Chapter 6
022.M42
Isfarena, Eliator subsector, Syntyche sector
Amara Kith and Ursula sought their way through the Grand Cathedral of Saint Gilles, ascending the levels with extreme caution. Although the mad cult leader was dead miles below, the church was not miraculously cleared of enemies. Kith's bolt pistol barked down marble halls at shadows, unwilling to take chances against potential murderers. More than once the Interrogator and Sister of Battle backtracked to find a safer route to the surface. Gothic arches that hadn't crumbled under the Holy Inquisition's assault groaned at the new weight placed upon them. Tonnes of granite from upper floors, caved in from artillery, blocked corridors and threatened to create a new tomb should the slightest tremor disturb it.
"Imagine accomplishing the mission only to die under all this," Amara thought out loud. "An undignified way to go."
"At the very least we die with the knowledge we destroyed evil this day," Sister Ursula's voice was husky through her helm's grille. "And in the house of Saint Gilles, blessed be the saint and his great works."
Amara gave the Sister of Battle a levelled stare. Ursula pretended not to notice, seeking targets in the corridor. Refraining from further conversation, the Approbator gestured when the first cold breeze rustled her sweat dried hair. Clasping the Sister on her shoulder guard, Amara pointed to their left. A flight of broad steps showed their exit. They came out along the westernmost transept, thoroughly confused by the cathedral's layout and without a map to guide them. Marking the late hour, Ursula removed her helm to breathe in the fresh air. With a crack of lasfire, the shot took Ursula's helmet out of her hands; the Sister of Battle grabbed Amara Kith and dove for cover.
"Saint Alicia's middle finger," she swore. "Where did that come from?"
Hand covering her bruised side, pain flaring from the previous battle, Amara peered around the statue where they sheltered. Her servo-skull flew up to the ceiling, hiding from three more rounds flashing down the walkway in rapid succession. "The left side of the corridor, just under the archway."
"Are you certain, milady?" Ursula's question was answered when the lone gunman fired again. Before Kith could give orders – a thought to battle tactics or contacting someone on the vox – Sister Ursula plucked the bolt pistol from her hands, charging down the corridor.
The bolt pistol's first round exploded in the wall, sending a cascade of white plaster down on the heretic. The second round caught the man in his leg when he attempted to flee. Rolling on to his back with his hands shaking, he aimed the lasrifle. Nerves betrayed the soldier, making him miss. What could have taken off the battle maiden's head only punched into her gorget. Forgoing the bolt pistol, Ursula used the broken power sword to take her enemy's life.
Amara Kith arrived as Ursula cleaned the blood from the ruined blade's jagged edge. She turned from the severed head lying in the corner. "An impressive display of bravery, but wait for my command. You're fortunate to be alive." She handed Ursula's helmet over. One of the eye lenses had shattered, reflecting multiple images of the Sororitas back to her.
"I am alive by His great mercy." Ursula examined the blade of the deceased Sister Taryn. Guilt clouded her features. "I must give my report. The Canoness Preceptor needs to be made aware of my squad's fate."
Amara Kith, painfully reminded she too had to tell Saeger her actions, imagined his ire would be terrible. Returning with only a single Sister, empty-handed without the cult leader's body, she was not eager to face her master. Ordering her servo-skull to lead, it confirmed each junction and hallway clear before the Interrogator and Sister of Battle moved. Finally, gratefully, they heard the growl of engines, footsteps marching in unison, and the flooding, too-bright light of search lamps. The western transept emptied into the outer plaza of the grand cathedral. Great flagstones cracked under the Ebon Chalice and PDF war machines, the orderly ranks of the latter securing the building while the former eliminated heretics taken captive.
"I must leave you here, Milady Kith." Making the sign of the aquila, Ursula shouldered her flamer. "May the Emperor bless you."
"I will speak with Canoness Loren to vouch the sanctity of your actions. I don't renege on my promises, Sister Ursula."
What could have been a thankful smile twitched at the corners of Ursula's lips. She marched by a squad of Sisters, Ursula's black armour as ravaged as theirs, her white cloak as bloodstained. Turning the corner of a Rhino, the battle maiden was gone from sight. Amara looked skyward, watching smoke pour from the cathedral's immense spires, coiling up in a haze of black, underscored in red by the fires below. She could not distinguish the spire tops or wish to see them, knowing condemned bodies already swung from the gargoyle-encrusted tracery.
One of the PDF forces had raised a banner in the plaza. Golden thread worked on a field of white silk caught the light, billowing on corpse-choked wind, making the double-headed eagle come to life. Amara smiled sardonically. Leaving the majestic sight of Imperial justice behind, Amara sought out Saeger inside the cathedral walls. She needed only follow the hoarse screams down an ambulatory, which led into a cloister where heretics died over scorching flames. Greasy ash laced the sky, coating everything it touched in a fine layer of grime. Keeping her distance from the compound bonfires consuming polluted flesh and bone, the young woman gazed dispassionately at headless corpses waiting for incineration.
Saeger had kept busy after his victorious crusade.
The Lord Inquisitor neared the end of his judgement, for the line of chained traitors was short. Confessor Dimitri stood next to the Hereticus Inquisitor, codex open, ready to pen the last words of the heretic being pulled from a cage of steel mesh. Before the previous renegade could expire, another was already dragged forward to take their place. Bound hand and foot, they were locked into the steel confines to be suspended over a deep pit of flames. Operated by one of Saeger's coterie, the crane mechanism raised or lowered by Saeger's command.
"We cast ourselves into the arms of true gods!" Writhing inside the cage, the bound servant of Chaos screamed. "She enlightened us! May the Dark Mother take me to her hearth!"
"Elucidate to me who this Dark Mother is. You spoke with her, did you not? Your lies only prolong the agony of your punishment." Compelling the man with a mental nudge, Saeger stood with the point of his force sword planted in the earth. His armour, scored in a dozen places, attested to the fierce battles fought in the cathedral's upper levels. "Speak quickly before the flames burn your tongue."
The traitor said nothing. Gritting his teeth with enough force to break his jawbone, the heretic burned alive without revealing any secrets. Saeger ordered the corpse removed when it was nothing more than blackened flesh. Amara Kith watched the merciless proceedings from the cloister walls, stepping into the light when the body was kicked into the burning fire. Even then, she halted a fair distance from the pit.
"Lord Saeger, I come to give my report."
Saeger turned at her presence. "Ahh, Amara. Here I was beginning to fear the catacombs claimed you and I would need to recite the Sacrifice of the Mass." He beckoned her closer. "You could not be raised on the vox, child. Come, state what transpired before your eyes."
While the heretics were thrown to the flames or put under the blade by Ecclesiarchy zealots, the Interrogator chronicled her encounter in the deep vaults of the cathedral. Listening with a face of stone, the Inquisitor Lord only nodded when the deaths of the Sisters and the heroic act of Sister Ursula were spoken of. In an unexpected turn of events Lord Saeger's rage did not turn against her; unperturbed by the near-complete annihilation of Amara's squad, he seemed indifferent.
"We shall have the bodies recovered," Confessor Dimitri scribed the name of the final heretic in his great tome, closing his codex. "They might be raised to sainthood for their exemplary model of courage in the face of Chaos."
"Indeed," Saeger agreed offhandedly. He set to pace the length of the cloister, ordering Amara Kith to follow. She glanced over her shoulder at the Frateris Militia; directed by Confessor Dimitri, they cleansed hallowed ground of whatever unsightly remains there were.
"Was your sky born attack successful, Lord Saeger?"
"The Seraphim are truly the elite of the Adepta Sororitas. What impurities they encountered burned against their faith. If only the common man held such indoctrinated belief in his heart, we would not have given this world our retribution. Truly, this day was glorious for the work of the God-Emperor was done well here." Pausing to admire the mosaics, Saeger's question came quick. "Amara, why do you believe this 'Dark Mother' was at Isfarena?"
The question took her by surprise. "To cause havoc, spread the disease of Chaos. The spiritual pollution alone on this world could take years to clean. Even then extensive re-education of the people-"
"I did not tutor a dolt. Do not waste my time or your breath giving an answer Dimitri can put forward." He ran a finger over an engraved verse on his gauntlet. "You, unlike the confessor, have a mind. Tell me your true thoughts, keep nothing hidden."
Exhaling loudly, the gravel crunching under their boots as they marched the length of the enclosure, Amara said, "Children. There weren't any children in the chambers, just their belongings. The cult leader told me she'd taken the children away."
"You see things clearly. Now ask the question why there were no children."
"I," Amara hesitated. They completed their circuit around the cloister. "I don't have an answer."
Rounding on Amara Kith, the imposing Lord Inquisitor grasped her arm. In the flames light, his severe face changed to wear a rictus grin. Faith shone through his eyes. Powerful, mad, unyielding belief in a higher power. In those pupils, the Interrogator sensed the prominence of the moment. Walking purposefully to the assemblage of Adeptus Ministorum servants, Euleus Saeger drew his sword from its ornate sheath. Eyes snapped up to the blade while knees touched bloodied earth.
"Kneel, Amara Kith." Saeger raised the force sword, its keen edge catching the light of the bonfires. "In the name of the God-Emperor, unto the Golden Throne which all His servants fall before, I, Lord Inquisitor Saeger of the Syntyche sector, hereby raise you from the rank of Interrogator into the hallowed ranks of the Inquisitor. You will be the scourge of the heretic, the bane of the damned, the sworn enemy of Chaos and all who bargain under their pantheon. Name yourself before those assembled."
She knelt while Dimitri and those of Saeger's inner circle acted as witnesses. Her heart swelled at the ritual words. All the years of toil, sweat, and bloodshed were stripped away as the decree spilled from Saeger's lips. The words lifted the weight of trials born under duress, replaced with the greatest of expectations given.
"I am Amara Kith, Interrogator under Lord Inquisitor Saeger. Once of the planet Inno, I have laid bare my soul to the Emperor and allow myself to be used as a tool to His ends. Those who stand before His purpose, who seek to destroy what Humanity has created, will know destruction under my name." She spoke the words with utter solemnly. Here and now she became committed. Here and now her life held meaning. Her true battle began.
"You have proven yourself today on the field of battle, Amara Kith of Inno. Know the weight of true responsibility placed upon you." The flat blade of the force sword tapped her left shoulder. "Know the souls of billions rest upon your decisions. Know the powers given to you and rise, ready to serve the God-Emperor." Again the sword touched her, resting on her right shoulder. "Faith is the blade of war. You now carry it to your enemies wherever they raise their poisonous banner."
His hand pressed on Amara's crown. Removing his rosette of office about his neck, Saeger passed it to her. Unshed tears were in the young woman's eyes, a fierce craving taking hold as her fingers curled possessively over the Inquisitorial Seal. Here and now everything changed. It was only later, returning to the command tent that more personal matters were spoken of. Standing in a partitioned section of the pavilion, falsehoods concealed their conversation from prying ears. Going as far to deactivate her servo-skull, the newly made Inquisitor stood across the table where Saeger sat. Rows of stasis chests and locked bins were stacked behind him, their contents remaining a mystery to Amara.
"I take it," he began, "you already know which ordo you want to join."
"The Ordo Malleus."
Saeger chuckled. "What did I do so wrong for you or Gren to not choose my order?" There was no anger or regret in the laughter. "I will forward your petition to the Malleus Fortress on Titan. Before a Terran week, your name will be inscribed in the Syntyche records of your promotion."
"My thanks, Lord Inquisitor Saeger." She humbly bowed.
Saeger tapped his finger on the desk in consideration. "I prepared something for you when this day came, if you survived to meet it. What boundless fortune you have. Rising above the challenges I put before you, sometimes outright surprising me, I will expect great things. You steeled your anger and used it well." He brought forth a gene-locked cask, just one of many in the ordered stack. Pressing his finger against the panel, Saeger's voice was mellifluous while he explained. "For years I have gathered information, leads, rumours, all sources to the whereabouts of Ahriman, the arch-sorcerer of the Thousand Sons."
"To what ends?" Amara knew the traitorous name all too well. She had grown knowing the detailed history of the Tzeentchian follower.
"This is not the first time stories of the 'Dark Mother' have come to my attentions. Her name's risen in previous dealings over the last decade, closely tied to Ahriman's workings each time. The cult uncovered here appears to have been one of the monster's many tendrils, puppeteered by a servant of considerable talent. Come here, Inquisitor."
Amara Kith took a step toward the opened cask. Her eyes took in rows of data-slates, sheaves of paper and parchment, holocubes of locked memories. "What is all this?"
"Your gift. Your call to the obligation made in your youth. You shall continue following this abhorred being in my stead and take revenge. I recall the child from long ago wanting nothing more than that. Do you still seek it now?"
"I do." The old hatred, blind anger, swept through her body. "I promised to find each of those monsters who took Katea. I promised to end each of their lives and find her. I do not make pledges lightly, Lord Saeger."
"Good girl." Closing the cask, Saeger instructed Amara to place her thumb over the gene-lock, reconfiguring the settings to only accept her genetic sequence. He noticed the slight tremor in her hand. "Tell me, did you take your injection? The witches you fought against were potent."
"I'm well. Think nothing of it." Amara replaced her glove, fingers flexing under the leather. "When I go to the medicae center, they can fix my bruised rib. Everything else is secondary. I won't age to the point where it's irreversible."
"As a suggestion, I strongly encourage you to employ a talented apothecary who can minister your rejuvenate treatments. There are some I shall recommend into your service, ones who hold their tongue and aren't rumour mongers."
"Again, you have my thanks." Brushing aside a lock of blonde hair, Amara held a holocube up to the light.
Saeger regarded her with pride. "You have earned this small victory. I only apologize in the hastiness of my decision, yet when these moments come, one must act upon it before it leaves. What will your first order of office be, Inquisitor Amara Kith?"
"I have to keep a promise I made."
The Order of the Ebon Chalice stood in judgement to one of their own. A lesser basilica in the cathedral's eastern transept was cleared and consecrated for this singular purpose. Stripped of her armour to wear a thin white habit, Sister Ursula stood abjectly in a pool of torch light. She felt hollow. The righteous flame granting her such fervour to strike the relic was now an ember. Banked only by the tenants of the Imperial Creed to sustain her, as in her youth, the woman maintained her outward composure. Flanked by Celestians, they kept a close eye on the wayward Sister, ready to curb any insolence. But there was none. Ursula's eyes looked everywhere except on the person who mattered the most. Before her was Canoness Preceptor Loren, unhappy as always, sheer revulsion marring her disfigured countenance.
"Your squad was annihilated. You openly admit to the destruction of the relic of Saint Gilles by your own hand. And you have shamed yourself by uttering blasphemies in using His Most Holy's title. By what right should we grant this deviant mercy, Sisters?" Loren's cold voice dropped like ice on to Ursula's skin. "What worth does she proclaim in our ranks?"
Ursula's counter argument was null. The built-in pict-feeds from her recovered helmet gave incontestable proof of transpired events. She prayed for a miracle but knew what awaited her. Repentia. There would be nothing else. Already Ursula imagined the immense weight of the eviscerator chainsword, the parchments detailing her faults and sins wrapped over weak flesh, the suicide charge into the thickest conflict. Fists clenched at this future, the senselessness of fighting it. About the basilica candles illuminated the high vault, their wax dripping on the skin of cherubim servitors holding them. At last Ursula raised her grey eyes to meet Loren's.
"She throws herself at the mercy of the Order of the Ebon Chalice and the love of the God-Emperor, Canoness Loren." Great and profound silence followed.
"Have you anything to say for yourself?" The Canoness Preceptor was respectful for the sake of the trial, but the assembled Sisterhood was unsympathetic.
"I do not, my Lady Canoness. I stand before you to receive my punishment which I will gladly accept. I shall face it with the dignity of one who seeks redemption-"
With a grating rumble the basilica's doors opened, interrupting the ceremonial tribunal. The Sisters of Battle looked at the interloper with thinly veiled disdain. The newest occupant in the hall, Amara Kith strode through the ranks of the Ebon Chalice until she stood beneath the podium Loren occupied. She stood defiant; a marked contrast to the subjugated posture Ursula took. She regarded the Canoness Preceptor without fear.
"There is one who would see the life of this woman spared. Begin pict and vox recording," Amara ordered her servo-skull. It obeyed with a series of clicks.
"By what right do you break this trial, Interrogator? Go back to your Inquisitor Lord. Even he holds enough sense to know this isn't the business of the Inquisition. Or stay," Loren hissed, "and watch where your poor leadership's brought this Sister of Battle."
"Mind your tongue when speaking to an Inquisitor, Canoness Loren." Brandishing the Inquisitorial Seal given by Saeger with no small satisfaction, Amara watched the blood drain from the woman's unattractive face. "I stand against the judgement of this fearless warrior. She only followed orders I gave her, and I ordered her to destroy a corrupted relic. Or did that small note escape your attention?"
"Your orders held no weight at the time," Loren's white gauntlet waved aside the testimonial. "You were only an Interrogator."
"My orders held a great deal of weight at the time. I was charged by the Lord Inquisitor to purge the corruption where I found it. And now I'm an Inquisitor holding the very seal granted by the God-Emperor to safeguard his realm, a symbol of power known long before any of the Sisterhoods were founded. 'They shall be My hammer, the sword in My hand, the gauntlet about My fist, the bane of My foes and woes of the treacherous.' Which organization holds greater sway in the galaxy?" Letting the threaded insult hang over the gathering, Amara went on. "Sister Ursula is not to be judged by the Ebon Chalice."
"She will become Repentia for her destruction of the sacred relic." Fist crashing on to the wood of the podium, Loren looked apoplectic. "Sister Ursula's blood must be shed for the redemption of her soul and the honour of the Ebon Chalice Order. Her faith has waned, Inquisitor, leaving her spirituality open to become malleable to darker forces."
"Her devotion is praiseworthy. Sister Ursula didn't waver in her actions, not for a moment regardless of the threat faced. For this, she will join my warband. I have need of capable warriors, those who don't flinch against orders needing to be fulfilled, no matter how vile they are."
"You do not have the right-"
"I am an Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus. I serve the God-Emperor and fight the taint of Chaos. I can command an entire system or subsector should the need arise. I can even command you, Canoness Preceptor Loren." Amara deliberately pointed at the Sororitas. "So when you dictate that I do not have the right," she smiled coldly, "I beg to differ. I have every right. I serve His Imperium."
A wheeze escaped Loren's lungs. Echoing across the walls, sinking to the floor to disappear into the murk, the sound prickled the skin. It took the Sisterhood a few moments to comprehend Canoness Preceptor Loren was laughing. "In the God-Emperor's name, even the smallest mote of dust is worth its weight in gold if used correctly. Sister Ursula, the Throne of Terra finds a use for you yet. Will you heed the summons?"
Ursula breathed a quiet sigh of relief, hands clasped against her bosom, stilling her tremors. Sinking to her knees, the Sister of Battle said, "Though service to the Inquisitor Amara Kith, I shall make amends for my failing this day. Canoness Preceptor Loren, my duty to the wondrous Emperor will not falter. I shall strive to purge the corruption of Chaos and sanctify my work in the cleanliness of flames."
"Inquisitor Kith, what is your intention?" Loren's single physical eye fixed on her.
"I hunt for the Dark Mother who caused the blight on Isfarena, simple as that." Amara Kith stepped back from Loren, servo-skull still recording.
"You will go forth from the Order of the Ebon Chalice in the service of the Holy Inquisition, Sister Ursula. Be content in the knowledge you have avoided the path of the Repentia for the moment. You are not to return until you have slain this Dark Mother." Loren passed the tribunal's charge, focusing on the humbled battle maiden kneeling at the podium's base. "Fail in this undertaking and your death will absolve your sins. Destroy the being who perverted the saint's bones and you may be accepted into to our ranks once more."
"The scroll?" A silver case of ornate decoration was passed into the grand sorcerer's ceramite talons. Opening the casing, Ahriman removed its treasure. "Where was it hidden?"
"Held within the lower vaults, left to mould and rot. The Imperial halfwits had no idea what they held." Beneath her gem-encrusted veil, Neferuaat's corpse-pale lips curled into a smirk. "Many of the Ecclesiarchy held it as fact that Gilles' possessions were burned after his passing. Their stupidity kept it safe all this time."
Bound in an elaborate gartle, the scroll was held in reverence to the knowledge written in it. Spoken of in stories, its presence thought to be a dying race's myth, the parchment's revelations were unrolled. Sigils and glyphs inscribed on gevil parchment in gold ink, exposed for the first time in millennia. Ahriman would meditate later on the scroll's esoteric wisdom. For now he laid it on the table of the Khermuti's strategium with satisfaction, hiding its the contents from the obtrusive looks of the Dark Mother and Osis Pathoth.
They were the only beings in the large hall, if one discounted the Rubricae. Each sentinel, guardians for Neferuaat during her consignment on the shrine world, bore no damage to their war plate. Her departure preceded the first landings of the Inquisitional force.
Neferuaat tapped a finger to a face lightly sketched in blue and black veins. "How did this find its way to Isfarena? I would enjoy knowing, now that your prize is safely delivered."
"Those wandering souls, the Eldar, arrived in Isfarena's past for their myriad purposes. The saint may have encountered the Exodites, or the Lugganath Craftworld sailed through this system. In either event," Ahriman's voice was tranquil, fingers spread possessively over the scroll. "He became entrusted with precious insight to the galaxy's affairs."
"Insight which led to his trick of banishing Warp gates," Pathoth intoned, "and ultimately his demise."
"If things went as I planned them to be, the re-emergent Warp gate will hold the Inquisition at bay for awhile."
"What if your scheme fails?"
Her shrug was theatrical; Pathoth knew who she had learnt the bothersome gesture from. Instead of answering the query, Neferuaat asked her own. "Why did the Exodites leave their treasures there? I thought the Eldar saw all future weaves. This moment would have been foreseen, no?"
Pathoth chuckled. "Even the Eldar, as great as their Seer Council is, cannot know the exact future. Tzeentch, undisputed master of time and fate, often tricks one with falsified potentials while showing favoured candidates the precise truth." The viceroy spoke while studying Ahriman's reaction.
The grand sorcerer levelled his black staff. "Would your shallow insult at past injustices affect my humours, Pathoth, but they do not. Higher intellects do not wallow in petty matters. Neferuaat, you are done here." Ahriman dismissed the sorceress out of hand; he gazed beyond the crystal cut windows into the void. "Vizier, stay a moment longer."
Bowing, the mortal psyker swept from the strategium. A chorus of young voices greeted the Dark Mother beyond the bulkhead; the gathering of presences saturated the air with hesitancy, relief, and fear to where they were. Some auras shone bright, others flickered in and out of being. It was maddening for Ahriman to feel the insignificant thoughts crash alongside his grand mental planes. The roiling sea swept away, a tide of infantile characters already chattering up a storm. Telepathic calm re-established, Ahriman eyed Pathoth, the guarded loathing he kept against the other witchborn cutting into the stillness.
"You indulge Neferuaat's whims. She becomes further disobedient to my summons at every turn. I send her to fetch arcane lore and she lingers too long in gathering those weak spawn to her. You would do well to restrain her impulses. I would not allow her fate's calling to be subverted by that of a lowly matron to a brood."
"Children, Ahriman. They are called children."
"I do not want them diverting my servant's attention, nor infesting my vessel in her wake," he calmly – acidly – said.
"No," Pathoth testily replied. "As I recall, they plague my craft. If nothing else is required, am I released to my own devices? Or can you not read the glyphs on your latest acquisition?"
"When I adjure to your support," said Ahriman, "limited it may be, you will know. I require no assistance. This scroll can be deciphered using the Kianemure relic, an artefact you abstained from understanding."
"We cannot hope to understand the minds of gods, Ahriman, only to serve them and receive their gifts in turn."
A dark chuckle reverberated in the air, though only those gifted in the psionic arts could hear it. "What humbled speech from a narcissistic ego. You may leave, Osis Pathoth. Dally with your thaumaturgy and teach your pupil better deference to her elders. When I have need, you will be summoned."