Alaster, Patreus and Nasty were stood in the Ravenholme's central cathedral. The pre-dawn glow lit the high stained-glass windows. They were at the top of the central spire here – the view was amazing. Before them was the altar. No lesser a figure than Chaplain Fellack waited in front of it.
Today was important. Today the new Space Marines would swear their vows to the Chapter. The three had been back on Delta less than a day. They'd spent the last three months at the Chapter's training facilities on Eta. Being less densely populated than Delta, but with a wider range of environments than Gamma, Eta provided the better location for final training. Kodos had told them there were fewer innocent bystanders to for them to accidentally shoot. Three months hadn't sounded like much time but it had been three months of nothing but training. The new assault squad literally hadn't slept in that time.
They'd arrived back at the Ravenholme mid-afternoon yesterday. The squad had been assigned its dormitory, five small bedrooms adjoining onto a central chamber. None of the rooms had doors and they didn't contain much more then a bed, a washbasin, and racks for weapons and armour. There was a communal bathroom down the corridor. It was all quite Spartan. Patreus had been delighted.
By contrast, Kodos had his own room. With its own small bathroom. Apparently rank had its privileges.
After arriving back, to the brothers' surprise, they'd been let off. By long-standing tradition, the Storm Ravens' initiation ceremony always took place at dawn. Returning Thunderhawks tended to land around mid-afternoon, taking advantage of stable air conditions and relatively-quiet domestic air traffic. Since there was nothing for the recruits to do until the next day, and since Octalian soldiers had the tradition of a 'long weekend' at the end of their training, the new marines got a 'long afternoon'. To Alaster's surprise, Kodos had told them to go and get drunk. Patreus had seemed uneasy with this but Kodos had settled his mind by pointing out that this was the last free time they'd have in a while.
Their consciences appeased – not that it took much in Nasty's case – the three had gone to one of the Ravenholme's bars. It was run by one of the Chapter serfs and its main clientele were other serfs – but it didn't charge marines anything. That was just as well, as Alaster had realised he hadn't carried any money for months. The three had spent the rest of the afternoon drinking the bar dry. Alaster had been startled to see how much better his enhanced liver was. They'd only finished an hour ago and he was sober again already. He had no trace of a hangover.
Now they were here, waiting to swear their oaths.
The cathedral was big enough to hold the entire army. With so many Ravens out on deployment it felt half-empty. Kodos had rounded up all the Ravens he could find for the ceremony, which came to a little over a hundred. It was strange to think that a hundred marines could ever be dwarfed by their surroundings and yet it seemed to be the case.
Alaster was stood with the others before the altar. Steps rose in front of them. The altar was on a platform, raised above the floor. On its side was carved the Imperial eagle. Alaster couldn't shake the feeling its two heads were watching them. Atop it, sat on special mounts were two of the Chapter's treasured relics. One was a savage-looking power axe, said to have once been wielded by Russ himself. Even with occasional replacements, its haft had been worn smooth by generations of reverential grasping hands. Next to the axe sat another mount, with a smaller but no less holy object on it. It was a fan assembly, held to come from Corax's own jump pack. It too had been lovingly tended over many centuries, carefully polished and repaired as bits gradually aged.
Alaster thought it was an appropriate display. It honoured the Chapter's two true Primarchs, whose sons had aided the first Ravens in their hour of need. In this most sacred of places, Guilliman and his foolish successors didn't deserve a mention. After his experiences with Metelleus, Alaster felt that only fair.
Fellack stepped up to the altar. He raised his crozius and struck the polished marble with its haft. The sound brought the ceremony to order. Kodos had instructed the squad carefully and somewhat-patiently earlier that morning. Knowing what to do, Alaster dropped to one knee, placing his weapons parallel on the floor before him. Pistol pointing left, chainsword pointing right, blade away from him and toward the enemy. Or Fellack, as the case maybe. He set his helmet beside them.
Fellack walked in front of the altar. Carefully, reverentially, he placed the crozius on the altar. His ceramite boots were loud on the polished stone. He stopped. The room was eerily quiet. Alaster could hear his own breathing and that of his brothers'. Other then that the silence was absolute. For all the sound they made, the arrayed Ravens behind them may as well have not been there.
Fellack picked up a book from the altar, a leather-bound copy of the Imperial testaments. Alaster could smell the paper, the glue and the ink even from down here – his new nose continued to amaze him. Fellack held the book in one hand. He stretched the other out in benediction.
'Brothers,' he began. The glow outside was brightening, Alaster noticed. 'We are gathered here today in the Emperor's name. We are gathered here to witness the elevation of these new warriors as they join us, the Emperor's Chosen. This day they will swear their oaths, before the Immortal Emperor Himself and in the presence of our founders.' He gestured toward the relics. 'We will pray together to seek the blessings of Russ and Corax.'
Fellack led the assembled Ravens in one of the Litanies of Faith. Alaster and the others remained silent – it wasn't yet their place to speak.
The prayer over, Fellack walked forward, standing before Alaster. 'Initiate Karo, do you solemnly swear to uphold the honour of the Storm Ravens?'
Alaster was surprised by how steady his voice was. 'I do, my lord.' For an instant, he was reminded of the formula phrases uttered at weddings. Briefly, the proceedings felt absurd. He had a bizarre urge to laugh. One look at Fellack's face stilled it. This was serious business.
'Do you swear to obey all lawful orders, without hesitation or demurral?'
'I do, my lord.'
'Do you swear to stand by your brother Space Marines, whatever the consequences?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'Do you swear to know no fear?'
'Yes, my lord.' Candidly, Alaster admitted to himself that it probably wasn't quite that simple. Still, never mind.
'Do you swear never to harbour or aid the enemies of Humanity?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'Do you swear to never conceal the truth from your lords and commanders, no matter how embarrassing?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'Do you swear to uphold the lordship of the Emperor and the dominion of Humanity, even at the cost of your own life?'
This was the critical oath. 'I do, my lord.'
Fellack's free hand lashed out. Pain flared as Alaster's head was spun round. He felt the hand as it connected with the bone of his skull. The impact reverberated around his head. The hand swung away. Alaster could feel the imprint of the gauntlet. He could feel four little trickles of hot blood – the knuckledusters built into the ceramite. They'd drawn blood. His ears were ringing – he had to fight the urge to shake his head.
As instructed, Alaster turned his head back, looking at the ground in front of Fellack's feet.
Fellack had drawn his combat knife. Ceremonially, he touched it to Alaster's right shoulder pad. Then he raised the blade and rested it flat on Alaster's head. 'From now on,' he said, 'you need never accept another blow without retaliation. Any who strike against you will feel your wrath and that of Him on Terra.' He raised the knife and tapped it against Alaster's left shoulder pad. 'The God-Emperor accepts your oaths. Arise, Brother Karo.' He withdrew the knife.
The blood pinpricks were receding already. Alaster knew he'd have a bruise for a while – the final strike had to be hard. It wasn't respectful to be gentle– the blow was symbolic. It showed that the Chapter accepted the new brother had the strength to be one of them. To receive it was an honour – although a painful one. Alaster was glad he hadn't sworn to feel no pain. He'd already be an oathbreaker!
There was one final thing to do. Alaster picked up his helmet. He put it on, making sure the neck-ring locked properly. He picked up his gun and his sword and stood, holding them crossed over the eagle on his breastplate. This was another ritual gesture – Kodos had told them it was to symbolise the new brother-marine's determination to fight to defend the Empire.
Alaster stood to attention as Fellack moved on. He noticed there was a distinct rosy glow beyond the stained glass now. Sunrise was fast approaching.
The ceremony was repeated for each of the five new Storm Ravens, until all five were stood to attention with pistol and chainsword. As Kodos finished swearing in Sandrer, the sun rose. Bright, pinkish light streamed into the cathedral.
The assembled Ravens burst into thunderous applause, breaking their disciplined silence.
Fellack stepped down from the dais. He was stood in front of the new Ravens. He gestured to the altar. 'You may touch the relics, Brothers,' he said.
Inside his helmet, Alaster blinked. There was an undertone to the man's voice. Fellack sounded – emotional! Well, Alaster supposed, the initiation of new members was a big day for the Chapter as well.
He walked up the steps, to the altar. The other Ravens followed him. The squad gathered around the altar. Sunlight was streaming across its polished face. Tentatively, he reached out to the axe. His fingers brushed the haft. Alaster felt a sense of awe, to be in the presence of such an ancient weapon. A surviving relic, from the first days of the Imperium!
'Wow,' he breathed, his hand sliding back.
He heard Nasty mutter, 'I doubt there's an original part in it.' Then, to Alaster's disbelief, Nasty reached out and picked it up! 'Mind you,' Nasty added, hefting the weapon, 'it feels like it's got a good swing on it.'
Patreus was making choking noises. 'Nasty! That's a relic of the Primarchs themselves! Show some respect, for the Throne's sake!'
One of the other helmets was pointed at Alaster. For a second he was confused by its blue-black ceramite scowl, identical to its neighbours. Then he remembered to look at the name on the collar. BROTHER SANDRER. 'Are those two always like this?' Sandrer asked.
'Most of the time,' Alaster agreed.
He glanced back. In spite of his protestations, it seemed the urge to handle the axe had been too much for Patreus. He was gripping it reverentially in his gauntleted hands. He turned it over, watching the light gleam on the polished blade.
Nasty was looking at the jump pack fragment. Something about his stance suggested he was underwhelmed.
A few minutes later, when they were done with the relics, Alaster and others signed their names into the Chapter's roll of honour. A brief handshake with Fellack and they found themselves stood in the atrium to the cathedral.
Kodos and Brother-Corporal Eorvan strode over. During the ceremony, they'd been watching from the front pew.
''Bout time you lot were finished,' Kodos growled. 'Follow me. We're due at Pad Sixteen in – oh – ten minutes.' He and Eorvan started walking. The brothers fell in behind them. Boots grated on the paving.
'Where are we going, Sergeant?' As usual, Nasty asked the questions. Sixteen was one of the Thunderhawk pads.
'Back to Riothria,' Kodos said. 'We're joining the Nevermore from the Thunderhawk – assuming you ladies don't make us late, of course. We'll be in the Warp before that sets.' They were just passing a window; Kodos pointed at the sun. The star Octalia was framed perfectly, hovering just barely above the horizon. They were looking out toward the sea. Octalia's reddish dawn light was reflected from the water below, a glittering band pointing straight for them.
'We're going already?' Sandrer asked.
'Oh I'm sorry,' Kodos snarked. 'I didn't know you had other plans. Yes, of course we're going. It's about time you lot started earning your keep.'
Alaster glanced back toward the sun. The light was spilling through the window, shining off the polished corridor floor. Briefly, Alaster wondered when he'd see it again.