Eldar Prophecy

  Training in the Temple of the Swooping Hawks was carefully monitored and controlled by a special committee of the Ohlipsean, and Uisnech was the senior counsellor of this so-called Phoenix Wing. An unfortunate side effect of this exclusivity, however, was that the other Aspect Shrines on Kaelor viewed the Swooping Hawks with a level of suspicion that sometimes bordered on ridicule. In particular, the Dire Avengers - by far the largest of the Aspect Shrines on Kaelor, as on many other of the craftworlds - were open about their disdain for the gentrification of Khaine that they perceived in the Swooping Hawks of Kaelor. Uisnech had once stood at the head of the farseer's army at the height of the House Wars. Unique amongst the Knavir of Kaelor, he understood the imperatives and emotions of battle. He had been one of the few Knavir to recognise the inexorable rise of military power on Kaelor during the ending of the Era of Radiance, and had been one of the few that had sought to construct his own army of Guardians in his home domains of Anyon. He had been almost the only Knavir to lay his own life and those of his own Guardians at the feet of the farseer when the House Wars had begun. After the initial skirmishes, the farseer had allied with House Teirtu, and Uisnech had dutifully fought alongside Iden. He knew the capacities of the Zhogahn. He knew that Iden was an impressive warrior, but he also knew that the Teirtu patriarch did not have the constitution for politics or for life in the Sentrium. He knew that the great warrior's soul was conflicted between an ambition for power and respect on the one hand, and a craving for blood on the other. He had not been trained to resolve the tension between the two, and he had not been gifted with the natural capacities to do so. Perhaps he had been born onto the wrong craftworld. Iden would have made the perfect leader of a Wild Rider Clan on Saim-Hann. On Kaelor, in the Sentrium amongst the Knavir, he seemed like a beast.

  The thing that disgusted Uisnech more than Iden's vulgarity, however, was the fact that the Zhogahn -the so-called Vanquisher of Sin - had been tricked by a cheap distraction. He had been so caught up in the drama of the Battle of Ula Pass and in his hatred for the Ansgar that he had not even stopped to think that Ula and the Ansgar might merely be a sideshow. With the benefit of hindsight, it seemed incredible that Iden had believed even for a moment that Scilti Ansgar-ann would have walked willingly and willfully into the Ula Pass, knowing that it was a battle that he could not possibly win, without having an ulterior motive. Iden had made the classic mistake of thinking that his enemy had the same emotions and passions as him. The Ula Pass was the most emotive possible site for a battle between the Teirtu and the Ansgar, and young Scilti would have known that

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  Iden would not refuse the challenge. It was a matter of fighting spirit. It was a question of a warrior's honour. For Scilti, the death of Iden's finest warrior must simply have been a bonus. Iden had been set up. Not only did he look vulgar and uncouth to the Knavir because of his uncontrolled violence, but he also looked like a fool. While he was flexing and posturing in the Ula Pass, the Warp Spider Exarch Aingeal had been flitting through the Sentrium and abducting the farseer. Even though Uisnech was secretly pleased about this outcome, he couldn't help but despise the Teirtu for his short-sighted stupidity. In fact, it served him right, he thought. The fool had even left his disgusting son, Morfran, in charge of securing the palace. Uisnech considered his hypothesis for a moment and he realised that he might be giving the young Scilti too much credit. For the plan to have worked, there was no reason why the youthful tyro needed to be aware of what was going on. Indeed, the emotional effectiveness of the plan rather relied on Scilti's sincerity. It was suddenly clear to Uisnech that the whole enterprise had been conceived by the devious mind of the Warp Spider Exarch herself. She had encouraged the same simple warrior ethic in Scilti that Uisnech had been bemoaning in Iden. They had both gone into the Battle of Ula Pass thinking that they were reliving the last epic battle between the Teirtu and the Ansgar and they had both been prepared to throw everything they had into the fray. Scilti had chosen to die for this ridiculous honour. Meanwhile, Aingeal had the perfect diversion.

  His suspicions and interest aroused, Uisnech wondered whether the exarch had planned anything else to happen at that time. Down below in the Plaza of Vaul, Uisnech and Cinnia could see the ceremonial platform of Morfran and Oriana ease out of the gates of the palace and angle towards Iden's advancing platform. The Radiant Oriana held little Turi in her arms as usual, as though they were inseparable.

  He's got some nerve, muttered Cinnia, as though to herself. He's going out to meet his father. She wondered how Morfran was

  going to explain the loss of the farseer to his already fuming and distraught father. Perhaps he is wise to share the news in a public place, offered Uisnech in return, keeping his eyes on Morfran.

  He's certainly made a big deal of his injury. Cinnia was peering down at the medical-packing around Morfran's right leg. It was

  clearly fresh, but was already marked with a creeping stain of blood. I suppose that he's assuming that Iden is a father before he is a leader.

  Uisnech nodded silently. Then they both realised at the same time: He wasn't injured during the abduction! The Warp Spiders didn't touch him! He's shot himself in the leg to make it look as though he fought to defend the farseer!

  The Knavir on the balcony could hardly restrain their disgust at the conduct of the styhx-tann Teirtu in their midst. They watched Morfran's platform approach that of Iden, and they could see the ritual exchange of greetings for a public ceremony, but they were too far away to hear what was being said. After a few moments, they saw Iden's already gaunt and distressed face turn white with rage. Then he struck out, slapping his son and heir across the face in the middle of the crowded Plaza of Vaul, making the whole of the Sentrium gasp in shock at the terrible breach of decorum. THE SANCTUM OF the Warp Spider Temple had survived the damage to the rest of the shrine almost untouched. The runes and icons that speckled the walls were blazing with a thrill of life that Aingeal had never before seen in her temple. The webbing on the altar was as though on fire, glowing with passionate intensity and the relics were transformed, beyond recognition. The deathmask of the Araconid Warlock gazed forth from the left of the altar, its eyes glimmering with distant majesty and power, as though the mask had suddenly found a life of its own. On the other side of the altar, held above it in cruciform glory, the golden armour of the Lhykosidae shimmered with an ineffable and inalienable radiance. It was a beacon. It was calling out and drawing its agent near. It was as though the Fluir-haern were reaching through the ancient psycho-plastic form and beckoning for a new body to give it life.

  'The temple is alive,' muttered Aingeal, giving her thoughts a whispered volume as though to anchor them in reality. She gazed around the sanctum in wonder, feeling as though she had entered into the very heart of her Aspect. For the first time since her ascension, she felt a tinge of alienation from the shrine that she had tended for all those years. She could not explain what was happening, and she wasn't sure why it had never happened for her. She had not experienced feelings of jealously for longer than she could remember - since before she had become an Exarch of Khaine - and her normal eldar existence had been brought to an end. Yet something resembling bitterness was curdled into her sense of awe. Why wasn't it me? She kept the question to herself. The farseer and Arachnir Adsulata were busy around the altar, laying Naois's oddly transformed body onto its glowing, web-lined surface, like an offering to Khaine or to the Fluir-haern, whichever was watching. The young tyro had lost consciousness and fallen out of the massive funnel-web above the arena. He was exhausted and spent, as though his exertions while the others had been away had used up all of his energy. There was something unnaturally ceramic about his skin, as though a layer of delicate crystals had formed just below it, and he seemed unable to close his silver eyes, which were run through with flecks of black, like a matrix or web of shadows in his soul. He stared up at the golden armour above the altar, his eyes transfixed and yet unfocused.
Scilti stood with Khukulyn in the mouth of the passageway that fed into the sanctum, still leaning on the older warrior for support. They watched the proceedings in disbelief. It had been only hours since they had been fighting desperately for the honour of Ansgar in the Ula Pass, and now they were in the sanctum of the Warp Spider Temple with the Radiant Farseer, and the heir of Ansgar teetering on the brink of a sinister metastasis. Somewhere in Scilti's mind, he wondered whether this had been the purpose of the events of the last day: his own elevation from the status of tyro before that of Naois - something of which he had been so proud - and then the hopeless battle against the Teirtu. Had these events been stage-managed to produce a transformation in Naois. Had this all been about Naois, and not about him after all? Despite the evident suffering of his cousin on the altar, Scilti could not repress the wave of personal bitterness that trickled through his soul. Would he always be in Naois's shadow?

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  Even from the passageway, they could see Naois's convulsions. His body was suddenly rigid and then limp, as though all of his muscles were spasming in succession. His body was changing before their eyes, but his eyes seemed to scream with an irrepressible and terrible pain, as though his very soul was being tortured and transformed. While Aingeal dashed forwards to help Adsulata hold the youth down, the farseer stepped back from the altar and began a whispered chant. He touched his fingers together in a complicated sequence of patterns and contortions, generating delicate wisps of sha'iel that wafted out of his hands and over Naois's struggling body, covering him in an intricate lattice of threads that seemed to both sooth and restrain his turmoil.

  At the same time, little Ela pushed past Scilti and Khukulyn into the sanctum. She walked deliberately up to the farseer and stood at his side, watching his interventions with earnest interest. She seemed unphased and unsurprised by her brother's condition, and appeared completely at ease standing next to the Rivalin Farseer, as though that was were she belonged. For his part, Ahearn spared a brief sideways glance at the child seer before turning back to the matter at hand, with the faintest suggestion of a smile on his face.

  After a few moments, Naois's convulsions eased and then stopped, leaving him lying on the altar in peace, shrouded in a dense web of sha'iel. Aingeal and Adsulata released his limbs and stepped back, letting a breath of relief ease through the sanctum. Things seemed to be under control.

  Very slowly, Naois's body started glowing. The light traced the threads of the net of sha'iel that lay over the top of him, as though thickening them and feeding them with energy from some invisible source. Soon, he was bathed in light, and the web that covered him had become a shroud, wrapping him like a chrysalis. Meanwhile, Ahearn continued to chant, and wispy tendrils of energy continued to flow from his hands. After a few moments, the field around Naois started to pulse, as though becoming unstable, and then delicate vines started to creep upwards, questing towards the armour of the Lhykosidae, which was already alight with golden force. Very quickly, the reaching vines coalesced into a glittering trunk of energy, connecting the withering body of Naois with the ever brighter form of the golden armour above. It pulsed and flashed with an organic rhythm, as though the process of life itself were being laid bare in the sanctum of the Warp Spiders. The runes and icons around the walls burnt even brighter as massive currents of sha'iel swirled around the capillaries of the infinity circuit in the region, as though the spirit of Kaelor were at work in the tem- ple, even while Naois's body grew visibly weaker and increasingly translucent. There was a flash like an explosion, and then all light was suddenly sucked out of the sacred chamber. When the runes flickered back into life, Naois's body had vanished from the altar, leaving only a pile of wraith-threads fluttering in the gentle gusts of faerulh that breathed coolly through the sanctum. It seemed as though the youth's energy had been bled dry. Cautiously, as though bringing a delicate process to a close, Ahearn stopped chanting and unclasped his hands. Even before he looked up at the splendour of the golden armour above them, he looked down at the tiny figure of Ela'Ashbel at his side. As though suddenly full of fatherly pride and concern he reached out his hand and rested it on her smooth shoulder. The others were staring up at the golden armour with undisguised awe. Slowly, it flexed its shoulders and rolled its neck, as though it were awakening from a long sleep with aching joints and stiff muscles. Then, with effortless ease, it shrugged itself free of the rig that held it cruciform and resplendent above the altar, and dropped down to the floor. It was shorter than the others had expected, perhaps a full head shorter than Scilti. It was magnificently simple in design, resembling the armour of a Warp Spider, albeit without the cumbersome bulk of a warp-pack on its back. Long, elegantly curving blades protruded like fangs from its forearms, and its limbs were coated in tiny, toxic hair-like bristles, little more than a couple of microns in diameter, but the attendant eldar's attention was drawn completely by its eyes. Although the armour's helmet was entirely sealed into its shoulders, its eyes seemed to shine with organic life. There was no suggestion of a visor or augmentations. The armour itself seemed to have eyes, and they shone with a silver light that held everyone in their thrall. They were laced with black webs, like lethal traps for anything unwary that strayed into them. Only Ela seemed to be unaffected by the presence of the terrible creature. She shrugged off Ahearn's hand and walked directly towards the Lhykosidae, reaching out her arms and wrapping them around the armour's golden waist, as though she were hugging a relative. In response, it placed a gauntlet on her head without a word, touching her gently. Ela nodded and waved her hand at the altar, which trembled for an instant and then slid down into the ground, as though being lowered by some kind of mechanical device. Behind it, three thrones were revealed in an alcove in the wall at the back of the sanctum. The one in the centre was the Fanged Throne of the Wraith Spider, glorious and golden in its majesty. The one on the left, behind the deathmask, was smaller and set lower into the ground, the throne of the Araconid Warlock. The final throne, set a little lower than the other two, bore the mark of the exarch. Without a word, Naois ascended the pedestal of the Fanged Throne and took his place as the legendary Wraith Spider, with little Ela perched neatly on the seat of the warlock's throne next to him. They stared down at the farseer and exarch, their startling sapphire and silver eyes burning with the fury of Ansgar. A crackle of warp lightning flashed through the temple, as though a terrible storm was coming. Adsulata bowed deeply and Khukulyn sank to his knees, taking Scilti down with him. THE INTERIOR OF the Shrine of Fluir-haern was utterly transformed. Iden had ordered it purged of all taints of the presence of the Warp Spiders, and a detachment of Aspect Warriors from the Temple of the Fire Dragons had been sent to cleanse the space through their sacred flames. Exarch Fuarghan had hesitated for a moment before acceding to the request, pondering the implications of a ritual purification for the Covenant of the Asurya's Helm. He was fully aware that Aingeal had already breached the accord, but he was equally aware that the other exarchs remained united in their opposition to the Warp Spider's cavalier actions. He did not want to take her conduct as the precedent for his own. In the end, Fuarghan had resolved that a purification was a purely ceremonial duty rather than a political intervention, and he had felt compelled to provide the righteous flames of his Aspect as a fittingly auspicious way to cleanse the most sacred site of Kaelor.

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  It was better that the Fire Dragons did it properly than allow it to be bungled by the Teirtu Guardians. The fact that the cleansing was focused mainly on the eradication of the exquisite, eons-old wraith-webs that once riddled the shadows of the shrine was incidental, or so he told himself.

  The shrine-keepers that Aingeal had killed had been replaced from the shrine's school of tyros, and a bank of six hooded and robed eldar stood before the famed Tetrahedral Altar at the end of the main aisle. Their practiced stillness made them appear like little more than perfect statues as they waited for Iden and his c
ortege to advance along the aisle. The Zhoghan of Kaelor strode purposefully up the aisle, holding the faintly glowing jewel of Yseult's spirit stone before him like a tear of Isha. He was flanked on one side by Exarch Lairgnen of the Dire Avengers, who had come to pay his last respects to a fallen daughter of vengeance, and on the other side by Oriana, who bore her son like an offering to the gods. Behind them came the husk of Yseult, borne on the same flat, anti-grav palanquin on which she had been rushed from the Ula Pass. It was a simple and crude device, etched and scarred from use, and edged with droplets of spilt blood, hardly appropriate for a high ceremony in the Shrine of Fluir-haern.