A dim ultraviolet light shone through the pipes above, and flickering electro-flambeaux burned in iron sconces that had once been the piston covers of an engine housing. Two enormous mechanised thrones stood upon an elevated rostrum at the heart of the chamber, arranged so that those who sat upon them would be facing each other.
‘The Throne Mechanicum,’ said the acolyte who had led them within, ‘through which you will each bond with your armour.’
They made several circuits of the internal structure of the Sanctuary, shedding their accompanying Sacristans as the robed acolytes of the Mechanicum took up positions throughout the building in preparation for the ritual. Eventually, only one was left, a shaven-headed drone who normally attended their father.
Without needing to be told, Raeven knew which of the Thrones was his, and he climbed the iron steps of its heavy, drably functional machinery to sit down. No sooner had he done so than heavy steel bands snapped into place at his ankles and wrists. A silver cowl rose from the rear portion of the throne and slipped smoothly over his head. Raeven felt the heat of electrical contact as whirring cable plugs slotted home in the input sockets bored into the back of his neck and spine.
The sense of invasive penetration was sharp and cold, but not unpleasant.
With connection established, Raeven blinked as he heard a susurration of half-heard voices around him, as though an invisible host of distant observers had silently entered the chamber to witness his Becoming.
‘My lord,’ said the Sacristan, gesturing to the throne opposite Raeven’s.
Albard nodded, but made no move to climb the steps to his throne.
‘What’s the matter, brother?’ said Raeven. ‘Nervous?’
Albard shot him an angry look. ‘This isn’t how it’s supposed to work,’ he said. ‘The catechisms, the words we are to speak. This isn’t what I expected.’
The Sacristan nodded. ‘Given the unfortunate incident before the Argent Gate, Lord Devine has instructed us to dispense with much of the formal ritual associated with the Becoming.’
The Sacristan’s tone left no room for doubt as to what he thought of that particular instruction. Like their Mechanicum overseers, the Sacristans were great respecters of tradition, ritual and dogma.
‘But that’s to help us bond with the Knight armour,’ protested Albard.
‘Lord Devine felt you would be more than capable of establishing a connection without it,’ said the Sacristan. ‘He was most insistent.’
Albard swallowed hard, and Raeven savoured his brother’s discomfort. Normally as brusque and arrogant as their father, to see him so obviously frightened was a rare treat.
‘My lord, if you please,’ said the Sacristan.
‘Alright, damn you,’ snapped Albard, finally climbing the steps and sitting upon his throne.
The restraint mechanisms fastened around his brother’s limbs and the silver cowl rose to envelop the upper portion of his skull. Albard jerked as the communion umbilicals slotted into his body, grimacing as their whirring mechanism scraped the infected skin around his input sockets.
Raeven’s eyes met Albard’s, and he allowed himself a moment’s satisfaction as he saw the weakness deep within his brother – buried, and all but invisible to most people who knew him. But it was there now, horribly exposed and glaringly obvious.
‘Ready, brother?’ said Raeven.
Albard said nothing, his jaw clenching and unclenching in fear.
Satisfied that both men were secured within their thrones, the Sacristan leaned down and whispered into Albard’s ear. Such were the perfect acoustics of the chamber that Raeven heard every word, and his eyes widened at the look of horror on his brother’s face.
‘The Serpent Gods live,’ said the Sacristan.
Dawn was making its way up the valley as Cebella Devine watched Lyx climb the steps to the high walls overlooking the scene of the previous day’s carnage. Cebella’s huscarl bodyguards were keeping a respectful distance, and she felt her heart race as Lyx approached.
‘Is it done?’ asked Cebella, without turning to face the girl.
‘It is,’ confirmed Lyx.
‘And?’
‘There were... complications,’ said Lyx, clearly relishing the look of irritation that flitted across Cebella’s face.
‘Don’t draw this out, Lyx. Tell me.’
‘Raeven imprinted successfully. His Knight is a colt in the stable, wild and strong.’
‘And Albard?’
Lyx paused, her face a mockery of loss. ‘It grieves me to say that after the incident on the Via Argentum, Albard’s mind was unprepared to endure a night in the Chamber of Echoes.’
‘Does he live?’ asked Cebella.
Lyx nodded. ‘He does, but his Knight refused to bond with him and the bio-neural feedback from that rejection has irreparably damaged his mind. I fear he is lost to us.’
Cebella finally deigned to face Lyx and the two women shared a look that an outsider might have mistaken for shared grief, but which was in fact shared complicity.
‘Your pet Sacristan made quite a spectacle of himself,’ said Cebella at last.
‘A man will do foolish things for the sake of lust,’ agreed Lyx.
‘But he failed to kill Cyprian,’ said Cebella. ‘Impaled twice and the cantankerous old bastard still breathes. I almost admire him for that. Almost.’
‘Yes, Cyprian still lives, but look at what Raeven achieved,’ pointed out Lyx. ‘The people saw him stand and fight a mallahgra with only a powerless sword. From such tales are legends born.’
‘Do we have need of legends?’
‘We will,’ said Lyx, as a momentary dizziness swept through her and she blinked away the image of a fiery amber eye and a sweeping storm that stretched from horizon to horizon.
‘Another vision?’ asked Cebella, extending a hand to steady her.
‘Perhaps,’ nodded Lyx.
‘What do you see?’ demanded Cebella, keeping her voice low.
‘A time of great change is coming to Molech,’ said Lyx. ‘It will be many years from now, but when it comes, a terrible war will be fought. House Devine will play a pivotal role in it.’
‘Raeven?’
‘He will be a great warrior, and his actions will turn the tide of the war.’
Cebella smiled and released Lyx’s arm. She looked up into the lightening sky and pictured the worlds over which her son would claim dominion. Lyx was not the only Adoratrice to have the sight, but her secret powers waxed stronger than any that Cebella had known before.
‘You have grand ambitions for your twin brother,’ said Cebella.
‘No more than you, mother,’ said Lyx. ‘No more than you.’
About The Author
Graham McNeill is the author of seven Horus Heresy novels, most recently Vengeful Spirit and Angel Exterminatus, along with the New York Times bestseller A Thousand Sons. He has written a host of other novels for Black Library, including Warhammer 40,000 series based on the Ultramarines, the Iron Warriors and the Adeptus Mechanicus. His work in the Warhammer World includes The Legend of Sigmar for the Time of Legends, the second book of which, Empire, won the David Gemmell Legend Award. Originally hailing from Scotland, Graham now lives and works in Nottingham.