The Journal of Brother Tyndarios, 11th Legion – Part 4: Patterns and councils

 

277.947.M30 – Eremus Gate

I suggested to Iskandra that we bring the body of Nestor Althanius to the apothecarion. Perhaps an autopsy could yield answers. She hesitated—her House has its own customs, cleansing fire, and a stellar grave—but in the end she agreed. Curiosity and necessity outweighed tradition. I was pleased. Not for myself, but because she showed the same hunger for truth that all warriors must have.

I was even more pleased to discover I could read her emotions as I do those of mortals. The Navigators seem distant, but Iskandra’s joy was plain: elation at her sudden elevation, eagerness to prove herself. In this, she is much like an Astartes on his first campaign. Perhaps Navigators and Space Marines are not so different after all.

Sergeant Kallin and Captain Varenius were duly informed, the sanctum secured by Astartes. I escorted the gurney with the corpse to the medbay, where Malchior prepared his instruments.

The body was… grotesque. No legs, but eight great tentacles, barbed and suckered. Arms elongated into whipcord strands. The kraken sigil of his House is no mere heraldry—they become what they honor. Malchior pitied him, speaking of the sacrifices made by the Emperor’s servants. When he opened the body, there was nothing where it should be, and organs that should never be.

Malchior concluded poison: a nerve-toxin, strong enough to burn every neuron to ash. Likely self-administered.

I urged more... brain tissue. The omophagea may reveal what knives cannot. Malchior warned me. Eating the unclean is forbidden. Yet was the Navigator unclean? He was sanctioned and had served faithfully. We discussed the matter at some length, and in necessity we found approval. He prepared the skull, bolt pistol steady at my temple, should madness take me.

I swallowed the blackened matter, dripping with oily fluids. Not how a human's brain should look.

Darkness. Pattern. Serpent. Spiral. A radiance beyond sight, burning in the void. For one instant, I saw what the Navigator saw, and it nearly unmade me. One glimpse, and I will carry it until death.

Yet I gained something more. I saw Nestor hand a cylinder of ebony and silver to a servant. Warp charts are kept so. Iskandra later confirmed it. Two of her household members were missing. Perhaps trusted, perhaps fled.

The remaining staff yielded nothing. They kept secrets even from their new mistress. Then Iskandra revealed her third eye. Darkness wrapped them, and they died where they stood. New servants will be chosen. I did not flinch. The Navigators are as ruthless as any Legion when there is a need.

Later, I was summoned to the bridge. Strange, for one as junior as I, but I was told my name had been entered into dispatches more than once. That, and my place in the Sol Club, has secured Rhadamanthine's patronage. And of course, my part in the Navigator matter.

The council gathered:

• Captain Varenius

• Magos Rhadamanthine

• Veteran-Sergeant Kallin of the Fists

• Sergeant Calvien of the Third

• Sergeant Hrothgar of the Wolves

• Sergeant Pheron of the Alpha Legion

• Sergeant Tyndrel of the Granite Guard

They debated our course. Rhadamanthine urged us to investigate the derelict he believed to be a Mechanicus ship. Then to Eremus II for the signals. The Captain counseled caution, the ship too precious to hazard, with no possibility of repairs or resupply. Hrothgar demanded a direct assault.

When they asked my counsel, I said we should clear our back first—destroy the Orks, then explore. I suggested the vortex torpedo. Hrothgar agreed at once, but Pheron cautioned: one cannot strike without knowledge. Calvien lent his voice in agreement. Sergeant Tyndrel remained silent, unreadable.

The debate rolled on. At length, I was dismissed.

I do not begrudge it. Stone should not sit in council forever. Stone need only endure.