Part IV

Never Forget

Life continued to become stranger and stranger for Mathen and his brothers after that day in the Reclusiam. He and the other sons of Krenim had endured the painful physical examinations to ensure that they would be capable of becoming Astartes someday. If they had proven unfit physically they would have been condemned to the path of the Chapter Serf even after everything they'd endured.

None of them failed, but the fear of it had been almost as bad as the medical procedure itself.

Almost.

But once that was behind them there were lessons to be endured and suddenly sheer strength wasn't enough anymore.

There were lessons and instruction in Imperial history, strategic and tactical thinking. Weapons training which Mathen enjoyed, regular exercises that he excelled at and routine bouts of meditation that he found more frustrating than relaxing.

There were lessons in Gothic and the boys were encouraged to speak it as much as they felt able, but the Chapter Serfs that watched over them were all fluent in the language of Krenim and Mathen learned that his native tongue was itself a form of Gothic mutated after perhaps thousands of years. That helped him, though he wasn't sure how long it had taken him to speak the language confidently since it was also difficult to tell the passing of days.

Not just because life on-board a star ship passed without sunrise or sunset, but also because Krenim had had twenty-two hour days arranged in what they called tendays. The Imperials used twenty-four hour days arranged in what they called weeks which lasted only seven days.

Over time he found he'd gotten used to that as well, though it took longer. Still, comfortable with the passage of time and the tongue he was meant to speak Mathen had begun to feel more at home in the stars.

In fact he barely had time to think of the home he'd left behind after a while. His days were strictly scheduled. In order to help prepare them for life as Astartes the Neophytes followed a schedule of training and battle preparation, studies and meditation.

They sang too, Mathen was surprised to learn. As the warrior lodges of the clans had been filled with the song of warriors praising their ancestors and the Shadows of Death so too did the neophytes sing songs of Caliban, the Dark Angels and the Redeemers of Caliban, most of the latter invented by the Chapter Serfs.

Many Chapter Serfs had tried to walk the path of the Astartes and failed, but many more had been born into the Chapter or volunteered their service to the Chapter. Every Astartes in the Chapter was given the respect Mathen might have expected a War Prince to receive and soon Mathen understood each Astartes had to be a warrior beyond the pale of even the War Princes.

Their names were all known, their stories were known though none of them were written. There were rare occasions when the Chapter would call on the Serfs to fight alongside them, though none of the Serfs that Mathen had met had seen it in their lifetimes.

They knew the stories though, and if the Neophytes performed well they were allowed to hear some of them.

Mathen and his brothers and cousins always performed well. They fought well as a team, they were learning to fight well alone. They weren't the fastest runners, though Vorken had the greatest endurance of their troop and it got him noticed very quickly.

Kayren was the most accurate shot of all of them and Mathen and Darken were usually among the top of the daily list in hand to hand combat. They only slipped when they fought each other, then they tended to fight to a draw and this was frowned upon.

"No stalemate, no surrender, an Astartes overcomes!" Instructor Voljen would often remind them, though Mathen didn't understand what he was supposed to do if he met an opponent that matched him as thoroughly as Darken did.

Battle training would come after meditation and sometimes it made meditation, an act Mathen did not enjoy, even less bearable. It was impossible to find his center and reflect on himself and his duty to humanity if all he could do was hope he wouldn't have to fight Darken in the sparring circles.

Mathen found himself taking his evening meditation under a large tapestry of an Astartes with a flowing green cloak and the helmet of a Company Master. His head, free of the helmet was shorn and his eyes were gray. His skin was the beige cream color of most of the Chapter's murals, lighter than Mathen's own by a few shades.

Mathen didn't find the meditation relaxing, or even pleasant but for the half hour before the sparring, but sometimes he would spend the whole time just admiring the tapestries in the halls of the ship's habitation level.

Some displayed battles and the boy found himself imagining the fights, using what he learned of strategy and tactics to imagine how the armies might have been deployed, how they might have fought and how the victors had won, how the defeated might have overcome. He let his imagination weave images as intricate as any tapestry instead of letting it rest and perhaps that was why meditation was such a waste for him.

The neophytes were not meant to treat meditation as free time, they were meant to reflect on what it would mean to be an Astartes and try to find peace and clarity as the day's lessons continued. All Mathen could do to find peace and reflect on what it would mean to be an Astartes however was to look at the tapestries, and this one in particular.

It hung in a corridor of the Unrivaled Dominion, one of the three Battle Barges of the Redeemer's of Caliban. Mathen knew that the Battle Barge was the largest and most powerful vessel available to the Astartes, some of them had even sailed the stars when the Emperor still led mankind.

The Dominion was not one of these, but she was still very old and formidable, and to Mathen her decorated corridors felt as if they had witnessed history. He couldn't even imagine how it might feel to walk someplace where the Emperor had walked.

He stood before the tapestry and watched the warrior immortalized in the woven artwork. His black ceramite plate armor and midnight blue pauldrons seemed as if they were true polished metal, his white tabard and green cloak seemed to be flowing in the wind, to Mathen it almost seemed as if the man—no, the Astartes were alive.

"Do you know who he was?" A deep voice asked, and Mathen spun around to see an Astartes in a white robe, marking him as a veteran of the Chapter. He had the dusky skin of a son of Krenim and he spoke the tongue but Mathen had learned that those things didn't actually mean that any given Astartes actually was from Krenim. The Redeemers of Caliban roamed the stars and took new warriors from many worlds.

This was not unique among Astartes Chapters of course, especially nomadic fleet based Chapters, which is what the majority of the Dark Angels' successor Chapters were.

Mathen tried not to stare in awe at the Astartes and forced himself to answer, "Th-this is Grand Master Driniel, the first Grand Master of the Chapter."

"Yes." The Astartes nodded, "but do you know who he was?"

Mathen frowned, "Um . . . he was originally from the Dark Angels, but was sent to the Redeemers of Caliban to instruct the Chapter in the ways of its progenitor Chapter and the traditions of its parent Legion."

"Yes. But has anyone told you who he was?" The Astartes asked, and this time Mathen shrugged helplessly. The Astartes' smile didn't waver and he stood besides Mathen in admiration of the tapestry.

"He was once a mortal boy just as you are now. He once had a mortal name, just as you do. As successors of the Dark Angels we keep many of their traditions, including receiving a new name when we join the Legion as Battle Brothers. You know this, neophyte?" The Astartes asked, and Mathen nodded before realizing that standing side by side the giant likely couldn't see him nod.

"Yes, my lord." He answered.

The Space Marine clasped his massive hands behind his back, his arms were thicker than Mathen's waist, and he was tall even for an Astartes. At first, Mathen had thought all Astartes looked alike in physical structure and that the best way to tell them apart was their skin and eye color—assuming one could muster the courage to make eye contact that is—but after months he was starting to tell their individual features better and while they all seemed tall Mathen was becoming practiced enough to know that this warrior was tall even without one of his brothers standing beside him for context.

"When a Dark Angel earns his name within the Legion he abandons his old one. The child he once was dies and he is reborn a son of The Lion. For the First Chapter and many of our other brothers this is the way of things. However, Grand Master Driniel believed that to forget our old selves was to deny a part of what had made us worthy of being the Lion's sons in the first place."

Mathen stared at the tapestry and nodded slowly, absorbing this new information as best he could. "Grand Master Driniel spoke with then Supreme Grand Master Raphael of the Dark Angels, and respectfully plead his case. You must understand, this would have been like a Prince making a request of a War Prince."

"But wasn't Driniel the Grand Master of a Chapter? Aren't the Dark Angels only a Chapter as well?" Mathen asked.

The Astartes smiled an odd smile and said, "We respect our origins, and recall Driniel was of the Dark Angels. Even so, the Dark Angels are the First Chapter of the First Legion, the Supreme Grand Master can be considered . . ." he hesitated, perhaps looking for the right words, and his dark eyes lit up when he found them, "first among equals when he meets with his fellow Grand Masters. Though Driniel had been made the Grand Master of his own Chapter Supreme Grand Master Raphael had been his Grand Master for a century, had led a Chapter with a tradition that spanned back to the times of The Lion himself, and Driniel was daring to question that."

"What happened?" Mathen asked, knowing what would have happened to anyone who questioned his father or their clan's traditions. It must have been different for Grand Master Driniel, after all, he had survived to pose for the tapestry.

"Well they discussed it for a long time. But in the end Master Raphael agreed albeit with some conditions. The boy who becomes an Astartes of the Redeemers is not dead, but he must still devote his entirety to being Astartes. Nevertheless the Astartes he becomes may always remember the boy he once was if it helps him in his duty. He may still keep to the old ways and forget as some of us still do, but the option and right existed to never forget. To keep his old name in his memory and remember what it was about himself that made him worthy of receiving a place with the sons of the Lion."

Mathen felt a strange sort of increase to the admiration for the warrior in the tapestry now. He'd always admired the artwork and known Driniel to be a powerful warrior, a War Prince of War Princes even but now to know something more about the man elevated the whole piece to him.

"I want to be a son of the Lion." Mathen confessed, "But I don't know how . . . I don't know what made me worthy, I only survived a battle at Aceldama."

"And The Culling." The Astartes reminded him. "Why did you do these things, boy?"

Mathen shrugged helplessly, "I did them because . . . because they were the things to do."

"Did you hold back in the battle?" The Astartes asked him.

"No." Mathen shook his head. "It was war: live or die, kill or be killed, conquer or be destroyed. I couldn't hold anything back, I had to fight with everything or I could have died, my brothers and my cousins could have died."

The Astartes smiled as if Mathen had said something right, and then said, "My name is Xanthias, but the boy I once was was called Kargan of clan Korgan of Krenim III. We share a common home, child. I know the path you walk seems frustrating now, and it will never get easier. Many times the boy I once was stood where you stand, looking up at Master Driniel, wishing he would spring from the tapestry to give me some words of wisdom."

Mathen looked at Xanthias in disbelief. An Astartes—or at least the boy he'd once been—had known doubt?

"I am Mathen, son of Vorlen." Mathen said.

"Well met, Mathen, son of Vorlen." Xanthias said.

"Well met Kargan, son of Korgan who is also Xanthias, son of the Lion." Mathen returned the gesture and addressed the Astartes with both names just to be respectfully safe.

The robed Astartes smiled broadly and seemed to chuckle softly before saying, "Grand Master Driniel never did speak to me, so I will save you the trouble and offer you guidance on your path if you need it."

"What do I do?" Mathen asked.

"What you did at the Aceldama: hold nothing back." Xanthias told him. "The path of the Astartes must be your everything. As you said of Aceldama, that was war. To an Astartes there is only war. We are mankind's defenders, we can never hold back. If we do, our brothers and our cousins may die. All of humanity may die. We are the shield that defends humanity, and the hammer that crushes its foes. Neither of these things can be made of weak material, but it's not just the body of an Astartes that you will need to defend mankind, it is the spirit of an Astartes as well."

Mathen frowned, he felt like he understood what he was being told. "But when I have to fight my brothers or my cousins in the combat training . . ."

"Hold nothing back. Fight as if your life depends on it, fight as if theirs does because someday it might." Xanthias told him.

"But what if I hurt them?" Mathen asked.

"You've done that before, haven't you? Isn't that what brothers do, or has Krenim changed so much?" Xanthias asked.

"What if I really hurt them? What if I hurt them so badly they can't recover?" He asked, almost afraid to admit to the concerns. "What if I kill them?" Mathen asked.

It was rare but he had seen boys die in the training. He didn't want that for Darken, or Kayren or any of his clan.

Xanthias smiled at him and said, "If you fight as if you mean to kill them they will fight as if they mean to live. Believe in them, test them at all times and test yourself. Never doubt, never falter, as an Astartes you won't just be the defender of mankind you will be the defender of your brothers. All of them, every Battle Brother who stands shoulder to shoulder with you on the field even as I stand beside you now."

Mathen nodded slowly, feeling resolve flow through him. "I will." He told Xanthias.

The Astartes smiled and said, "Then I will leave you to your mediations. Earn your name, son of Vorlen, then tell it to me when we can meet again as brothers."

Mathen watched the tapestry for a while longer. The Astartes had taught him not to believe the silly superstitions of ancestral ghosts, he understood that Grand Master Driniel was dead and gone forever, all that remained were legends and tapestries like this one.

Still the idea of the man gave him as much courage as the old legends of the ancestors back in the warrior lodges had. He had been brave enough to learn to hunt, he could be brave enough to accept the truth of his role.

A klaxon sounded through the halls, marking the end of meditation and Mathen hurried to the sparring ring hungrier than ever to prove himself.

The sparring circles were set in a large room used by the Chapter Serfs to train in close combat, to use the sparring cages of the Astartes would have been suicidal not to mention impractical since everything would be over-sized.

So the array of swords, knives, axes, clubs and staffs on the walls was nothing compared to what Mathen imagined the Astartes would have and he knew he would need to master every one of them before he would be able to move up.

There were five numbered circles where sparring matches would be held, each observed by a servitor that would keep track of hits scored and report winners, and medically trained Chapter Serfs as well. Five pairs would spar while the others would watch and wait their turn to take the place of one of the defeated, from the center of room the instructor would stand and watch all the fights at once, shouting advice and criticism and dictating who should enter which ring next.

Voljen had pale skin and short white hair, though she did not seem old. She had a deep scar that ran across her face from cheek to cheek and clefted her nose slightly. She had been a warrior of a world that had seemed doomed until the Redeemers had fought to protect it. To hear her tell the tale her squad had been surrounded by Xenos and cut off from the main regiment. In the press of close quarters she had been using her combat blade in one hand and her bayonet in the other as her comrades of the Planetary Defense Force fell around her.

She had claimed over two dozen Xenos lives, her blades finding the weak points in their armor far better than her lasgun had when suddenly the black armored Redeemers had charged into the fray, their chain swords screaming their bolt pistols cracking like thunder. They had beat back the foul Xenos menace, rescuing her, the last soldier standing.

She'd pledged herself to their service after that and before too long had become the chapter's most trusted human instructor in matters of hand to hand combat. Still she said, "The Astartes terrified me when they saved my life, if you want to become Astartes you boys need to at least give me a chill!" and so far none of them had.

Voljen seemed to take special notice of him when he arrived at the sparring circles and before even bothering to wait for all of their class to arrive she shouted, "Mathen, Darken, take to ring one!"

The instructor was not even going to let them work their way through other opponents today, she was making no secret she intended to see their stalemate ended and Mathen agreed with her.

Darken groaned and complained so that only Mathen could hear him, "She'll be pitting us against each other forever. We're just going to tie again."

"No," Mathen assured him, "Not if we want to be Astartes."

"I'm not going to let you win if that's what you're suggesting." Darken said with a grin.

Mathen smiled back and told him, "You'd probably walk the path of the Serf if you did. I want to become an Astartes, and I want you to stand at my shoulder when I do."

Darken shrugged, "We're of the same mind but unfortunately we're also of the same skill."

"Then let determination be the deciding factor." Mathen said. "I want to win more than you do."

"You think so?" Darken smirked.

"Let's find out." Mathen suggested, and they heard Voljen's shout to begin.

The two brothers threw themselves into the fight, though Darken started out looking to score points by landing blows Mathen knew there was one way he could defeat his opponent.

It was true that he and Darken were even in skill but a warrior didn't always need to kill their enemy to win a battle and it wouldn't matter how many points Darken scored, there was one sure way to win.

Darken charged and Mathen crouched, his brother raised his hands, probably expecting to pound Mathen into the ground but as he came near Mathen fell backwards and kicked out with his feet, catching Darken in the chest.

It was a solid hit that knocked the wind out of his brother, Mathen let Darken's own momentum take them backwards, he kicked out and sent his brother out of the circle to land in a heap, gasping for air and clutching his chest.

Mathen came to his feet and Voljen cast a jaundiced eye in their direction. Some observers and another Chapter Serf that Mathen didn't know by name started towards Darken but he rose to his feet holding his chest and coughing.

He gave Mathen a jaundiced look that actually put Voljen to shame, and scowled, "Well . . . I won't let you do that again."

Mathen wanted to apologize but forced himself to give his brother a smirk that would make sure Darken never forgot that promise.

Mathen might have humiliated him a bit, and he'd probably broken a rib or two but he knew Darken would win his way through other fights and redeem his pride. With any luck he'd be more ruthless and hold less back in the future.

Mathen fully expected to have a few of his ribs broken the next time they were in the circle together.

And that would be fine. It would make them both better fighters.

It had to because Mathen could see they had a long way to go.

"Kycho, take to ring one!" Voljen shouted, arms clasped behind her back and no chills evident.