"…by the Blood I am made, and by the Blood I am forevermore consigned."
In my weakness I had nearly allowed sleep to overcome me; at the sound of my master's voice my eyes snapped open and I jerked my head up, startled, fear flooding me at my lapse in focus. Sunk deep in a meditative trance the Lamenter had neither moved nor spoken in over three hours; I quickly brought him a tin cup of brackish water, hoping he had not noticed my laxity. He had, of course; he noticed everything. He was one of the God-Emperor's Angels of Death and what was I in comparison but a mote of dust caught in a shaft of sunlight?
"Thank you, Trass," he said in his deep resonating voice as he took the cup in one oversized hand. I bowed my head, body tensing, waiting for him to castigate me for drifting off instead of remaining on alert; instead he drank the water in a single swallow and rose to his feet, the servo-joints of his power armor purring as the ceramite plates shifted to accommodate his movements. "Why are you afraid?" he asked, sounding perplexed and somewhat saddened. "I am not going to hurt you."
"I…I have been negligent in my duties, lord," I said, still keeping my eyes fixed on the deck; it was true: the nine golden firebowls ringing the circular circumference of the meditation cell had all died down to sullen embers; I should have replenished each one with fresh coals an hour ago; instead I had allowed the peace and tranquility of the room to lull me into a mindless torpor. I was certain none of the other serfs would have been so careless and inattentive. I was desperate to serve, to pay him back for saving my life during the burning of Serdon Secundus. I did not want to fail him, did not want him to think he had wasted his time rescuing someone without any integrity or worth.
"Look at me, Trass," he said quietly, making the command seem like a request. I continued to stare at his boots. Standing before him was difficult enough and my heart quailed at the prospect of meeting his eyes. Like the rest of his brothers he was beautiful, though the rigors of war had left their marks upon his flesh – yet it was not his beauty that cowed me, nor was it disgust at the scars disfiguring his features; it was the ceaseless sorrow spilling from the soul-depths of his eyes that made our interactions so strenuous; such too-human emotions emanating from such a being were too intense, too potent for any mortal to endure for long.
"Look at me." Now he commanded it. I forced myself to look up into his face; he was smiling, willing to overlook my disobedience; that made the eye-contact even harder and my cheeks burned in shame under his benevolent inhuman scrutiny.
"This space can have a calming effect on certain people," he said, gesturing at the soft-colored abstract paintings and the flowing script of interwoven verses taken from the Lamentations adorning the smooth plasteel walls. "It is a sanctuary intentionally designed to facilitate spiritual contemplation and mental restoration; I do not fault you for growing tired; you are not the first serf to drift off during my meditation hours and I doubt you will be the last. You are still settling in and learning the ways of the ship; I certainly do not expect a flawless performance right at the start, especially as this is your very first warp-voyage."
His words were meant as a consolation, I knew, yet they were not words I wanted to hear. I did not want to make the same mistakes as the others; I wanted to distinguish myself in his eyes, to stand out, to prove I was worthy of joining his serf-cadre even though I was a newcomer instead of someone whose kinfolk had been serving the Chapter for untold generations. All his other serf-attendants were voidborn, each man and woman tall and pale-skinned with colorless hair and eyes; in contrast I was short and stout, my complexion dusky, my hair and eyes dark. Often I would catch the others staring at me discreetly, as if they were silently judging me, yet I could not blame them for their curiosity since I found them just as strange as they found me.
"I will not fail you next time, lord." I said stiffly, trying to maintain my composure; he sighed, running his armored fingers through his shoulder-length hair. "I am no-one's lord, Trass. I have already told you this. Call me Brother Rapallo."
I swallowed thickly, my throat suddenly dry. "That…it is too informal, lord; I am not one of your brothers. You are a Space Marine. You are the Chosen of the Emperor; you –"
"I know what I am," he interrupted, a hint of aggravation in his tone. "Yet that does not stop the other serfs from addressing me by name. Why is it so difficult for you?"
Because I am not worthy. "Because…I am not ready yet…lord; I am still…settling in."
My answer seemed to mollify him; he reached out and rested a gauntleted hand gently upon my shoulder. I braced beneath the weight, determined not to show further weakness. "I was once human, Trass," he said, "And although my ascension has raised me above mortal desires and concerns I still remain human in my soul and in my hearts. One day you will understand, and then you will no longer be afraid."
I nodded, yet lacked conviction. "Yes, lord…as you will."
He donned his helmet and departed without another word. I blearily around the empty chamber, hating the relief I felt. I knew it would be a long time before I understood my master - no, before I understood…Brother Rapallo.