Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 87

From the upper balconies the Proving Grounds seemed a great stone dish, its base covered in a sprinkling of sand. The overhanging Osier trees lent the air a sticky aroma and the light of day seemed painfully bright from their shaded alcove. Faded stone faces leered out of the walls, their features worn away by the tides of history. For thousands of years had Doans been chosen to join the Prowls in this arena, young seekers presenting their hunting trophies as displays of martial prowess. Memory made Damchak sigh in contemplation, remembering his own choosing.

Far below a score of Doans stood proudly, their various kills hung on wooden poles. Into the jungles they had gone, armed with nothing but a flint knife and a loincloth for protection. Many of those who had gone forth had not returned, consumed by the predators of the jungle or lost to deadly quicksand or tanglevine. The jungles were not safe, but not one of the Doans had returned without a mighty trophy, they would rather risk the perils of the wilds forever than face scorn for the unworthiness of their kills.

Abizil mused, "A Cephaldon there, it is worthy of note."

Damchak sniffed, "Better prizes have I seen."

"All those arms they... they... how do you say... The many limbs of twilight grasping!"

Damchak scowled, "In Gothic! We must practice the ancient tongue."

Nizca grunted, "The callow boy plays with stones, the day sun high over the hills."

"It is not a waste of time!" Damchak spat, "Speak the language of heathens, lest we be found wanting. This is the will of Q'umarkaj!"

The pair sank back, their armour fading into the gloom of the balcony. Far below Firsts alighted the sands, moving to inspect the Doans. Depleted Prowls would receive fresh blood, restoring their strength for it was sorely needed. The break in the warp-storm had done nothing to diminish the Orruk threat. Ever were the Smoke Jaguar's skills needed to keep them at bay. Four and a half thousand years had the Chapter waged their campaign, sowing confusion and disorder into Greenskin hordes. Never having the strength to fight Orruks head-on the Smoke Jaguars had developed a vehement disdain for battles of attrition and wasteful pride, subtly and cunning being their watchwords. A single shot well-aimed served better than ten thousand shots fired to cover a lack of skill.

Abizil grinned, "I once saw a Doan present a Smoke Jaguar carcass."

Nizca scowled, "Lies drip from your tongue!"

"Truth!" Abizil countered, "The fiercest predator, a prize to make men writhe in envy."

"No soul since Sedaxus has slain a Smoke Jaguar!"

"Ha, you would believe the sun burns cold!"

"But it is known!"

"It was Zyanya who told you lies, you should know the stars wink in shock when he speaks truth."

Damchak turned to face them, "The Smoke Jaguar is most feared of all beasts of the jungle, but not so feared as we. Many apex predators have been slain, but only by the most bold and strongest of our kinsmen. Rare indeed has a Doan hunted our namesake and those that lived to tell the tale have become legends. But we are not here for the past, it is to the future we look. Come, Umbral Flame is not here for Doans, but one mightier by far."

Damchak stepped back into the wide corridor running behind the balcony. It was dim and cold back here, but he strode confidently, trying not to betray his trepidation. He was about to approach a legend and knew he must choose his words with care. Firsts were stubborn souls but they had no claim on the intransigence of the Eldest. The proudest of the proud and steeped in lore forgotten by all others.

Halfway around the Proving Grounds they found him, basking in sunlight, standing on a widened balcony, specially reinforced for his weight. Massive feet granted a wide stance, leading to legs of piston and Adamantium rods. A gimballed hip supported a boxy torso, heavy with slabs of dusky armour and a reactor-stack potent enough to motivate a tank. Optical lenses fed targeting data into a Sarcophagus engraved with an image of a warrior standing over piles of Orruk, lightning claw upraised in triumph. Fitting for the hero he was, this was the Eldest of the Living-dead, He Who Lit the Spark, Aapo, the fountainhead of Umbral Flame.

"We used to fight on these sands," Aapo stated without bothering to turn.

Damchak was wrong-footed, "Eldest?"

The Dreadnought rumbled in tones to make teeth shiver, "Once Doans would spill blood to draw the eye of a First, the laws of Sedaxus suspended for an hour. Now they drag hunt-kills like idiot bucks trying to woo a maiden."

Nizca blinked, "The Eldest speaks Gothic?"

Aapo growled fiercely, "I was speaking Gothic four thousand years before your father felt the stirring of his loins. Cheek me again and we shall discover if the Headsmen care to impose the laws upon a Dreadnought."

Damchak stepped nearer, "Eldest, you seem aggrieved, and yet we come seeking your aid."

Aapo turned his face from the choosing, rotating on a waist gimbal. Damchak had to lean back as a massive Chord Claw swung past, each finger was a talon as long and thick as his arm. Under that was mounted a flamer, charged with specially modified accelerants to burn black. The other arm was a doughty Thundercoil harpoon, its adamantine head barbed, fitted with pneumatic grapnels able to send it far and then reel in prey via thick hawsers. Aapo may not be fast, but few could escape his reach.

Aapo's voice grew softer, "I sound like an old curmudgeon, how Xavaar would laugh to see what the Illchosen became."

Damchak lifted his chin, "Eldest, we seek your aid. We are charged with a hunt unlike any other."

Aapo's armoured frame gave nothing away as he stated, "You go out among the heathens."

Abizil sounded shocked, "You know?"

Aapo's snorted through a vox-horn, "Use your head for more than cracking Caba-nuts upon. I see the heavens opening, I see the blackness of space returning, I know better than thee what it means. The prophecies are fulfilled, the Imperium comes, and we are summoned back into the armies of the Sun-Emperor. They come, with their questions and their suspicions, seeking to learn our secrets."

Damchak cocked his head, "You remember them?"

"I am not that old," Aapo snorted, "I was born five centuries after the Boscage was formed, but I knew one older even than I. Xavaar the Shade-Seer, who walked at the Dawning. He taught us of Terra and the million worlds of Imperium. A threat to all we know."

Damchak shook his head, "They offer much in return. Ships unlike any we own, weapons and arts we have long lost. Land Raiders, Land Speeders, Jump Packs, the mysteries of Astropath and Navigator."

"And in return we must spill our blood for worlds we have never seen," Aapo warned.

"Such was the vow of Corax to his father, the Sun-Emperor. We are beholden to his oath."

"It is not the Sun-Emperor who concerns me, but his teeming billions of Serviles. I hear of this 'Inquisition' and they walk under an ill-omened star."

Damchak frowned, "The Imperium-born are strange, but they are our cousins. We should greet them with glad hearts."

Aapo however countered, "And what will you tell them of the Dark One?"

"The Dark One?" Damchak uttered in confusion, "What would they want of a myth?"

Damchak had been taught of the Dark One, all Smoke Jaguars were. An allegorical figure from their myth-cycles, representing their darkest impulses and most savage aspects. A phantom haunting their bloodline, urging them to do evil deeds. Few Doans took the apparition seriously, some even wondered if there had been a Smoke Jaguar who sinned so egregiously that they began the legend, but nobody cared enough to investigate further.

Abizil looked up and asked, "Is the Dark One important to the Imperium?"

Aapo was silent for a moment then said, "No, not important at all. Let the past be."

Damchak however pressed, "Is there some unseen danger we should be aware of?"

Nizca mused, "You named a Xavaar, was he the Dark One?"

"Speak not to me the Dark One, lest you suffer my displeasure," Aapo growled.

Damchak decided it was best to let it be and changed tack, "The Seers decree the day has come for the Smoke Jaguars to embrace our lost blood-kin. I sail with the Stranger, to meet with the Sons of Deliverance and make war alongside the Raven Guard. Q'umarkaj commands four Prowls be gathered, but your presence would lend strength to our hunting party."

Aapo snorted, "Q'umarkaj has the temper of Takana, the sagacity of Hanphu and the honesty of Xavaar. And yet I find myself compelled to enjoin your hunt. There is much I would know of the galaxy, four thousand years have I walked the same few planets, I yearn for fresh horizons."

Nizca grinned, "I did not know the living-dead had dreams."

Aapo slipped into his native tongue, "The scent of Osier becomes a dream, the wind on my cheek and the morning dew are dreams, but to walk under suns unknown is wonder unbound. I shall stride the stars and see the ruins our forefathers left as their legacy. The lands where promises of Unity died and the devil-son declared his Heresy."

Damchak was pleased, he thought it would be a challenge to persuade Aapo to join them, but the Eldest seemed more than willing. Perhaps he had long wished to see beyond the Boscage, perhaps he had reasons all his own, but it worked to Damchak's favour. The presence of the Eldest would sway the needed Prowls to enjoin his cause. Shadow-chieftain or not Damchak could not command the presence of a Prowl other than his own, only Q'umarkaj could compel them to obey. Damchak must persuade other Firsts to lend their aid, and vote him as Prowlmaster, in that Aapo's presence would aid him greatly.

Aapo intruded into his thoughts, "Be cautioned, the ways of the Imperium are different. Our subtle methods will sit ill with those who march in straight lines."

Abizil sounded dismissive, "We are blood-kin, our ways cannot be so different."

Aapo however counselled, "I have lived long enough to know not all think as we do. We go for the eyes and the ears, the hands and the feet, but to others this is shameful. Many say war is lines on maps and guns on walls, the beating of two drunkards with fists, until one falls over. We have learned to embrace the darkness of our souls and forge it into a weapon, but it is a sword without a hilt. Guard your tongues, watch your words and speak not the secrets of the Chapter."

Damchak was confused, "Eldest, you distrust our blood-kin?"

"Blood," Aapo muttered, "Tell me... have they tested our blood?"

Damchak and Abizil shared a look of bewilderment and the First answered, "The Genewrights sent copious missives to the Imperium, via the Stranger's Astropaths. Red ships of the Machine God wing their way across the heavens, with intent to claim the Sun-Emperor's Due. Gene-seed tithes are required of all Chapters, so we are told."

"And in our missives, they find nothing... untoward?" Aapo pressed.

"No, should they?" Damchak puzzled.

Aapo was silent for a long moment, "No... there is nothing to be afeared of. We are who we have always been, no more, no less. Still heed my words, loose tongues are as deadly a threat as an Orruk clever. I shall be watching and doom shall befall he who defies the Umbral Flame."

Damchak nodded, "Then I shall send vox-hails this very hour and summon those Prowls willing. We shall be united and trothed in time."

"Make haste First of Umbral Flame," Aapo advised, "We must be trothed before we sail to the stars. Make our pledges swiftly and allow the Stranger to learn nothing of our rites. The Smoke Jaguars ways are for Smoke Jaguars alone, thus is it written, thus shall it be."

Damchak hurriedly backed up as the Dreadnought moved his feet, coming about and striding out of the Proving Grounds. Damchak was confused, to have Aapo join them was a boon, but the Eldest seemed to have much on his mind. Strange were the ways of the Living-dead, for they had one foot in each world. Save for the Genewrights no others delved into the mysteries of life and death so deeply. Damchak decided it was best not to press the matter, Aapo was with them, that would suffice. Damchak had more pressing concerns with the living.