‘Maybe for you,’ said Garstand. ‘I want to get back to the fighting. I don’t like kicking my heels while good men are dying. It doesn’t seem right to be taking in the view when my lasgun could be burning hot in my hand. All this looks pretty enough, but nothing’s right here. Nothing’s been right anywhere since that.’ Garstand jerked the crown of his head skywards without looking up.

‘The Rift?’ Varens glanced at the sky. The Great Rift was visible a third of the way up the heavens as a purple smudge. The Rift was light years away from Iax, but its baleful influence was felt everywhere across Ultramar, and to look upon it too long hurt the eyes.

‘Don’t look at it, boy!’ said Garstand. ‘No one should willingly look.’

Varens frowned.

‘It doesn’t make any difference,’ he said. ‘It’ll be there whether we look at it or not. War goes on like it always has. We’re still fighting. The primarch leads us. I don’t see the Rift makes much difference. When I was a boy, my great grandfather told me about the times before it opened. He was an auxiliary. He served all over the segmentum with the Astra Militarum.’

‘When we still sent regiments out, you mean. We don’t do that anymore, do we?’ said Garstand. ‘Too much going on here in Ultramar for us to spare the men.’ He shuddered. ‘Just don’t look at the Rift. It’s forbidden.’ Garstand made the sign of the aquila hastily over his heart.

‘Everything’s forbidden,’ said Varens. ‘Who’s to see whether I look at it or not?’ He peered pointedly up and down the balcony, letting the chirring of insects take the place of speech for a moment.

‘It’s not the sanction of the commissars you should be afraid of. Look at it too often, you’ll have nightmares – bad dreams.’

‘Everyone has nightmares,’ said Varens. ‘I do every night.’

‘Not like the ones you’ll get here if you stay too long,’ said Garstand nervously. ‘I’ve heard things, talk of bad dreams that have whole wards of this place waking up screaming. Things aren’t right. The eye of evil is upon this place.’

Varens had not wanted company, especially not of this sort. His mood was spoilt. He had nightmares enough to contend with, without hearing talk of more.

‘Goodnight, Garstand,’ he said.

‘Wait!’ said Garstand. He caught Varens by the upper arm. ‘I’ve fought them you know, the Heretic Astartes. They have some plan – they always do. The warp looks here, and hungers. We should not look back. Never!’

‘You fought the plague lords?’ said Varens.

Garstand nodded. ‘I did! Believe me. Awful things I’ve seen. Out near Tartella, before that fell…’

‘I fought them too.’