The Rose At War, page 22
‘Sister!’ Viola’s protest was angry. ‘Rayos–’
‘Sister Viola!’ Augusta’s tone was a bark. ‘The inquisitor is alive. She is the word of the Emperor, and she must take precedence.’ She looked at her squad. ‘We will not abandon Sister Melia. But we need security – and now. Akemi, what’s the report from the Archeotech?’
‘Nothing, Sister,’ Akemi said. ‘I can’t reach Melia on the vox – I’m getting static.’
Throne! Augusta stopped herself cursing aloud. She was caught, thinking, praying, her whole body was alert with adrenaline – she could not abandon a member of her squad, but nor could she leave the injured inquisitor out in the open.
A prayer curled in her heart; she needed guidance, under-standing…
Levis est mihi…
Show me to the Light!
She had to make the decision.
She said, ‘Keep trying. Mors – how well do you know the area? Can you find us a safe location?’
‘I believe so, Sister,’ the corporal said. He had his rifle in hand, still scanning the upper catwalks. ‘The Mechanicus construct these platforms in repeating and regular patterns, and I know where one may be found.’
‘Good man,’ Augusta said to him. ‘We will follow your lead. Can the inquisitor be moved?’
‘The Emperor is with her, Sister Superior.’ Rufus was on his knees and holding a dressing to Istrix’s shoulder. ‘The wound is serious, but treatable. The hydrostatic shock has robbed her of consciousness. I can revive her–’
‘Not here.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
The city’s crowd was getting larger now; they were starting to shift and seethe. Viola made a deliberate show of re-cocking the heavy bolter, the noise echoing from the tank like a challenge. Akemi kept her weapon trained on the tank’s hatch, though the bar had remained silent. Her voice in the vox continued, but there was no response to the call.
Augusta checked her annoyance, and gave her orders.
‘Corporal, take point. Sister Caia, with the corporal. I will carry the inquisitor myself. Viola, guard our backs – and if anything tries to attack us, shoot it.’
Viola said, ‘Aye,’ and the word was like a promise of violence.
They moved, low to the ground and at the double. Caia’s scanning enhanced the corporal’s local instincts and they made good speed, skirting the outer edges of the city and climbing down towards the lower platforms.
It was darker down here, the lumens faltering, but it offered at least basic concealment.
Suspended walkways creaked over the reeking water; the group moved as fast as it dared, all suit-lights turned off.
The unconscious inquisitor hung in Augusta’s arms like a sacrifice, her scars glinting. She was heavy, but the Sister Superior’s power armour was enough to bear her easily.
In the vox, Augusta offered a prayer – for Melia, for Istrix’s health and recovery. And for herself, for insight, for His wisdom to show her the way…
Domine deduc me mi Imperatoris…
This mission was not turning out how they had expected.
Soon, they left the noise of the town behind them. They could clearly hear their own boots and breathing, the hiss and seethe of the hungry, polluted waters. And, as they walked, Augusta’s prayers focused her thoughts, and she began to understand something.
The Sister Superior did not doubt Istrix’s authenticity, nor her dedication to her target, yet still, her choices of action seemed odd. She came across as arrogant, though perhaps that was not so unusual. And she had willingly walked them out from the Munitorum depot, and straight into the nearest ambush…
For what?
So she could locate Rayos?
Rayos herself had seemed genuine enough – a local boss, manipulating the people and powers around her to her own best advantage. Augusta had encountered such creatures before. She–
‘Here!’
The corporal’s deep voice sounded in the vox.
‘No movement,’ Caia confirmed, auspex back in her hand.
‘That doesn’t mean it’s empty,’ Augusta commented. ‘Secure the area.’
‘Aye.’
Caia nodded at the corporal, and his heavy boot hammered the metal door. It spanked back against the side of the lift shaft, and Caia brought up her bolter to cover the space. Within was a cargo-lift, more than big enough to accommodate all of them, and with the added advantage of a second exit on the opposite side.
Caia counted five and said, ‘Clear!’
‘Very well, then,’ Augusta said. ‘We will regroup, and reload.’
As they moved in, and laid the inquisitor down, Rufus moved forward with his kit, but Augusta held up a hand. ‘She’s stable, yes?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Then why don’t we let her sleep for a moment?’ Her tone was grim. ‘Keep an eye on her. Corporal Mors, I’ll need your full report.’
If this mission was to succeed, then the Sister Superior wanted to know everything.
CHAPTER SIX
Sister Melia sat with her back to the old smeltorium’s wall, the rigid metal scraping against the edges of her armour. Beside her, Rayos paid her no further attention, hissing and clicking over the pile of trade-pieces and data-slates that had been left on her table. Some she passed to the little brass analyser beside her; others were carefully measured with callipers and claws. Her cogitator clicked away to itself, presumably keeping some sort of running tally.
Melia watched, oddly fascinated, and wondered what information flowed between the two of them.
In her heart, however, she offered the Litany of Divine Guidance; she prayed for strength, and for clarity.
Domine deduc me mi Imperatoris.
Guide me, my Emperor.
And then, the bar went quiet.
Melia looked up.
A lone figure had pushed through the crowd, stilling fights and rowdy singing both. He was strong and tanned, gold-eyed and brown-haired. He wore no armour, no symbols; he carried no weapons. Yet he commanded his audience with a flourish like pure confidence.
As he came closer, Melia could feel a pressure swelling in her mind, like creepers growing through her ears.
She continued to pray.
As if he could hear her, the man met her gaze. He had a smile that gave him tan-lines, crinkles round his eyes that offered humour, warmth and mischief.
‘Sister,’ he said, as he stopped at the table. ‘How charming.’
She lifted her chin; the pressure in her mind was growing worse. Her skull spasmed with agony, aching like it would split.
Somewhere, she could hear the hissing of the Lautis daemons, feel their flame and fear–
The priest raised a claw. ‘Desist.’
The man laughed, and the pressure was gone.
Witch!
Shuddering with revulsion, Melia was on her feet. She knew what had happened, knew exactly what – who – this man was. And she understood, in the very next instant, that Rayos had betrayed them, that she’d never had any intention of going through with the deal. Melia’s hand went for her flamer; she opened a channel in the vox but the signal was blocked. The bead in her ear crackled static.
Weapon out, she pointed it at the newcomer. ‘Heretic!’
‘Really, Sister.’ The man laughed. His tone was like his clothing, rich and warm. ‘The word is so crass, don’t you think? Please, call me Zale. And you will stand when I say, sit when I say, kneel when I say. Now put that away, and be quiet.’
With each word, Melia’s body jerked in response; she obeyed him like a marionette, her strings in his hands. As he gave the final order, however, she spat a prayer and surged forwards. One hand turned the table clean over, mugs and data-slates clattering to the floor; the other shoved the flamer right in his face.
At the noise, there was an instant of silence, then whoops and cheers erupted around the bar.
The man’s eyes narrowed, as if she’d surprised him.
But he made no attempt to defend himself, or back away.
‘I wouldn’t,’ he told her softly, ‘if I were you.’
His eyes glittered; she could see whole worlds held in them, the sparkle of stars, the vast streams of the empyrean. The screaming, bloody heave of the warp that she’d seen through the mirror in the Lautis cathedral…
Worlds, dying at the touch of Chaos.
Softly, he said, ‘I know you have no fear of death, Sister. I know you would lay down your life to slay me, and everything else in this establishment. But I also know how this ends.’ Moons exploded in her vision; his words stroked her, their truth enthralling. ‘Istrix is a lunatic, you must have realised that by now.’
‘She is a child of the Emperor.’ Melia snarled the words; her flamer hadn’t moved. ‘You spin treachery and illusion to gain your own ends. I will not suffer your life–’
‘Sister, please,’ he said. Smiling, he raised a hand and pushed the weapon down and out of the way. ‘That’s quite enough. If I told you to, you would strip off your armour and bathe in the waters of Lycheate like they were a font.’
Melia reeled, staggering and silent. The words were a lance of pain in her forebrain, a white-hot flare going off behind her eyes. She fell back onto the bench.
Beside her, Rayos had stood up, and a delicate, unfolding claw was picking up her fallen goods. Secreting some of the higher-value pieces in places under her cloak, she said to Zale, ‘Our trade is concluded. You have the item you require. I will depart. I will not return to this location, the percentage chance of retaliation is unacceptable. I will join you at the requested appointment. We will conclude our business.’
‘Of course.’ Zale offered her a bow like a flourish, then turned back to Melia. He extended his arm as if he expected her to take it.
And Melia found herself obeying the gesture, her body moving like a servitor’s, clumsy and painful. She fought to clear her thoughts. She wanted to demand: what appointment, what business? She wanted to pull her flamer, execute this smirking heretic, this betraying tech-priest. She wanted to howl the hymnal aloud, to purge this world of its faithless and its unbelievers…
But she could not; her head hurt and her limbs ground like rust. She tried to pray, struggled to recall the words.
‘Domine… libra…’
They came forth in pieces, in shards of pain through her hard-clenched teeth.
‘I feel your battle,’ Zale told her, smiling. Explosions were still going off in her head – the moons detonating, over and over again, their pieces spinning, spinning in the void. ‘But you’re weak, Melia, unsure of your own strength and position. You know this.’ He chuckled, the sound lush. ‘Please understand, Istrix and I go back a very long way, and I can usually… shall we say, predict… her moves.’ His words were sharply amused, as if at some private joke. ‘But the Adepta Sororitas? Now, that’s a ploy I hadn’t expected. And one that’s interesting, a genuine challenge.’ He picked up one of the metal mugs, drained its contents, put it down again. ‘And so, I had to have you – my security, my coin, my Imperial scrip. The card up my sleeve, if you like.’ His smile grew. ‘And, close-up, I can learn how your mind, your foolish faith, really works, Sister – and understand how to better the rest of your squad.’
Melia’s mind was fraying like old cloth. Her prayers were fading, her vision was full of detonations, and wonder, and beauty, and Ruin, and pain…
She made herself speak, each word like a splinter of agony. ‘My life… will not save you. The Sisters of Battle… will not… be defeated. My squad… will shoot you.’
‘Really?’ he said, and his brown eyes glittered like rusted manacles. ‘I think you’ll find… it’s just not that simple.’
‘Sister Superior, I am under orders…’
Inside the lift, the corporal tailed into an uneasy silence, eyeing the fallen inquisitor. ‘To disobey those orders would be heresy. I would be shot. Or confined to the life of a gun-servitor–’
‘The question is not difficult,’ Augusta said. They were short of time, and she needed Mors’ full story, needed to try to understand why the inquisitor’s behaviour was so peculiar. ‘I asked for your report. Where do you come from, Mors? How do you come to be on Lycheate? And how long have you been with Istrix?’
Leaving Caia and Viola on watch, Augusta and Akemi stood with their backs to the lift wall. Opposite them, on a long metal bench, the four members of the Militarum had stood down, and broken out their rations. They were sharing a canteen of water, and even Lucio had run out of banter.
Rufus, the medicae and the oldest of the four, sat the closest to Istrix. He said, ‘Sister Superior, with all due respect…’
‘Corporal,’ Augusta said, cutting straight across his words. ‘You will answer the question.’
The corporal had removed his helmet; despite the cold air, his dark skin glittered with sweat. He muttered something that might have been a prayer, then let out his breath in a plume like surrender. Swiftly, he explained how they had met Istrix when she had been scouting the planet for her quarry. She had been unaccompanied, working alone, and assaulted at the outskirts of the city. They had gone to help her, and she had immediately commanded their assistance in locating Zale. Several days later, after a short battle during which their lieutenant had lost his life, they’d cornered, and successfully wounded, the psyker.
But Zale’s wound had been an illusion, the corporal told them. The witch had lured them in, and the battle had cost the life of the sergeant and of the other members of the squad.
‘Zale is extremely powerful,’ Mors said. ‘The illusions he creates are truly horrifying. Our squad… barely stood a chance.’ He trailed off into silence, frowning.
‘She didn’t fire.’ Adriene, her legs stretched out across the lift floor, looked up from her ration pack. ‘She had him, at gunpoint, out on the gantry, and she didn’t shoot him. She–’
‘Private!’ the corporal snapped at her, cutting her dead.
Augusta turned back to Mors. ‘Corporal, you will give me your full report, everything you’ve seen while you’ve been with the inquisitor.’ Her gaze did not let him go. ‘The success of this mission may depend upon your information.’
Mors paused for a moment, then he inhaled and straightened his shoulders. ‘Our squad died screaming,’ he said. ‘The inquisitor…’ His voice shook, he swiftly controlled himself. ‘Istrix hesitated, and the gantry collapsed. We lowered a line and pulled her free, but by then, Zale had already gone. Emperor forgive me, Sister, Adriene is correct – she had him at gunpoint, and she did not fire.’
Augusta nodded, but said nothing more aloud. Over their private channel, she continued, ‘Sisters. What do you make of this?’
‘He seems terrified,’ Akemi said. ‘They all do.’
‘He’s not telling us everything,’ Caia commented.
Viola suggested, ‘We can force it out of him.’
Augusta replied, ‘We will do no such thing–’
She stopped as feet raced past outside; they all turned, hands on weapons. The rasp of an engine sounded at the waterline.
‘Very well,’ Augusta said. ‘We have not secured Sister Melia, and I fear we are out of time.’ She eyed Mors for a moment, then looked down at the unconscious inquisitor, her gaze exploring the careful latticework of scars. ‘One last question. You say she did not shoot Zale. So, why did Zale not end her life? He must have had the opportunity.’
Adriene frowned at her rations, Lucio counted his ammo.
‘He used to be her pupil,’ Mors said, and Augusta nodded. ‘And there still seems to be some… strange connection between them, Sister, some compulsion or madness that drives them both–’
‘Corporal.’ Augusta’s voice was steel. ‘Has she fallen?’
At the question, Mors drew in his breath, and the others stopped to stare, their gazes wide. Carefully, the corporal said, ‘I have seen nothing to prove so, Sister. Only her… singular devotion to securing her target.’
Augusta exhaled, her prayer tangling round her exasperation. If the inquisitor had fallen to Ruin, then the Sisters’ path would have been clear, but still they had no explanation for Istrix’s peculiar behaviour.
The Sister Superior had a need for guidance, for His light that had shown her Subul, and the way to the daemon…
Domine deduc…
But there was no clarity, here, no definite answer. Frustrated, she let her hand rest on her chainsword, solid and strong. More than anything, she wanted to hear the song of its rasp, to solve these endless questions with the glory of the litany and the roar of pure combat…
By the Throne!
All her life, Augusta had trusted to two things – her faith, and her weapons. And, all her life, they had been the same – she raised her voice to the God-Emperor, and she slew His foes.
But this!
She was beginning to believe that Istrix did not intend the witch’s death – and everything in the Sister Superior’s training baulked at that knowledge. The witch should be purged. He needed to die. Yet Mors was right, there seemed to be some deeper game here, some twisted, emotional connection that she did not understand.
It made Istrix dangerous, unpredictable – and it brought the entire success of the mission into doubt.
Had Istrix fallen to the darkness? She would not be the first inquisitor to have been consumed by the powers she pursued.
But if Istrix was the presence of the God-Emperor, then her word was law, and to open fire upon her would be pure heresy. Augusta and her entire squad would offer their lives in Repentance.
Somewhere, the Sister Superior could still feel the jagged edges of her darkness – see the stikk-bomb that had slain Kimura, the clang of the axe that had broken Jatoya like a doll.
