Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 88
"How many will come?" Abizil asked.
"As many wish to," Damchak demurred.
Nizca frowned, "Surely no First would pass up a chance for glory."
"There is more to a hunting-cry than a thirst for glory," Damchak scoffed, "The need must be great, the foe of a quality to prove our worth, comradeship and esteem play their parts as does rivalry."
Nizca grimaced, "No Smoke Jaguar would let enmity stand in the way of a great hunt!"
Aapo rumbled from his sarcophagus, "The old man dreams of being a youth, till he is reminded of the stupidity it brings."
Damchak cast his gaze across the sacrificial chamber, located deep under the Fortress-monastery. Four waterfalls fell from on high, swirling around the blood-stained slab to form a moat. Faded scenes of battle covered the walls, indistinct figures battling half-formed revenants in wars long forgotten. Once light had poured in through cunningly angled openings but they were long overgrown by tanglevines and clogged with debris, now lighting came from flaming bowls of burning oil, lending the air a cloying tang that covered the sinuses with greasy taint. Umbral Flame Prowl was gathered, three at the altar seven others lining the walls with bolters upright. Damchak didn't fear for their distant den, to raid while a Prowl was absent was considered poor sport.
Age hung upon the chamber, the weight of history bearing down but one thing was pristine, a circular mural standing proud behind the altar. This alone was perfectly preserved, lovingly tended by Serviles owned by Q'umarkaj himself. Upon it was etched a galactic map, along with the symbol of the Throneworld and the eighteen legions. For millennia this image had been the Smoke Jaguar's sole guide to the wider galaxy, a touchstone of the oaths that bound them to the Sun-Emperor, a diktat they held inviolate. The Stranger's maps differed somewhat, war and stellar drift making significant changes, but they still this was spiritual truth.
"The Stranger is distracted?" Aapo questioned.
"He tours the Stair Abyssal," Damachak replied with certainty.
Nizca nodded, "To walk among the dead demands resolution and tenacity, even for our Kinsmen."
"Which will fail him first, his courage or his stomach lining?" Abizil chuckled.
Damchak rolled his eyes, "Abizil, go eat some ration bars."
Abizil scowled in disgust, "The Stranger's foodstuff is the moss that grows between Orruk toes!"
Damchak smiled at his twin's dismay, "Something that you cannot eat, this from one who used to chew mother's dining table when his plate was empty."
Abizil muttered, "Never jest about food, true sustenance should be alive and wriggling!"
Their banter was interrupted as the shadows at the far end of the chamber shifted. Damchak hastily checked his armour was pristine, the knotwork unscratched and the blade affections to his vambraces razor-sharp. All was well and he turned his attention to greeting the newcomers. They did not come as one. Prowls were prickly and proud, each answering the vox-hail out of interest or esteem for the summoner, not because they had to. Only the Shade-lord could command unquestioning obedience, but the cause must be most dire to invoke such absolute decree.
Into the chamber strode ten Smoke Jaguars whose faceplates were covered in animal skull masks. Horns and fangs were displayed proudly and their armour hung with sigils of death and ruin. At their head strode one with his face exposed, ritual scars displayed for all to see. Carved by his own hands, into the skin and bone of his skull.
Abizil sounded serious for once, "Kaminaljuyu, First of Deathmaker Prowl."
"Blood-soaked murderers and proud of it," Damchak hissed.
"They say the spirit of the Dark One has taken root in their souls," Nizca gulped.
"Do not make light of the Dark One in my presence," Aapo rumbled.
Another Prowl was entering, eight strong, their plate adorned with polished bones. Small animal fetishes bonded to Ceramite digits, and longer femurs over their limbs. Ribs banded their chestplates and fangs hung heavy around their necks. They were feral and uncivilised, as evidenced by the bite marks on every bone, human bite marks. Their leader had sharpened bones through his ears and his lips.
Damchak muttered, "Caracol, First of Bone Gnawer Prowl."
"This will not aid our dealings with the heathens," Aapo warned.
"I shall keep them on a short leash," Damchak promised.
Next came two Prowls together, in defiance of tradition. One whose armour was powered white, the other black holes in the universe. Night and day, opposite yet equal, as were their Firsts. One proud and slight of face, the other glowering and sullen. Two Prowls, nine and ten strong, walking together as a mark of shared comradeship and unmatched esteem.
"Lamanai, First of Ghost Cry Prowl," Damchak stated, "Bonampak, First of Night Caller Prowl."
"No greater bond exists between Prowls than theirs," Abizil commented.
"I had hoped for They Who Thunder, but this will suffice."
"Five I count, yet the Seers saw only four," Nizca noted.
"A problem," Damchak sighed.
"Your troubles breed like rats," Abizil muttered.
Damchak squared his shoulders and strode over a short bridge to welcome them, "Kinsmen! I greet thee in the name of Sedaxus!"
Kaminaljuyu glared fiercely, "Waste not words, speak of your hunt-quest and be quick about it!"
Caracol agreed, "The evening sun waits for no man."
Damchak drew in a breath and declared, "You know of the Stranger, you know of the galactic wonders that open like a flower in dawn light. I am charged to go forth and wage war alongside our blood-cousins. The Ravens of Deliverance and the Jaguars of Copan shall be reunited as was prophesied!"
"This will be a hunt for the ages," Lamanai declared.
"Such bold heroes will be remembered forevermore," Bonampak agreed.
And yet Kaminaljuyu snorted, "Wage war, you mean to march in straight lines?"
"You speak ill of Corax's firstborn?" Damchak hissed.
"I have heard the tales of the Stranger as well as thee, of the Imperial armies that spend a million lives for a metre of mud. This is not the way of the Testimony. We are Smoke Jaguars, we hunt as Sedaxus taught us, with cunning and wit, not bombastic pride!"
Damchak retorted, "I shall not turn my face from our blood-kin!"
"But who shall lead, us or them?" Kaminaljuyu pressed, "There can be only one master of a hunt, will you lead or shall you bow to the Ravens?"
Damchak was wrong-footed, "I..."
"As I thought, and I swear Deathmaker Prowl will not bow to any save our Shade-lord!"
Damchak rallied, "You defy the vows of Corax!"
Kaminaljuyu sneered, "Do not insult me. I fight as our Primarch intended, as we always have. There are Orruk aplenty in the Boscage, our vows to protect our lands are of equal worth."
Aapo interrupted, "You forsake your Kinsmen in our hour of need?"
Kaminaljuyu said coolly, "I esteem the Eldest greatly, but the Deathmakers will have no part in this. I say let us tend to our own affairs, there are Orruk enough in our demesne. The Imperium is no concern of ours."
With that Deathmaker Prowl turned about and marched out, leaving the rest behind. Damchak was vexed but not so greatly as one might expect. Deathmaker Prowl owned a fell repute for being wild and uncontrollable. He doubted he could constrain them in the field, and their appetites for blood and murder would not sit well with the heathens. Better they stay in the Boscage, where the Raven Guard could not see them.
Caracol spoke up, "None are so blind as those who will not see!"
Damchak asked, "Your words are wise, but do you pledge?"
"Bone Gnawer Prowl will be enjoined and share our troth."
"I thank thee, but we will be speaking Gothic among the heathens."
Caracol grinned, "The Shadow-chieftain can command our hands and our feet, but he does not command the sun to rise."
"Then keep your mouths shut," Aapo growled over the discussion.
Lamanai spoke up, "We hear the call of glory unbound and will not abide. Ghost Cry Prowl is with thee."
Bonampak agreed, "To live forever in saga is a chance that comes but once. Night Caller Prowl is with thee, Prowlmaster."
"We shall face death and danger as Kinsmen ought," Damchak promised.
"A Smoke Jaguar can die but once," Lamanai grinned.
Three Prowls had sworn to join Umbral Flame, making them four as the Seers had predicted. It was time to make their pledge. Damchak signalled a Servile lurking near the door and the Smoke Jaguars gathered about the altar slab and doffing their helms. It was tight, the upper bounds of a single sacrifice, especially with Aapo looming over everyone but it would suffice.
Into the chamber strode a line of Serviles, banging drums in a fast tempo. On their heads were the brands of the Genewrights and one of that order marched at their head, Edzna a sage warrior. At the rear came a Techwright, Raxaa, sent to join their hunt, but it was the one who walked in the middle who brought their attention. A young woman, her head held high and her eyes dilated by Junipa-resins. She wore loose robes and her skin was unblemished by disease or infirmity. Before the eyes of all she approached the altar slab and laid herself upon it, dreamy gaze set to the heavens, already seeing the magnificent table the Sun-Emperor had laid out for her. Drug-addled dream or not, she was willing.
Aapo rumbled, "In my day we used convicted criminals for this."
"This is our day," Damchak rebuffed, "No longer yours."
"Then I lay a geas of silence upon you all, no word of our rituals may the heathens hear. This is for the Smoke Jaguars alone, no others."
"As you will Eldest," Lamanai allowed.
Bonampak concurred, "No whisper shall pass our lips."
"Silence is the first axiom of wisdom," Caracol affirmed.
Damchak turned to Raxaa and the Techwright presented a sacred relic. A lightning claw, replete with a flamer attachment. So long as Umbral Flame had existed this had been the chosen weapon of its Firsts, passed down through generations, all the way back to Aapo. It fitted over his gauntlet smoothly, the fastenings made tight around the spurs of his vambrace. No power cables did it need, for it boasted its own internal generators and each finger was a wicked talon.
Properly fitted Damchak turned to his Kinsmen, "Since the Dawning it has been our way to bind ourselves with unbreakable bonds. We accept our duty as Sedaxus' inheritors, justice and vengeance pursued without rest or mercy. No matter the ferocity of the foe, no matter where they hide, we shall find them and punish them for their sins. This is our Oath of Moment."
A ritual knife was offered and Damchak took it in his free hand as the drumming doubled in pace. The Servile lay dreamily on the altar slab, but she winced as he leaned in and slashed her skin shallowly. Blood trickled down the side as the knife was passed on, each Smoke Jaguar making his cut. Swiftly they made their marks, and the whimpering grew into muffled tears, but the sacrifice was too heavily dosed to fight back. The wounds were slight, for their hands were many, thirty-eight Kinsmen, a Genewright and a Techwright, and a Dreadnought. Aapo could not hold the knife but his cut was surprisingly delicate, as he dragged a razor-digit over her chest.
The drumbeat intensified, filling the air with a furious tempo, as Damchak took back the knife and used it to open the sacrifice's ribcage. Blood flowed in torrents down the side of the slab, staining the swirling waters of the moat red. Life had long since fled but the heat of the body was still present as Ceramite hands reached in and gathered the entrails. Heart, lungs, liver, appendix, kidneys and spleen, intestine and gallbladder, all were lifted free and devoured. Teeth tore into dripping meat, ripping away chunks and swallowing it down. Blood coated jaws as the savage feast bound the Smoke Jaguars in a shared act of murder. The rush of it was heady, the sense of vital power filling their veins as they devoured the life of their victim. Aapo could not share the feast, but Damchak wiped a gore-streaked hand over his frontage, appointing the Dreadnought with heart-blood.
The ritual consumption continued until all had taken their fill. They stood in a circle, chins dripping vitae like a pack of hyenas fresh from burying their snouts in a carcass. The differences between them were erased, all were equally marked, sharing the weight of sin in a bond unbreakable. Damchak lifted his lightning claw high and proclaimed, "Now we are one, trothed in blood and murder!"