Chapter Twenty-Seven: The View from Ulthwe (Part VII)

Eldrad expected another psychic blow, his own defenses readied, it never came. He took that as a sign to continue. "You spoke of the Old Ones, I assume one, as learned as yourself, knows their tale? Of how they fought the Yngir and were destroyed in the War in Heaven?"

Magnus responded with a curt nod and Eldrad spoke more: "Not all of them died fighting the Star Gods and the Silver Legions. Some lived to watch their mistakes gestate in the Warp. One in particular is mentioned in our Sagas as recently as 50,000 years ago. A powerful but damaged Old One that called itself the Craftsmen. His song is one Cegorach rarely lets his followers sing. It has no dance to accompany it, only the rhythmic dirge of striking metal. It took great effort to piece together bits of his history from that song and other sources. Stories telling how he created the greatest wonders of the Old One's civilization, and helped unleash the monsters that threaten to destroy us. The song ends with an exhausted and broken primordial leaving his forge to die. Furious with his failed creations, and racked by guilt. Proclaiming to his scion Vaul that he would embrace death in sight of his greatest triumph."

Finally the Primarch spoke: "What does this Xeno myth have to do with your claims? Do you think my father is an ancient Xeno god-thing in disguise?"

Eldrad paused and said softly: "Yes, I do. The stories of the Craftsmen say the only thing greater than his skill was his fortitude. He is the type of being that would rather suffer a hundred million years of torment than give in. It seems laughable such an ancient struggler would accept death so easily. Like many of my peoples myths, the truth is there, just hidden behind poetry. The Craftsmen did not die, he transformed. So let me ask you again Primarch Magnus, do you know what your father is?"

The Farseer braced, expecting the Godling in front of him to strike with overwhelming power. Eldrad's visions had prepared him for this moment, if he could survive the blow then he could push Magnus in the direction he needed to go. A feat easier said than done, even for a powerful psyker like him. Then time seemed to twist, as the dreadful silence of the Square was broken by a rumbling noise. Laughter, the Primarch was laughing at him.

A gauntlet the size of Eldrads torso gripped him suddenly. Not hard enough to be painful but ensuring he did not move. "Yes Farseer Eldrad, I know what my Father is. More than you could possibly know. You come here trying to play games. Sowing doubt and confusion. Hoping to gain a pawn in your war against Chaos. Seeing some future where my Legion fights your battles and helps preserve the salvageable scraps of Aeldari civilization. You are a master in reading the future and plotting a course, I will give you that. But I had a better teacher than you could ever hope."

Fear filled Eldrad's innards as he felt something push against his desired future. Another being had interfered, observed his planned timeline and reacted accordingly. An impossibility, all Seers and Soothsayers learned to detect others' interference. Especially that of a being like a Primarch. He had chosen Magnus to be his key into the future because of this. A nexus of destiny that warped the future around him is not the sort of being that can easily change the course of history without being noticed. He would know if the Primarch had interfered with the strands of fate. Then the pieces fell into place. Eldrad glanced over at one of the two Astartes flanking Magnus. Something was wrong about the warrior. Fate seemed to shy away from him. Strands of destiny became unwoven by his presence. This human was hated by destiny and hated it in turn.

The Primarch noticed his focus and said "How do you hide something in plain sight Xeno? You make sure focus is drawn elsewhere. My son Ahriman has a talent for finding the holes in fate. The future you seek is now beyond your grasp, but not mine. Eldrad of Craftworld Ulthwe, you offer manipulation disguised as diplomacy. Many of my brothers would kill you for this, and for a myriad other reasons including your mere existence. However I am not them and my eyes are clear. I have been chosen to ensure humanity's ascension. I see a place for you on that path, one my father does not. It is not my place to question his wisdom, but it is mine to help him. There is a path where the repentant children of Eldanesh might walk beside the children of Terra."

"You know my intent and my goal, and yet you agree to work with me." Eldrad said, sucking in a breath. "Mere moments ago you attacked me and my species. Why make this choice?"

Magnus pondered for a moment "The choice is not yet made. I consider it because to do so is my nature. To answer your question Eldrad, I entertain your request out of curiosity."

Being in this being's presence was maddening. Eldrad felt like he spoke to both a Barbarian Warlord and a Warp Spirit of unimaginable power, which in truth was exactly what Magnus was. Eldrad then spoke to the enigmatic godling. "What must I do to ensure you accept my offer of alliance?"

"Simple," responded the Primarch "Look into my Eye and survive."

Before Eldrad could ask what the Primarch meant, existence started to strain. As Magnus Rubricar opened his third eye and let the Farseer gaze into his very being. Eldrad had looked into the Warp, he had even swum its mad depths, skirting the attention of unfathomable beings. Now he started into such a being's soul. Magnus Rubricar was a newborn god, but a god nonetheless. Looking into the Eye of Magnus, Eldrad saw the future fractal out before him in an infinite recursion of choice and possibility. A mandala of futures, each a self contained possibility in the Warp. Rising up from the depths of possibility, each awaiting the events that would bring it to the surface and make it real. In the center of this orrery of futures sat a Scarlet King upon a Golden Throne. Weaving space/time and fate into a tapestry beyond comprehension. An engine of destiny atop an engine of souls. This Scarlet King was key not only to Eldrad's farsight, but the fate of the galaxy. This was the truth of Magnus, as he was now, as he would be, and as he could be.

The soul of the Primarch turned its behemoth focus to Eldrad and the Farseer felt the crushing presence bear down on him. Looking into the metaphorical face of an infant god, he experienced a revelation. No, he had a revelation thrust into his mind by Magnus. He saw how the universe dies, every way it ended and what nightmares awaited. A trillion trillion futures that all led to the same handful of endings. Chaos devouring everything and itself. The Star Gods snuffing out all life and awaiting heat-death. Nameless hungry things consuming everything only to starve in the depleted void. And…. another path. One paved with suffering and blood, but ended somewhere beautiful. A shining path that humanity had been groomed to walk alone, creating a future where at least the human species might survive and become something greater. Yet even while walking this path, pushing against the tides of destiny, towards a singular island of safety and sanity. Others might follow in humanity's wake, hiding in the shadow of giants and achieving salvation with them. But these followers could easily lead humanity astray or slow them down. It was easier and safer for humanity to alone take the Shining Path.

Eldrad was reminded of a universal parable. A story virtually every civilization develops, of the scorpion and the frog. He could then understand, the Emperor saw everything not human as a potential scorpion. The Old One, if he truly was the Craftsman, would not risk his chosen species on that possibility. The Aeldari could not walk the path set forth, they had tried and failed. No other species was as close to success as humanity. Eldrad felt that fact said more about the state of the galaxy than the human species. So if the Aeldari people were to survive, they would need to join the Craftsmen's Ark and convince him they were not a scorpion. Something far easier said than done.

Pulling himself from the visions Eldrad found his way back to reality. Finding himself on his knees, staring up at the Primarch, whose third eye was starting to close. Vibrant crimson blood dripped from the Farseers eyes, nose and ears. Gasping in a deep bloody breath Eldrad pulled his helmet off and looked around with his own eyes, blinking away red shadows dancing at the edges of his vision. Khiraen Goldhelm lay splintered, his wraithbone body torn in half and a dead XV Legion Terminator slumped over him. The Astartes Magnus called Ahriman held Khiraen's soul stone in hand, flicking the iridescent gem between armored fingers. Imperial warriors and Eldrad's entourage stood in various states of struggle. A brief skirmish had erupted in the few seconds Eldrad had been distracted. Khiraen had probably reacted badly to the perceived attack and struck first. On seeing his recovery thankfully both sides halted combat and looked to him or Magnus for orders.

The Primarch nodded at his sons and they stepped back. Ahriman with disdainful ease tossed the Soul Stone to Eldrad. The Farseer caught his friends afterlife and looked to Magnus. Both Demigod and Farseer had gotten a sense for each other, far more than either bargained for. With dreadful certainty Eldrad knew the fate of his people was interwoven with humanity. And if the look Magnus held was any indication the Primarch found the Farseer acceptable. Pulling himself to his feet again. Eldrad winced, he had been jostled about much in this excursion but hopefully, it would be worth it.

Magnus reached forward to help Eldrad to his feet, a crude but effective sign. The Primarch spoke and did what his kind is meant to do, he changed history: "Come now, Farseer Eldrad Ulthran. We have an alliance to discuss and wars to wage."

Gritting himself to not let anything show, Eldrad privately prayed, though he did not know to whom. No gods worth his pleas were listening, but he did so anyway. Pleading with the universe that what he was about to do would be worth it.

Location: The Xho-Vi Nebula, aboard the Seer's Tears, Personal Cruiser of Farseer Eldrad.

Date: 912.M30 (Imperial Standard Time)

Was it worth it? That question had haunted Eldrad for the last few decades. Many would consider what he did as betraying his species to the Mon-Keigh vermin. There was some truth to that. The Khaine-touched children of Biel-tan would have his head, furious in helping another species claim a galaxy they thought was theirs. The Dark Kin, in their twin cities of sin, would feed him to Daemons or worse for daring to negotiate with lesser species. Ironically, the Harlequin and their god had been most receptive to his actions, more so than even the Council of Seers. It seemed the Clown God was preparing another trick, or at least watching the show his erstwhile sibling put on. So the question remained, was it worth it?

It was when he brought the Spirit Stones of 2,491 Eldar home from Imperial custody. Entire families thought lost could now sleep safely in the Infinity Circuit. It was worth it when the XI Legion helped repulse an attack on Craftworld Kher-Ys. Arriving on the trail of the Keeper of Secrets Heartslayer and banishing the horror before it could do untold damage. He remembered how Aeldari warriors and Mon-Keigh supersoldiers had coordinated to take down a threat deemed unspeakable since the earliest days of the Fall. Horrors of the Warp born of the old empire's debauchery and cruelty were excised from reality by trained Imperial forces acting upon information the Eldar gave them. Eldrad remembered the dozens of Maiden Worlds spared Imperial wrath by his words and warning. Of the horrors kept locked away by his actions and the lives saved. Those things made it worth it, almost.

Eldrad looked out across the Xho-Vi Nebula and watched it burn. A great leviathan of wraithbone had tried to hide in its clouds. It had been pointless, the fleets that now blasted away at the crippeled ship had been guided to their prey. Guided by him, in hopes of sparing others this fate. He did not need to be here, Eldrad could have sent another in his place or simply provided the information his allies requested. But he would not give himself such a luxury. By his actions did Craftworld Zandros burn. Their betrayal of the abhuman core-dwellers was repaid by a fleet of Dragonforged and Squat Adamantclad ships. The horrors the Squats had endured after Craftworld Zandros weakened their defences against the Ork menace of Grunhag the Flaya were repaid in blood and destruction. Eldrad knew the Craftworld was doomed, its own paranoia and perfidious nature would have spelled its end eventually. He also knew as part of the treaty the Spirit Stones and Infinity Circuit would be recovered by Eldrad and his kin. It changed things little. He had willingly sold out members of his own species to curry the favor of Mon-Keigh warmongers.

Sometimes he wondered if Magnus had tampered with his mind, shoved a delusion into him and puppeteered his betrayal. Of course he had checked with every possible method. Even going as far to consult the Pain-Smiths of Commorragh in such matters. His mind had not been tampered with, and every forecast into the future validated his actions. He could see the future better than all of his fellow Farseers, and their best prognostications matched his. This was the correct path, the only path. Staring off into the void, watching an irreplaceable relic of his people die, pangs of misery filled Eldrad. He had allowed himself to create and become lost on the Path of the Seer to get a better view of the future. Now as he watched the past burn before him, he wondered if it was worth it.