus.
‘A little. There is an echo of the truth in some of the parables. The reality is much worse. They are sometimes called warp xenos.’
‘Then it is not warp madness?’
‘You shipborn call it warp madness sometimes, yes,’ said Mathieu. ‘But is it really madness? There are also visions, and strange happenings, aren’t there? Inexplicable things.’
‘That is witchery,’ said Clydeus with a shudder.
‘Of a sort, but from no human agency. These Neverborn find their way into our world through unguarded minds, and usurp the will of those they take. It’s not surprising it’s happened here, in the Maelstrom. I suppose it was inevitable.’
‘I was born on this ship,’ said Clydeus. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ But he did, deep down. Warp madness, witches – these were convenient excuses. Every shipborn had an idea something was out there, if only from the nightmares they had when the ship sailed the warp. There were rumours. You did not speak of them. Those that did vanished.
‘They were a secret, for a long time, even from voidsmen like you. There are many secrets in this Imperium of ours,’ said Mathieu thoughtfully.
‘Then how do you know?’ said Clydeus.
Mathieu gave him a stern look. ‘I know because the Emperor wills it, Clydeus. Now is not the time for questions. We must work fast if we are to save the boy, and everyone else aboard this ship.’
Men arrived with Lyasona, hooded and masked so they would not be recognised. They wrapped the boy tightly in a blanket and carried him from the habitation quarters, up out onto the main gunnery levels. It was quiet up there, few people about. Only the gun masters were present, sleeping in hammocks strung upon the workings of the enormous macrocannons they were responsible for. The area was out of bounds to most of the ship’s inhabitants. But a few quiet words from Mathieu with the sentries standing guard at the junction of each gallery, and they were allowed through. Clydeus sweated at each challenge. The Red Corsairs were not loved by the crew, but like Mathieu had told Hiven, there were always those ready to curry favour.
The chapel was situated between two batteries. From its wide arches, it was possible to see each way down the rows of silent cannons. It was deathly silent. The chapel had been profaned. The statues of the Emperor had been torn out, and the sacred barred Terran ‘I’ gouged off the metal by machine tools, yet despite the efforts of the enemy, it remained sacred, for as soon as they crossed the threshold, the boy began to thrash and moan. The men struggled to hold him, and cursed.
‘Emperor preserve us, we’ll be heard!’ said Clydeus. ‘The heretics themselves patrol these levels.’
‘It will not matter if we don’t deal with this boy,’ said Mathieu. He directed the men to lay the boy out. They used the power tools of their trades to drive pins and hoops into the floor, and they bound the child’s ankles and wrists to them. The boy was shrieking now. When the men let go of him, he floated up, so that there was a clear few inches between his flesh and the deck. They backed away quickly; what was visible of their expressions under their hoods and masks showed they were aghast.
‘Go, get out of here!’ Mathieu commanded them. They gladly obliged, vanishing down access stairs back into the lower decks.
‘Help me, Clydeus,’ said Mathieu, when they had gone.
‘What do I do?’
‘Hold his head. Get the gag into his mouth, then hold his head fast between your knees to stop the thing inside breaking his neck.’
Grent was growling loudly. They heard the few men in the gunnery halls slipping from their posts and leaving. No one wanted any part of what was happening there, and as much as they feared the ship’s new owners, they feared their superstitions more.
What Clydeus witnessed was no superstition. The boy’s eyes were gleaming with awful power. When he went to put the knotted rag Mathieu had made for a gag into the boy’s mouth, his head snapped around, and his teeth sank deep into the flesh of Clydeus’ hand.
‘Terra’s dry bones!’ he cursed, snatching his hand back. He stood, unsure. His fear getting the better of him.
‘Clydeus, get the gag in, or he’ll lose his tongue!’ Mathieu hissed.
Clydeus moved round the top of the boy’s head. Mathieu knelt on his chest, pushing him back down, though the dark power in the child fought back, and Mathieu was forced to exert all his strength to keep the boy on the floor. He struggled with strips of parchment torn from the prayer books, touching them to the boy’s flesh where they blackened and stuck fast.
Clydeus moved in again with the gag. The boy’s head rolled lazily around, the neck bending at an unnatural angle, until the bone popped. He laughed – an evil, awful sound.
‘Clydeus, quickly!’
But the boy’s eyes had locked with Clydeus’, and something looked out from them. Clydeus felt his soul pulled upon, like he was falling head first into dark waters from which there was no escape. Visions of power filled his mind. He would be a cardinal, loved by billions, confidant of the Emperor, desired by women, wealthy beyond the dreams of the greediest lord…
‘Clydeus!’
Clydeus shook his head. That was not service, not to Him. It was service to himself. Shame buried his terror.
‘Emperor shield me,’ he said. He pinned the boy’s head between his knees and forced the gag into his mouth.
‘Good, quickly, put your hands on his chest. Repeat my words. This is an old ritual, but it will work only if our faith is strong. Now.’
Mathieu lifted his head, closed his eyes, then began to recite.
‘Oh Emperor, who sits in judgement of us all.’
‘Oh Emperor, who sits in judgement of us all,’ Clydeus repeated.
‘See this most innocent of your servants, see his suffering, see his utility to you, and in your mercy cast out from his flesh the daemons of the warp.’
Clydeus recited the words.
‘Scour from his mind the unholy touch of the unborn, the not born, the never to be born. Free his soul from their clutches. Lift his mind into the light of your mercy.’
The boy bucked and snarled. The gag began to smoulder. The parchment curled. Clydeus goggled. The boy’s eyes were yellow, alive with hatred, the light they cast painful to see. Now he saw a billion torments, things no man could live through, and yet Clydeus lived to experience them all…
‘The words, Clydeus!’ Mathieu said. ‘Now! Look at me!’
‘I–’
‘Don’t look into his eyes!’
Clydeus tore his gaze away, and repeated the words quickly, his tongue tripping over them. The possessed child writhed.
‘It’s working! It’s working!’ Clydeus said.
‘Concentrate! The holy words only! Cast out this beast!’ Mathieu shouted.
‘Cast out this beast!’ Clydeus repeated.