Book Three: The Heart of Yang Xiao Long
Chapter 95: What We Owe to Each Other
"A man must be a good friend, both for himself and for his friend." - Fenrisian maxim
The woman in the mirror was a stranger. She wasn't the Lady Highest. She wasn't the Lady Inquisitor. She wasn't even Weiss Schnee. She was someone else, a white-haired slip of a thing more at home among hiver royalty than the Inquisition.
How long has it been since I wore a dress?
Weiss couldn't remember. Remnant? No, not that long. There had to have been some private function she had attended in the time since the Schola. More than a few decades though, that much is certain.
She inspected herself once more, still squinting in the hope that she could see Weiss Schnee. Her dress was a strapless black number, one that hugged her muscular hips until the silk burst into host of silver-lined strands. The woman's hair - once confined to a long, skull-studded braid - had been set free, tumbling over her shoulders and framing the snowflake-backed Inquisitorial rosette that hung between her modest breasts.
Slowly, Weiss ran a finger over her clavicle, gasping at the intimate, unfamiliar sensation. It felt like stroking glass. Like at any moment, the bone would shatter into a thousand razor-sharp fragments.
I look… good.
Not great. Her skin was as pale as her hair, and even though she had slept for three days without interruption, blue-black bags still hung from her eyes. Not as dark as they had once been. Nor as deep.
Yang's charge still thrummed within her, colored her dreams with visions of holy vengeance. Yang. The Living Saint Yang Xiao Long. She had never looked more beautiful than she had on White Horses. Never more terrifying. Never more Yang.
There was something poetic about her apotheosis. Weiss knew that Yang would be a divisive figure in the years - centuries - to come. But the image of her forceful personality and disdain for policy and procedure… For the Imperium's darker aspects...
The woman smiled.
It is likely she shall do more for the Imperium in a decade than I managed in half a century. Or perhaps her fate would be like most Living Saints, a candle that burnt at both ends until there was little more than a puddle of red wax. Ready to be heated, reshaped, and reborn when it was needed once more.
Weiss sighed. Yang's ascension was auspicious, but its golden glow no longer shrouded the oceans of blood that sat on the horizon of her witchsight, their tides rising, rising, rising - those mountains of metallic lifewater that surged violently against the shore.
Cadia will be my truest test.
She turned away from the mirror, her feet heavy and awkward. When was the last time I wore heels? Far longer than a dress.
Eventually, she found her footing, and the door to her conference hall. Deep breath. The doors creaked open, revealing her retinue gathered around the long, onyx table. The kasrkin, her astropaths, her navigators, Captain Barnes, his lieutenants. Ira's seat was empty.
She smiled. "Welcome everyone," she said.
They rose and saluted.
"Lady Highest!" Captain Darron called.
"Lady Highest!" They echoed.
"Tonight," Weiss said, walking to her simple leather office chair at the head of the table, "you may know me as Weiss. Weiss Schnee." She sat. Though she'd been asleep for days, it felt like centuries since she had rested.
The kasrkin - dressed in their finest greens - averted their eyes. Only they knew what it meant to be Weiss Schnee.
"Tonight is of little significance," Weiss continued. "I have no plans to share with you. No sweeping revelations. Nothing but my presence, as frail and withered as it is. I come before you dressed as I am for a single reason - we are en route to Cadia. It is very likely none of us will be alive in month. Before that moment, before we step into His light… tonight, I want to thank you," she said. "Twenty years of service. Some fewer. Some more. It matters not." She looked to them all. Chera's eyes watered, unwavering discipline keeping the salt rivers from spilling over. "I could not have asked for a more capable or loyal warband. Thank you."
A servitor approached, bottle of champagne clutched in its twisted hand. Weiss took it gingerly, inspected the date it had been bottled. August 8th, M.41.937. The day she had arrived in the Imperium. More servants and servitors supplied her crew with their own drinks, bottles of wine and champagne and amasec collected from across the Imperium.
Rime spilled from her lips, caressed the bottle's neck. With a flick of her thumb, the cork popped out, followed by a sweet smelling aroma.
"To the Imperium!" Weiss called, hefting the drink. "To the Emperor! To the Guard! To Cadia, forever may she stand!"
"To Cadia!" They echoed.
"Cadia and death!" She called, recycled air turning cold. "Death to the Defiler! Death to Abaddon! Death to Chaos!"
"Death!" They cried, her kasrkin ringing their fists on the table. "Death! Death!"
They drank. The servants returned with steaming silver platters of the best food Weiss could provide. It was far from perfect - most of it had sat in storage for far too long - but it would serve. Her most loyal deserved it.
She poured a glass of wine for herself. The neck of the bottle wavered. Weiss frowned before setting the bottle back down. Sighing, she slid the bottle to Darron, who caught it readily. Once more, she raised her glass. He copied her, as did his wife.
A smile.
Ira's seat was still empty. Weiss found herself watching it as her warband began their meal. She wondered if any skitarii had risen as high as he. Sacrificed so nobly, so fruitlessly. The bottom of her wine glass called. She indulged it but a single sip.
To you, Ira, she thought to herself. I loved you. The half-metal man was the closest she would ever come to a son, and now he was a pile of ashes that sat in her personal chapel.
Emperor, see me through. Let my grief become action. Let my vengeance be wreaked upon your enemies.
A biting pain ate at her palm. Her glass - and the wine within it - had frozen. Weiss uncurled her fingers, releasing it. Deep breath. Beside her, her kasrkin tore into their food with greedy aplomb. She smiled, wiped at her eyes. If I survive Cadia, I will train another. I will because I must.
I owe it to Ira. I owe it to Yang. I owe it to myself.
Weiss took a sip of her wine, finding it a bit... crunchier than usual.
"Careful," Captain Barnes said, leaning over to speak with her.
"A foolish mistake," Weiss admitted readily, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.
"Is there anything amiss?" Barnes asked, nodding at the frozen wine.
"No," Weiss said. Be honest. "I miss my acolyte."
"Careful," Barnes said, taking a sip of champagne. "If it gets out that an Inquisitor has a heart, the organization's reputation will never recover."
That brought her a curt smile. "The Saint said something similar to me very recently," she allowed. "This meal is for you as well, you know. Just because we never got along does not mean I am not thankful for your service."
"I'm aware," Barnes said, ponytail and headwires rustling against his leather-backed chair. "At least we could serve the Emperor together."
Weiss raised her glass. "I shall drink to that," she promised.
"Drink?" Barnes said, nodding at the glass.
Weiss chuckled. "Thoughtfully chew, at least." That earned her a rare, thin smile.
"Wine smoothies were a popular delicacy among the nobility of my homeworld," Barnes asked.
"And which world is that?" Weiss asked.
"You know which world," Barnes said, dipping a piece of shrimp into a vibrant red sauce. "You know that I served them their frosted wine while they kept my family in bondage. You know what befell them when the slightest, marginal error was found in their annual tithe." He bit into his shrimp, eyebrows raising appreciatively. "Damn. Not bad."
"And you serve me regardless," Weiss said.
"We serve the Emperor," Barnes repeated through a full mouth. "And we do it fucking well. When do feelings come into it?"
Weiss laughed an ugly laugh. "True, Captain. All too true." She sat back in her seat, her own food ignored. She wasn't hungry. "At least allow my curse to bring you a small measure of pleasantness," she said, turning back to Barnes.
"And how can witchcraft accomplish that?" Barnes asked.
"Do not ask me this question," Weiss said, eyes flicking over to Astrid - her kasrkin's designated flame-trooper. "Ask her."
Astrid, caught ogling the captain, returned to her food, furiously biting her cheek to keep her expression neutral.
Barnes chuckled. "She's half my age."
"You're nearly a hundred," Weiss reminded him. "And don't look anywhere near it." A pause. "Ava's well in the past."
"I know." Barnes sighed, combed his long black hair behind his head. "You're a deovel, Weiss Schnee."
"A deovel you know," Weiss allowed. "Enjoy the food. The company."
"Leaving so soon?" Barnes asked.
"An Inquisitor's presence is…" Weiss paused. "Not conducive to a cheerful mood. Let alone one so poor at socializing." She pushed her glass over to him. "Enjoy, Captain."
Standing, she made her way from the conference hall. Few saw her leave. The many circles of her crew began to talk, mingle, drink. Sequestered to their own territory aboard the Scythe of Morning and so busy with their countless tasks, they rarely spoke, let alone interacted in truth.
Weiss smiled and retreated to her quarters. Not the worst showing, but far from the best. Jacques would have been furious. She knew how much Jacques loved to parade his daughter around, a blue-white jewel jammed into his plastic crown.
Rot in the warp, Jacques, she thought. Though I'm sure it'd spit you out once it had a taste of you.
Her quarters awaited her, empty and sparse. Sighing, she laid upon her bed, kicked her heels off, watched them clatter onto the floor. She inspected her rosette... and the slim wafer hidden behind it. Weiss smiled and slid the device into her neck port.
Ho, Ice Queen.
A brilliant smile.
That was fast.
Yang tucked an errant strand of golden hair into the dark red bandanna she'd tied to the top of her head. C'mon, I wore it for a reason. With a sharp exhale, she shut her footlocker, packing away the last of her clean laundry and things from Remnant. Inspecting the rest of their barracks, she grinned. The floor was spotless, and Amat's paintings had been rearranged in a neat row alongside the western wall. At the back of the barracks, they'd draped sheets over a condensed collection of spare bunk frames - a makeshift yet expansive bedroom. A small armory-shrine sat against the wall outside it, home to Yang's latest upgrades and Amat's exitus weapons. Hallowed by a painting of the Emperor's arrival on Mars and a handful of incense burners, it was a decent place to pray as any.
Amat zipped up his duffel bag, his painting supplies sealed away from the barracks. Catching Yang's stare, he smiled.
"Not too bad, huh?" He asked.
"We clean up pretty well," Yang replied, making her way towards him. Despite once more donning his stealth suit, he couldn't help but keep the bomber's jacket. It had been a long time since he'd worn his mask. "Which reminds me," she said, pressing a kiss to one of his studs. "I gotta get you in a nice suit one of these days."
Amat's smile fell. "Maybe," he said.
"Hey," Yang said, poking his ribs, "thanks for putting up with all this. I know… people aren't really your thing, but this means a lot to me."
"And that's all that matters."
She wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, slipping him some tongue for his efforts. His eyes flashed wide with shock for a moment before he embraced it, pushing against her with gentle, firm insistence, his hand fitting neatly around her hip.
Yang parted reluctantly, grinning wide at his expression. She giggled. "You're such a romantic. Where'd you get that from?"
"Not from you."
The bulkhead rang - their party had arrived.
"Just in time," Yang said, disengaging. "Oh!" She reached to remove her bandanna, but Amat caught her. A wicked grin. "You like it, don't you?"
He nodded. "It's… cute," he said.
Yang beamed before sauntering over to the bulkhead. "Amat," she said, "what am I going to do with you?"
Oh, I have some choice ideas.
She shook the thought out - now wasn't the time. Cranking the lever, she opened the door to their barracks to reveal her friends. A sober Caolin and Asgeg stood in front, while Lana, Theni, and Brídyé brought up the rear, Mael and Soo between them.
"So this is where you've been hidin'," Caolin said. He gave a low whistle as he peered inside. "Pretty nice."
"That's why you haven't been invited," Yang said, grinning. "Now come on guys, get in here." She waved them in. Soo looked up at her, awestruck. Petrified. Yang gave her a broad grin. "Come on Soo, it's just me."
"Y-Your Holiness," she whispered.
"Yang," Yang corrected her. "And it's not about me today," Yang said, nodding at the woman's belly. After two months of pregnancy, she was just starting to show through her medical scrubs. "This is your show."
Mael nodded, eyes shining wetly. "Thanks, Yang." It was odd hearing him speak, watching his lips move and make noise. Weirder still that it was her doing.
"No problem," She replied, eyeing the couple. "You enjoying that new tongue?"
"Yes!" Mael said. "I really can't thank you enough."
"I was asking Soo," Yang said, throwing her a wink. The Woadians laughed, while Soo turned so red she could have passed for an ork trukk.
"Yang," Mael admonished her through clenched teeth, a deep red blush shining through his mocha skin.
"I'd consider it a personal insult if you didn't get a little creative," Yang countered. "Now come on in. Hey Theni," she said, casually hefting his wheelchair over the bulkhead frame. "Brídyé," she said.
"Your Holiness," she said, bowing her head. On her neck, a flaming heart hung, clutched between her three remaining fingers. The icon was displayed far more prominently than it had in the past.
"Hey now," Yang said, pulling her into an embrace, holding the woman's head to her chest. "I've heard you. I wouldn't be here without you."
"Y-Your Holiness," she said, grinning, holding her savior tight.
"I… may have told her she was wasting her time," Theni said. "Guess I was wrong."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Yang said, releasing the maimed woman. She brushed a lock of roan-white hair around a scarred ear. "Now, make yourself at home. Welcome to the family, Brídyé."
"Hey... Y-Yang," Lana said, having learnt her lesson about the title 'Holiness'. "Good to see you."
"Good to see you too," Yang said, ruffling the woman's well-trimmed pixie cut. "Didn't see you at the gambling hall last week."
"I was…" Lana's eyes darted around, avoiding Yang's widening, leering grin. "O-occupied."
"Lana enjoys different leisures," Caolin said, patting Lana's shoulder.
"If that's what you wanna call it," Asgeg muttered under her breath. Turning to Yang, she offered her fist, which she bumped readily. "Looks like you weren't kidding about the clean-up."
"Ever heard of a slovenly Saint?" Yang asked.
"Yeah, the moment you sprouted wings," Asgeg answered, chuckling. "Now come on, let's see your new digs."
The Woadians entered, marveling at the paintings that lined the wall.
"Emperor," Asgeg breathed. "Didn't know you could paint."
"I can't," Yang said, grinning. "That's-" She looked around her barracks. Where'd he go?
Amat emerged from their bedroom and appraised the guardsmen, hands clenched behind his back. He was stiff, his movements lacking all pretense of practice and grace. Yang doubted anyone else could tell.
"Everyone," she said. "This is… uh…" A small, quiet cough. "This is... my boyfriend. Amat. Amat, these are my friends from Gamma." She willed away the blush that crept into her cheeks. Golden Throne, I don't think I've used that word before. Amat said nothing, the picture of placidity.
"This is your boyfriend?" Caolin asked incredulously as he inspected the assassin. "Goddamn, no wonder you didn't bother rutting with Woadians," he said as he approached the assassin, hand extended. "This guy looks like a statue. Nice to meet you, Amat," he said, shaking his hand.
"You as well," Amat said, head bowed, unsure of how to accept the compliment. It was adorable.
"You're a lucky man," Caolin told him. "Can't believe I haven't heard about you before. Yang preens about herself constantly, but she never mentioned she'd settled down."
"I am... a private person," Amat said. "Yang respects that."
"Asgeg," Asgeg said, also shaking the assassin's hand. "She must really like you then."
"I… assume so," he replied, unsure of what else to say.
Mael's turn came next. "Thank you for letting us use your barracks," he said.
"Yes," Soo said, nearly hiding behind her husband. She had great difficulty meeting Amat's eyes while questions about Yang and her divinity fluttered through her mind. "T-thank you." Her low gothic was still poor.
Amat nodded.
"Your paintings are quite something," Theni said, scratching at his stubble, deep in thought. "Nice to see what you're doing with Fu's paints. Haven't seen you around the Drunken Major in a while."
Amat nodded once more. "Been busy," he said.
"You guys know each other?" Yang asked.
"He's a patron of ours," Brídyé explained, giving Amat a chaste kiss on the cheek. "I… didn't know he was your… acquaintance, Holiness."
"Yang," Yang reminded her. I have a feeling I'll be doing that a lot today.
"I'm sorry for my deceptions," Amat said. "And Yang being my... girlfriend is a relatively recent development. Very recent."
Yang swallowed, tried to push down the rush of euphoria that flooded her chest at Amat's choice of words. What are you, a teenager? She caught the slightest upwards turn of his lips, invisible to all but her. Oh you bastard, you did that on purpose.
"Let's get going then, huh?" Yang asked, calling their attention back to her. I'll deal with you later, she thought, shooting Amat a dark and promising smirk. "Remember, this is Soo's thing. Gather round!" She said, gesturing to her impromptu living room. Wasn't more than a few chairs and sofas on top a patchy rug, but it would serve.
"He's cute," Asgeg whispered as she passed Yang.
"Thank you," Amat said, a little too loudly. Asgeg flushed.
Yang's grin turned savage. "Man's got sharp ears," she said. "Just so you know," she added, patting her ass.
They sat, unslinging their shoulder bags laden with gifts. Yang patted the place next to her on the two-seater, and Amat sat next to her dutifully. His posture was perfect, his hands folded together as if in prayer.
"It's okay," Yang reassured him, leaning into his shoulder with a relaxed sigh.
"Heads up," Lana said, tossing a can at them. Amat snatched it out of the air reflexively. Perfectly. Lana whistled. "Nice… nice catch. Yang?" Another unlabeled aluminum can, another deft catch. Amat handed it to her, and she planted a wet kiss on his cheek.
"Thanks babe," she said. Amat nodded, to scattered chuckles.
They cracked the cans open, the result a satisfying hiss of pale-white foam. "Oooh," Yang cooed. "How'd you get your beer canned?"
"Favor from the Munitorum quartermaster," Theni explained.
Amat took a sip, savored the taste. "You've improved," he said quietly. "Thank you."
Brídyé grinned. "No problem."
Yang drank too. It was pretty damn good for bathtub beer. More importantly, it was cold.
"Guess that means we'll go first," Theni said, sitting up in his wheelchair. Soo sat carefully on the nicest chair at Caolin's insistence, hand over her belly. "For you two," Theni continued, digging out a piece of paper. "One free beer a day for Mael, and two for Soo in eight month's time. Unless of course, you're planning on popping out some more."
They laughed, and Mael accepted the coupon gratefully. Soo tried to huddle within herself, mumbling profuse thanks between ashen lips. Her husband leaned in and whispered a few reassuring words into her ear. They sounded like Ranshan.
"She says 'thank you'," Mael explained. "I tried to explain what a Odallthing is, but it's still a bit strange for her. On Ranshu, pregnancies are treated more like…" He searched for the right words. "A sacred duty."
"Well you should have told me before I emptied my stocks for you," Theni said, grinning. Brídyé patted his twitching shoulder.
"Hey, I'm not gonna complain," Mael said. "She's doing her best to adjust. Hell, by the time we're forty she'll drink all of you under the table."
"She absolutely will if you're gonna force more spawn on her," Caolin said, raising his beer. Mael laughed.
"Only time will tell," he said evasively.
"Uh… this is… this is for Soo," Lana said, handing him a plastic pistol case.
"A pistol?" Mael asked. "Soo hates weapons."
"I'm not… I'm not that g-goddamn dumb," Lana said, tapping the clasps. Obediently, Mael handed his wife the case, who opened it, eyes wide and wet. She drew out a carved figurine, wrought from the same pale wood that dotted the horizon of Ranshu.
The figure was a beautiful short-haired woman with an elegant robe, a knotwork halo shining over her head, with one hand clasping a sword, the other a round, pregnant belly.
Gasps filled the barracks as everyone took in the masterful craftsmanship. Soo's mouth worked as she ran her fingers over the polished wood of her homeworld, over the woman's graceful features.
"Holy shit," Caolin breathed. "A figure of Ulra," he said.
Yang was the only puzzled one. "Who?" She asked.
"Ulra She-Wolf. Old Woadian folk-heroine," Theni explained. "Emissary of the Grey Angels."
"No shit," Yang breathed.
"Brings luck to pregnant women and warring mothers," Theni added. "I keep forgetting you're not from Woadia. You ever gonna tell us how you ended up on our ass-backwards agriworld?" He asked.
"I drank a lot the night before," Yang said. It wasn't a lie. It got a laugh, even as a tear rolled down Soo's cheek. Mael wiped it off gently, kissing her temple.
"I didn't know you carved Lana," he said. "It's stunning."
Lana ran her hand through her pale-white hair. "T-thank you. It's… a hobby. Hobby of mine."
"The wood means a lot too," Mael said, interpreting some of Soo's inelegant blubbering. "Shhh," he said, stroking her back. She laid an arm across him.
"Well fuck me," Caolin cursed. "Thanks a lot Lana, now the rest of our gifts will look like shit in comparison," he said.
"And what did you spend that big stack of bills on?" Yang asked, sipping her beer.
"I… spoke with the Major and Alvito about your severance," Caolin said with a leering smile as he fished a crinkled bill from his pocket. On it was the red-wax seal of the Munitorum. "Once our twenty-five are up, you guys will have a penthouse in Aesborough. Provided the city's still standing of course," he muttered, polishing off his drink. Brídyé tossed him another one.
"No fuckin' way," Mael breathed. "That's… how… how much did you win?"
"It was more the Ecclisarchy's thing," Caolin admitted, opening his beer. "That pretty pink tongue of yours is an official Imperial miracle now, after all. They don't want you to be uncomfortable."
Yang laughed. "Can I count that as my gift?" She asked. Mael continued to splutter, and Soo shrank even further into herself. Amat watched it all, soaking in every detail as he took dainty sips of his drink.
"Hey," Asgeg interjected. "It's my turn. I know Yang's gonna put us all to shame, so I might as well slip in one last disappointment."
Caolin opened his mouth to make a witty interjection before an augmentic two-fingered salute murdered it in its infancy.
"Stow it," Asgeg growled. Recovering, she reached into her satchel. "Alright, so don't laugh, but it's the best I could do." She revealed a hand-knit infant's onesie - although Yang had to squint before she determined its true nature. Cobbled together from whatever wool Asgeg could find, it was a mismatched, technicolor bird's nest, riddled with loose threads and missed loops.
Mael took it lovingly, ran the fabric between his fingers. "This is actually pretty nice," he said. "Might need some…" he looked to Soo. "Adjustments."
"I woulda had something better," Asgeg said, biting down her embarrassment, "but this random Saint took all my dicing profits."
"She sounds really sexy and confident," Yang purred. "Introduce us?"
"Feh," Asgeg grumbled, waving at the proprietors of the Drunken Major. "They're the ones who benefited."
Theni shot her a wink. Soo took the onsie, inspected it - her tears momentarily abated by confusion.
"For the baby," Mael explained.
"O-oh," Soo said.
"At least someone thought of the kid," Mael said, grinning. It was Caolin and Theni's turn to throw him the Woadian salute.
"Alright," Yang said, clapping. "You've tried the rest, now it's time for the best! Amat?" She asked. He nodded, heading over to a tiny, canvas tent. "With some drama, darling." She added, winking. A small, delightful smile.
"As the Saint commands," he said, tearing the canvas sheet away with a flourish. Beneath was the dress Yang had received, as well as a small, stylized painting of a Ranshan woman standing in a field, her ink-black hair whipping in the jetwash of an Imperial lander.
"Fucking Throne," Theni cursed. "Beer? What the fuck was I thinking?"
Mael was speechless, and Soo's tears returned with a vengeance. She hid within her husband, who patted her back absentmindedly.
Yang beamed. "Don't beat yourself up Theni," she said. "I'm pretty amazing, after all."
"Humble too," Amat mumbled, rejoining her.
Lana and Caolin chuckled, even as they admired Yang and Amat's gifts.
"Yeah, that sounds like her," Caolin said. "You didn't make that, did you?" He asked Yang. "You don't really strike me as a seamstress."
"You'd be right," Yang said. "Sorry to say it's a re-gift. Hope that's cool with this whole Odallthing… thing." Damn, I keep doing that.
"It's…" Mael couldn't speak. Soo sniffed, tried to wipe her eyes. "It's wonderful."
"Y-your Holiness," Soo said. Blubbered. Yang shot her a grin.
"With that," Yang said, "you'll be the envy of hiver royalty across the Segmentum Obscurus. Or you can sell it for a fat stack of munitorum bills. Either way - yours now."
Soo rushed over from her seat to embrace her. Yang patted her back, hushed her with soft cooing.
"Hell of a Odallthing," Yang said. "Huh?" Her friends laughed, and Mael nodded, eyes wet. She took Soo's hand and placed it atop her glyphs, let her feel their warmth and the holy light that thrummed from them. "Thank you Soo," Yang said. "You and Mael deserve all the happiness in the Imperium. Can I ask you one favor?"
Soo nodded.
"Please don't name the kid 'Yang'," Yang said. "It's gonna be way overdone."
Soo requested a break shortly afterwards. Yang knew she'd overwhelmed her a bit, but it was so fucking cute she couldn't help herself.
"I'll take her back," Brídyé said. "We ladies will let the Gamma vets have their fun."
Mael made to stand, but Soo kissed him on the cheek and shook her head, gracefully accepting Brídyé's half-hand as they made their retreat.
"Hell of a Odallthing," Mael whispered. Almost to himself.
"You know how Yang parties," Caolin said.
"Speaking of which," Yang said, clapping her hands. "Yo J, get over here!"
"Who's 'J'?" Theni asked.
Yang grinned. The servo-skull made from Jorvis' head floated over, borne on soft waves of anti-grav that gently rustled Yang's hair.
"No fuckin' way," Caolin breathed.
Yang did not reply. Instead, she tapped a jawbone, and it spilled out a handful of cigars. "Figured it'd be best to wait until the pregnant lady left," Yang said.
"Holy God-Emperor," Asgeg said.
Yang grinned and passed out the cigars, lighting each one with the tip of her thumb. They sat and smoked in silence for a moment, remembering their first Sergeant.
"Seems like years ago," Caolin said. "He's the one to blame for this 'Trooper Piss-Pants' shit." They laughed. "Guess I deserved it, but… Emperor. Jala Prime? Hasn't even been a year. Poor Rhain." A few nods of commiseration. Mael fingered the beads of his necklace, well-worn and stained with soot from across the Segmentum.
"Wonder what Sarge would make of this," Yang said, letting her halo shine for a moment.
"'That's lovely Trooper," Caolin grunted, a rough approximation of Jorvis' growl, "'but it won't dig your ditch for ya'." He chuckled. "Sorry Sarge," he said, tipping his cigar at the servo-skull. "Nothin' but respect."
Amat puffed carefully on his cigar, not quite sure how to smoke it. Yang leaned into him once more, letting the lho uncurl itself within her, allowing the faint daze to settle her mind. He looked supremely discomforted by the open display of affection.
For an observant dude, she thought, you're missing that no one here cares.
"Never made… he never made fun of my stutter," Lana said.
"Too easy a target," Caolin said.
"I wasn't so lucky," Mael said, wagging his new tongue.
"Well he wouldn't have wanted to listen to your endless blabbering," Theni shot back with a grin. "Yang fucked up giving you your tongue back, you know. Now we can't get you to shut up."
Mael shrugged, took a short drag. "Envy's a bad color on you Theni - Soo fell for my masculine charms well before I got my silky smooth baritone back, you know."
They laughed, drank from their beers.
"I'll see if I can't get you off that chair one of these days," Yang said. "Can't really explain how this miracle stuff works. Guess that's why they're miracles."
"Guess so," Theni said. "I figured as much. Didn't… didn't wanna ask."
"Oh come on," Yang said, waving his embarrassment away. "You know I'm not any different than before. Before you knew I was a Saint."
Caolin's smile died. "I… uh…" He coughed out a cloud of lho-smoke. "I always kinda suspected something."
What.
"What?" Yang demanded. "I didn't even know! Amat didn't know!"
"Your hair was glowing on Elodia," Caolin answered.
"But that's-" Yang protested. "That's just…"
"I thought she'd been set on fire," Lana said, brow knit in confusion.
"It was different," Caolin said. "Posed with that heavy bolter…" A chuckle. "She did a pretty good job of hiding it after that," He added, staring at the crumbling end of his cigar. "But I always knew she was different. Didn't figure out how until Uriel. Hill Thirty Seven," he said, nodding at Asgeg.
"Yeah... I guess that makes sense," she said, fingers brushing against the scores in her aug. The scrapes that should have ended her life.
"Doubted it for a bit after…" Caolin hesitated. Forced himself to say the words. "After we lost Ros. But then the dreams came. Then we watched you pummel Josephus into the dirt." He shook his head. "It's… reassuring to know the Emperor can inhabit a guardsman," he said nodding at Yang. "Terrible puns, terrible marksmanship, terrible manners, terrible conduct during sermon."
Amat's hand found hers, squeezed it tight. She accepted it warmly.
"Thanks," she said. "That…" She wiped her eyes. "That actually means a lot."
"It does?" Asgeg said. "Sounded like shit to me."
Yang shook her head. "Nah. However this thing on Woadia goes… whatever happens to us, I want you guys to remember this," she said, hefting her beer. "Whatever that book says," she shook her head again. "Fuck it. Cheers!" She called. "To Rhain! Jorvis! To Ros! And Woadia… may the Emperor keep her forever!"
"Even if we gotta do it ourselves!" Caolin said. They roared their approval.
They spent the next hour reminiscing, chatting, remembering. They smoked their cigars and drank Theni's beer. Were it not for the assassin she'd welded to her hip, Yang might have mistaken it for one of countless nights that passed in Barracks Block Three. They laughed as Yang recounted her meeting with the officers, as Mael told stories about the antics he got up to with Rhain.
They didn't discuss Woadia.
Eventually, the cigars turned to ash, and Brídyé's cooler emptied. It was time to part ways once more - for now.
"Well," Mael announced, checking his chronometer. "I better check in on her."
"Ah, she's fine," Lana said, waving his concern away.
"I know," Mael said. "Just hope you all didn't short-circuit her."
"Like my shitty onesie was gonna blow her mind," Asgeg snorted, crushing her last can into a tiny ball - ready for easy recycling.
"Still," Caolin allowed, rocking Mael's shoulder. "We should leave the lovebirds alone," he said, nodding at Yang and Amat. "Doubtless we've tried their patience already."
"Nah," Yang said. Amat said nothing.
"As Corporal," Caolin declared, both metaphorically and literally putting his foot down, "I order an immediate evacuation of this barracks."
"Fine," Lana said, throwing her hands up. "Fine, fine…"
They packed up their bags and gathered their things, sharing a few words as they did so. Yang helped, once more effortlessly hauling Theni over the bulkhead door. Asgeg, Lana, and Mael joined him.
"Thanks again," Asgeg said, crushing Yang in a half-hug.
"No problem."
"I should be the one thanking you," Mael said, fist meeting her glyphs. "You… really made it special. Even if… No matter what happens..." He wouldn't say the words, and Yang preferred it that way. She hugged him, enveloping the muscle-bound Woadian.
"Ah, I never liked you anyways," Yang said. "I did it all for Soo."
"Hah," Mael said, a grin splitting his face. "That makes sense."
She let him go, just in time for him to join his comrades. They waved and left for the holds. Maybe an after-party. Caolin made to follow them before she caught his elbow.
"Not so fast, Corporal," Yang said.
"Well that's ominous," Caolin replied, eyebrow raised. "Is this the part where you propose a threesome? I mean, I'm flattered, but-"
"Aw, shut the fuck up!" Yang said, laughing. "You wish."
Caolin shrugged, his grin as impish as Yang's best. "Nah, you scared the shit out of me. Now come on," he said, "what's up? Why the secrecy?"
"Well…" Yang said. "It woulda been tacky during the Odallthing, so I figured it should wait."
"What would?" Caolin asked, intrigued.
"Hit me!" Yang called. Amat passed Jorvis' beret to her, which she caught and twirled on her finger.
"Yang, no."
"Yang yes," Yang insisted, swallowing a sudden rush of maniacal laughter. "Congratulations… Lieutenant Roriksson." She handed him the black-felt beret, the silver badge polished until it shone like a shattered moon. Jorvis' beret. Her beret.
Caolin's.
"Lieutenant?" Caolin asked, taking the cap. "I… come on Yang… I work for a living," he tried, a bad attempt at a joke.
"Lieutenant," Yang insisted. "Roriksson. You deserve it. And I already cleared it with Major Dagfinsson."
"No Yang," Caolin insisted, "It's not the promotion… I mean, I was clearly the best choice..." He clutched at the beret. "It's this! This is a holy relic! If I get caught with it, they'll flay me alive, turn me into a servitor!"
Yang frowned, and the air turned boiling hot. "I'd like to see them try."
That was all that needed to be said.
"I… uh…" Caolin looked at her and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "No, that's fair. I… thank you, Yang."
"You deserve it," Yang repeated, curling his hand around it. "Every part of it. Gamma's yours now. Plus, you saw my armor as they were truckin' it through the Dawn. That hat would clash horribly."
Caolin grinned. "You'd pull it off."
"Beside the point… Lieutenant Piss-Pants."
"Oh fuck you," Caolin said, chuckling. They embraced, before he reluctantly made his way from the barracks. "See you around?"
"Very soon, I imagine. We'll be landing together."
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Caolin replied, shooting her a terrible salute. "See ya, Yang."
"See ya."
Yang shut the bulkhead. Patted it once with her fist. She sighed, a deafening sound now that the barracks was once more theirs and theirs alone.
"Everything okay?" Amat asked.
"Yeah," Yang lied. Tell him the truth, idiot. "No," she clarified.
"Was the Odallthing… not a good social interaction?" Amat asked. "My limited frame of reference indicated it was."
Yang gave him a half-hearted slug on his shoulder. "It was great," she said, trying to summon that famous Xiao Long smile. "You did great."
"Thank you."
"But that's not what's bothering me," Yang said. "It's Woadia."
"An Imperial planet under assault is rarely a cause for celebration," Amat noted, a caustic note creeping into his voice. A small sign of how far he'd come. It let her smile for real.
"True," she said, embracing him, pressing a kiss to his neck. "It's about the 111th."
"What about them?" Amat asked. He deduced her meaning a moment later, his lips pulling into a grimace as terse as it was fleeting. "Oh."
"Yeah," Yang said. "The missive said that there were already guard units holding the line, but… fuck. How many Woadians are left in the 111th?" She shook her head - she knew. There were one thousand, three hundred and seventy four. One thousand out of ten. If they followed her into battle, they would all die.
"They were blessed enough to survive White Horses," Amat noted.
"I know," Yang said. "They know that too. But they want to defend their homeworld. And they can't."
"Let them," Amat said. "Guardsmen don't usually get to die on their homeworld."
"But I don't want them to die in the first place!" Yang insisted. "Fuck."
Amat smiled, his hands stroking her shoulders. She relished their coarseness, held them closer.
"What's that big grin for, assassin-man?" Yang asked. He kissed her, his hands running down her sides to her hips, pulling her closer. She sank into him. Damn, I have no self-control. Yang slapped his shoulder. "Come on, that's cheap. What's up?"
"I don't know," Amat answered. "I just… hm." He stroked his chin, stubble scraping against his fingers. "Most Living Saints are confident that their servants will find the side of the Emperor," he said, not entirely sure of his words.
"I am," Yang huffed indignantly.
"I know," Amat said. "It's just that… historically speaking, Saints don't really concern themselves with the lives of a few thousand guardsmen. They usually have bigger things to worry about."
"That's fucked up," Yang said, frowning. "Fuck, is that what Saints are like? You know I'm not like that."
"I do," Amat said.
"Okay," Yang said. "So what am I supposed to do? There's so few left… if they all die…" She shook her head.
"They made it this far," Amat reasoned. "And you're a Saint. Let them try."
Yang didn't reply immediately. "You're persuasive when you want to be."
"If you say so," Amat said.
Yang looked at their barracks. "Thanks again for this. I needed it. They did too."
Amat nodded. "It was… interesting." A long pause. "Boyfriend?" He asked eventually.
She barked out a laugh. "Didn't mean to uh… ambush you with a label," she said. "We can… it doesn't have to…" She sighed. "Does it bother you?" She asked, more quickly than she intended.
"No," Amat said simply. "I… hm." Sometimes, deciphering his thoughts was a challenge. Yang liked that. "It does feel… fast."
"I know," Yang said, trying to choke down the now-familiar flush of red. "I haven't asked how you're holding up. I'm really bad at this 'talking' and 'relationship' stuff."
"Yes," Amat said. He curled a lock of hair behind Yang's ear. "Whereas I am peerless in these matters."
Yang giggled, settling herself back into him. "Amat, you know you can talk to me."
"I do," he replied. "It's… been an adjustment. But going to Terra with you…" There was something in his eyes Yang couldn't parse. But it looked like resolve, so that was good enough for her. "I know I made the right choice."
"I think so too," Yang said. "You'll let me know when you're ready to chat though?"
"Yes."
"Or fuck?" Yang asked.
"That too."
Serene, peaceful.
Except for the snoring.
Yang slept soundly in his arms, resting after running a few dozen kilometers up and down the Ascendant Dawn. She slept like she lived. Loudly. Unlike her more wakeful self, however, she kept still, preferring to stay nuzzled against him, pressing her back to him until nothing separated them.
Amat ran his hand over her side, delighting in the touch, hating it.You're making a mistake, he told himself. You have a duty.
What duty? She took that from you, replaced it with soft skin and a painful, longing ache. An aura. Worthless in comparison. She has no idea how dangerous a psychic Vindicare is. No regard for what she took. She… cares, sure, but she wants what she can't have.
How very typical of Yang. She was much like the Lady Highest in that regard, chasing the impossible. Amat supposed it was an impulse left over from Remnant. The question Yang asked endlessly ran across his mind once more:
What am I going to do with you?
He didn't want to hurt her. Besides, he enjoyed the intimacy. There was something delightful about it, something about the way she felt, the way she purred when he brushed his lips against her. Been reading too much of the Woadian's pulp print. She's a Living Saint.
But she's still Yang. Amat freed himself from the bed, doing his best to ignore Yang's quiet whine of protest. Meditation didn't work as well as it used to. Time for a walk. Slipping out of the barracks, he pulled on his spy mask and activated his stealth suit. Now there was little left of him but shadow.
My mouth still tastes like cigars.
Yang's friends hadn't asked a single question about him. Where he came from, how he met her. They didn't even blink when she leaned against him. Her, a Saint. They didn't care. They were just happy to see her smile.
Did I consign them to death? Her closest friends?
The Ascendant Dawn was quiet, with only a few soldiers and voidsmen wandering its halls. None of them noticed the ripple of air that slipped passed them. Amat felt a grin come upon him. It was childish. Reductive, even - a Vindicare was more than their wargear.
But Emperor, do I love my wargear. And I am not Vinidicare. No longer did his leg wince with needle-pains as his weight fell on it. I am as I was before the Black Library. Before Niurvenah. But that was a lie. A ripple of aura rolled through him, sharp and silver.
Gnashing fangs and roaring chainswords.
Recalling his Lady's instructions, he pushed the sudden, violent image into a corner of his mind. A technique similar to that learned on Holy Terra. In the Holiest Temple. He shook his head. Thinking of the citadel where Amat was born did not help. So that too, he packed away.
What would Yang say if she knew? Probably something violent.
Once more, he passed the graffiti of Yang's saintly image. A few late-night worshippers huddled around it, praying before a few red-wax candles that had melted into the floor. There were offerings laid there. Lho sticks. Woadian knotwork, Ranshan prayer-papers. All that they had.
The image of violence sat ill within him, unwillingly recalled. What if Woadia is unsalvageable? What will Yang do then? There were three shells left for his exitus weapons.
One round, shieldbreaker.
For the first time, he leaned on his witchsight, a hesitant attempt to plumb the answer from the Warp. Once more he saw pointed fangs, spittle, spent casings, the grinding teeth of chainweapons as they bit into flesh and sinew. His aura glowed within him, but did not reveal his position.
A relief - he was nearly at the bridge. How long have I been walking?
Mindlessly, self-absorbed.
Once more, he was glad he'd made his decision.
Third Lieutenant Sulweska emerged from the bridge's bulkhead, a steaming cup of recaf in her hands, a yawn pulling at the corner of her lips. Shift just started. He spun around her, his passing barely ruffling her long brown hair. She didn't notice.
Something was wrong. The bridge seethed with it, but the naval officers said nothing, did nothing. Their monitors didn't even blip. They spilled out reams of parchment, ink-stained needles scratching them languidly.
Amat looked over to the Navigator's chamber. The Dawn's chief navigator Alazon rested there, his human eyes wide and wild. His mouth opened, and Amat realized.
Klaxons blared, servitors screeched. Alazon screamed in concert, blood bursting from his nose and mouth, his hands pulling fruitlessly at the navigator's helm. The bridge came alive at once, shouts rang out, and Lieutenant Sulweska stumbled back onto the bridge, her boot catching the lip of the bulkhead - splashing her recaf across her immaculate uniform.
"Unexpected deceleration!" An officer called. "We're emerging from the Warp early! God Emperor, not again!" A servitor burst as the sudden influx of data spiked through its half-metal brain, showering the bridge crew in black-oil unguent.
The warp-shutters flew open as the weight of deceleration threw the crew to their feet. Amat sailed through the air. He caught himself expertly, rolling to his feet without effort and not a twinge of pain from his leg.
And the flashes of violence fell into place.
A handful of Imperial vessels kept vigil above war-streaked Woadia, chief among them a cruiser emblazoned with the seal of the Space Wolves.
A/N: TIME FOR SPACE MARINES, EVERYONE.
BUCKLE
THE
FUCK
UPPPPPPPPPPP
But for real, there miiiiight be another chapter before we meet them proper! Next time, Yang tries on some armor, and we learn a little about the situation on Woadia.
See you then!