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The Last Psyker – Extract

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The Last Psyker

Shauna Lawless

Karleth

I

Karleth sat on a chair in the corner of the tent and cleaned his laspistol. Less chance of someone talking to him if he appeared busy, though as a sanctioned psyker, people didn’t seek him out for conversation often. Today, however, he was in no mood for anyone. Not for that new platoon leader, Captain Ollana, barking orders. Not for the clatter of Guardsmen who whispered ‘bolt magnet’ under their breath when they passed him by. Not even for Castellan Hesthian.

All he wanted to do was sit still a moment and breathe.

After a year in transit, inhaling unfiltered air was a pleasure. It was joyous, this simple act of letting the breeze touch your face, though even he couldn’t quite form the words to describe the smell it carried. Metallic, perhaps. He tasted it on his tongue, too. The proximity of the Cicatrix Maledictum had tainted this system – maybe that explained it, though it could simply be the gases from volcanic activity on the other side of the planet. A few of the others in the regiment, the younger ones especially, complained about the smell and taste, said it was sour. Scared little ship rats, they were. So used to their cage that any sense of freedom or uncertainty frightened them.

Laspistol gleaming, he set down his cleaning rag, holstered the weapon, then marched outside. Head down to avoid eye contact, he finally lifted his gaze. He wanted to see it again. The horizon of Banvaa.

The sun was rising now, leaving threads of orange, amber, and ochre in its wake. The air hazed as the sun rose, and the sky itself was blood red. That was good. No storms. The skyline of the abandoned city, Cliath, loomed in the distance. Not a great city, but big enough that a quarter of a million people had once lived there. Big enough that half a million refugees were headed this way.

He’d overheard the same recruits who complained about the smell in the air, giving grim assessments of what life here would be like. In truth, despite the fact that the Imperium had purged Banvaa, it was still a ‘dead planet’ to them. Cursed.

Even with the uncertain weather, ruined buildings, and close proximity to the Great Rift, to Karleth, this was a paradise. Free of orks. Free of tyranids. Free of the Imperium.

He shifted as this intrusive thought flittered through his mind. It wasn’t a thought he should have. He knew that. He bit his tongue and took a deep breath. He reminded himself that the Imperium wasn’t perfect, but it was all mankind had. A last stand against the darkness.

He wiped the sweat beading on his brow, the panic drifting away. There was no need to worry. No. There were no inquisitors here. No one capable of reading his thoughts. He was safe. And he did believe in the Imperium. It was just the nightmares playing on his mind… They had grown worse of late.

As if thinking about these nightmares was a conduit to them, a flash of his most recent dream came to him unbidden. A dream of madness. A red door, symbols of stars cut into it. Then all those around him, possessed by daemons. A dream of the end of mankind. Everything lost. The dream absorbed him, even in memory. It felt so real, the colours so vivid… as if it was not a dream at all.

‘Lieutenant-Psyker Karleth.’

Karleth opened his eyes and licked his lips. It was Faro. A Cadian with a very high opinion of himself. Karleth had found Faro’s zeal amusing at first, but then he’d read the report of how the rest of the 199th Cadian Infantry Regiment had sacrificed themselves to defeat the tyranids on the planet of Getha. Cadians were arrogant, yes, but brave. Faro was one of only two survivors from this unit, the other being Captain Ollana. That dampened his disdain for him somewhat.

Castellan Hesthian had been impressed with their exploits on Getha too, and had rebuilt the 199th around Ollana and Faro. Now new tithes and survivors from other units bolstered the regiment’s numbers. The absorption of new recruits under a Cadian name would grate on someone like Faro. To have such low-quality soldiers parade about in the Cadian colours. And indeed, now that Karleth focused on him, he could sense this frustration, and something else too… The familiar sensation of hatred. Faro loathed him, and while it was not unusual for Karleth to inspire hatred amongst the troopers, this came with an intensity he had rarely encountered, though Karleth couldn’t make out why. That was interesting too. He was usually able to read the thoughts of men like Faro.

‘We are moving out in one hour,’ Faro said, voice clipped. ‘We are to meet at the camp gates. Captain Ollana’s orders.’

Karleth nodded. ‘Understood, Sergeant Faro.’

‘Bring both wet and dry gear.’

Karleth nodded again.

Faro pressed his lips into a thin line. For Karleth to answer in this way was not correct protocol, though as he was not part of the infantry but rather attached to Castellan Hesthian’s unit, the correct protocol was somewhat vague.

‘Can you confirm you have understood Captain Ollana’s orders?’

Confirm he understood? What did Faro take him for?

Not Cadian. Unworthy. Bolt magnet.

‘Tell Captain Ollana I will report directly, Faro,’ he said after a few moments, keeping his voice soft. Best not to play with a man like Faro too much too soon. He was brave, yes, but a ship rat all the same – a ship rat who feared what it didn’t understand, and was liable to bite.

Faro saluted, and Karleth watched the Cadian march away, allowing something of a smile to cross his lips.

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