A/N: Review responses for Chaps 39 and 40 are in my forums as normal. Things are going to be happening quickly from this point on.
Thanks for reading.
Chapter Forty-One: Hostis Meus Terribilibus Oculis Me Intuitus Est
When the Tanith First arrived with their Pardus allies at the Shrinehold of Saint Sabbat, they had a combined force of almost three thousand men, and a handful of Conquerer tanks, one Executioner, one destroyer, a handful of chimeras, salamanders and hydra batteries.
On the morning of the second day following Sabbat's miraculous rebirth, Gaunt saw with a surge of regret that their column numbered twelve hundred men all told, with only one Conqueror tank, three Salamanders and one Chimera transport, and fifty lasrounds between the entire regiment that hadn't been scrounged from the enemy dead.
The surviving enginseers from the Pardus company had worked hard purging enemy transports of their chaos taint to ensure the column had sufficient machines to move out, but it was still a demoralizing sight.
Those survivors themselves would surely have died if not for Saint Sabbat. Not only did her astonishing power destroy the enemy, her healing afterwards saved hundreds of his men–and he himself.
Ibram Gaunt walked down the long steps of the battered but still proudly standing shrinehold toward the tattered remnants of his honor guard. He found a certain irony in the fact that despite his defiance, they were in fact doing exactly what Lord General Lugo ordered–they were returning to Doctrinopolis with the saint.
The bitter cold morning breeze that whipped over the promontory struck his clean-shaven cheeks like a brisk slap.
Nothing hurt. For the first time in memory, nothing hurt. His chest did not ache from his wounds on Verghast; his knees and shoulders did not pop with each step. His breath came easily and deep, drawing in the cold, pure air. The Saint's touch had restored him as surely as the most advanced rejuvenat treatment. Against that profound restoration was the cold truth that he'd lost another thousand of the last living sons of Tanith. It pushed down on his shoulders like a heavy weight.
Commissar Hark, once his enemy sent not to help, but to hinder, stood beside one of the last functioning Salamander transports. Beyond the column, scattered through and partially buried in the new snow that covered the promontory, he saw the remnants of their enemy. Saint Sabbat's power was so overwhelming that the enemy broke and made easy prey for his men, even if they were severely outnumbered.
"Hark?"
The commissar snapped a sharp, textbook perfect salute. "Units present and numbers correct, sir. We're only missing Sergeant Washton."
The question of Sergeant 'Jada Washton' was a hard one for Hark. He was a loyal commissar, but also an exacting one. A platoon leader had enlisted with a stolen identity that ended up impacting the whole regiment. Fortunately, it was a question Gaunt had considered and resolved with Dorden.
"Commissar, Chief Surgeon Dorden has confirmed that Sergeant Washton was only fourteen years old when she enlisted on Verghast, and even now is under enlistment age. Under Militarum and Munitorum Lex, her enlistment has been annulled and she has received a general discharge from her position."
Hark opened his mouth, and then snapped his jaw shut as he studied Gaunt's perfectly emotionless features. "I see. Very good sir. Then the Honour Guard is ready to ship out."
"In a moment. We're waiting for two guests."
"Yes, sir."
At Hark's sudden look to the Shrinehold, Gaunt turned to the brightly painted red doors of the fortress and watched as Taylor Hebert and Saint Sabbat walked out of the fortress side by side. Ayatani-Ayt Cortona walked beside the Beati, shambling slowly with great age, while beside Hebert, Zweil was smoking one of Corbec's cigarras and talking animatedly with his hands.
It was not like looking at twins, but rather looking at a woman walking beside a mirror. One was the perfect reflection of the other.
"Do you know what's happening, sir?" Hark posed the question quietly, so none of the Honour Column would hear."
"The only thing I know for sure is that Saint Sabbat carries the Emperor's grace. And that somehow Taylor Hebert is related to her. That is enough for me."
"Taylor Hebert, who was…?"
"Former Sergeant Jada Washton has left the regiment, Commissar Hark. Joining us is Taylor Hebert, kin to the most holy Saint Sabbat."
The poor man hesitated only a moment. "Understood, sir."
Ayatani-Ayt Cortona, the lead priest of the shrinehold, spoke some last words to the Beati on the steps before the door but did not follow her down to the waiting column. Ayatani Zweil, who somehow had stepped into the role of an advisor to Ibram, did so without hesitation.
Gaunt couldn't help but notice how Hebert carried herself in a completely different fashion than before. They had little time to speak over the past day, but when they did Gaunt realized that Jada Washton was simply a mask that Hebert wore to survive. Without that mask, she was not an insecure but capable young woman. Rather, she carried herself like an aged Inquisitor after five rounds of rejuvenets…like her soul was far, far older than the body that carried it.
"Colonel," Sabbat said when the two identical women reached him. "Thank you for providing us transport to Doctrinopolis."
"Beati, it is my greatest honor," Gaunt said. He had to speak loudly over the harsh breeze. "I fear it won't be a comfortable ride, though."
"I spent a century crusading, Colonel. As long as I am in good company, any hardship is bearable. Shall we?"
He nodded, and then offered Sabbat a hand to climb into the waiting Salamander transport. He then offered the same to Hebert, who took the hand with a nod. He followed and looked to his commissar. "Honour guard, mount up!"
Hark echoed the order at five times the volume, shouting in a field command voice. "As the colonel orders, mount up and make ready!"
The various platoon leaders shouted back their responses as all the surviving soldiers of the Tanith climbed onto their vehicles, Imperial or scavenged from the enemy.
"Column ready to move out, sir!"
Ibram looked back at where Sabbat sat in the open space of the Salamander, dressed in an Ayatani priest's robe. She looked thin and poised, and stared back at him with a firm, somber expression. She simply nodded.
"Honour guard," he ordered in his command voice. "Adviance!"
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
The seating arrangement was intentional. Gaunt did not know enough about what was happening to make any good decisions, and he did not trust Lord General Lugo or any of his superiors to know any better. He needed time with the Saint to try and understand.
Beyond that was a deep, elemental loyalty to the idea of Sabbat. Of her holiness, and the Emperor's grace as bestowed upon her. He'd seen her power first hand, not just to destroy the Emperor's enemies, but to preserve the Emperor's sons and daughters. He accepted that some things were beyond his understanding. But what was within mortal grasp, he needed to know.
And what better time to learn than the long journey ahead?
Within the bed of the Salamander, Sabbat sat opposite Hebert. He found it interesting that the Saint seemed not to be able to look at her other self. Zweil watched both with open adoration and occasionally spoke about points of interest. The Beati nodded along politely, but seemed to be waiting for something.
She was waiting for him.
He had a full day at the Shrinehold to seek her out and ask his questions, but he didn't. Instead, he spent the last twenty-four hours policing bodies, securing equipment and piecing together the remains of his shattered regiment. He'd engaged in aggressive, productive procrastination doing things he could have assigned others to do, and in the process held off seeking the Saint out because…because.
Not cowardice, he told himself. Awe. He'd dedicated his entire career to honoring the memory of Saint Sabbat. And now, meeting her, he felt suddenly inadequate. But in the cold light of the morning after, decisions had to be made. And he needed as much information as he could get to make those decisions.
Hebert wore her Tanith gear, but had removed her insignia and rank and given it, oddly, to Brin Milo. While the Beati entertained Zweil with polite attention, Hebert just stared out over the cold, snow-packed mountains. It shocked him how young she looked. Younger, even, than when he first met her in Verghast. He tried to remember her, then. Fierce, determined. But taller and more physically robust. The woman facing him now looked as if she newly emerged from puberty.
Slowly, almost lazily, she turned her attention to him. Without the mask of Jada Washton, sergeant of the Tanith First, he found her gaze almost as difficult to meet as that of the Saint.
She was waiting for him to ask just like Sabbat.
"I'm at a loss," he said, finally. "You are somehow related to a saint who died almost six thousand years ago but has been reborn, and traitor marines killed almost two hundred of my men to get you. We thought you were the Saint, but that obviously isn't the case. What am I to make of this?"
Hebert looked to Sabbat, and they did meet gazes briefly before Hebert shrugged. "You weren't wrong, Colonel. In a way I am Sabbat. Once upon a time, a girl named Taylor Hebert was born. She had a heavy fate, saved the world and the entirety of the human race, and then got blown apart into three pieces for the trouble. I'm one of those pieces."
"And I'm another," Sabbat admitted.
"When was this?"
"Early second millennium," Hebert answered, as if discussing a date within his lifetime. "By your reckoning, roughly the year 11.M3. Before manned interstellar spaceflight. Before xenos. Before the Long night. Terra–Earth as we called it–was not just the birthplace of humanity. At the time it was the only place that held humans."
Gaunt looked to Sabbat, who shrugged. "We were born in 996.M2, Colonel. But unlike Taylor, after we died our first death, my first memory is waking up here, on Hagia, six thousand years ago. It was pre-Imperial at the time. She knows more about what happened throughout the Imperium than I do."
"And you're going to tell me? No mysteries? No dire warnings of secrecy?"
Hebert shrugged. "My name is a death sentence, Colonel. By current Inquisitorial orthodoxy, every member of the regiment's lives are forfeit because of what they heard from those Word Bearers. Unless you get a one-in-a thousand chance of encountering a Gallentist inquisitor. It's why I never go by my real name."
Gaunt tamped down a surge of anger and fear. She hadn't revealed her real name to him, the enemy had. "Why? Because you're a threat to the Imperium?"
Hebert's eyes drifted down in thought. "No. Well, perhaps. He never talked to me after they interred him on the throne—I am the original Blank, after all. But I'm a threat to those who run the Imperium because of what I know. For example, would you believe me if I told you that during the Great Crusade and before, anyone who tried to declare the Emperor a god was arrested and imprisoned? Keeler–Saint Euphrati–spent a year in prison under the palace. We met briefly while I was there. I think they let her go during the last days of the Siege. The Emperor outlawed all religion, even religions that worshiped him. Definitely outlawed ours, Sabbat. Dad oversaw the raid that ended the last temple on Terra and personally buried the two trees under tons of rockcrete. Right before the Heresy."
Gaunt opened his mouth to scoff, but something in her tone stilled him. She didn't speak to scandalize or upset. If anything, she sounded angry. It then hit him that she'd just admitted to having met the first saint of the Imperial Cult. Of having been imprisoned by the Emperor himself. It made his chest ache and his head throb with the conflicting thoughts.
Sabbat actually snorted at the idea. "You know He did that on purpose. It legitimized Saint Euphrati."
"I know. I may never have liked Him, but he ran circles around me any time I tried outthinking him. I was just mortal, after all. Eternally mortal."
He was speaking to someone who had met the Emperor personally. Spoken to him. "What are you to him?"
"I'm a ghost who just won't stay dead," Taylor said with a short, bitter laugh. "Tell me, Colonel. If you found out that those in power, through no fault of their own, were acting directly contrary to the Emperor's desires, what would you do? The Emperor hasn't spoken for ten thousand years. I know for a fact that the Imperium that exists right now is not what He or the Primarchs wanted. How? Because he told me, to my face, what he wanted to do during the Unification Wars."
"And he told me, through my visions and dreams, that his vision for humanity had been subverted by the Archenemy," Sabbat added. "What we live in today is not the Emperor's vision."
"But those who run it are vested in keeping things the way they are," Hebert continued. Even though both women spoke, their accents and intonations were so identical that if he closed his eyes he would think only one person spoke. "So who are you supposed to be loyal to? Those who run the Imperium of Man? Or the Emperor himself? How do you decide who to be loyal to, Colonel?"
The words she spoke were sacrilege. The Ecclesiarchy, the Inquisition and the Lords of Terra all based their authority on the Emperor's most ancient words. To even imply the Emperor's goals were different than the goals of those who ran the Imperium was cause for execution. It could easily lead to civil war that would tear the tattered Imperium apart. Hebert knew it, too. He could see it in her hard expression. He'd always respected her determination, and thought she had an old soul. But now, with the way she looked at him, he felt for the first time that he was in the presence of eons.
He then became aware of the fact that the Beati was also studying him intently, and together their combined gaze made him feel almost like a child back in the scholam again.
"You're right," Hebert said. She wasn't speaking to him.
Her counterpart shrugged. "I haven't seen all your years. I can't claim the wisdom you've gained. But I still see the truth of things. He's the one I wrote about."
"I don't know what they're talking about, Gaunt, but it sounds exciting!" Zweil puffed heartily on his cigarra.
"Enlighten us, Father," Sabbat said, her smile turning vague and slightly unsettling. "I didn't put my own gospels in order, Faltornus did after I died. I did happen to glance through a copy last night, though. Do you recall Psalms 23, verses eight on?"
"Of course I do! It remains one of my favorite among a book of beauty!" The old priest began quoting the verses, almost singing them:
"I am weary with my burdens; my champion has been lost.
Though I do the Emperor's Will, He sustains my body and mind;
My champion sustained my heart. Kiodrus! Alas, Kiodrus.
May the Emperor's grace give me respite
May His gaze return my champion to me, ghost though he be;
Gaunt in countenance, but mighty in will.
"I know that passage," Ibram said, instantly recognizing it. "It was one of the last psalms you wrote before your fall on Heredor. Saint Kiodrus…"
She did not respond, only continued to study him. Hebert stared intently as well, one brow raised. Zweil, though, was the most telling. He paled and looked from Hebert to the Beati, then back to Gaunt. "Really? Him?"
"What are you on about?"
"That passage was written six thousand years ago," the old priest said. "In it, she references a ghost. Gaunt in countenance, but mighty in will. By the throne, man, surely you see it!"
Hebert snorted. "I've heard it said the Colonel is a brilliant judge of every character around him but his own. Ghost. Gaunt. Time is relative, Colonel. Especially to those who can see past its veil."
"I wrote my psalms after visions," Sabbat explained. "You cannot imagine the Emperor's power, Colonel. Such that his regard can destroy souls unintentionally. The visions he sent burned me, but I could not forget them. And he sent me a vision that let me know another champion would step forward to aid in my cause. He just neglected to say when."
The psalms were written over six thousand years previously. Ibram's chest ached, as if his heart and lungs had just dropped several inches. "You're saying…"
"You've always been hers, Gaunt," Zweil said.
"To what end?"
In answer, Sabbat once more turned to Zweil. "The Harkalon Revelation."
The old priest considered it, before nodding. "I believe I know the one:
"I turned to see who spoke to me, and saw a figure as like to man;
His face was Humanity, his hair golden flame like unto the rays of a star.
'Behold,' he said to me, and showed unto me a calamity beyond words.
I saw the light of his glory dim, as darkness split the stars.
I saw woe and death as His sons battled and raged, woe unto Man!
In the total darkness when all was lost, I heard His voice calling out to me.
'Be strong, daughter of war. For Hope endures."
Taylor nodded. "In another time, when Sabbat and I were one person, we were Hope. The living incarnation of humanity's hope for the future. And our father was war–the incarnation of war itself."
"And right now, we serve the Emperor in a task he himself gave us, a task more important than anything else."
"What task?"
"To save humanity–to restore hope. And to do that, we must get to Terra. That is the task set before us by the Emperor. But we can't do it by ourselves. Likely you can't either, alone. But you could get us an audience with your warmaster. Will you help us?"
How could he say anything else? "Yes, of course. Whatever authority I have I will use to help you. But…I'm in disgrace for the disaster at Doctrinopolis."
"I'm sure Sabbat can talk sense into the Lord General," Hebert said. "Living saints can be very persuasive when she needs to be."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
"MkTaeg died, four-hundred hours."
Sergeant Gol Kolea looked up from behind the desk of his impromptu command post–a former storefront in the center of the Bhavnager square where the residents used to host their weekly markets. The citizens had fled the city when the Chaos army occupied it, and had not returned despite the Guard's successful liberation. While Gol would not have minded some friendly civilians around, having the farming community to himself made security easier.
Over two hundred of his fellow Ghosts depended on him. One less today, though.
Surgeon Ana Curth was a strikingly beautiful woman–the kind seen only in the upper echelons of Vervunhive society. She had the time and resources growing up to eliminate the minor cosmetic imperfections the lower castes had, and the money not to have to work hard, debilitating jobs.
But instead of squandering her privilege, she chose a challenging career in medicine. And when Vervunhive fell, she chose to join those who defended it. Whatever their separate lives before, both were now Ghosts.
He nodded to her, removed the mission log, and made a note. "Roster?"
"That puts us at 219 surviving," Ana said. "I have forty-five more who are questionable, the rest I expect to recover."
In the days since the main Honor Guard left them at Bhavnager, the two had developed a pattern. She came at night just to rest. Sometimes they talked; sometimes she just dozed off in the chair he picked for her. She sank into the chair now with a long sigh.
"Anything from the vox?" she asked.
"Nothing, at least not from the Honor Guard." He closed the mission log and poured two shots of his dwindling supply of sacra. She accepted one with a grateful smile while he filled her in. "Doctrinopolis is continuing the evacuation, but they report all of their astropaths were killed by…whatever happened three days ago."
Neither spoke of it–there was nothing left to say that they hadn't already said. They both knew instinctively that Colonel Gaunt was involved. Gol speculated Washton might also be involved. "She looks just like the Saint," he pointed out. "And Colonel Corbin looked spooked."
Days passed without news, though, and their speculation got them nowhere. Now, on the evening of the third day since golden light swept the chaos storm from the skies, they had only silence and the tending of their wounded to keep their minds off the fate of their fellows.
Suddenly their vox crackled. "...avnager. Guard to Bhavnager. Respond."
Kolea quickly downed his shot of sacra–it was too precious to spill–and turned his microbead to the vox scanner's channel. "Nine to guard, reporting. Bhavnagar is secure, no enemy contact."
"Guard, acknowledged. We're inbound, one hour out. Prepare all combat-ready units for evac, we'll take care of the wounded when we arrive. Respond."
Curth frowned furiously. "What the gak does that mean?"
"Nine, guard clarify on wounded?"
A moment later, an all-too-familiar voice came over the vox. "Gol, I'll discuss with you and Surgeon Curth when we arrive. Just get everyone ambulatory ready for evac. No one will be left behind."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Whatever happened in the Sacred Hills, Gol could see how badly the Honour Guard was mauled. Beside him, Sergeant Vaul cursed. "That's not even half the fething men went up there," he muttered under his breath.
Opposite Varl on Gol's left, Captain Woll of the Pardus contingent that stayed to help guard their wounded winced. "Throne preserve us! We have more armor here than they have left!"
The tattered convoy of Imperial and refurbished enemy transports snaked through the trees in a symphony of engines and mechanical parts. Puffs of black, burned prometheum traced a parallel path through the blue skies above.
What traced that path in the sky was only a fraction of what left days before.
The lead transport pulled to one side as the rest of the guard column continued to the fuel depot that made Bhavnager such an important town that they fought a pitched battle to take it. Gaunt stood in the back, his uniform tattered but clean. He looked at them intently before jumping out. He then turned and oddly held a hand to Sergeant Washton, who for some strange reason was wearing an ayatani robe.
He blinked when another gakking Washton stood up in a tattered Tanith uniform that had all insignia removed.
"What?" It was all Curth said.
Varl was not so restrained. "There's fething two of them now? We could barely handle one!"
"Gol, Ana," Gaunt said as he and the two Washtons approached, followed by Ayatani Zweil. "It is my deepest honor to introduce you to the Beati herself, Saint Sabbat. And her…sister, Taylor Hebert."
"Washton…" Gol began.
"Washton enrolled under false pretenses and was too young under the Lex, as affirmed by Doc Dorden." Gaunt spoke the words as a command, not a suggestion. "She's been discharged and remained behind. This is Taylor Hebert."
Hebert, who looked just like the Jada Washton he fought cultists with at Vervunhive, stared back intently at him.
Gol shrugged. "Yes, sir. No new casualties to report, town is secure. Surgeon Curth and medic Mktane have kept two-hundred nineteen of the wounded alive."
Curth, though, was staring slack-jawed between the two identical women. The woman Gaunt claimed was the saint took charge. "Good evening, Ana," she said.
Same voice, same tone, same accent. Every aspect of the Saint was the same as Jad…Taylor Hebert.
"Can you lead me to your wounded?" The saint continued. "By the Emperor's grace, I believe I can heal them."
Curth still seemed speechless as she stared from Sabbat to Gaunt to Hebert. Finally, she said, "This way, then."
"Colonel, mind explaining what's going on?" Captain Woll had his own chain of command, but from the tattered remnants of the Pardus units, he might have been the senior most officer left from the armored element.
"We were attacked in force by Chaos cultists supported by traitor marines," Gaunt said. "During the battle, Ms. Hebert somehow aided in the rebirth of the Saint, and it was the Beati who destroyed the traitor marines and overwhelmed the enemy."
"Three days ago," Gol guessed. "So that was her that burned the sky clear?"
"Yes, most likely. We're on a tight schedule, Gol. The Beati can perform miracles of healing like I've never heard of. She'll get our wounded restored. Then we need to refuel and get to Doctrinopolis for evac. We need to get the Beati to Warmaster Macaroth at all costs."
"We're ready," he reported.
Gaunt looked to Woll, who nodded. "Our armor has been repaired and refueled. We stand ready as well."
"Good. Thank you both. Now we…what is that?"
The colonel was staring up at the sky far to the east and south of them. Hebert was staring as well, her lips set in that hard line Gol recognized from their many battles together. He turned and saw it too.
Something had flared on the horizon–like a star going nova. It began falling toward the surface of Hagia, leaving behind a trail of fire. Other bursts of light shone where the first exploded.
The trail of fire disappeared below the horizon, but a few moments later the late evening lit up as if the son were rising from the east, rather than setting to the west.
"Colonel, look," Hebert said. "The shrinehold."
They turned to the north, and much closer Gol saw another glow on the horizon.
"The enemy is here," Hebert said. "We're trapped."