Daenyathos (Soul Drinkers) by Ben Counter

Author:Ben Counter [Counter, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2013-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Part 5

481.M36

It took a long time for Reclusiarch Daenyathos to awake.

A Space Marine did not sleep. He could put half his mind into slumber, then the other, always retaining a degree of alertness. That meant for him to wake, he had to have been unconscious.

At first, he thought he was immersed in cold water. The chill surrounded him, and masked his eyes. He did not possess the treacherous instincts that might cause a normal man to gulp foul water down into his lungs, or lose control of his bodily functions in panic. Instead, Daenyathos considered the situation and calmly drew in a shallow breath.

He could breathe. The cold and the clammy, greasy sensation surrounding him came from somewhere else.

He could hear as well. He recognised the engines of a spaceship. When on board a ship, the sound of the engines was a constant, a distant drone that eventually merged with the silence. Now, newly awake, Daenyathos was aware of them. He was on a spaceship.

He was on the Talon of Mars.

Daenyathos fought to move. He was encased in something that prevented his limbs from making the slightest motion. His face was not similarly encased. He could move his jaw, and his head, if only a little. He tried to open his eyes. They were gummed up – with dried blood, he guessed. A Space Marine’s blood clotted extremely quickly, becoming hard red clumps within moments of exiting a vein or an artery. It meant he would never bleed to death, but it had its drawbacks. If it was in his eyes, it could take precious moments to pick it away so he could see again.

The Talon of Mars had started out as an Adeptus Mechanicus explorator ship, a highly advanced and ancient craft that sought out new warp routes. On one of its expeditions it had dropped into the warp and not returned for three thousand years. By the time it had returned it had become something very different – a space hulk, a ship deformed and made terrible by its long imprisonment in the warp. The Soul Drinkers had attacked it. Daenyathos had led them. His memory seemed as gummed-up as his eyes, and the facts of the recent past were reluctant to come to the surface.

Daenyathos struggled. There were few bonds a Space Marine could not break. Daenyathos’s held firm. His arms and legs were numb with imprisonment. He grimaced and strained every muscle in the trunk of his body, neck muscles standing out in cords, abdominals crushing against his ribs, spine bending back.

He put everything he had into it, until he could taste blood in his mouth and feel his fused ribs creaking with the strain. He let it go, sagging in his bonds.

‘You are awake,’ said a voice. ‘Let me help you.’

The voice was synthesised, but very well. It was male, with a hint of age and education. A wealthy noble or senior adept might be granted such a high-quality artificial larynx when his voice failed.

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