XI. ROGUES
===THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: FEAR YOUR SHADOW NOT - FEAR, INSTEAD, THE SHADOW OF YOURSELF===
๐บ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐'๐ ๐ ๐๐๐โ, ๐ถ๐๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ก๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ข๐๐ข๐ , ๐๐ฅ๐๐๐ก ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐
'All is ready, mistress.'
Rousing herself from yet another reverie, Lady Esseker opens her eyes at the sound of the voice.
It is Garcรญa, of course. The man she'd appointed her Senior Officer, and enjoyed using the title. A man of high standing on his home planet before the capture, just like she had been on hers - and now her closest confidante, the only other survivor of the escape from the ๐๐๐โ๐ก๐๐๐๐.
There were lots of slaves on that ship, from different worlds. A great many of them perished long before the mutiny began; the others - her spouse Velon Esseker plus Rom, Luntz and more friends among them - had been killed fighting their captors.
'Ah. So we can start the relocation. Good. I've been tiring of these Calixian backwaters anyway.'
She turns to look at Garcรญa, noticing his abashed, heavyset posture, his downcast eyes, the way he licks his lips just like when begging for the "dark oil", ๐ง๐ข๐ข-๐๐โ, the only means to quieten his temper. An unbelievably hard essence to procure, but Esseker had her sources - on an obscure, semi-barbaric world which literally deified it - and so without complaints always supplied Garcรญa with just the necessarily meagre amount. Because of their closeness. Because of how useful he was.
'You knew then, mistress, didn't you? The reason of his visit?'
The lady nods. Yes, she did. She'd seen it in the visitor's youthful face - a stubborn, firm commitment which perfectly mirrored her own.
He'd come here to learn about the painting.
The man who'd been stalking her familial barquentine for the past several months like a silent, hungry shadow was an Inquisitor - hardcore if slightly too young-looking - and nobody in their right mind would show bad feelings towards an agent of the Throne. In their presence, you are to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. One which takes all to the edge of darkness...
Esseker told this visitor all that he wanted to know. All that ๐ โ๐ knew, at least - which frankly wasn't much. She had no idea where the picture initially came from, or why it had been kept on the Axis flagship, in the chambers of her owner Gerbart who, for all intents and purposes, had been anything but an art connoisseur. But prior to fleeing the vessel, she and Garcรญa had taken the canvas with them. They had no possessions at the time, and hoped to sell the picture to earn a sustenance for awhile.
However, in the end she'd kept that thing for longer than intended.
She never figured out precisely what the strange painting depicted, and had sold it eventually, some years later, to a Brother-Captain of the Adeptus Astartes who introduced himself as Niklaus Cavarahal if she'd recalled correctly - in any case a name which, at first, had given her pause. Reminded her of something... long suppressed yet still very much living in her memory, and the persistent dreams of the corrupted Axis voidship, and the indelible marks of bondage left on her skin by a ๐๐๐โ๐ก๐๐๐๐'s inksmith... Aye, even after so much time that damned ship cast a long and lasting shade. A memory of an endless fall with no hope of rising back up...
All that mattered now, however, was money - at least that's what she'd kept telling herself - and the Angels Resplendent, as those transhuman warriors called themselves, had no lack of ๐กโ๐๐ก.
'Uh... Mistress?'
Garcรญa. Him again.
'Yes, Senior Officer?'
'He spoke to me last night. You know, uhm... Gerbart... He said... he wanted me to...'
She looked at the man, rolled her eyes and sighed.
'Garcรญa, he's long dead.'
'Of course, Mistress.' He swallowed uncomfortably. 'I understand. However...'
'Just go get some rest, all right? It's no easy thing, to have been in a Throne-hound's presence for that long.'
She grants the man a pleasant smile which he doesn't return. Aboard the ๐๐๐โ๐ก๐๐๐๐, he had forgotten how to smile and never mastered the trick again. Years of servitude on the heretic ship had forged him into a bitter man, prone to bouts of rage. Albeit a rage not directed at her. ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ at her. The reason for that was clear: survivors' bond, Esseker had presumed. Just that, and nothing more.
Now everything in her life was categorised as either 'before' or 'after' that voidship. There she had seen the noble break, and the lowly stand tall before their captors. Garcรญa, on the other hand, yearned for the past, separated from it by an imaginary but unbridgeable line, much like meridians on a world-map - so very close, and yet so very far... For Alin Esseker, however, these were pure conventions. In the end, it was always about herself, and her ability to withstand everything the universe might throw at her. She'd had greater concerns to mind; if she was going to see her progeny again, despair was not an option. She would not mar her family name, would not succumb to the taint. Because the Essekers never did. Garcรญa blamed for his troubles anyone and anything - renegades, Gerbart, fate - except himself... Esseker learned to act in a different fashion. ๐ต๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ข๐ ๐๐ค๐ ๐๐ข๐ ๐. ๐ด๐๐๐๐๐ก ๐๐๐ฆ ๐โ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ฆ ๐โ๐๐๐๐. ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐ . ๐ท๐ ๐๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ข ๐ โ๐๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐๐, ๐๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ก๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ก. Principles that remained with her even when all else could be lost.
There was something she didn't tell the Inquisitor, though. One day she'd cast a glimpse at that painting and was struck by a thought that it somehow ๐๐๐๐ค in her perception, filling her entire sight and stretching further... until she was looking into a ๐๐๐๐๐๐ of sorts, albeit reflecting an existence overlayed by the habitual reality - a vista completely non-perceivable to mundane eyes but only to ๐๐๐๐กโ๐๐ oculus, nestled within the soul. A universe of an infinitely higher order, in which every human being was a mere source of amusement for insatiable powers endlessly laughing, never abating. A heresy incarnate... The feeling had been so sudden and so acute that she realised, without a shadow of a doubt: she'd rather spend a thousand years aboard the ๐๐๐โ๐ก๐๐๐๐ than experience the horrors waiting in that 'mirror'. Because they lay in wait for everyone, and you could never prepare for them, no matter how decent a life you might've led. So it was better to ๐๐๐๐๐๐ them, to pretend that they simply don't exist. To cling onto the beliefs you were taught.
Also, it was after that incident when, just like Garcรญa, she began to see and hear their dead enslaver sometimes...
But that meant nothing, quite likely. Now Lady Esseker just smiled to herself and moved on to the warp translation arrangements, musing upon where her life's road would take her next.
๐ผ๐๐๐ข๐๐ ๐๐ก๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ก๐ก๐ ๐๐ป๐๐ผ๐น๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฐ๐ฒ, ๐ธ๐๐ ๐ก๐๐๐ ๐น๐๐๐๐๐, ๐ ๐๐๐๐คโ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ก๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ก๐๐๐
On his way across the Veil Radiant, Inquisitor Massim Jharr mused about the rogue trader's story. A story she'd never told anyone else.
She did leave a lasting impression on him, this Lady Esseker; most of all he liked her voice, lyrical and quaintly accented. He felt certain that whatever happened next, her image would accompany him, shadowing every step of his road.
The woman, on the other hand, had clearly disliked him, but that was only natural. Inquisitors were to be dreaded, not greeted with fanfares; when a servant of the Throne drops by to say hello, you do whatever he asks, and God-Emperor help you. That's how it goes...
His current journey, with the Astronomican's light so dim and so distant here, had been unusually perilous - and the remaining stretch that lay ahead would no doubt prove all the more so. But Massim was certain the exceptional skills of his navigator Luciano Ferraci would bring the corvette precisely where needed.
Besides, the Inquisitor could've sworn he felt at times as though someone were tugging at his arm, gently but insistently. Someone... or some ๐กโ๐๐๐.
He'd first learned of the ๐ด๐โ๐๐๐๐๐ from his late mentor Gรกbro Kormer (whose voice often coloured his thoughts even now), while Boss Kormer himself had heard of the painting from his own grandmaster and couldn't have not known - with an impressive, no less than a couple centuries' experience in such matters - that one of his protรฉgรฉs would in turn become inspired by the shadowy tale.
Indeed, searching for it had become his goal. His obsession.
All for the good of the Imperium, for sure...
The rogue trader claimed to have no understanding of the picture, even though she had collected many works of art over the years - Imperial as well as xenos, mostly aeldari, in origin - and in ordinary circumstances Massim would have put her through a long, detailed interrogation about each and every one of those artefacts. Would have asked many questions about her time on the renegade ship. ๐๐๐โ๐ก๐๐๐๐, she'd said it was called. He'd never heard of such a vessel, but the galaxy teemed with abominations beyond count, and the woman made no secret of her former enslavement. Obviously she had managed to escape with the help of that poor fool, her fellow prisoner, and come back to her children at long last - with the mysterious painting as the only tangible proof of her plight... All of this was worth examining more closely. Given enough time. But the Inquisitor didn't have that much. And besides, the painting was ๐๐๐ he wished to learn about.
Of course, she had already sold it off.
According to the lady, she was never any good at metaphysics - a mere dabbler only - and so had kept the painting covered after failing to determine what was pictured on the canvas; it could be virtually anything, she claimed, from an overcomplicated representation of the universe by some gloomy philosopher with a painter's streak to mindless daubs of a wannabe ๐๐๐ก๐๐ ๐ก๐. However, the previous owner had evidently cherished the thing, so it'd seemed valuable enough to steal.
Massim even wondered could it have possibly been something like the works he'd briefly glanced at in his navigator's sanctum, only more potent, more honest - complex, elaborate star charts rendered in dark blue, indigo, violet, silver and gold - a multilayered splendour showing our galaxy and more besides, yet utterly incomprehensible to those lacking a third eye...
๐ต๐ข๐ก ๐๐๐โ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐โ ๐๐ ๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐ข๐โ ๐๐ ๐๐ฆ๐, he reflected, ๐๐๐๐ฆ ๐ค๐ ๐๐๐'๐ก ๐๐๐๐ค โ๐๐ค ๐ก๐ ๐ข๐ ๐ ๐๐ก ๐๐๐ ๐ก ๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐ก๐๐๐.
He had no way to know for sure. If nothing else, though, she did tell him exactly who had bought the ๐ด๐โ๐๐๐๐๐.
And already the young Inquisitor had come up with a plan. Not only would he locate those elusive Space Marines but accompany them for some time. They were not a fleet-based chapter, though wandered the galaxy inside out and very probably beyond. He would become a chapter serf, and they'd never even suspect his true identity. He'd often been told that he didn't 'look the part'. Well, considering his professional specifics it was a big advantage.
Massim was no expert on the Angels of Death - that constituted the remit of the Ordo Astartes - yet still he knew more about them than an average citizen of the Imperium would ever hope to, and had faith that all the lore he had gathered over time would come in handy.
๐๐, ๐ผ ๐ โ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐๐ ๐กโ๐๐ก, he decided. ๐ผ ๐ โ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ก๐ ๐กโ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ ๐ -๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐๐๐ฆ.
He tried to imagine what it would look like. An immense, austere monolith no doubt, perfectly mirroring the very nature of the Emperor's Angels. Erected in the mountain range, perhaps - high and imposing, though certainly no match for the lofty peaks of his own birthworld...
Inquisitor Massim Jharr smirked to himself, gazing at the star-spangled expanse of the cosmos framed by a gilded viewing panel, and idly stroked his Ordo Hereticus rosette.
Whichever perils await him yet, he'll overcome them all. Whatever machinations his foes might be plotting, he'll thwart each and every one. And soon he would get his prize. His ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐.
'Wherever you are, Sons of the Angel,' he said out loud to the cosmic void beyond the armaglass, 'rest assured I shall find you'.