Chapter 8: Passing

The cold stone floor of Chapel 74 chills my knees as I kneel, scrubbing the intricate carvings at the base of a towering statue of the Emperor Resplendent. My hand aches from hours of labor, the rag slipping occasionally from my grasp as sweat and holy water mingle on my palm. The scent of sanctified oils and incense hangs heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the sacredness of this place. Around me, the chapel looms, its vast arches and ornate stained-glass windows casting a somber, kaleidoscopic light across the floor.

Sister Helena's voice cuts through the silence like a blade, sharp and unyielding. "Aurora, what are you doing?"

I flinch, my grip tightening on the rag. "Scrubbing the base, Sister Helena," I sign with trembling fingers, my jaw still too painful to speak.

"Is that all you are doing? Or are you seeking something more in this task?" Her eyes bore into mine, searching for something I am not sure I possess.

I hesitate, then sign slowly, "I am trying to honor the Emperor with my work."

Her gaze doesn't soften. "Are you, now? Or are you hiding from your true purpose, cowering behind these menial tasks because you fear what you might become?"

Her words sting, and I lower my eyes, my hand moving mechanically over the cold stone. The doubts gnawing at my mind resurface with each stroke, my thoughts a tangled mess of faith and fear. The memory of the light woman haunts me, her spectral figure a constant presence in my dreams.

"Who brought you here, Aurora?" Sister Helena's voice is relentless.

I pause, my hand stilling. "The light woman," I sign, my movements slow and deliberate.

"Do you truly believe that? Or is it just a convenient story to justify your fear?" Her tone is a lash, each word striking with precision.

I don't answer, can't answer. The truth is elusive, slipping through my grasp like the holy water from the rag. I resume scrubbing, the ache in my hand a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my heart.

The hours bleed together into days that pass as a haze of monotony, pain and the growing turmoil of my soil. Tasks come in shifts and when my knees feel they can't take another day sacrificed on the marbled and inlaid floors, I'm moved to polishing the thousand brass candelabras that line the walls of the chapel. Each one stands taller than I do, their surfaces dulled by time and use. I climb a small ladder, the steps cold and unforgiving under my bare, calloused feet, and begin to polish, the cloth moving in slow, repetitive circles.

Sister Helena watches me from below, her presence as constant and oppressive as the weight of worry that hangs over my thoughts. "Do you pray as you work, Aurora?"

I nod, signing, "Yes, Sister Helena."

"And what do you pray for? Clarity? Strength? Or just an end to your suffering?"

Her questions pierce me, days pass between them, and yet each time they're a needle threading through the fabric of my doubts. "I pray for guidance," I sign, my movements hesitant.

"Guidance? From whom? The Emperor? The light woman? Or are you just whispering empty words to the void?"

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away, focusing on the task at hand. The brass begins to gleam under my efforts, reflecting the fractured light from the stained glass windows. I pour all my frustration, all my confusion into the work, each polished surface a small victory over the chaos within.

Days bleed together into months that pass in growing turmoil and a darkness not reflected in the polished surfaces of each great brass column. Just when I think polish fumes from the brass would kill what remained of my sense of smell, I'm transferred again, this time to sweeping the vast expanse of the chapel floor. The broom is taller than I am, its bristles worn and frayed. I move methodically, each sweep a prayer, each gathering of dust a penance. The echo of a hundred brooms against the stone floor is a lonely, roaring sound, magnified by the cavernous space around me.

As I work, Sister Helena's voice echoes in expanse. No one stops, no one takes notice, everyone knows this torment is mine alone, a constant companion to my thoughts. "Do you ever think about why you are here, Aurora? Why the light woman chose you?"

I nod, signing, "Every day."

"And what conclusion have you reached? That you are special? That you have a specific purpose? Or are you just a frightened child hiding behind words like hallucination and dream?"

Her words are a mirror, reflecting back the uncertainty and fear I try so hard to hide, to resolve, to defeat. "I don't know," I sign, my hand trembling. "I just want to serve."

"To serve or to hide? There is a difference, Aurora. A vast, yawning chasm between true service of the devout and the cowardice of hiding from one's true path."

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat almost too painful to bear. The truth is, I don't know anymore. I thought I knew. I thought I was at peace. I thought I reached faithful contment. I rose from the refuse of the underhive to a scholam student. I was given the name, Progena. Then I fell to menial, and yet I fell to a station so high above where I began… what right do I have to claim anything more than the broken existence I now hold? And yet her words haunt and poke and burn against my soul.

"You think too much, child." Her words are not accusatory, simply factual, "a child's faith is pure, unquestioning, yours is tepid, thoughtful. You will drown in those thoughts if you linger forever." A warm but firm hand presses down on my good shoulder, "blessed is the mind too small for doubts."

I'm too tired to reply.

Time passes. I've stopped keeping track of its comings and goings. I'm tending to the altar, now, a sacred duty that fills me with a mixture of awe and dread. The altar is a massive slab of marble, adorned with relics and icons, inlaid with prayers, worn with the fingerprints of supplicants, each one a testament to the faith and sacrifice of those who came before. I move carefully, reverently, my hand steady despite the fatigue that weighs down my limbs.

Sister Helena stands beside me, her visits still frequent, her attentions unwavering in the face of passing time. She stands, she watches, her gaze never leaving my face. "Do you see yourself here, Aurora? At this altar, offering your prayers, your devotion? Or do you see only the dust and the grime, the endless tasks that fill your days?"

I look at the altar, the sacred relics, the icons of faith, and feel a stirring deep within me. "I don't know," I sign, my heart heavy with the weight of my uncertainty.

"Then pray, Aurora. Pray for the strength to see beyond the dust and the grime, to find your true path. The Emperor protects, but you must be willing to follow where He leads."

But where did He lead? And where did I fall off that path?

My doubts find me even in dreams…

The day of the Sanguinala celebrations begins like any other, with the weight of the chapel's light serving only to deepen the shadows in my soul. My feet move mechanically, treading aimlessly over the smooth cold floor. Sister Helena's harsh words echo in my mind, a drumbeat now that plays in both waking and sleeping moments not filled with the fading relief of harsh toil.

When my feet run out of floor I look up and find myself on the main balcony, high above the chapel floor and empty. The wind is fierce and cold, cutting through my thin robes as I stand on the edge, looking down at the hive city. The lights of the Sanguinala celebrations glitter far below, but they seem distant, unattainable. I clutch the Broken Guardian tightly, its sharp edges digging into my skin, grounding me in the reality of my pain and despair.

"It I drop you… would you fly?" I whisper to it.

I hold it out over the edge, my heart pounding in my chest.

"If we fall, would you catch me, this time? Would you throw yourself into the empty air to save me as I saved you?"

The abyss below calls to me, promising an end to the guilt, the crushing expectations, the feeling of being lost and far from the Emperor's light. I edge closer, the wind pulling at me, the city below a chaotic blur of lights and noise.

"Aurora!"

Valeria's voice cuts through the roar of the wind, startling me. I turn to see her standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock and concern. She steps onto the balcony, her expression a mix of fear and determination.

"What are you doing up here?" she asks, her voice urgent. "I saw you in the stairwell and you didn't answer. You should be at the Sanguinala celebrations."

I lower the Broken Guardian, my heart racing with adrenaline, my mind suddenly full of wakefulness. "I didn't think anyone would find me," I say, my voice trembling over the wind. "I don't belong here, Valeria."

Valeria steps closer, her eyes searching mine. "Why would you think that?" she asks, her voice gentle but firm. "Aurora… why are you up here, alone?"

Tears blur my vision as I look away, the city lights below flickering like distant stars. "I can't live with the weight of guilt and expectation," I say, my voice breaking. "I feel empty, Valeria. Even the Sanguinala celebrations did nothing to make me feel closer to the Emperor's light."

Valeria's eyes widen, her face pale in the dim light. "Aurora, don't say that!" Her voice shakes. "You're not alone. I… If you felt this way why didn't you tell me?"

"What would I say?" I whisper, my voice raw with emotion. "That I doubt everything? That Sister Helena keeps questioning me, and now I question myself? That I don't know what to believe anymore?" My whispering dies in the wind as I mumble, "that I feel so completely alone?"

Valeria reaches out, her hand gentle on my shoulder. "You're not alone," she repeats, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "We all have doubts, Aurora. We all struggle. But you don't have to face it alone. I'm here. We're all here."

I shake my head, stepping back from her touch. "Don't abbess me," I say, my chest tight with emotion. "I'm done, Valeria. 'm not strong enough to just push blindly through this anymore. Faith was all I had, and I don't think I even have that anymore."

Valeria's grip tightens on my shoulder, her presence a lifeline in the storm, one I'm refusing to cling to. "You are strong," she says, her as firm as the flagstones below. "You've survived so much already. Emperor's wrath, Aurora, you've fought through more than anyone I know, at least anyone our age and most of the adults. The Emperor's light is within you, even if you can't see it right now. Trust in that light, and trust in yourself."

Her words strike a chord, but the darkness within me is overwhelming. "If you really think there's nothing left for you, then you have no excuse not to apply for an augmetic and try coming back to the Schola," Valeria urges, her voice insistent. "Or if you really want to die, request to become a servitor. At least your life will have continuous meaning and—"

"Servitor!?" I hiss, my anger flaring. "You think I should become a mindless, metal, meat sack like some criminal? That's worse than death!"

Valeria's eyes harden, her expression fierce. "It's better than the cowardice of suicide," she snaps. "It is better to die for the Emperor than live for one's self," she begins the quote and my hand comes up and swats her arm off my shoulder.

"How dare you!" I scream, my voice raw with pain and rage. "You don't know what it's like! Would you have the courage to end your own life?"

"Is that what you think this is, courage!? The courage to end your life, Aurora? Or is this just another way to avoid facing your fears?" Valeria's gaze doesn't waver. "I don't know how you feel inside," she admits, her voice softening. "But I do know that you don't even have the courage to come back to school and accept an augmetic. You're letting your fear and doubt control you. You're letting Lucius control you."

"Lucius?" I spit, the name, one I haven't used or even thought of and yet its very utterance leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. "This isn't about him."

"Isn't it?" Valeria counters, her eyes burning with intensity. "He took your arm that day, Aurora. Are you going to let him take your faith, too? Is that the decision you're making here?"

I turn away, unable to face her, looking back at the abyss below, my heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else. The lights of the Sanguinala celebrations seem to mock me, a world of joy and light that I can never be a part of.

I'm about to speak, to say something—anything—when I see a shadow moving quickly towards us. My blood runs cold as I recognize Sister Helena striding purposefully, her face a mask of stern determination. Panic wells up inside me, and I know Valeria can see it on my face because she turns around in confusion, following my gaze.

"Sister Helena?" She speaks in astonishment, "what are you—"

Before she can finish, Sister Helena is upon us. Her hand slams into my chest, shoving me backward and pinning me against the balcony railing. The cold stonework bites into my back, and fear constricts my throat.

"For years I've checked up on you." She snarls with a dreadful smile, "for months I've stalked your every waking moment. I know a coward when I see one, Aurora." Helena taunts, her voice dripping with contempt. "But it seems I overestimated you. I didn't think you were such a coward as to end your own life."

The pressure of her palm against my sternum stifles any response I might have given.

Helena eyes lock on mine. "You don't even have the resolve to jump, do you? You really are a pathetic child, Aurora Progena."

"Sister Helena, stop!" Valeria's voice is frantic. "She really was going to jump! I was talking her down!" Valeria tries to intervene, reaching for me, but Helena swats her aside. Her grip on my hair tightens, and she lifts me up, dangling me over the edge of the balcony.

She drops me.

My scream pierces the night air as I desperately grab the railing, my fingers clinging to the cold stone, my feet finding purchase on the ornamental relief of The Emperor's radiant crown.

"Sister Helena, what are you doing?" Valeria cries, rushing forward again. This time, Helena kicks her in the chest, sending her sprawling to the floor, with a woosh as the breath leaves her lungs.

I hang there, terror coursing through me. "Please, don't," I sob, my voice and my arm shaking violently in the wind.

"Why don't you let go?" Helena's voice is icy. "If you were really going to jump, why are you clinging to the edge? A coward to the end? At least jump and make the decision your own."

The realization hits me like a physical blow. I don't want to die. The fear of death, of what might come after with my faith in tatters, paralyzes me. I want to live, to find a way through this darkness.

Helena's fingers pry mine from the railing one by one. "You can't even let go now, can you?" she sneers. "You have no resolve, no faith. You're worthless."

"Sister Helena, stop! Please!" Valeria's voice is a desperate gasp as she tries to crawl towards us. "She needs help, not this!"

Helena's hand moves to mine on the railing, her grip on my fingers is relentless. "I have faith," she says, and with each word she removes a finger from the rail. Her voice calm and resolute. "Faith that the Light Woman has a purpose for you, greater than being a stain on the flagstones."

And then she lifts the last to fingers and lets go.

I fall, the wind roaring in my ears, eating my scream. The world blurs, the lights of the Sanguinala celebrations swirling into a chaotic mess. I reach out, desperately trying to grasp something, anything, to stop the fall.

The last thing I see is the cold, indifferent smog of Gilead's sky above me, and then…

Darkness…

Light!

Blinding, searing light that makes me squint and blink. As my vision clears, the light resolves into the image of the light woman standing over me. For a moment, my heart leaps. She's here. She's really here. She's—

The vision fades, replaced by Sister Helena's stern face, her eyes boring into mine as if searching my very soul. The cold flagstones beneath me are unforgiving, cold.

"So, it's been six months, child. Are you quite done with your pity party and ready to live for the Emperor again?" Her voice is as cold as the stone, devoid of sympathy.

I swallow, my throat dry and raw. Staring up at the chapel above me, far above, the balcony just visible as a tiny jutting of stone on stone. I glance around at the flagstones where I lie, alive, somehow. "Y-yes?" I manage to stammer, my mind struggling to process the fact that I am not dead, not a broken, lifeless heap on the ground.

Sister Helena's expression remains unchanged. "All the important buildings, where important and possibly intoxicated individuals might be carousing, have grav-field generators near open-air access points such as balconies. It cuts down on accidental deaths and assassinations."

Her explanation leaves me bewildered, my thoughts a jumble. "I... I don't understand."

"You fell a grand total of twenty feet, passed out, and gently floated the rest of the way to the ground," Helena says, her tone almost dismissive.

Before I can fully grasp the implications, Valeria rushes up to me, her face a mix of relief and fury. She's about to hug me, then stops, her hand whipping out to slap me across the face. The sting is sharp, immediate, and tears spring to my eyes.

"How could you?" Valeria screams through her tears. "You had no right to put me through that!" Then, without warning, she hugs me fiercely, her sobs shaking her whole body. "I was so scared," she whispers into my shoulder.

I hug her back, my own tears falling freely now. "I'm so glad to be here with you, Valeria. Alive."

We hold each other for a moment, a fragile bubble of comfort and relief in the midst of the storm. But Sister Helena's voice cuts through the moment, pulling us back to the harsh reality.

"Enough," she says, separating us with a firm hand. "Valeria, return to the Sanguinala celebrations. Aurora and I have business to attend to."

Valeria hesitates, her eyes filled with worry, but she obeys, casting one last glance back at me before disappearing down the corridor.

Helena turns to me, her expression unreadable. "It's time you came before the abbess and made a case for returning to your path."

I nod, a steely resolve hardening within me. Where doubt and uncertainty once lay I feel the beginnings of stability and strength. I've been running, hiding from my fears, but no more. I will accept an augmetic and return to the scholam as a student. I will go wherever the Emperor takes me. I will endure any hardship. I will live, and not for myself, no matter what. The Emperor protects.

We walk in silence, the weight of what is to come pressing down on me. The chapel looms larger, the stone walls closing in as we approach the abbess's chamber. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum in the vast, empty corridors.

Finally, we stand before the abbess. Her gaze is piercing, her presence commanding. I take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage I have left.

"I want to return as a student," I say, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides. "And I am ready to receive an augmetic replacement limb. I know now I was wrong to—"

The abbess holds up a hand and I fall silent as she studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, she smiles. "I am delighted, Aurora. I have believed from the beginning that you were selected by our sacred lady for something special. Ever since she led you to these halls."

Hope blooms in my chest, a fragile, flickering flame. The abbess turns to Sister Helena, her approval clear. "Aurora should be given an augmetic arm and placed back into class immediately, perhaps even on the path to sis—."

But before I can fully grasp the abbess's words, Sister Helena steps forward, her face a mask of defiance., her tone sharp as she interrupts the abbess. "I object."

Her words shatter the fragile hope I've just begun to nurture, leaving me reeling. The abbess's eyes widen in surprise, her gaze shifting between us.

Helena's voice is firm, unyielding. "Aurora's path requires more than just an augmetic limb. It requires a resolve she has not yet demonstrated, courage she clearly doesn't have, and strength of character she's failed to grow."

The abbess's expression hardens, her approval replaced by a steely determination. "Explain yourself, Sister Helena."

Helena's gaze locks onto mine, her eyes burning with an intensity that makes my heart clench. "She has not yet faced her true fears. She has no faith, no belief."

"I do have—"

"You!" Helena's voice is harder than a physical blow as she whirls on me, "you believe in the Emperor, good for you, Aurora. Even the Daemons believe and tremble. The only thing that makes you marginally better than chaos spawn is that the only servant of the Emperor you've tried to kill so far is yourself."

The abbess' eyes widen in astonishment, "she attempted—"

"Yes," Helena nods and I feel her grip on my shoulder like a vice no weaker than the painful crushing I feel in my own chest. "The stupidity of a child, perhaps. But to return her to Scholam, where she can infect the minds of others with her lack of faith, her self-centered depression, her sniveling, cowardly, woe-is-me attitude? The scholam isn't for philosophical crybabies."

"You did this to me!" I twist out of Helena's grasp and shout with every ounce of anger I can muster, "I was happy, content, serving the Emperor as a menial. You put these doubts in my head. You came, day in, day out, taunting, questioning, beating me when all I wanted was to serve alongside thousands of others!"

Helena sneers, "blessed is the mind too small for doubts."

"You opened my mind!" I can hardly hear her, the blood is thundering so loudly in my ears, my missing arm aches, "I had faith, faith that you questioned, for months, and forced those questions into my head. You pushed me to that ledge, and you threw me off, literally!"

Helena laughs in my face, bending down to my level with a leer, "Oh? Suddenly developing a spine now? You had all those thoughts already; I just gave them a voice. Having the thoughts at all is your sin, you ungrateful, unworthy, unrepentant fool."

"Enough!" The Abbess is standing now, her voice like quiet thunder rolling over us with the authority of the Emperor himself. "I presume this theater has a point, Sister Helena? One we might come to speedily!"

Helena bows, "yes abbess. I invoke my right to tithe this child."

"You what?" The abbess sits once more, confusion crumpling her old features.

"She what?" I'm not at all familiar with what was being asked but not liking it one bit.

"With your leave I make Aurora Progena my bond, my serf, a member of my house. It is within my privilege by rank and rite." Helena returned the Abesss' hard stare with her own, "if our sacred lady has a purpose for her, let her convince us. I am no less swayed by this child's miraculous coming to us than you, Sister Gloriana," Helena cocked her head to the side, "if our sacred lady has a path for her to walk, where better to walk it than at my side? I will see to her… education."

The abbess considers her words, her face a mask of contemplation. The silence stretches on, each second a dagger in my heart.

My whole body is trembling.

How is death worse than whatever comes from this?

Or is it all true?

Is that very thought the reason that I'm not worthy?

I just want to disappear and hide in my pipe and… and suddenly I think of my mother. My mother served the emperor all her life and lived with nothing, nothing but me. She had faith. She didn't stray from her path. She raised me with nothing, in nothing, nothing but faith.

Where had I lost that great faith?

Where had I failed to make her faith my own?

I shut my mouth and drop to my knees, "my abbess," I place my face to the floor, "forgive me, I have displayed a great lack of faith and will do anything to make up for it. My life is for the Emperor, do with it as you will."

Finally, the abbess nods. "Very well." She stands and moves out from behind her desk, coming to stand before Sister Helena who bows her head respectfully. "I have not ever had a sister invoke a tithe in my lifetime." She raises Helena's chin and stares into her eyes, "you are taking from that which is the Emperor's own, and tithing it to your account. You, and you alone, shall bear the responsibility for what becomes of this life."

"I shall bear it," Helena confirms.

The abbess raises her eyebrows and shakes her head slowly, "then so be it. I will draft the appropriate paperwork, you may take your tithe and go, this life is given to you to use as you see fit for His glory."

"The Emperor Protects," Helena makes the sign of the aquila.

The abbess returns it, "He protects his faithful," she echoes.

I rise from the floor, clutching the broken guardian against my chest and follow as Sister Helena beckons me to follow her. I vow to myself in that moment that I will follow her, into anything, as though she were the Emperor himself, and I will live and prove myself worthy of my mother's faith.