Herald of the Stars: Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty-Nine

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I shake my head, “We need to get rid of it. I cannot shelter you from the Inquisition for a book like that Quaani. I’m not sure I should.”

A bitter expression passes across Quaani’s face, “Then I am damned for all eternity.”

“I’m willing to hear you out,” I say. “That book is one scheme on top of another, so lay them on me.”

Quaani clutches his satchel to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Quaani,” says Annette.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just another in a rather long line of victims.” Quaani takes a steadying breath, then examines each of our faces in turn. He clenches his jaw for a moment, then starts to speak, his words quiet and slow.

“The Liber Heresius is a guide on how to permanently weaken or slay every demon in existence, so long as you know their true name. It has their names too, if you dare to compete for them. This includes the four major gods.

“Once the book is bound to a person, only they can read it, and when they die, they will be bound to the book in turn. One can break this curse by hunting down the other eight copies and slaying the person who commands the Liber Heresius. Doing so will directly increase the power of the survivor and absorb the extra copy.

“Should one complete this quest, they will be given a choice, to reach apotheosis and become a new god, or to destroy the book, lose all the power and knowledge they have gained, and become mortal once again.

“To fail is to be bound to the book, even if all you do is lock it away and wait for old age to fell you. Your soul and knowledge is added to the book and to fuel the growth of those who come after you.”

“Fuck, that’s nasty,” says Thorfinn.

Owen says, “How do you find the other wielders?”

“You can ask the book and it will tell you. When requesting the knowledge on the location or weaknesses of a demon or reader, the book sets up a clash of wills. The challenges are myriad and bizarre. It also informs all the other damned souls of this tome whatever it is that the others look up, handing out the knowledge you have paid for, for free, unless you lost the clash of wills.

“The victor gets the majority of the knowledge, but the loser always gets something. The only exception are the gods, whose weaknesses are declared for all to see, for to claim a domain is to be bound to it for all to witness your glory and despair.”

Brigid tuts, “How tricky.”

“That’s just one of the rules!” shout Quaani, his voice breaking. “If I know a demon’s true name I am forced to speak it when referring to them.” He rolls up his sleeve and there are clear surgery marks where a portion of his void skin has been replaced. “Using the book twists the mortal form. I was forced to burn corruption from my own body with my eye and immolate a tiny portion of my soul. It was excruciating. This was the price of victory. It is far worse if you lose.”

“Who did you look up?” I say.

“Balphomael of the Horned Darkness. He’s already been slain, so I thought it would be a good test. I wanted to know what the rituals required to kill a demon were like and I didn’t dare read the weaknesses of anyone greater. I also looked up a host of minor demons to confirm my theory.”

Brigid frowns, “Is it safe for us to know?”

“Yes. I have found three ways to kill a demon. The first two apply to all warp entities. One can imprison them and cut them off from their source of power, leaving them to fade over an indeterminate amount of time. This is more easily said than done. For example, guarding such a prison is a horrendous challenge.

“Second is to consume them. One demon can absorb another. Were a human to attempt this, they would likely become a demon themselves. That didn’t stop the Liber Heresius from telling me how though.”

“E-SIM, that’s not something I have to worry about is it?” I send.

++No. Your Warp Tap takes care of potential corruption and your soul is now robust enough that it would require the consumption of an immensely powerful demon to taint it. You also have the Emperor to call upon, if you must.++

“That’s a relief.”

Quaani continues, “The last is to perform a ritual. Every single one of these requires the same thing, for the worshipers of the entity in question to witness the object of their devotion brought low. Once they are weakened in such a manner, any death you inflict upon them becomes permanent.

“For example, to humiliate Balphomael, one must pluck the thirteen eyes from seven of his followers, then place them in a circle, while maintaining the eye’s visual data link to the worshipers. Next you snap off one of Balphomael’s horns with your bare hands and place it in the circle. The broken horn is fashioned into a drinking horn, then you stand in the circle and chug Balphomael’s own blood. I’m sure you all noticed the problem with the ritual, right?”

There is a brief moment of silence then Owen says, “You have to be strong enough to beat the demon anyway, before you can use the ritual to humiliate them.”

“That’s it!” says Quaani. “The Liber Heresius is as brilliant as it is useless, for there are uncountable numbers of demons. Slaying one permanently doesn’t make much difference, and sending them back to the Warp weakens them for centuries, even millennia anyway. Should one actually kill a demon, it can be born anew by its remaining worshipers. That can take an incredibly long time, depending on the strength of the demon and the number of its devoted slaves.”

“Are there any redeeming features whatsoever?” I say.

“It has spectacular spells and is an incredibly powerful psy-focus. Most of the spells are rather morbid, but some can actually be used without mass sacrifice or sending the caster mad. Unfortunately, one is required to channel them through the Liber Heresius, which risks corruption. No matter what one does with the book, they have an eternity to regret their choices.”

I say, “We’ll go to our private chapel and I will beg the Emperor to intervene. He can likely break the link. He might even be able to destroy the book.”

“Should we not keep it?” says Quaani.

I frown.

“Wait!” says Quaani. Sweat trickles down his face. “If we get rid of it, we won’t know who the other readers are. That risks the birth of a fifth chaos god! We must find them and kill them, so that I can destroy the Liber Heresius for good.

“No Quaani,” I say. “Nothing good will come of that book. It is a trap for the power hungry and good hearted alike. No one will ever complete its test.”

“It also contains the knowledge to free Mankind from the Ruinous Powers for millennia! How can you just throw that away?”

For a moment, I hesitate, then I shake my head. “I do not want to know. You’ve already proved with your tests that the knowledge will be unusable.”

Quaani slumps into his chest, “You’re right. The book must burn. Let’s just get this over with before I try something stupid with it.”

“Considering all of today’s revelations, my plans to get Lyre back off make little sense. I will discuss them in private with Aldrich first. I’d hoped to make it a surprise, but that’s no longer practical,” says Brigid.

“We go to so much effort to preserve knowledge,” says Owen. “I never thought I’d be part of a book burning.”

Owen’s words get a few chuckles. Brigid’s papers are ash after Quaani’s blast of purifying flame, so I que a servitor to tidy the mess, place it in a warded container and jettison itself along with the ashes into the sun.

Quaani and I take a small shuttle to an asteroid in the system, far from anything of importance. We spend several days carving a temple to the Emperor within the loose rock and ice, filling the space with Imperial iconography. The temple is sealed with a basic hatch and just enough air is pumped into the new temple to enable the burning of incense and a batch of Alpia’s special candles. A lock of Alpia’s hair is used in the altar’s reliquary to sanctify it.

The Liber Heresius is bound in gold wire, woven in a highly ordered, unchanging pattern, then placed upon the stone altar. Quaani is ritually cleansed with sacred oil and blessed salt, then painted with silver runes.

I lead a private mass while Quaani pray’s on his knees before the altar. When it gets to the point I am expected to bless him, I do so, simultaneously tugging on my connection to the Emperor.

“God-Emperor of Mankind we beg thee! Banish all demons and burn their influence from our souls. Let the Liber Heresius wither in the light of your revelation and deliver us from temptation. We offer our faith, labour, and a portion of our spirits in exchange for your help and eternal vigilance. May the enemies of Humanity cower before your might and the Long Dark never set upon your great empire again. Amen!”

“Amen!” shouts Quaani.

For a brief, yet seemingly endless moment I freeze beneath the oppressive gaze of the Emperor. I catch a glimpse of him upon his throne and he has changed little since I last saw him. His remaining eye sees further than before as he does peer through my eyes, but looks directly at us.

Sensors blair in my skull as the asteroid cracks and loses what little air it has. Even so, the candles and incense keep burning.

I feel my soul drain like a burst dam as the Emperor seizes his pound of ephemeral flesh. Quaani and the Liber Heresius light up like a witch-pyre. The eye in the centre of the book swivels towards us and the altar starts to twist and change, forming chaotic patterns of glass, metal, and rock that cause my warding electoos to flare when I look at the churning mass.

Another presence descends upon the temple with a flutter of feathers, its ill wind snuffing out the candles with creeping frost. Minor demons leer at us from the shadows. The walls weep with blood that evaporates in a black mist as it contends with molten gold bubbling from the rock. My own electoos turn from blue-white to gold as a scorching heat fills me. A shimmering, iridescent shield wraps around Quaani and I.

A croaking voice whispers through the temple, “Caveman, I gave you the one tool you needed to settle this little dispute once and for all and bring true change to the galaxy, yet the first thing you do is run to the rotting corpse you call a god. How predictable.”

My soul drains faster and my body takes on a dull red glow as it edges towards a catastrophic temperature from channelling so much power. I don’t bother replying and neither does the Emperor.

The Liber Heresius chars and blackens and the swirling eye on its cover glows with an increasingly bright blue shimmer. Twisted runes and profane symbols float up from the eye and swirl around the book.

A chain of rusty fish hooks appears between Quaani and the Liber Heresisus. I turn my third-eye upon the construct, bathing it in purifying golden flames. The chain turns white hot, but does not break. I attempt to cut it with a mechadendrite, but the blade passes right through. Next I turn on my powerfield and try to rip it apart with my bare hands.

I am able to touch the chain, but achieve nothing.

Feeling inspired, I pull out my hacking tool and touch the crowbar shaped object against the chains. They shatter and turn into rainbow smoke, flowing towards me, because of course the chains are made from damned souls and demons and a valid source of fuel.

Hideous laughter fills the temple, “Just as planned!”

The smoke transforms into a railroad spike covered in malevolent blue runes and strikes me just below my belly button, slipping past both mine and the Emperor’s protection. It slips through my body and strikes the base of my spine, hitting my Warp Tap.

Contained within my armour, the brutal explosion wrecks a large portion of my body. A sharp pain wrenches at my soul as something important is torn away, leaving me broken and reeling.

For the first time in decades I scream in pain, my consciousness wavers. The last thing I see is a child’s hand bursting from the reliquary and snatching the charred Liber Heresius from the altar before disappearing in a flash of golden light.

Sometimes I wonder if it is Tzeentch or the God-Emperor who is the one true corvid.