He told me he was making progress. The ancient culture which had built Ghiil appeared indirectly in several old sources. It seems that early Imperial explorers had known myths of a dead, precursor race from some of their first contacts with xenos species, though Aemos was concerned that some of the references could be to other dead cultures, or to species that had migrated or transplanted themselves.
One theme emerged. The race of Ghiil were marked as 'others' or 'outsiders' because they had not originated in our galaxy. The name 'Ghiil' itself didn't appear anywhere.
'One minor culture, the Doy of Mitas, have a legend concerning the "xol-xonxoy", daemons who ruled once and would return. The word meant "warped ones"/
'A good enough description as any. The eldar seemed convinced that the culture was a colony of daemons from the warp. Not even a race in its own right, more a host, an army… a nation. An exiled daemon-king and his followers, perhaps/
'There are a few more bits and pieces, not much. I'm getting nowhere with the inscription, though it is extraordinary, and Gideon's footage of that seance most perturbatory. I'd like to borrow your book/
'You what?'
Your damned book. I use the adjective advisedly/
You said you never wanted to see it again/ I reminded him.
'I don't, Gregor. It chills me to know it is even on board. But what chills me more is what we're going out there to find. And you've asked me to do a job. And that's the only tool available to me that I haven't used/
I took the Malus Codicium from my pocket. For a moment1couldn't bring myself to pass it to him.
'Be careful/ I hissed.
'I know the procedures/ he said grumpily. 'You've had me study prohibited texts before/ 'Not like this one/
I kept an eye on Aemos after that, visiting him regularly and making sure he came to meals. He became tired and short-tempered. I wanted to take the book away from him, but he said he was nearly done.
We were a week from Jeganda when he finished his work.
'It's incomplete/ he warned, 'but the main elements are there/
He seemed even more fatigued than before and had developed a slight shake on his left side. His suite was a mess of papers and slates, notes and scrawlings, scattered books. In places, where he had apparently run out of paper, he had continued his notes on tabletops or even walls.
Uber Aemos had performed his greatest work of service for me, the hardest task I had ever set him. And it had cost him. It had damaged his health and, I was afraid, his sanity.
'The daemon-king/ he said, spreading out a large sheet of scribbled-on vellum across the litter on his desk, 'who is represented by this glyph here…' he pointed with a palsied finger,'.. .and by this triple formation of symbols here was called Y-Y-Y-'