Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 105

In the cramped confines of a Chapel-Barracks Damchak worked over his blood-brothers' head. His arms were stripped to the elbow to ensure free movement for this most delicate of tasks. With great care he incised a cut behind the ears and stripped the skin from the bone, then packed the nostrils with pebbles and sown the lips and eyes shut. The inner layer of fat was removed with a bone knife and then the skin was pulled over a stone ball that could fit into the palm of his hand and sewn together. He plunged the ball into a bowl of special resins, drawn from the Amber-flytrap tree of Copan, then sealed the head in a bucket of hot sand and placed it over an open flame to dry out.

The skull of Abizil had been taken to the Genewright. His remains would be mummified and placed in the Stair Abyssal along with other Smoke Jaguar's fallen, but Damchak would keep the shrunken head of his blood-brother with him at all times. The Smoke Jaguars had many traditions regarding death and one of the most important was that the spirits of the dead lingered. There were many levels in death, so held the Seers, the mysteries of the Warp far beyond a simple binary state. The living-dead proved that one could walk in both worlds. The Smoke Jaguars did not count their dead as lost, they remained with their bones, watching their younger kin though not intervening. Some held the Genewrights could commune with the dead, drawing upon their ancient wisdom. Damchak was ambivalent regarding this, but he was sure Abizil's soul would not rest easy. Thus he would keep the shrunken head with him, so his blood-brother could enjoy the vengeance to come.

Others were not so sanguine. Behind him raised voices exchanged barbs, filling the Chapel-barracks with ire. Damchak tried to tune them out, wishing to commune with Abizil's spirit. He examined the surroundings in minute detail. A hall dropped from the Battlebarge, given to the Smoke Jaguars as a place to rest. Such structures had been used since the Emperor walked as a man, STC designed, though the décor was stark and uninspiring. Plain walls, armour stands and arms lockers, along with tactical cogitators and comms-relays. No heads of enemies hung from the rafters, no smoking braziers in the corner, no cages of live grubs or trophy hooks to hang hunt-kills from. Exactly what one expects from those who march in straight lines, but at least it was big enough to house the remaining Smoke Jaguars.

"Marcher must die!" Lamanai, First of Ghost Cry Prowl spat.

"We cannot claim the hunt-kill," Bonampak, First of Night Caller Prowl protested.

"Kinsmen blood is on his hands, only his still beating heart can balance the scales of justice."

"To kill Marcher is the end of all we know!"

"Your blood runs thin," Lamanai spat.

"Do not think our long friendship will compel me to let such insult pass!" Bonampak retorted.

"Test me and we will discover how thin your blood is."

"You would strike a Smoke Jaguar?!"

"The Headsmen are far from here, and their axes cannot reach across stars."

Damchak grimaced as the threats grew, claim and counterclaim building. The Smoke Jaguars' wroth was at bursting point, and yet he said nothing. His grief was too near, his tongue too loose. He dared not speak, for his words would be born of anger, and this required a cool head. Yet another spoke for him, a wiser soul indeed.

"Cease your prattling!" Aapo spat, "Your mewling disturbs the dead in their repose."

Lamanai's voice grew aghast, "Eldest, you agree with this cowardice?!"

"You whine like a cub denied milk from its mother's teat!" Aapo retorted.

Bonampak sounded smug, "The way of slaughter is for fools."

"You can shut up too," Aapo spat, "Such timidity would see you thrown from the Doans!"

Stunned silence fell but then Caracol, First of Bone Gnawer Prowl, spake, "Palanque, his feet swift as moonlight?"

"Run away?!" Lamanai exclaimed, "You would quit this war and leave entirely?!"

"We are not running," Damchak growled. Silence fell over the gathering as the Shadow-chieftain slowly turned about. Before him the gathering lingered, their eyes a mix of defiance, resentment and curiosity. Packed into the Chapel-Barracks they huddled, their presence all the tighter for Aapo's towering bulk. Rarely did they endure such close confines with other Prowls, but this gathering demanded complete confidence of silence. They looked to the Prowlmaster as he snarled, "Marcher killed Smoke Jaguars, he killed my blood-brother! There is no forgiving such a sin, no mercy for such a crime. Marcher must die, my hearts demand it."

Bonampak narrowed his eyes, "You told the Jade Foot you would not seek Marcher's heart-blood."

"I lied," Damchak snorted.

"Blood demands blood!" Caracol interjected.

"This is the way of Sedaxus!" Lamanai agreed.

But Bonampak snarled, "He vowed the death of all Smoke Jaguars. Take Marcher's life and Copan burns!"

Damchak sighed, "I esteem Nemkir, but he is of the Codex. A rigid and proscriptive ideal to cleave to. Laurels are handed down from on high, rarely for merit. Marcher does not know what it is to earn glory, he was given all he ever had."

"This is the way of Imperium," Lamanai snorted, "Compliance or death."

"We are bound by oath," Bonampak sighed, "We must relent."

"So speaks one who lost no Prowlmates," Lamanai hissed, "I mourn a Kinsmen."

"You think I enjoy this?!" Bonampak retorted, "My blood sings too, but reason must prevail. If we cross Tuun-Ok it is the end of us."

Damchak cut in, "Copan shall not burn, this I swear. Justice will be done, but by my hand alone. I shall walk the path of the Moritat, and you shall hunt me. Tell Jade Foot I have lost my reason, that I am tainted by the Dark Gods. The Skull Throne's mark lays upon me, and so I joined the devil-sons. Jade Foot will order my death, and you will see his will done, but I vow Marcher's blood will be on my hands before the executioner's axe falls."

Shocked silence fell at the pronouncement. Damchak intended to take the weight of sin upon himself, to have his name scorned for all time. The Smoke Jaguars would disavow him, his name would be reviled, but via such an act the Chapter would be spared. Damchak alone would bear the punishment, and all those present would turn their faces away in shame, despite the truth in their hearts.

From the crowd rose the voice of Nizca, "The First of Umbral Flame cannot do this!"

"I must," Damchak stated, "Justice demands it."

"Then let me be your hand," Nizca offered, "Send me in your place. I shall walk the path of the Moritat for you."

"You cannot bear my sins for me," Damchak refuted.

"But if you are shamed so too is Umbral Flame Prowl. Our names shall be disgraced, cast down lower than even the extinct Prowls of the past. Shade-Lord Q'umarkaj must strike our name from the walls, tear down the steles. All whom ever walked as part of Umbral Flame shall be made Nameless."

A gasp ran about the barracks, for that was a punishment worse than death. Among the many traditions of the Smoke Jaguars the importance of names was paramount. So long as a name endured the dead were not truly lost. To have one's name erased was to be cast out into the horror of the Warp, the souls of the ancients damned to eternal suffering as the prey of Daemons. A First had an equal duty to his living kinsmen and the long-dead, a duty to ensure their names were honoured. Even extinct Prowls had their names preserved. To be made Nameless was a threat rarely mentioned, and never invoked, not once in their history had a Prowl sinned so grievously as to merit such eternal punishment.

In the silence Aapo's voice intoned, "This shall not be."

Damchak looked up at the slab of armour that passed for a face, "There is no other way."

"It profits us not," Aapo stated, "Jade Foot vowed if Marcher dies by the hand of a Smoke Jaguar, any Smoke Jaguar, then Copan burns. We dare doubt not his word, Nemkir will see it done, no matter who holds the knife. Marcher cannot die by our hand."

Nervous looked cast about the Chapel-barracks and Bonampak ventured, "You say we must sit idle?"

"Be silent whelp, I walk not the path of the coward!" Aapo spat, "Marcher's sin cannot be allowed to pass unchallenged, justice must be done, but not at our hand."

Damchak frowned in confusion, "Eldest, you speak in riddles."

Aapo arm shifted, lifting his chord claw, "You have dwelled too long on the Codex and have missed the truths of the Testimony. You think only in binary: advance or retreat, stand or fall, live or die. You think justice is a weighting of the universal scale, but revenge is a living thing. It grows with the passing of time, passed from hand to hand as an heirloom to be cherished. You ignore the subtle flavours of vengeance and the many hues of justice. The Dark One knew all the myriad tastes of retribution, and that there are fates worse than death."

Damchak blinked, "You turn from the Axioms of the Ravenlord?"

"Corax's blood demands vengeance but you must learn the Smoke Jaguars are twinned in soul. Light and dark, justice and vengeance, hope and fear. We stand between the noonday sun and the veil of midnight, creatures of the twilight hour are we. Both aspects of our souls must be embraced to the fullest degree."

Damchak was bewildered, "You see a third path?"

Aapo elaborated, "The swift knife shall spell our doom, therefore your revenge must be slow and subtle. Honed to the finest edge by time and kept sharp by repeated whetting on the stone of hatred. The cunning hunter does not blunder about, alerting the prey to his presence. Veiled in secrecy must your deeds be, hidden from all, before and after."

Confused looks passed among the Prowls but Damchak turned to the brazier of sand. He lifted the lid and plunged his hand within. Burning sand scorched his fingers but he closed his grip about Abizil's shrunken head and lifted it free. He held the shrivelled face before his eyes and gazed at his dead blood-brother's features. Wroth burned in Damchak's breast but the wisdom of the Eldest quenched his immediate need for blood. Chill as ice Damchak breathed, "Tell us your plan and it will be done."