Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 85
Three days later Damchak strode boldly through the Fortress-Monastery, trailed by a Servile carrying his effects. The central hub of the Chapter was ever awake, bustling with the myriad tasks, though the Prowls dispersed far and wide here was the beating heart of their order, the font of their strength and the halls where they were transfigured.
Damchak walked confidently, knowing the route well, armour clasping him tight and empowering his stride. The Servile kept close to his heel, seeking protection from his owner. The brand of Umbral Flame upon his brow bought little respect in the byzantine hierarchies of the Servile class, whereas the brands of the Victuallers, Masons, Hospitallers, Enumerators and Hauliers lacked esteem but made up for it with numbers. Among the mortals span a complex web of status and privilege, each man bound to his station and keenly aware of the respect that was due from his lesser. Personal Serviles to the Prowls were few in the Fortress-monastery and drew haughty looks of disdain, but none dared accost the man. The brand on his brow told that he was the property of Umbral Flame, any man who raised his hand in anger to this outsider would have to make account to Damchak.
Soon their path took them into the deeps, where the greater mysteries were performed. The Serviles grew fewer and their brands more exotic: Genewrights, Seers, Techwrights and Headsmen, servants of the mighty but not the most high. That brand was displayed on the brows of two guards who stood vigil before a soaring door, with ceremonial spears crossed. These were the Serviles of Q'umarkaj, the Shade-lord's own household and no mortal was higher in esteem than they. But for all their vaunted station they dared not impede a First when summoned.
Damchak strode past as the spears lifted and entered the Hall of Memory. Cold air tickled his face, the eternal night where no sun was ever seen. Faint lumen orbs cast flickering lights, making it appear as if fires burned at the corners and the dry air parched the throat. That didn't interest Damchak but what drew his eye was the pillars standing in rows, Steles covered in names, the names of every Smoke Jaguars who had ever lived. The power of names was thoroughly respected in the Chapter and great care was taken to ensure none were ever forgotten, after all the Testimony taught no man dies whose name is yet remembered.
Damchak trod softly as he admired the lines of names, clumped together according to Prowl. Some were lengthy memorials, many rows of steles proudly displayed, others singular and petering out after a few score names. A Prowl's name was a mighty legacy, passed down through generations. Umbral Flame was an old name, their steles many, but they were not the oldest. White Crow, Unerring Eye and They Who Thunder Prowl were extant at the Dawning, but others like Longshot, Snakeskin or Beautiful Liars had died out. When a Prowl was wiped out a greatly esteemed warrior must assume the mantle, for if no willing champion could be found it would fall into dust. New Prowls could be formed if a Smoke Jaguar performed feats worthy of earning a deed-title, but that was rare and had not occurred in Damchak's lifespan.
"Well met by starlight, proud Damchak," a deep voice echoed.
Damchak smiled warmly as he replied, "The Umbral Flame burns quick and its speed is to be feared."
"Hollow words, for he who remembers your sloth on the proving grounds!"
"It is unseemly for a mere First to argue with He Who Must Be Obeyed," Damchak quipped.
From among the steles appeared a Smoke Jaguar, tall and proud. His armour was bedecked by runic inscriptions and his boots affected claws. Twin-bladed talons were fitted to his vambraces, the dreaded Transonic claws and his head was framed by a halo of Eruth feathers, worn as the Mantle of Command. His face was stern and his eyes flint hard. This was Q'umarkaj, First of Firsts, inheritor of Sedaxus, Shade-lord of the Smoke Jaguars.
Damchak lifted his chin and turned his head, baring his jugular in a gesture of obeisance. Q'umarkaj approached slowly, his expression grim, as he measured his underling, but then his stern visage cracked and his flashed white teeth as he laughed in greeting. Damchak smiled broadly as they clasped wrist to wrist, old comrades united after a long parting. Q'umarkaj had been First of Umbral Flame once, elected to Shade-lord for his mighty deeds, leaving the way open for Damchak to rise.
"The glory of Umbral Flame is diminished without thee," Damchakspoke as he let go.
"Fresh is your day in the sun, time yet for your fame to grow," Q'umarkaj dismissed.
"We are but humble shadows of your greatness."
"And yet trouble follows thee as a bad stench. Fire Brand Prowl speaks of raiders most bold."
"Ignorance abounds in my hearts," Damchak sniffed.
"Truly?"
"No lies shall ever pass my lips," Damchak lied, "But I bring a gift for my master."
"Cyder-asps?" Q'umarkaj grinned, "You know me well."
The Servile presented the crate and the pair reached within, drawing forth small black snakes with orange diamonds on their heads. Damchak held it in his gauntlet as he lifted it to his neck, a loosening of his grip and the serpent struck, sinking its fangs into his skin. A rush of heat ran through him, his hearts quickened and sharp spikes of pain jolted his spine. Genhanced organs went to work, countering the poison, but for a moment he felt his mind expanding. Everything became clearer, his awareness expanding to encompass planets in their orbits and all the lives upon them. He was an ant, in an anthill of a billion, trillion lives, each chasing ambitions and dreams unique and in their life stories he was but a passing shade, seen once if at all. A moment of pure Sonder.
The moment faded as Q'umarkaj followed suit, letting the asp bite deep as he hissed, "Gurrgh!"
"Hurrrh!" Damchak exhaled as he shook his head in the aftermath.
"The serpent's bite has lost none of its sharpness," Q'umarkaj remarked as he rolled his head languidly.
"May it ever be so," Damchak agreed.
"Say, that looks fun, let me try one!" a mortal voice called in an entirely different language.
Damchak's good mood evaporated as a man appeared, striding jovially towards them. Crovin the Stranger, their guest for the last year and a half, walking free despite his lack of branding. He wore a burgundy coat that hung to his knees and bore his sword and pistol openly, not that it would save him if a Smoke Jaguar wanted him dead. No, what kept him alive was Q'umarkaj's favour, and the wondrous news he brought. In his wake trailed his little Servile, drinking in events like a starving man does food.
Damchak shifted languages as he muttered sullenly, "Light of the Dawn be upon you."
If Crovin caught the hostile tone he ignored it, "Good to see you, how was your training exercise?"
"It be... agreeable..." Damchak deflected.
"Still struggling with the subtleties of Gothic old chap, don't worry we'll get you there!"
Damchak considered Gothic a coarse tongue, blunt and entirely lacking in subtly compared to the graceful beauty of Copan's tongue. Still Crovin insisted it was the language of the wider Imperium and so the Smoke Jaguars had been laboriously resurrecting the supposedly dead tongue. It still felt uncouth to recite, but Damchak's mastery was growing every day.
"The day how is?" Damchak asked as he placed his Cyder-asp back in the leaf-lined crate.
"Not bad, save I can't tell if it is day or night," Crovin sniffed, "You fly me in and out blindfolded and never let me feel the sun on my face."
Q'umarkaj returned his own asp, "The cunning man tells much from the stars."
The little Servile nodded, "True, one can easily calculate planetary position by the length of the day and the position of the sun at noon. A stellar fix could allow me to pinpoint this Fortress-monastery exactly."
"Thank you Zim!" Crovin snapped testily, "Now on to our big news!"
"News?" Damchak blinked.
Q'umarkaj nodded, "The Stranger fills my ears with heathen legend. Dynasties rise and fall, Orruks rampage and the corruptions of the devil-son Horus spreads without check. A galaxy split in twain, empires halved and brotherhoods sundered."
Crovin nodded, "I've had Astropathic contacts with the High Lords and Ur-council, both are most eager to make your acquaintance."
Damchak blinked, "They are?"
Crovin grinned, "The Novans have longed wished to bind a Space Marine Chapter to their banner. Of course there are Chapters within their borders, but they follow their own paths with no regard for the Ur-council's wishes. The High Lords are most keen to preserve that status-quo, and as you sit on the border between the two empires a race is on to get you to sign up."
Damchak didn't really understand any of this talk of riven Imperium's and asked, "This... 'Inquisition'... agrees?"
Crovin snorted, "They plot to denounce you for heresy, but they are only one voice. My contacts in the Senatorum Imperialis tell me the Adeptus Mechanicus wants Alar-median back in the fold, and you seem to come as part of a package deal. The Ministorum want to flood this region with missionaries and the Arbites have police cruisers ready to impose the Lex. The Administratum is also dead-set on getting you to pledge to Terra, so they can have a little talk with the local governors about four and half thousand years of back-tithes."
Damchak was utterly lost, these various names meant nothing to him. The Mechanicus seemed a larger version of the Steel-men of Alar-Median but the rest baffled him, and the Inquisition seemed ill-omened. As far as he could figure they were the Sun-Emperor's Headsmen, though what crimes they were judging seemed entirely unrelated to the Testimony.
Q'umarkaj cut in, "But the greatest news is that word comes from Deliverance, the Ravenspire has acknowledged us!"
"Truly?!" Damchak gasped, "Then they can tell us of Primarch's fate?"
"Alas no," Q'umarkaj sighed, "They will not speak of Corax's fate."
Zim interjected, "Primarch XIX disappeared shortly after the Heresy, his destination unknown. This has been explained repeatedly."
"They don't believe us," Crovin sighed, "They had to hear it straight from the equine's mouth."
Damchak scowled, "But prophecy tells he will return to us!"
Crovin scoffed, "You have bigger concerns, the Inquisition is not tolerant of unorthodoxy, but the approval of a First Founding Chapter could be essential to your acceptance back into the Imperial fold. The Raven Guard could tip the scales of judgement in your favour."
Q'umarkaj scowled, "It has been agreed that we shall meet the Raven Guard. Two brotherhoods united, after so long parted."
"They come to Copan?!" Damchak gasped.
"The Seers counsel otherwise," Q'umarkaj, "The Testimony teaches that the worth of a Smoke Jaguar is measured by the quality of his chosen adversary. So, we will send forth our bravest souls, to make war alongside the Ravens of Deliverance. Into the Imperium we shall sail, far beyond the boundaries of our Boscage."
"Your name shall live forever!" Damchak breathed,
"Not I, the Seers predict disaster if I leave. Delicate these negotiations will be and this 'Inquisition' must be met by one with authority to command their respect. Thus it falls to my bravest Shadow-chieftain to be our voice, you Damchak shall be our herald."
Damchak swelled with pride, to be the Smoke Jaguar who went forth into the galaxy, met with the Raven Guard and swore pacts of Brotherhood, it was glory undreamt. His name would be immortalised, remembered as long as the Chapter endured. Shadow-chieftain, a title second only to Shade-lord, few had ever achieved such lofty esteem and their names were spoken with awe.
Damchak placed a hand over his hearts, "I vow to prove the worth of the Smoke Jaguars, I shall take Eventide forth and meet them as equals."
"Your little scow?!" Crovin laughed, "I think not!"
"You speak carelessly!"
But Crovin sighed, "Sorry, but without a Navigator such a journey would take decades. Until you lot make a pact with a Novator you can't travel very far outside your known borders."
Zim nodded, "Your jumps are confined to five lightyears, adequate to cross this sub-sector but lacking when measured on a galactic scale. I calculate sixteen hundred jumps to reach the agreed rendezvous."
Crovin smirked, "But I can give you a berth."
Of all the revelations this was the most vexing. Crovin's claimed to have mutants who could steer his ship across thousands of lightyears, and others to speed messages across the galaxy, Navigators and Astropaths, if the Smoke Jaguars had owned such property once they had lost it long ago. Not a problem within their tiny Boscage, but it left them dependent on Crovin to be their Mouthspeaker to the wider galaxy, a fact no one was pleased with.
"And what do you get out of this?" Damchak growled.
Crovin grinned, "Not much, just exclusive trade monopolies on this sub-sector's dealings with the Imperium."
"Such wealth would make you richer than all the kings of the Boscage combined!" Q'umarkaj spat.
"That's the idea!" Crovin laughed as he slapped the Shade-lord's arm.
Crovin had no idea how much self-control for Q'umarkaj not to rip his head off. Damchak saw the twitch in his eye, usually signalling he was about to tear out someone's spine and beat their comrades to death with it. Despite his jovial manner the Shadow-lord was capable of the most horrific acts of violence, his humours unbalanced as the wind. Q'umarkaj's violent mood swings made even his Kinsmen wary and had played no small in his rise to power. Yet he managed to keep his claws sheathed somehow.
Damchak moved the conversation on, "I shall summon the Prowls."
Q'umarkaj permitted, "Four Prowls the Seers behold in the casting of bones, no more, no less."
"And the Eldest?"
"Of his fate they see nothing, his presence is for him alone to determine."
"Then I shall entreat him this very day."
Q'umarkaj lifted his chin, "You shall be my Mouthspeaker. Bring glory to the Smoke Jaguars and show the Ravens of Deliverance we are worthy Kinsmen. Reforge our sundered ties and make us whole once more, and one more thing."
"Shade-lord?" Damchak frowned.
"Press them hard on the matter of Corax. I do not believe our Primarch could be forgotten. Someone knows his fate, and I trust you to unearth the truth."
Damchak bared his neck in deference, "I shall not fail you. I shall sail forth and meet the enemies of the Sun-Emperor in battle and so prove our quality. May the Raven Guard sing glad tidings, for our Brotherhood long sundered shall be reforged!"