Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 54
The Stair Abyssal sank deep into the bones of the world, its depths beyond the scope of the keenest eye. A kilometre wide its air was stifling, all moisture drawn away by ancient machines hidden in the walls. Desiccated air helped preserve the bodies entombed within, laid in niches carved into the bare rockface, mummified and wrapped in yellowing linens, hollow eyesockets gazing into eternity. Almost as withered were the servitors embedded every hundred steps, their voxgrilles uttering a ceaseless murmur of unformed words, as if hundreds of voices were whispering dark secrets no man should know. High above a single Servile bashed a leather drum as big as a man, echoes ringing into the depths like the beating of a thousand hearts. The Stair Abyssal was heavy with the presence of the dead, as if the mummies were merely waiting for the call to rise and take up arms once more.
"This is getting out of hand," Xavaar muttered in Gothic as they descended into the depths.
"The dead disturb thee?" Aapo asked in surprise.
"Veneration of the dead is important, but this is rank superstition," Xavaar scoffed.
"Is it not written in the Testimony that a man is not dead so long as his name is remembered?"
"Remind me to teach you the difference between metaphor and literal fact," Xavaar grunted.
Down they went, passing hundreds of mummies. All of them were transhuman, bold Smoke Jaguars taken to their final rest. Their armour had been reclaimed for future generations, their titles assumed by successors, but their spirits lingered near their bones, and so they were given all due respect. Crossed arms were but parchment wrapped about thickened bone, faces were skin masks laid over skulls and ribs poked through the bindings. Yet for all that they were mighty, larger than any Servile and dense enough to withstand the passing of centuries. Three generations of Astartes dead rested in the Stair Abyssal, and they'd barely filled a single turn of the shaft. The depths below had space enough for centuries more accommodation, millennia even. Aapo wondered where his bones would rest, when his day came.
A statue passed by on the inner circumference of the stairs, noble Sedaxus, striding forth to give battle. The greatest founder of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter, author of the laws that bound them, First of Firsts and terror incarnate unto the enemies of man. He had slain the Orruk Warlord Hed'breka at the Dawning, sworn his successors to the defence of the Boscage and laid the stones of the Fortress-Monastery. Such heady days, it made Aapo's head swim at the thought.
"I see they left his legion mark out," Xavaar muttered as they walked past.
"Shade-Seer?" Aapo asked in confusion.
"Never mind," Xavaar sighed, "I expect the rest of the statues are just as bad. Mine's down here somewhere."
"All the Founders are honoured," Aapo remarked.
"Not Nolaro," Xavaar grunted.
"Who?" Aapo blinked.
"Long story," Xavaar dismissed.
Their walk had taken them past the ranks of the dead, into the unclaimed expanse beyond. More statues passed, Damolos the laughing giant, Arkqas the Wise, author of the Testimony Engar the Lord Headsman and the reason their quest had begun. Aapo's hackles rose as darkness multiplied about them, the lumens above no longer penetrating the depths as they should. This was wrong; the darkness grew thick like treacle, no longer yielding to the light. Aapo's genhanced eyes should find no difficulty in this gloom, but somehow it resisted his efforts. He was adrift in a sea of ink, standing on nothingness, in a formless void bereft of light. He checked the bolt pistol was secure in his holster and his Obsidian blade was loose in its sheath, the Transonic knife replacing the ritual flint used in the rite of choosing. Aapo was glad of it, terror hung in the air and he found himself checking his Doan plate was secure with a nervous hand.
Xavaar suddenly stopped and planted his staff, "Very impressive, but you can knock it off."
"Shade-Seer?" Aapo whispered as he gripped his knife, "We are alone."
"That's what he wants you to think," Xavaar retorted, "The Dark Fury is well named, he does not walk in shadow as others do. He is their child, the shadows love him, they gather about and shower him with their affection."
A sibilant whisper rang from all sides. Aapo spun about to confront the speaker but found nobody there, the tongue of Copan echoing in the nothing space, "Guests unwelcomed invite the spectre of death. Into the maw they come, lambs to the slaughter. Begone and know life, stay and the dark places shall eat your soul. Thus it is written, thus shall it be."
Aapo's skin crawled at the pronouncement but Xavaar rapped staff and declared in Gothic, "I have no time for your games. I taught you everything you know, I am not overawed."
"The deceiver shall be deceived, the seeker shall be sundered, and the lifeblood of the fool stain the Stair Abyssal," came the reply.
"Threats in the dark, how very amateurish," Xavaar grumbled.
"Hearts pierced by sharp claws, lifeblood upon the talon, the last beat shall sound in the deeps."
Xavaar sighed, "It seems I taught you nothing. We do not strike for the heart, first we go for the eyes!"
Xavaar's staff shimmered in the gloom and Aapo gasped as a myriad of obsidian forms erupted from its tip. They were black in the blackness, specks of darkness in the stygian mist, but their outlines shimmered like oil, revealing their shapes. Small bodies with wings, wicked talons and sharp teeth, evil sprites set loose to flock as they will. Aapo clung to the Shade-Seer as they billowed outwards, then they found something that should not be there. A giant in the dark, standing five paces beyond their vision, completely invisible even to Transhuman eyes, save the sprites clung to him and shrieked in alarm.
A blur of movement and Aapo was taken by the neck and hoisted aloft. He hadn't even seen the stranger move, so fast was he. Aapo's legs kicked uselessly and his hand went for his Obsidian Blade, but a sense of depth beneath his struggling feet told him he was suspended over the unknowable deep, held from death only by Ceramite digits. If this Dark fury opened his grip then Aapo's life was over.
Aapo gripped a vambrace with both hands and squeaked, "No Smoke Jaguar sheds the lifeblood of another."
"He who speaks in haste shall taste the fruits of ignorance. Thus is it written, thus shall it be."
"The Headsman…" Aapo gulped.
"Distant axes bear no weight with he who walks unseen. They adopted fear, but I was born to it. The Dark Fury is beyond their wroth."
A weary sigh from Xavaar, "If you're quite done making the boy piss himself, can we get some light?"
"The shadows are my vassals, yet you are a guest in my hall and shall learn I am a generous host."
Aapo was drawn back and deposited on the stair as the impossible darkness lifted. He was stunned to find a warrior before him, tall as Xavaar but different in every way. This one's plate was dappled black but his gorget was hung with Orruk teeth while a grey skull painting covered his pauldrons. A single jet intake loomed over his head and his shoulders were framed by metallic pinions, spread wide as if he was to take off. His gauntlets were blessed with vicious claws, twin blades serrated along their inner edge, extending over his hands and limed with power fields. A Mark VI helm hung at his hip but his face was ghostly white and his eyes purest black. Bald was he, scalp inked with black tattoos, long swirls that swept around his ears and framed his jaw. His brow was marked with the envenomed dagger, the blade that cuts both ways, a weapon as deadly to the wielder as the foe.
Xavaar waved his hand casually, "Aapo, meet Takana the Dark Fury."
"A mighty name, for one unspoken of in the light of day," Aapo muttered as he rubbed his sore neck.
Takana grinned cruelly, "Mighty is he whose name is feared, mightier still is he who is feared without being named."
Xavaar tapped his staff, "Speak Gothic, we're going out among the heathens soon."
Takana shifted languages smoothly, "First, you don't come into my den and make demands. Second, I am not going anywhere with you, Skinned Man."
"Bold of you to challenge the Shade-Seer," Xavaar snorted.
"You cannot compel me to obey," Takana retorted, "No man save the Shade-Lord commands the Dark Fury. Not even the Headsmen dare challenge me."
Aapo blinked, "You dare defy the Headsman?!"
"They do not trouble me, so long as I do not trouble them," Takana sniffed.
"They fear your claws?" gasped Aapo.
"They fear my tongue, and the secrets I hold."
Xavaar shook his head, "A hundred years since we last spoke and you are still going on about that."
"I never asked for your burden of truth," Takana growled.
"Yes you did, empathetically so," Xavaar snorted, "Hounded me night and day you did. Don't blame me that you did not like the taste of truth once I served it to you."
"Arkqas wrote in the Testimony that whispered words can be a weapon as cruel as a knife in the back. I did not understand until too late that he was thinking of you when he wrote that."
"Arkqas wrote a lot of things, among them the importance of repaying debts. You owe me a life, after that incident on Alar-Median."
"I repaid that already," Takana growled.
"Your memory is lacking, perhaps I should root about in your head and dig up the facts," Xavaar threatened.
Aapo was barely following the conversation, especially in the foreign language. It seemed the pair had an involved history, and much of it acrimonious. Takana and Xavaar had a bitter squabble and it seemed no resolution was forthcoming. Aapo's temper had been worn short by the frustrations of this day and his tongue became unruly, "This one cannot help us find Engar."
Takana's head snapped about, "Engar?! What is this talk of the Lord Headsman?!"
Xavaar replied, "Engar's gone missing, while hunting the Bronze Beast."
"Your ghost in the night, you found him?" Takana started.
"I found a clue at last, Engar went to investigate and that was the last we heard of him."
Takana's face grew troubled, "Common Headsmen are Doans playing at war, but Engar is worthy. He taught me to master my Shadow-path, when all others called me deviant and mutant. He placed his trust in me, and I in him. For Engar's sake I shall come, but do not think I forgive you."
"I should have opened with that," Xavaar snorted.
"So we're going together?" Aapo asked hesitantly.
"Not yet," Takana hissed, "The Skinned Man I know, you, I do not. Who are you and what is the story of your name?"
Aapo looked down, "I am but a Doan, of no title at all. I serve loyally but was not chosen on the sands of the choosing. I stand before you as Aapo alone, and my title is yet to come."
"A comrade with no name of note, this cannot come to pass," Takana hissed.
"Does it really matter?" Xavaar groaned.
"Yes it matters!" Takana snapped, "To have no deed-name invites bad luck. Let me look upon you boy. You are unchosen, but that is no fit name. Xavaar chose you for this mission, and I trust his judgement not. Therefore you are Aapo: the illchosen."
"Illchosen?!" Aapo blinked at the insult. To have a title of note was the dream of every Smoke Jaguar, but to have one that conveyed scorn was a curse. To be called illchosen would be a wound to his spirit and a weight upon his ankle. He would be laughed at, scorned, his deeds no matter how mighty would never be remembered. Aapo's the man would be forgotten, all history would recall was a foolish joke, a fate to be feared. Unfortunately the Dark Fury and the Skinned Man cared nothing for his woes, content to leave him ashamed.
"Now that's over we can proceed," Xavaar stated.
"You have prepared a ritual sacrifice?" Takana asked.
"I have," Xavaar confirmed, "Before we set forth we shall make our blood-pledge."
Takana smiled coldly, "Then we shall be one, trothed in blood and murder."