Chapter 67: Victory

"The Black Library is a place of maddened laughter and horrible, chilling sanity." - Inquisitor Bronislaw Czevak

The eldar landing craft sped towards the Black Library, humming over mile after mile of glittering ruins. It had parked itself atop the corpse of a great city, one that had long ago faded from glory. The Void-Whisper hovered atop them, the last familiar sight in the Webway to Yang.

It was far too quiet inside the craft. The kasrkin were moments away from vomiting, and they kept looking at the Black Library as if a tendril would snap out and claim them all.

Considering just how alien the eldar seemed right about now, Yang couldn't blame them. In fact, she felt a measure of trepidation herself. The Library was so massive, it seemed to be an act of nature rather than something artificial, a planet rendered into the form of a ship by the gods of time, tectonic might, and haunting ethereal beauty.

Even Amat seemed awed, his neck craning to take in the entirety of the primordial craftworld. He straightened his bomber's jacket, carefully aligning the wool collar. Yang didn't know why he decided to wear it, but it made her smile regardless.

The war-party was no less agitated, fidgeting and sharing furtive glances. Only Lossamdir seemed at peace. They all nearly jumped when a pair of fliers descended upon them, all-black slivers of night that danced about them with preternatural grace. Escorts.

Yang couldn't shake off the feeling that they were laughing at her.

"Any last words of wisdom?" She asked the eldar.

"A few," Garnet said, surprising her. She'd not expected a response.

"Like what?"

"We are here to fulfill a mission," he said. "Let us obtain the information we need and leave with all available haste."

"On that, xenos, we can agree," Darron said, resting his hellgun against his shoulder. For once, Yang didn't want to pick a fight with the grizzled Captain - especially now that they wore their grimm-masks. Probably an effort to appear menacing, even if the kasrkin were ignorant of what grimm-masks truly meant.

Yang rolled her shoulders, armored in simple flak plating. She didn't know what lay within the Black Library, but she hoped it at least had information on the Chariot. Otherwise, they had wasted valuable time.

Amat fell still, but Yang knew he was praying - silent behind his spy mask.

"Yang," Garnet said, turning to face her with a flourish of his warlock's cape. "There is something else you must know."

"What's up?"

"It is very rare for humans to gain admission to the Black Library, much less those that are psykers. The Harlequins that guard it are unpredictable yet stringent - be careful not to offend them. I saw the fate of Galaxy tied to you and what transpires here. Care must be taken."

Yang nodded. She'd be on her best behavior. If not, she always had Amat to help her through.

"And us?" Chera said.

"You will not be granted entrance," Garnet replied. "And before you raise an indignant cry, know that the rest of the war-party will not either. I pray to Isha that any of us are."

Yang's fingers tightened around her power sword. It was just like her to risk everything like this, on a desperate gambit. Even more like Pyrrha, putting everything on some nebulous 'destiny'. Garnet was truly his mother's son.

Fitting, I suppose.

"Thirty seconds to docking," the pilot said. Yang stretched her neck and cracked her knuckles. She didn't want a fight, but it wouldn't do to be unprepared - no matter what Garnet said. Amat unslung his rifle and nestled it against his shoulder. Only one round sat in the chamber, the one meant for her. She patted his back, and he nodded.

The landing craft jostled as it attached itself to the Black Library. Even the esoteric eldar ships couldn't land with perfect smoothness, a small comfort in the face of the Black Library. With a subdued hiss, the bay doors opened, revealing a long hallway wrought from transparent crystal and veins of ebony.

Yang was the first one to disembark, her face set in a resolute grimace. Amat followed. Each step felt... odd, like the surface they walked on was barely present. Below her, she could see the ruins of the ancient city, desolate and bleak.

At the end of the hallway lay a wraithbone bulkhead, stained black instead of the cream-white corridors of the Void-Whisper.

Deep breath, Yang. It's gonna be fine. You came here for a reason, after all.

When they reached the bulkhead, it slid open to reveal a Harlequin, one of the Black Library's guardians. He was tall, a full head larger than Lossamdir. His face was concealed behind a fluorescent white clown-mask, one with a smile that reached its ears and teeth the size of Yang's hand. An orange mohawk sprouted from his scalp, with a braid long enough to reach the checkered print that painted his leggings.

He was one of the most truly alien things Yang had ever seen.

"Is this the right place?" She asked, a joke that came across far too breathlessly. The Harlequin sniggered.

"Ooh, yes yes, you must the one called Yang Xiao Long?"

"I am," she said, straightening her back.

"Follow then, follow follow. Humans in the library, whatever will Master Cegorach say?"

A rhetorical question, one she didn't want to know the answer to - Garnet had told her of Cegorach, the eldar Laughing God, and the stories didn't settle her stomach. Instead of replying, she followed Garnet's example, remaining as stoic and driven as possible.

The Harlequin led them to a great entrance hall, one full of elegant statues depicting... well, Yang didn't know what they were. Eldar presumably, but too large and stylized. She preferred not knowing. The vaulted ceiling was invisible, shrouded by a blanket of false stars and shimmering auroras. Several other Harlequins fell into step with their guide, emerging from nothingness as if they belonged to it.

Silently enough to unnerve Maion.

Their guide stopped before the Library's true entrance, a colossal wraithbone work nearly four stories tall, engraved with scenes Yang didn't recognize. Even still, their gravity was apparent, the twisted, anguished faces of the figures evidence of apocalyptic suffering.

Noiselessly - a ludicrous notion for a door of that size - the entrance parted, just wide enough to fit a single figure through. He was smaller than the Harlequin that greeted them, as if his back was hunched. Unlike his compatriots however, he wore no gaudy mask or outlandish garments - he was clad in the blackest garb Yang had ever seen, his clothes dark enough to bend reality around them and render his true form unknowable. And his face... his face was devoid of makeup or decoration, a simple, honest face that seemed to exist solely to spite the madness surrounding it.

"Hi," he said simply, as if greeting a friend for lunch. The sound seemed to echo all around them, like he spoke in stereo. "Hello to all and sundry, and welcome to the Black Library. You bring an unusual number of humans with you, surely you do not wish them admission too?" He stalked towards them, an ebony river in fluid motion. Yang watched him closely, desperate to detect his intent or even gain a single clue about him.

"These ones have not mastered the chaos within their hearts, seen the breadth of the universe laid bare in its component parts."

"Who are you?" Garnet asked calmly. "We have been guided here, after all."

"I am the one known as Duulamor," the Harlequin said, "and it is my turn to guard our sacred door." His eyes took in the full measure of Garnet. "You are Smiling Garnet, a guise worn by a wounded heart. A heart that weeps with shame for what it has done, yet seeks answers for questions not yet won." Garnet gnawed on his lip, but did not reply.

"And you, Obsidian," Duulamor said, circling Lossamdir. "Most serious of the Soul-Wielder's spawn, trapped within an exarch's skin. Yes, yes, a truly curious lot that stands before me," he said, before erupting into maddened giggles. "A beautiful assortment, if only you could see."

"We need information," Yang said, stepping forwards. "The Chariot of Salvation. We need to find it before Josephus does."

At this, Duulamor cocked his head. He swooped towards her, before Amat stood in his way, exitus rifle braced.

"No need for that, Amat of the painted mind," Duulamor crooned, "military brat turned assassins' kind," he finished, his scarlet eyes boring into the assassin.

Yang rested a hand on Amat's leather-clad shoulder. And though he relaxed, his rifle did not waver.

"As much as I would like to sit around and play rhyming games," Yang said. "You've called us here for a reason."

"Strange of you, Yang Xiao Long, to speak of reasons, of purposes beyond your ken or quest, yes, quite, what an exquisite jest, one even Master Cegorach would enjoy, yes, yes he might."

Yang frowned. Whatever game Duulamor was playing, it was beyond her. Yet she could feel the sting of his words, words that sat ill within her.

"In truth," the Harlequin continued, "you care little about Josephus or his machinations, tiny agitations in the grand scheme that is the song of your life, mere mites that scrabble along the surface of a soul that is barely your own."

"Then what am I doing here?" Yang asked, deliberately ignoring his comment on her soul. "This isn't exactly an ideal vacation spot, you know."

"You'd be surprised," Duulamor said, waggling his finger at her like a didactic parent might. "Knowledge is precious food for one's young mind." He stooped low, past Amat and his rifle, close enough so that she could smell the Harlequin's breath. It reeked not of food, nor any mortal odor. It was something... else. Like laughing gas or cyanide, or rose petals, or-

Yang grimaced, but did not flinch away from the Harlequin. He was trying to fuck with her mind, or was doing so unconsciously, or was I?

"What? What's wrong with you?"

"You are here because you have been summoned, that is true."

I wasn't summoned, I've been here all along.

Who said that?

"Did I?" Yang asked, head spinning. She couldn't tell which way was down, or where she was or why.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Darron muttered. Duulamor swept away once more, and Yang could breathe again, her senses returning to her. What the fuck... what the fuck is happening? Every second that passed, the entrance hall felt more and more like Dad's cottage. She swore she could hear the gulls, and had the other Harlequins always been dancing? What about the singing? Had they always been singing that song? The dirge of an entire species consigned to doom?

"Darron Marius," Duulamor boomed, "great scion of the kasrs, the Hell-Filler's son, husband to Chera, lovers entwined in the embrace of the battle long-won, servants to a woman that Does Not Belong. Do I intimidate you?" Duulamor asked. "I am but a simple clown, here to delight and amuse. Though you never expected to be here, am I right? Didn't mean to intrude?" Duulamor cackled. "Don't be afraid, you'll come to understand my mood. It's not often a Harlequin such as myself sees so true."

"If you have nothing for us, wise one," Lossamdir said, "Please release us. Time is of the essence."

"Time?" Duulamor inquired. "Ooh, now that is a fine jest. Can you not feel the years melting off your skin? Perhaps, oh Lossamdir, the strong and storied, you came here of your own volition. Or is it Obsidian that speaks? A half-breed who questioned his nature so quietly, when he was possessed with a voice that can shake worlds entirely?"

Around them, the Harlequins continued their dance, either not caring about their comrade's questions or moving in perfect synch with them. Their song had not ceased either, a long and lilting sound that pulled Yang's heart in two.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked.

"'Is this the right place?', you asked with a grin," Duulamor replied. "You must understand that not everyone is allowed within. This is a test of your sin," he added. "Without it, you cannot be allowed entrance, should chaos pollute you by a single inch."

"We are free of chaos, xenos!" Darron cried above the swelling lament. "We live in the light of the Emperor!"

"So you believe," Duulamor said. "A claim that has never been truly tested. You have seen daemons yes, but what of their nature? Can you see it? Understand it? Until that day passes, you must remain without."

"And what of us, then?" Maion asked, face hidden behind her helm. "What of us?"

"Maion, the mirror of her Grandmother," Duulamor said. "Wrought in her image you are, from your skin to your soul. A shadow thrust into a role that does not befit her. You ask the right questions, ah hee hee hee, ah ho ho ho. A soldiering mind so lacking in lessons. What of you, then, hmm?"

He turned to the rest of the war-party. "And you, Ysdrea, hated by your own mother? How terrible of her. A seed it was, yes, a small seed, one that grew to become the rage in which you shelter."

"You lie!" Ysdrea screeched, swords braced against an attack that would never come. "Get out of my head!"

"It is your soul that concern me," Duulamor said. "The Library lays it bare for all to see."

"And what of our souls then?" Amat asked, as calmly as he dared.

"Ah, Palla has given you wisdom," Duulamor said. "The Temple has given you strength, Weiss a mind, and Yang thoughts to fill it. Very well, I have played my game long enough."

Abruptly, the singing stopped and the dancers froze in place, forming a circle around the war-party. It seemed to Yang as if the universe itself had hit the pause button.

"Entrance shall be granted to visitors seven, though full access is forbidden." His finger lighted upon Yang. "You are the first, Little Dragon. Your friend shall follow," he said, pointing at Amat. "Onwards Vindicare, anon. Next is the exarch, host of Obsidian, and your subordinate Asillar. Smiling Garnet follows, favored by the Garden. Maion comes too, for her soul is the most ardent. And finally," he said, towering over the kasrkin, "Lieutenant Chera, of the Emperor's most puissant."

Chera blinked, taken aback by the Harlequin's invitation. "Me?" she asked.

"Is there another named Chera among you?" Duulamor asked. "Another Lieutenant among the Lady Inquisitor's chosen few?"

"But why?" Chera asked, lacing her fingers through her husband's.

"Master Cegorach likes your mask," the Harlequin said, before descending into a fit of laughter.

The ones allowed admission into the Black Library stepped forward. Yang was relieved she'd been allowed entrance, but Duulamor's display was enough to worry her. Will I be able to keep my sanity in a place like this? What about Amat? She looked up at her friend. With his mask on, it was nearly impossible to read him. Nearly.

She looked ahead, into the brilliant light that spilled from the Library's entrance. Whatever Garnet saw, it's up ahead. I'll puzzle out Duulamor's words later. I have to keep moving.

"Let us be away," the Harlequin said. "And prepare yourself."

The colossal door creaked open further, allowing enough space to admit the selected seven.

Yang swallowed and marched forwards. Ever onwards. Amat followed close behind a reassuring presence on her flank. Maion came next, trepidation reeking from every pore. Chera came last after exchanging a look with her husband.

Once they were inside the blinding light died away, and the entrance slammed shut behind them. They were within the Black Library.

True to its name, bookshelves by the hundreds soared upwards, each one large enough to contain the entire written works of Remnant. Mind-bending sculptures and fountains lined them, spilling out a silver liquid noiselessly. Glass towers adorned each row of books, and dozens of hallways led deeper into the Library, each one a store for more wonders.

Garnet frowned.

"What is the matter, young seer?" Duulamor said. "Is there something that brings you displeasure here?"

"I..." Garnet paused. "I was led here, I know it. By a song, I thought. One that... I don't know. It felt... familiar."

"Perceptive," Duulamor said. "For we Harlequins sent for you through another, more familiar sieve."

Yang swallowed, looking beyond Duulamor and taking in the Black Library's sights.

Where to now?

If they were going to find answers in one of the books, they'd be here for more lifetimes than even an eldar could survive. And rigorous study wasn't exactly her strong suit. Could they really find anything on Josephus in this madhouse?

"Ah, speaking of which…" Duulamor purred, snapping Yang from her thoughts.

A pair of figures approached from between the distant bookshelves, their gait slow and encumbered. But their destination was certain - the war party. One of the figures was clearly an eldar, judging by his tall and slender build. His companion however, was withered and hunched, her flowing white hair interrupted by a single streak of red.

"We have visitors Caelus," a voice sounded out through the Black Library, ancient yet familiar enough to rip Yang's heart from her chest.

"Mother," Garnet whispered.

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUN.

And so the brief Black Library arc begins. Also, I couldn't find any thorough (or satisfying) descriptions of the Black Library in any published 40k works, so I'm flying by the seat of my pants here. Hopefully you guys enjoyed the way I present it, even though there might be some inconsistencies with lore.

Anyway, let me know what you thought of the chapter! I know it was a little shorter than most, but I figured you wouldn't mind too much.

Until next time!