The church was a small building in the outskirts of Cainopolis, which had survived the greenskins' rampage ten standard years ago through what many of its congregation had considered a miracle. It was surrounded by much larger buildings, constructed in the aftermath of the Ork attack as part of the reconstruction program.
Father Anthony wrangled his hands and muttered a prayer under his breath. In his seven decades of life on Slawkenberg, he'd been through many things, and survived situations that by all rights should have been the end of him. In recent years, he'd lived as the priest of the largest congregation of followers of the Imperial Creed in the planetary capital, practicing openly and without fear.
Yet still, he couldn't help but feel nervous – which was only natural. For today, his humble parish would be visited by none other than Ciaphas Cain, the man who'd led the Uprising and changed the entire world through his actions.
When he'd answered the insistent knocking on his door yesterday and found a squad of armored USA troopers standing there, Anthony had feared the worst. But instead of whatever his imagination had conjured, the squad's sergeant had respectfully greeted him, confirmed his identity, and handed him a letter, in which the uncontested master of Slawkenberg had politely inquired whether Anthony would agree to him dropping by to visit and discuss a few matters with him in person.
Of course, Anthony had hurriedly written a response telling the Liberator that yes, of course, he'd be honored to accept. He hadn't gotten any threatening impression from the letter – and after years of dealing with his Giorba-backed superiors in the Ecclesiarchy, he considered himself something of an expert at reading subtle implications in official correspondence – but he wasn't an idiot, either.
One just didn't tell the Liberator 'no', at least not without a very good damn reason, and Anthony couldn't think of any. And so today, precisely on time, a pair of vehicle parked in front of the building, and Ciaphas Cain emerged, to the astonishment of the small crowd which had gathered to see what all the fuss was about.
"Father Anthony," Cain greeted the old priest with a respectful nod and a firm handshake. "Thank you for agreeing to meeting with me. I know this must all be very unexpected."
It certainly had been. As a member of the Ecclesiarchy born and raised on Slawkenberg, Anthony had been taught that rebelling against the Imperium was a sin worthy of damnation, just like the worship of anything but the God-Emperor and His Saints.
But then, he'd also been taught that it was the Giorbas' Emperor-given right to do whatever they pleased with their subjects, and that the misery and cruelty they inflicted upon the population of Slawkenberg was all according to His design, which he had never accepted. And if his teachers could be so clearly wrong about one thing, who knew what else they were wrong about ?
At the very least, the priest refused to believe the God-Emperor would object to the removal of the Giorbas from power. As for the new faiths which had blossomed on Slawkenberg since the Uprising, well, he simply didn't know enough to decide one way or the other. All he could do was continue to care for those who still chose to believe in the Imperial Creed despite everything, and hope the God-Emperor would understand when their souls arrived at the foot of His throne.
"It certainly was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one," he said to the most powerful man on the planet. "Please, come in."
As Cain followed Anthony, his retinue remained outside, including his xenos bloodward and personal aide, setting up a perimeter to ensure the Liberator and his host weren't disturbed. The wodden doors slammed close behind the two of them with a sound Anthony tried very hard not to think about as an executioner's axe coming down.
The main room of the church had enough pews to sit a hundred or so people, an elevated altar for him to deliver sermons at, and the most precious item in the building : a five-meters high statue of the God-Emperor, which, despite being older than Anthony, was still in perfect condition. The statue depicted the Master of Mankind in the aspect Anthony most liked to think of Him as : a benevolent protector, arms raised to shield His people from the weight of the galaxy's evil, represented as a large sphere of stone with vague, threatening shapes carved into it.
To his surprise, Cain made the sign of the aquila while looking at the statue as the two of them walked down the aisle between the rows of pews.
"Do you still pray to Him, lord ?" Anthony asked tentatively as they stopped at the foot of the altar.
"Not much these days, no," Cain replied with a rueful smile. "I don't think He would approve of many of the choices I've made. But this is His house, so I should show some respect."
"It is not for us to know His mind, only to try to live as best we could according to His teachings," quoted Anthony, before adding : "Unfortunately, here on Slawkenberg, those teachings have long since been corrupted to suit the purposes of evil men."
"Quite. If you don't mind me asking, Father," Cain continued, "how did you make it through the Uprising ? I know the crowds were a little, shall we say, over-enthusiastic in their hunts."
That certainly was one way to put it. When the word had spread and the capital had shaken under the blows of clashing forces, for one terrible moment, Anthony had been afraid that the entire city would succumb to madness as its population finally let out centuries of suppressed rage at the Giorbas' exactions. He couldn't blame the people for their anger, but that hadn't stopped him from worrying about the damage their hatred would do to their souls.
Thankfully, it hadn't come to that. Tempers had cooled down, and wrath had turned to jubilation as the Uprising's triumph gave way to days of celebration – in great part, Anthony knew, thank to the man before him. By killing the Governor, Cain had given all their revenge to all the people of Slawkenberg, and his leadership had ensured things remained more or less under control.
"The people who knew me sheltered and protected me," explained Anthony. "In the past, I have participated in certain … unlawful activities, to prevent what exactions I could." Then, remembering who he was talking to and that there was no longer any need to hide the truth, he clarified : "Mostly by hiding people who were being hunted by the enforcers within the church, and stealing tithe funds to buy food for starving families. They remembered it, and came to my aid in my time of need. This building was spared the flames for the same reason."
"I see. That is nice to hear. And how have things been since the Uprising ?" asked Cain. "I know the laws made it clear all were free to worship whoever they chose, but there's a difference between making something a law and making it reality. Have there been any difficulties ?"
"The people of Slawkenberg have suffered much under the previous regime," said Anthony, phrasing his words carefully. "And all of it was endorsed by the Ecclesiarchy at the time. I do not blame them for the distrust they feel toward the Imperial Creed : the fault in this lies solely with my former superiors for failing so catastrophically in their sacred duties."
"So there have been difficulties, then," said Cain, frowning.
"Only minor things," Anthony hastened to explain, lest the Liberator misunderstand. "Shouted insults as I walk by, mostly, and a few instances of minor vandalism – anti-Imperial slogans painted on the walls, trash cans emptied before the door, that sort of things. All done by young people who were told of their families' suffering and lashed out against the closest thing to those responsible they could find. Nothing a good talk with their parents couldn't solve. To be perfectly honest, compared to the grief I got from my superiors, things are much improved."
"An all too common story on this world," sighed Cain. "That is some comfort, at least. Still, if things ever escalate to the point you feel in danger, don't hesitate to contact me for help. It is important to me that those who still keep faith with Him be allowed to do so peacefully."
In that moment, Father Anthony experienced something akin to revelation. Like all Imperial subjects, Ciaphas Cain would've been raised to worship the God-Emperor, though the priest was certain the religious teachings he'd received at the Schola Progenium had been quite different from those of Slawkenberg. More than anyone else on the planet, he must've realized what a perversion of the Imperial Creed the allies of the Giorbas had created in their efforts to keep the people subservient.
Rather than thinking the God-Emperor had abandoned him like most of the people of Slawkenberg who'd embraced the new faiths, Cain thought of himself as unworthy of following the Master of Mankind.
"Should the need arise, I will do so," Anthony promised Cain.
"Thank you. Now, onto the real reason for my presence here." Cain took a deep breath before continuing : "In truth, Father, I have come to seek spiritual guidance."
Anthony blinked. That … wasn't what he'd expected. But his decades of experience didn't fail him, and he smoothly replied :
"What little wisdom I have to offer is yours, lord. Would you care for us to discuss this sat down in my kitchen, perhaps ?"
"I … yes." Cain swallowed, turning his gaze away from the statue of Him on Earth. "Yes, that sounds lovely."
Five minutes later, the priest and the Liberator were sat at the small wodden table where Anthony took his meals, a couple of glasses and a pitcher of water between them. For a moment, Anthony had considered bringing out the mass wine, but then thought better of it. This was probably going to be a conversation he'd need all his wits for, and at his age, he couldn't handle alcohol nearly as well as in his youth.
For one, long moment, they simply sat together in silence. Then, Cain spoke :
"I am afraid, Father."
"I struggle to imagine what could scare a man such as you," replied Anthony.
"Oh, there are plenty of things that scare me," Cain chuckled. "But that's not what I want to talk about. I am afraid of what I might become."
"I see. Or, well, I think I do. You wield immense power, more than you ever expected, I assume."
Anthony didn't know much about the workings of the Imperium beyond Slawkenberg, but from what little he understood, a Commissar – which was what the Imperium had decided Cain should be – would only ever hold authority over a single Regiment of the Imperial Guard. Absolute authority, yes, including the right to summarily execute anyone at any time for any reason, but nothing compared to the billions who now looked up to the Liberator for guidance.
"Do you fear that power could twist you until you come to resemble the Giorbas, then ?"
"… No," decided Cain after thinking on it for a moment. "The rest of the Council wouldn't let that happen."
"Well, then –" Anthony began.
"I'm afraid of becoming something worse than the Giorbas ever were, Father," Cain cut him off, and it was like a dam had burst as the words kept pouring out of his mouth : "The other members of the Council trust my judgment, far more than they should, really. They'd stop me from descending into pointless hedonism, that much I'm sure of. But there is so much more we could do."
There was a pause as the Liberator caught his breath, then he continued in a haunted tone of voice :
"I have put … limits, on the Council's activities, forbidden certain courses of action I believe would only hurt us all in the long run. But I've seen, with my own eyes, the benefits these paths can bring to Slawkenberg, and to me personally most of all, in the short term. And while the Council accepts my reasoning on these matters, I know that should I change my mind, they would gleefully enable me, convinced we were doing the right thing every step of the way. And in the end, I would become a monster, worse than anything in the fiery sermons of your corrupt superiors."
"There would be nothing, and no one, to stop me," the Liberator finished, sounding and looking genuinely disturbed. "Until the Imperium came at last to destroy us all, and by that time, I'm terrified that death would truly be salvation, just like that madman Karamazov ranted."
There was another moment of silence as Anthony drank from his cup, thinking.
"And there is nothing to stop me from taking this knife," Anthony picked up the corresponding piece of cutlery to illustrate his point, "walk outside, and start stabbing people with it. The ability to do evil lies within all of us, lord. You may not trust yourself, but in all the years since the Uprising, when have you erred ? When have you not done right by the people you chose to protect when you decided to follow the spirit rather than the letter of your oaths ?"
"I've just been lucky," the Liberator muttered. "Luckier than anyone has any right to be. And it won't last forever. Sooner or later, I'll make a mistake."
"That is almost certain," admitted Anthony. "Nobody is perfect, not even you. But making mistakes is only human, lord. As long as you recognize them as such and learn from them, I do not believe you will ever fall so far as you're afraid you might. And if you're still worried," he added with a smile, "then here is a trick you can use : before making any big decision, ask yourself what kind of example you are giving your daughter. I've found parenthood can change people; inspire them to be their better self."
The public announcement that the Liberator had adopted the child he'd rescued from the den of evil on Adumbria had been made three days ago, to widespread jubilation. Apparently, Cain had wanted to wait until her long-term survival was confirmed before making his decision.
Anthony'd heard a number of theories as to the girl's origins – for surely the thralls of Decay wouldn't have used just any child as the keystone of their vile work. The wildest was that young Zerayah was actually the child of the Liberator and the martyred Lady Emeli, whose unborn spirit had been stolen by the vile spirits which served the Power of Rot in an attempt to break Cain's will.
"That's another thing," said Cain softly. "I've no idea how to be a parent."
Anthony felt his throat tighten at the reminder that, for all his strength and courage, the Liberator was still a relatively young man, orphaned at a very young age and raised without anything even remotely resembling familial affection in the cold, soulless halls of the Imperium's Schola Progenium. It was frankly a miracle he was as well-adjusted as he was, nevermind possessed of such strong will. Anthony had heard stories of the Schola during his training as a priest, and they still filled him with dread to this day.
"Well, I don't have any personal experience on the subject, but from what I've seen over my life, nobody ever really has any clue either," he jested. "As long as you make sure she is loved and knows it, though, you should be fine."
After that, the two spent about an hour discussing various topics, from the various policies of the Liberation Council to child-rearing methods Anthony had witnessed (the ones the Liberator himself remembered from his time at the Schola were, frankly, nearly as horrifying as the rumors Anthony had heard before, and though Cain was clearly not intending to use them on Zerayah the fact he spoke of them so freely was as worrying as it was reassuring).
Then, after a final handshake, Cain departed, leaving Anthony briefly alone before the members of his congregation rushed into the building to ask him what in the God-Emperor's name had just happened.
Of course, he didn't tell them anything : not only was everything he'd talked about with the Liberator covered by the secret of the confessional, he knew there were several very influential, very dangerous people who'd be very angry with him if he shared Cain's private doubts.
The next day, Anthony received another message from the Palace. This one contained an official statement that his funding request had been approved, a box containing ten doses of Panacea, and a handwritten note from the Liberator thanking him for his time, explaining that the medicine was for his bad leg, which the Liberator had noticed, and asking whether he'd be available for further discussions in the future.
Though he doubted Cain would thank him for it, Anthony made sure to include him in his prayers to the Master of Mankind the next time he led mass.
When Zerayah was six months old, she saw the sky of Slawkenberg for the first time.
Since she'd seen other skies for the first time, she'd spent her time in a warm, white, bright space, with a red blanket wrapped around her. Lots of different people had come, made noises, then gone. They'd brought her things to eat, too : first warm liquids, then solid stuff she'd to break with her teeth.
Time passed, until someone else came, who didn't smell of metal and oil.
She recognized him. This was the one who'd taken her out of the bad place. This was the one who'd carried her outside of the dark and showed her the beautiful purple skies. He wasn't surrounded by metal like he'd been then, but she still recognized him.
Gently, he picked her up, still wrapped in her red blanket, and carried her outside. They passed by lots of other people, and then she saw the sky again. This one wasn't purple, though : it was blue.
That didn't make it any less beautiful.
When Zerayah was two years old, she realized she wasn't like other children.
It was kind of obvious, given how she was already a good couple of heads taller than the other kids she'd been introduced to a mere three months ago. They were growing too, but she was growing faster, and they weren't dumb, but she was getting smarter. She could talk better than them, and read and write too, while they were still looking at picture books and needed their caretakers to read the words written in big, blocky letters for them.
She didn't understand why that was, so she did what she always did when she didn't understand something : she asked Daddy.
"Daddy," she asked when he came to pick her up that afternoon, once he'd finished all his boring grown-up work, "why am I getting big ?"
He smiled, and ruffled her hair in the way he knew she liked.
"Because you are a very special girl," he told her. She pouted. That didn't answer anything at all ! Everyone was special, just like everyone was important. Daddy had told her that, and so had the other grown-ups.
"Why am I special ?" she asked again. His smile went down a little.
"Because of who your mommy was. She was a very special lady, with very special powers. And since you're her daughter, you have the same powers, which is why you're growing up so fast."
Zerayah paused. The other children at the Palace's daycare had mommies, she knew. They came to pick them up when their day was done, just like Daddy, although sometimes their dads came to pick them up too. But she was always picked up by Daddy or by Uncle Jurgen when there were too many people who needed his help (but that didn't happen often, and Daddy always made sure to spend more time with her the next day to make up for it).
"Where is Mommy ?" she asked in a small voice. "Can I see her ? I want to see her."
Daddy's face turned sad, and he picked her up and hugged her.
"I'm sorry, Zee," he whispered in her ear, using his special name for her. "But your mommy is gone, and she isn't coming back."
"Oh," she said. She didn't know what else to say.
He smiled at her, but he was still sad. "But that doesn't mean you are alone. I don't remember my mommy either, you know."
When Zerayah was three years old, she realized that not all her memories were her own.
The not-hers-memories weren't as clear as the ones she knew were hers. They were more like nightmares, returning night after night to haunt her with images of dark corridors, tubes full of greenish liquid, skulls being added on everything, and giants in yellow armor shouting angrily at her as she tried to run away.
She didn't like them. They were full of pain, but that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was how empty she felt in them. She wasn't happy, or sad, or anything. It was wrong, and she didn't like it.
One day, she finally mustered the courage to ask Daddy about them.
"These are your mother's memories," he told her as the two of them sat down before the fireplace, as heavy snow fell outside, covering the city in a thick white blanket. Zerayah was wrapped inside the red cape that had been Daddy's before, and which she'd always kept close when she went to bed, even now. "I knew there was a chance of you inheriting some of them, but I'd hoped that wouldn't happen. She … didn't have a good life. I wanted – I still want – you to be free from that."
"What was her name ?" she asked softly.
"Legienstrasse," Daddy replied. "She was very strong, and very alone. That's why she died, in the end. You were taken by one of my enemies then, who brought you to Adumbria, where I rescued you."
"So I'm really not your daughter, then," she said, hating how small her voice sounded. She'd always known that, of course – the story of how Daddy had rescued her was known across the entire planet. She'd heard other people talk about it when they thought she couldn't hear – which at first she'd thought was silly, but then she'd realized she could hear a lot better than the other kids.
"You are my daughter in every way that matters," he immediately replied, getting up from his chair and gently seizing her chin to force her to look at him. "Family isn't defined by blood ties."
She looked into his face, finding only sincerity there, and the bad feeling in her chest abated.
"Is being her daughter why I can do what I can do ?" she asked.
A couple of months ago, Daddy had taken her to visit a greenhouse (which was called that because of all the plants inside which were green even if all the ones outside were red and orange and brown because it was autumn). A butterfly had landed on her hand, and she'd found it so beautiful she'd wanted it to stay with her – and then her hand had opened up and swallowed it.
She'd run to Daddy crying, and when she'd told her what'd happened, he'd explained that this was a unique gift of hers, not too different from the other kids at the crèche who Uncle Jurgen taught from time to time – the ones who could move things with their mind, or know stuff about objects just by touching them. And just like these other children, Zerayah needed to be careful, because she could hurt someone real bad if she wasn't.
"Yes," replied Daddy. "She could do the same things as you, and a lot more besides."
"What else could she do ?" Zerayah asked again, her curiosity piqued.
"I don't know," he shrugged. "We'll have to find out together, if you want."
"Yes !" she nodded frantically. "I want to !"
"Very well. I'll set something up. But remember : you have to not use these special talents of yours where other people can see it."
"Why ?" She cocked her head to the side, not understanding. "The kids at the crèche can."
"Because of the people who killed your mother," he said gently. "If they hear about you, then they'll come to kill you too. And I'll do my best to keep you safe, but I'm not strong enough to beat them. So we have to keep it secret, understood ?"
At the time, Zerayah couldn't imagine anyone stronger than Daddy. But she nodded anyway. No matter how quickly she grew up, she knew there were still many things the grown-ups knew that she didn't.
When Zerayah was four years old, she met Daddy's daemon girlfriend.
It was the anniversary of the Uprising, which was when Daddy and his friends had fought the bad men who ruled the world and saved everyone. Daddy had taken her to a big (but not as big as the Palace) place that was called the House of Remembrance. There were lots of interesting things in the House, but Daddy had to give a big boring speech, so Zerayah sneaked away to explore the building.
After some time wandering across the rooms and climbing up (because, she reasoned, that was where you put the best stuff), she arrived in a room that resonated with a song she didn't hear with her ears, and in which stood a statue of a very pretty lady.
She was looking at the statue when its eyes started glowing with a very pretty green light, and the statue started talking without moving its lips :
"Hello, Zerayah," it – no, she – said in a gentle voice.
"Who are you ?" asked Zerayah. Daddy had taught her about daemons, but somehow this didn't feel dangerous.
"I am Emeli, and I love your father very much."
"Of course you love him," said Zerayah, not understanding why Emeli would say something so obvious. "Everyone loves Daddy. He is the best."
"That he is, Zerayah," Emeli chuckled. "That he is. But you are mistaken, dear. Not everyone loves Ciaphas."
She frowned. "Everyone I know does."
Emeli chuckled again, but it was a little sad this time.
"Yes, dear. Everyone in the world loves him. But there are other worlds, little one. And there, people live who hate him and want him to die."
Zerayah felt something cold and unpleasant in her chest at the statue lady's words. Daddy couldn't die. He couldn't !
"Why ?" she asked. "Why do they want to hurt him ?"
"Because they're scared of him," replied Emeli. "Because they've grown up being told Ciaphas and the others on Slawkenberg are dangerous. But mostly ? Because they're bad people, and they don't like it when other people are better than them."
"I won't let that happen," Zerayah swore. "I'll protect him. I'll -"
"Oh, dear," Emeli cut her off gently. "That's not what Ciaphas wants. He is strong, little one, stronger than even you know. Maybe you fighting with him would help, but that's not what he wants for you."
"Then what does he want ?"
"You already know the answer to that question, little one. Above all, he wants you to be happy."
That was true, Zerayah thought. But she still wanted to make sure Daddy was safe, and she told Emeli that.
"Then, if you really want, you'll need to ask your father to teach you how to fight. He won't agree if you tell him that's to protect him, though. You need to tell him you want to be able to defend yourself, so that he won't have to worry about you."
Zerayah nodded. That made sense. Daddy could be silly like that sometimes.
"I will. Thank you, Miss Emeli."
"You're welcome, dear. Now, I think you should get back to your father. I can feel him searching for you, and we don't want him to be worried, now do we ?"
She gasped. "Right ! Goodbye, Miss !"
"Goodbye, dear. Oh, and one last thing : don't tell Ciaphas we talked, alright ? I want to tell him myself the next time we meet."
"Oh, uh, sure !"
Then she ran out of the room. Like Miss Emeli had said, Daddy was looking for her, and looked very relieved when he saw her. When he asked where she'd been, Zerayah told him she'd gone looking at the exhibits, which wasn't a lie, so it was alright !
Besides, Miss Emeli loved Daddy, so doing what she'd told her couldn't be bad, right ?
When Zerayah was six years old, she was formally introduced to the rest of the planet. By then, her accelerated growth had finally stabilized, leaving her looking ten years older than she actually was. She wore her black hair long and unbound, reaching to the small of her back, while wearing a purple dress that matched the color of her eyes – the color she first remembered them being, and which she'd kept in all her public appearances.
She wore a short dagger at her waist, which despite its ornate look was still very much a lethal weapon. It had taken a lot of convincing, but in the end Daddy'd agreed to let her get some training with Malicia so that she could defend herself without having to fall back on her unique abilities (she was training those too, but in a more discreet location, and with Uncle Jurgen's constant supervision).
Her nameday celebration was a large event, accompanied by celebrations across the planet (though as Daddy had half-jokingly told her, while the people of Slawkenberg undoubtedly loved her, they would also use any excuse to throw a party). Daddy gave a speech, she unwrapped a lot of presents from everyone, and then it was time to eat good food and drink fruit juices and other non-alcoholic beverages, listen to the music, and talk with people.
People like Father Anthony, who was looking very out of place in his priestly garments with the symbol of the aquila embroidered on the cloth. The Liberator's Confessor, Zerayah'd heard him called. He didn't have any official role in the Liberation Council, but was effectively the leader of the Emperor-worshippers on Slawkenberg by virtue of his proximity to Daddy, and the one who brought their concerns to him.
"Hello, Father," she greeted him.
"Ah, hello, Miss Zerayah. Happy nameday. I hope you're enjoying yourself ?"
"I am. Can we talk in private ? I have something I'd like to ask you."
He raised an eyebrow in surprise, before nodding. "Of course. I'm always at your father's and yours disposal."
The two of them moved to a small balcony. After taking a moment to center herself, Zerayah asked :
"Do you think the Emperor hates me ?"
"Well, I have heard a lot about you from your father, miss," replied the old priest after a small pause as he considered her question. "And while he isn't exactly unbiased, nothing the Liberator's told me makes me think He would disapprove of you."
"Even though I'm a mutant ?" she pressed. Daddy had told her how dangerous revealing her full capabilities would be, but saying that much was fine : everyone on Slawkenberg had seen the vid of Daddy carrying her out of the collapsing lair, and could see how fast she had grown since.
"Oh, I have no doubt my old superiors would want you burned at the pyre," he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "But, if you'll pardon my language, they can all go suck a goat's tits. You are here, alive, loved and loving, and unless I'm gravely mistaken about your character, you live in accordance with your father's laws regarding the treatment of others. I think the Emperor has more important things to worry about than one young girl who isn't hurting anyone."
Zerayah smiled. Sure, Anthony didn't know the truth about her nature, but she couldn't help but think he had a point. Even Daddy, on those rare occasions when he spoke with her about religion, had told her he'd always thought the Emperor had better things to do than keep an eye on everyone in the galaxy.
Not many people on Slawkenberg believed in the Emperor's divinity these days, but Daddy was very insistent that He was real, and so were Auntie Krystabel and Uncle Jafar, even if they didn't like Him and thought about Him in a very different way Father Anthony did. As long as she didn't become a threat to the Imperium, He would probably leave her alone.
Of course, like Daddy had warned her, just because the Emperor didn't want something didn't mean the Imperials wouldn't do it anyway.
"Thank you, Father," she told old priest.
"Anytime, my dear. And speaking of having better things to do, don't you think you should enjoy your party rather than spend time talking to an old man like me ?"
"You're right," Zerayah decided. With one final nod, she turned back to the rest of the room, determined to drag Daddy into a dance with her.
As the celebrations for Zerayah's nameday died down, I withdrew to my quarters. There, sat on my favorite chair, I watched the sun set over the planetary capital while nursing the half-glass of amasec that, much to my chagrin, would be my only drink for the evening.
I had been forced to cut down on my drinking in recent years, though Gods knew my position hadn't become any less stressful. There hadn't been any new large-scale military deployments since the Cleansing of Skitterfall (although given the reports I was getting from the shipyards in Adumbria, it was only a matter of time before I couldn't hold the rest of the Council back), but Slawkenberg itself had provided plenty of opportunity for Fate to attempt to catch up with me in the last six years.
There had been the incident with the Crèche for the Gifted, the corner of the Liberation Palace reserved for Slawkenberg's psyker children, where they were trained to control their abilities and where those of their parents willing to move lived as well. Despite the wards put in place precisely to prevent this, one of the youngest children had been possessed by a minor daemon of Nurgle while I was visiting. I'd barely managed to keep Malicia from killing a five-years old in front of the pictcasters, which had left me dodging projectile vomit which had eaten right through the floor and walls for a good five minutes, before the cult magi had arrived and performed an exorcism ritual that had sent the fiend back to the Warp without harming the child.
Then there'd been the 'live demonstration' of one of the borgs' pet project : a fully automated combat unit, based on the industrial automaton STC design we'd recovered aboard Emeli's Gift. No sooner had it finished destroying the dummies arranged before it for the demonstration that it had turned its autocannons on the observers' lounge, having identified everyone inside as enemies. If not for my paranoia and quick reflexes, that single robot would've killed half the Liberation Council in one fell swoop, and most importantly me among them. Needless to say, the borg in question had been thoroughly shamed by his peers : last I'd heard, he was doing maintenance on Cainopolis' sewage system, and was likely to remain there for the foreseeable future.
Even something as innocuous as the premiere of the latest holo supposedly based on my 'exploits' had proven unsafe – and not just because of how painful it always was to watch such blatant propaganda, which apparently the plebs just couldn't get enough of. That particular piece had been based on and named after the Cleansing of Skitterfall, a sequel to Faith and Duty, which was all about my confrontation with Karamazov aboard the mad Inquisitor's flagship, and Against Alien Foes, which covered the double Ork-Drukhari incursion.
(I could only give thanks to the Emperor that, in the later case, I'd managed to nick the idea of adding a romantic sub-plot between me and Malicia before my bloodward heard of it, though the fact I'd been forced to let the screenwriters add not-so-subtle implications of one between my character and Inquisitor Vail's was only slightly less worrying.)
Despite my clear instructions, some moron on the Cleansing of Skitterfall's production team had thought it a good idea to acquire unscrubbed, original footage of the battle and incorporate it into some of the fighting scenes. At least the fool had been among the first to die when some of the Nurglite daemons projected before the audience had walked out of the projection field and started killing people.
On another occasion, I'd jumped on the chance to take a trip back to Adumbria on the five-years anniversary of the Cainite Protectorate's establishment. Leaving Zerayah without me for so long had been a difficult choice, but in the end the opportunity to get away from yet another celebration in my honor had been too much for me to resist at the time : I'd, quite reasonably, thought that any celebration thrown on Adumbria would be much smaller than what I'd seen the Handmaidens plan, what with the planet's economy still recovering from a Nurglite invasion and the complete severance of the trade routes that'd brought so much activity to the system.
In this, I'd been correct, even if the people of Adumbria had clearly done their best to welcome me, undoubtedly out of fear of what my reaction to any perceived slight might me – I was, after all, only the lesser evil in their eyes compared to the Infected. What I hadn't anticipated was the coup attempt of Vice-Queen Kasteen's second-in-command, Colonel Jenit Sulla, whose loyalty to the Golden Throne had driven her to try to kill me and Regina before ending her own life. Fortunately for everyone (and especially me), she'd made her move at the very same time a group of shadowy monstrosities (which Malicia had later identified as Mandrakes, natives of the same hellish city as the rest of her kind) had ambushed us.
By the time the last xenos assassins had been dispatched by my aide and bloodward while I cowered behind a large piece of furniture pretending to be looking after Regina's safety, Sulla'd been yet another victim of my inflated reputation, and had offered her life in apology for her treason – which, mindful of the glare Regina'd been sending my way, I'd refused, instead giving her some platitude about how she'd earn atonement for her honest mistake by continuing to serve the people of Adumbria to the best of her abilities.
Finally, there had been that time just two weeks ago, when I'd gone to attend the opening of Cainopolis' Great Zoological Garden, which gathered animals and plants from all across the planet and put them into artificial reconstructions of their natural habitats for the viewing pleasure of the plebs. I couldn't see the appeal myself, but the borgs and Tzeentchians had enjoyed the technical challenges, the Slaaneshi were desperate for ways to introduce the population to new experiences, and the Khornates had appreciated the opportunity to go hunt what passed for dangerous game on the vacation world.
I had been resting in a small room, checking my clothes were in order before giving yet another speech and cutting the symbolic ribbon which would signify the garden's opening, when a black-furred megafelid had emerged from the storage room where he'd been sleeping after sneaking out of his enclosure. I'd later learned that this particular beast had been brought to Slawkenberg as a 'pet' by one of the most decadent tourists, only to escape a few days before the Uprising had rendered his owner quite definitely incapable of caring for him, though the locals had promptly adopted him before sending him to the zoo.
The megafelid had been born in captivity and had never hunted for his food. More than that, since his prior owner wasn't terminally stupid, he'd been subjected to various procedures which had thoroughly neutered his predatory instincts. He was completely harmless, but at the time, I'd no idea of that fact. All I'd seen was a three-meters long, one-meter high mass of predatory muscles, and a jaw full of fangs that could tear me apart like paper, staring at me with golden eyes.
Acting on instinct, I had slowly walked out of the room, and the beast had followed me, all the way to the podium, where I'd forced myself to deliver my speech like everything was normal, lest the predator react to my fear and pounce on me. Obviously, given Jurgen and Malicia were both here, I had been safe from the moment I'd stepped outside, but that had still been quite the experience, and it had resulted in an otherwise bog-standard speech being broadcast to the entire planet while a megafelid wandered around stage, sniffing everything curiously.
At least it had done wonders for the zoo's attendance. Of course, no sooner had I returned home that I'd been jumped on by Zerayah who had asked to go see the 'big kitty' herself – which I was perfectly fine with – and whether she could bring him home with her – which I most certainly wasn't. Unfortunately, my ability to say 'no' to the weapon of mass destruction currently living as my adopted daughter hadn't really improved with time, which was why the cleaners of the Liberation Palace now had to deal with the shed fur of Zerayah's beloved Alcides, as she'd decided to name the inoffensive predator.
And those were only some of the misadventures which had happened to me since my return from Adumbria. Combined with the daily stresses of keeping a planetary government run by faithless heretics functioning, I really would've appreciated being able to find relief at the bottom of a glass.
It was just that, with how little free time my duties left me with, I had to spend most of it in Zerayah's company, making sure she grew up as well-adjusted as possible and didn't decide to kill everyone on Slawkenberg and then in the Damocles Gulf one day. And drinking in her presence would hardly have fitted the image of a caring parent I was trying very hard to project, not accounting for the fact that the very idea of a drunk Zerayah was utterly terrifying (of course, she probably couldn't get drunk to begin with, but I wasn't going to risk it).
I was considering finishing my drink and going to bed when, after a respectful knock on the door to announce his entrance, Jurgen came in.
"Beg your pardon, sir, but there's something I would like to talk to you about. It's about the young miss," he added, meaning Zerayah. For all that she called him 'Uncle Jurgen', my aide had steadfastly refused to address her with any other term but what he believed protocol demanded.
"What ?" I asked him, immediately alarmed. "Is something wrong ? Has something happened to her at the party ?"
"No, nothing of the sort," he reassured me. The fact that even he, who spent more time near me than anyone else besides Malicia (but she was a pain-devouring xenos and so didn't count) had bought my act as Zerayah's loving father was quite heartening. "I was just thinking, isn't it time for her to get out of the Palace more ?"
"What do you mean ?" I asked, puzzled. Zerayah left the Palace quite often, either accompanying me on trips across Slawkenberg or to visit places on her own (well, without me : she was always accompanied by a solid escort and either Jurgen or another high-ranking member of the Liberation Council's bureaucracy whom I felt could be trusted with her for several hours without my direct supervision).
"I mean that everyone the young miss has interacted with in her life has seen her as your daughter first, and her own person second," my aide explained. "Getting to mingle with other people her own age – well, her own mental age, you know what I mean – can only be good for her. And there're plenty of schools or universities she'd fit right in now."
"She wouldn't be able to simply 'mingle' outside the Palace either," I pointed out. "Everyone would know she is my daughter …"
I trailed off. Jurgen was staring patiently at me, and I suddenly realized why. Of course. Zerayah could easily change her appearance so that nobody would link her to her official identity, and I could get a fake name and background for her with a simple vox-call to Jafar.
"I see your point," I conceded. "But I worry."
Specifically, I worried some idiotic juvie would try to play an ill-thought prank on her, and she'd respond by devouring them alive in front of her entire class. But there was no need to say to Jurgen.
"Of course you do, sir," he nodded, clearly indulging me. "But you can't keep her close forever. She needs to step outside her childhood home, big as hers might be."
He was right, I realized. Trying to restrain Zerayah's activities overmuch could only end badly, as the murdered shades of countless Assassinorum's agents working on the Maerorus Temple could attest. Even a gilded cage was still a cage, and could breed resentment in its captive.
And I most definitely didn't want Zerayah to resent me. An ordinary teenage girl's resentment, I could have dealt with easily, but this was Zerayah, whose mother had been one stroke of luck away from depopulating an entire Segmentum.
"I'll talk with her about it tomorrow," I promised Jurgen. "If she agrees, I'll ask Jafar to help set it up."
I had, at the time, no idea of how much more stress this decision would end up causing me, but looking back I cannot say I wouldn't do it again if I had the chance.
"What do you mean, you didn't find anything ?"
Inquisitor Tannenburg of the Ordo Hereticus wasn't used to failure from his underlings. Unlike some of his peers, this wasn't because he always punished it by death : he was experienced enough to realize that sometimes, failure was inevitable, and that killing his own servants would make the others more likely to lie to him or conceal vital information out of self-preservation.
That didn't mean he never executed his subordinates, though, and right now, he definitely felt the urge to do so. His Interrogator, currently standing on the other side of his desk within his office, clearly realized that, as he hurried to explain :
"We found the Schola in which Cain was raised without issue, lord. Following the parchment trail from the ship which brought him to Slawkenberg was easy, if time-consuming. And once we'd found the Schola, we were able to interrogate its faculty and confirm that this was indeed the institution which hosted Cain from childhood to his graduation as a Commissar."
"And did you find any sign of corruption or incompetence within the Schola itself ?" asked Tannenburg. "I find it difficult to believe none of the instructors noticed anything wrong about this heretic."
"The records of Cain's time in the Schola were made available to us, and we were able to confirm they hadn't been tempered with," continued the Interrogator. "There was nothing remarkable about them. Cain was a middling student, except for a talent in swordsmanship that was noted by his melee instructor, and a completely clean discipline record."
Which, in itself, was suspicious, as Tannenburg still remembered enough of what it was like to be a juvie to know that a clean record was more evidence of a great ability to not get caught than a complete purity of spirit. As for Cain's talent for swordsmanship, that much had been demonstrated when he'd killed Karamazov.
"We made sure to investigate the entire faculty, but found no sign of heresy whatsoever," said the Interrogator. "They were all as faithful and devoted to the God-Emperor as one might expect from people chosen to join the Schola Progenium."
"Which means that Cain's corruption both preceded his joining the Schola, and was subtle enough to elude them," said Tannenburg. "Making finding out where he came from even more important, and your failure all the more severe."
The Interrogator quailed under the Inquisitor's glare. However, he hadn't reached his current rank in Tannenburg's organization by being faint of heart, and he rallied quickly enough (which left the Witch-Hunter reluctantly impressed).
"The parchment trail ends at the Schola, lord. Cain was brought in one day with another shipment of orphans. The records say his parents died in the Imperial Guard, and his old teachers told us he sometimes made comments about having been born in a underhive, but nothing else. Given the reprogramming all Schola students go through to erase past ties, they thought nothing of it."
"Someone must have brought Cain to the Schola," insisted Tannenburg. "And they must know where he came from."
"The ship in question was lost to the Warp with all hands years before Cain's graduation," explained the Interrogator, "and it was responsible for collecting suitable orphans from half a dozen Sectors. Without more information to tighten our search area, it would be the work of decades to find more, if not centuries."
"I see," murmured Tannenburg. "Very well. Leave me and go rest. I will consider what you've told me, and summon you when I've a new assignment for you and your team."
The Interrogator bowed deeply, trying and failing to hide the relief he felt at being dismissed, and promptly departed, leaving Tannenburg alone with his thoughts.
Given what he knew of the Administratum's record-keeping, the youngster's estimation was likely on the optimistic side. He didn't doubt that the name of Cain's homeworld was recorded somewhere within the massive data-stacks of the Imperium's scribes, and that with enough time and resources, it could be found. The question was, would it be worth the effort ?
The rest of the Concilium Ravus still thought of Slawkenberg's rebellion as a minor issue compared to the greater threats to the Damocles Gulf. For a time, Tannenburg had agreed with them, though it had rankled to allow any blemish upon His divine dominion to linger. But when he'd learned that Inquisitor Vail had returned from her mysterious journey to that renegade world sixteen years ago with no less a prize than a long-lost STC of incredible potential in her possession, the Witch-Hunter had reconsidered his position.
Then, he'd received word from his diviners that the Adumbria system, which had been quarantined and declared Perditia after a virulent Warp plague had taken root among its population, had been rescued from certain doom by none other than Cain. No doubt he'd used his own Panacea to deal with the issue, and the people of Adumbria, knowing the Imperium had turned its back on them, had then been easy marks for someone as charismatic as the arch-heretic of Slawkenberg to manipulate into joining his so-called 'Cainite Protectorate'. The only question was whether Cain had just taken advantage of an opportunity, or had orchestrated the plague in the first place.
At least Inquisitor Vail's ongoing efforts to spread the use of the Panacea throughout the Sector and beyond would neutralize that diplomatic tool, Tannenburg reflected. Clearly the young woman had learned of Adumbria's unlikely salvation, and accelerated her plans in response to ensure the taint of Slawkenberg's heresy was contained while the Imperium dealt with more pressing threats. However, the Witch-Hunter was more and more convinced than letting the Protectorate alone was a mistake – but he needed more information before committing his own, ever-stretched thin assets.
Hence why he'd dispatched a team of Acolytes to investigate the past of Slawkenberg's so-called 'Liberator'. To be completely honest, it had been a minor errand, something he'd ordered out of curiosity and because the team in question needed some time to recover from a far more dangerous assignment hunting witches in a hive-city which had left a quarter of their number dead and the rest in various states of injury.
Tannenburg didn't believe for a moment that the loss of the ship which had brought Cain to the Schola Progenium was a coincidence. Of course, Cain himself would've been far too young at the time to arrange for it to happen, which meant there had to be some figure or cabal behind his sudden rise to heretical power on Slawkenberg, manipulating events from the shadows.
The list of potential suspects was too long to bother naming – the Eldar, the Traitor Legions, any of the subtler Daemons of Chaos, countless cults which continued to plague the Imperium despite the best efforts of his Ordo … Anyone of them could be responsible for erasing the trail of their pawn. And trying to find that trail again would only cost him more resources he didn't have to spare, with very little to gain from it. Cain's origins, while interesting, were not nearly as important as what he was doing right now : leading a successful rebellion against the Imperium of Man, one which had already spread its heretical ideology to another world.
This, the Inquisitor decided, had to stop. Fortunately, if Cain was as important to the entire Slawkenberg heresy as he appeared, then the solution was obvious. Tannenburg pressed a series of runes on the communicator built into his desk, then waited for a few seconds until the light indicating a secure link had been established :
"Get ready, agent," he declared, "I have a new mission for you."
AN :
Me : "Alright, time to write another chapter of this fun, crack comedy of mine, this time with Cain having to deal with a superpowered biological weapon of mass destruction as a daughter. Let's see what fun shenanigans the Muse will inspire."
Cain : "Father, I need help. I'm struggling with nightmares of the monster I might become."
Zerayah : "Daddy, where is Mommy ?"
Me : "FRAK"
So yeah, this chapter ended up being a bit more emotionally loaded than I expected. And the Halloween Omake can now be considered canon (insofar as Cain has nightmares like that).
Alcides is another "Eff you, Nurgle" character, though don't expect to see much of him again in the future. I based him on a beloved family pet who died of cancer a couple of years ago. He was just as adorable, harmless and dumb as his story counterpart. And yes, I am going to make Nurgle pay for that in this story as well. I am that petty, and we are all in agreement that the Bloated Bastard deserves it and much, much worse anyways.
Finally, regarding the agent Tannenburg will be sending to Slawkenberg to "take care of the situation" : my initial pick was a character from the very first Rogue Trader Warhammer 40000 book, which was published decades ago, but I hadn't noticed she's got polymorphine in her gear and I've other plans for a Callidus Assassin to appear later in the story. I hesitated between making an expy of Agent 47 or Teatime from Discworld, but couldn't make up my mind, so I'm no looking for suggestions (keep in mind that character is most likely not going to survive, unless the Muse decides otherwise).
As always, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter and look forward to your thoughts, reactions, and ideas for further ways in which to torment - sorry, bring everlasting glory upon the Liberator.
Zahariel out.
