Saints and martyrs, p.46
Saints And Martyrs, page 46
Her own part of the chorus.
‘And so,’ she said, ‘it falls to me to tell you why we are together, united in our march across the galaxy. And why we are Sisters, both of and in Battle.’ She shot Silvana a smile.
‘It grows late,’ Dominica said. ‘Speak on.’
THE TALE OF ARABELLA
Kneeling to Silvana’s right, Arabella cocked her head sideways and gave that wonderful, shining smile.
‘Welcome, Sister,’ she said, her voice light and easy. ‘I am Sister Arabella of the Sacred Rose. I am negotiator and liberator. It is my task to carry His light, to care for the people and to free humanity from the faithless. Where the devotion of worlds fades, I bring them hope.’ Her tone was bright, almost lilting. ‘I also have the task to train you in our empathy, and in how we work in both concord and coherence.’ She paused, and there was a twinkle of mischief to her green eyes. ‘But not tonight. Once we have concluded the Service of Tales, we must pray for the muster.’ A hint of amusement. ‘And, while my Sisters may not have confessed it, even we must rest.’
Shocked by her almost playful tone, Avra glanced at Dominica, at the faintly disproving rigidity in the older Sister’s shoulders.
‘Your question, Sister,’ she said, almost stern.
‘My question,’ Arabella said, ‘is very simple. I seek to understand your soul. Do you carry hope?’
‘I walked upon Sudesh,’ Avra answered. She was more confident this time, understanding, now, what was expected. ‘And the people had surrendered to despair. Disease was rampant amongst them, and they had lost that which they loved the most – wives and husbands, children and parents. My Sisters Hospitaller were there to succour their ailing flesh, but I carried His light to their hospices, to their valetudinariums, and to those that died on the streets. And thus, He blessed me to bring them hope.’
Lucia nodded. ‘A good tale,’ she said softly.
‘I thought so,’ Arabella responded with a sound that might even have been a chuckle. Then she composed herself, and recited more dutifully, ‘Join us. In His grace and wisdom, and be welcome. We guard your sides and your back, and we stand together in His name, bringing His faith to all.’
She leaned across the circle to grip Avra’s padded shoulder briefly in her hand, then said, ‘I’m sure you have studied your histories suitably diligently.’ She smiled. ‘But the Orders of the Bloody and the Sacred Rose were founded by Deacis VI, some two hundred Solar years after the death of Sebastian Thor. And in Deacis’ blessed wisdom, he appointed one to each Convent, the Bloody Rose to the Convent Sanctorum on Ophelia VII, and the Sacred Rose to the Covent Prioris on Holy Terra. My Sister Dominica will tell more of the heartworlds and Segmentum Solar, such is not my task. Instead, I will range widest of all, to bring you a story of both darkness and light.’
Her armour, like that of the others, was black, and scattered about it were the white, pearlescent petals of her Sacred Rose. They suited her, gave her a shine like Silvana’s. But where Silvana’s was age and dignity – gravitas, Avra thought – Arabella’s had a shimmer of youth and idealism that was a wondrous rarity. It pulled like a beacon, like the glow of the sarcophagus itself.
‘At the edges of the galaxy,’ Arabella said, ‘scattered across the Eastern Fringe, there are worlds without number, a million planets forgotten, all untouched by His light. The Great Crusade brought His blessing to many, welcoming them back to the Imperium of Man. But the void is endless, and even He, perhaps, cannot see it all.’
‘Enough embellishment, child,’ Dominica said, a sharp flex of warning in her tone. ‘Tell your tale.’
‘My apologies, Sister.’ Arabella lowered her eyes, though her shimmer did not fade.
Engines rasped again from the outside; again, the floodlights passed over the chapel, making angles of light flee suddenly across the floor.
‘My tale will reach to the void’s very edges,’ Arabella said, ‘to the world of Vassis Morugo, lurking upon the outermost limit of our Sisters’ lore and ken. It is a dark world, a world cut off from its star, a world of chem-hell and steam, of corrosion and pollution. Exploited by cruel masters, its menials were bent beneath the demands of savage leadership, as cut off from Him as they were from their cloud-shrouded sun.
‘And the enemy,’ she said, a vivid thrum to her tone, ‘likes nothing more than a vacuum of faith.’
Arabella, it seemed, had a flair for the dramatic. This time, however, Dominica let it pass. The younger Sister picked up one of her petals, turning it to catch the light. Outside, engines growled softly.
‘Where He is forgotten,’ Arabella continued, ‘so the ancient foe crawls, creeping inwards. Where masters become greedy and cruel, so the enemy stirs to glee and wakefulness. And where there is contamination, so there come the powers that revel in it, and in its sheer inevitability.’
A shiver passed across Avra’s shoulders. She knew the powers to which Arabella referred, though she would not name them, not aloud and not in her thoughts. To do so was to call them close, and such things were both blasphemous and unwise.
The others were praying, the murmur of their voices soft and melodious, weaving one through another, as if to form a backdrop to Arabella’s tale. The younger Sister raised her voice, not to drown them out, but to complement them – the solo at the head of the choral recital.
Avra wondered if Arabella had been a singer. Performance seemed to suit her, and the others had used the word ‘harmony’ more than once.
But the Sister had begun her tale.
Always, in times past and in times present, the presence of the foe calls out across the void. And so, Katherine arrived upon Morugo with a force of the Fiery Heart at her banner and at her back. Here, she beheld the tragedy of the world, of its lost and faithless people. She looked upon their bent spines and their filthy faces, upon the despair in which they lived their lives, and she resolved to wipe clean this contaminated place. To return it to Him, and to purge the enemy in cleansing and ultimate fire.
Yet she did not.
Outside, engines rasped again. They were becoming louder now, underpinned by shouts. Dust and wind whirled petals along the floor.
‘Our Sisters Hospitaller,’ Arabella said, ‘see Him as an Emperor of Mercy – be that the mercy of ending pain and of releasing souls to His presence, or the mercy of healing, of survival to continue His work. And you have heard, my new Sister, the watchwords of the other Orders. For Mina, it is rage and the discipline to control that rage. For Lucia, pain and the wisdom within that pain. For Silvana, the daring to take us to war’s very forefront, and beyond. Yet we are all parts of one whole, petals of one rose. We balance, each to one other.’ She smiled. ‘You are beginning to understand this, I think.’
Avra nodded. Her eyes were stinging and she was not sure if it was too much soot or the intense emotion of the moment.
‘So when I say that our saint was touched by compassion, do not think of it as weakness. It is just another petal, another part of the hymn, another facet of our praise to Him.’ She looked round at the others as if she expected a challenge, but no one gainsaid her, and she continued.
Many of Morugo’s people were warped beyond redemption, touched by the enemy in mind and heart and flesh. For them, there could be no healing, only the last relief. But among them, there walked those still human, still with courage untouched by the foe, their limbs weary but strong, their thoughts despairing, but clear of rot. And these were not in ones and twos, but in tens and twenties, perhaps in hundreds or even thousands – the tale does not say. But they were enough. And our saint gave the order: the Sisters were not to purge the world entire, not unless they were left without choice.
Instead, Katherine would restore to them their hope. She would lead the fight against the enemy commander, and against his corrupt leadership.
And so, she raised her banner, and her voice, and she began to sing.
At the word, Arabella raised her own voice in song, a Litany that Avra had never heard. The Sister’s voice was a clear soprano, as pure as white ice, as holy as a glassaic window. And it carried His praise upwards to the open roof of the little chapel, upwards to the stars that glittered above, turning and turning as the tales wound on. Lifted by its wings, Avra looked up and could see the very first touch of the sunrise, the paling of the sky.
A flicker of vision came to her: the rise of Sol, yellow and perfect, over Holy Terra. Overwhelmed, she found the water in her eyes flowing free, and lifted her hand to wipe it away.
Next to her, Lucia smiled, stretching out to grip her shoulder. ‘There is no dishonour in weeping, my new Sister, not in the proper time and place. And here, you may bare your heart without fear, and without shame.’
Avra nodded, blinking, and Arabella reached the end of her hymn, letting the last note fade away. Outside, the engines had stopped. Everything was utterly silent – almost as if her voice had stilled the entire camp.
Her tone soft, the Sister picked up her tale once more.
At the touch of Katherine’s song, so the people crept forwards. Cautious, fearful, their filthy faces streaked with tears as if the water washed their very sins away. They fell to their knees before her, and they begged her to lead them, to show them to the light of which she sung. She told them to stand, for she was not Him; she told them to take up what weapons they had, and to follow.
And so did her March of Faith begin.
She walked strong, her devotion borne before her like His very blessing, her banner held high. Light shone from her, banishing the darkness, the malice, the seething pollution of this damned world. Where she walked, the rusting metal was made anew, and her boots rang upon clean steel. Where she sang, so the black, swirling clouds were banished, shrinking from her as if in fear of her approach.
And the people heard! They came forth, slowly, warily, more and more of them. Given her courage, they joined her song, lifting their own voices to His praise, and rediscovering Him as they did so. And His blessed presence grew among them like the Sacred Rose itself, its shine growing wider and wider. And the wider it reached, so the more people heard it, and came forth.
Soon, a throng of new faithful followed her, and all of them were singing.
Arabella paused, the petal still in her fingers. All of the Sisters watched it as if mesmerised, though they had doubtless heard this tale before.
She lifted the petal to the saint’s holy light, the very same light that she had carried, so long ago. Letting them all see it, Arabella suddenly closed her fingers with a hard, sharp gesture, crushing it utterly to a glitter of drifting dust. Her voice dropped to a whisper, making them all lean forwards.
But there were others, who also bore witness to that light, and who were not touched by Him. They were aware of His presence – for how could they not be? – but it brought them no joy. Instead, it brought them terror, and anger, and rage. Those among the population who were touched by the foe, already warped and mangled, bursting with heresy and unbelief – they also followed the saint, skulking in the shadows as the light passed them by. And they, too, had a purpose, growing within them like a canker. They had a master, bold and evilly beneficent, generous with his corrupt gifts. And he too issued a call.
A summons.
‘The light is a lie,’ said the enemy. ‘A falsehood. It will strip from you the gifts that I have given, slay you without mercy. It will burn and harm you, sear bright into your eyes, cut harsh into your flesh that I have blessed. I – I! – am the god of this world, the only god you need. You who bear my gifts, come unto me!’
‘Beware, my Sister,’ Dominica said softly, her voice a growl. ‘You tread a dangerous path with your theatre. Call not the foe, lest the foe comes.’
Arabella paused, nodding soberly, then continued.
Katherine’s Sisters, the Order of the Fiery Heart, were deployed to seek the enemy’s followers where they could, ranging out across the planet’s high and creaking walkways, catching and destroying the misshapen and the tainted. But still, these twisted beings mustered in their hundreds, scuttling and whispering, seething and plotting. They crawled along the pipes; they climbed up the manufactorum walls and ran along their roofs. They lurked within the great and silent machines.
And they did not stop.
Conscious of the threat, but focused upon her mission, Katherine continued forwards, her song still raised aloft. About her, the metalwork echoed to her words, singing in the high wind as if it sang along with her, welcomed her and the deliverance she promised, in His name. Guided by her faith, her heart lifted by her faithful, the saint walked on. And His wisdom guided her, with every note she sang.
She knew where the enemy waited.
And, as the knowledge came to her in His touch, so did her song sour to a minor key, eerie and mocking. And her hymn became a dirge.
Arabella sang again, a snatch of weird music, distorted and wrong. A shudder went out through the Sisters.
‘Desist.’ This time, Dominica was really angry. ‘Your drama gets the better of you, my Sister – I have warned you about this already. One does not voice such things.’
‘I do not voice…’ Arabella paused, a flush to her face. ‘It is a minor key, no more. Nothing–’
‘Get on with your tale,’ Dominica barked. ‘As we have observed, we are running out of time.’
‘Yes, my Sister.’ Looking genuinely chastised, Arabella began to speak more swiftly.
And so did Katherine find herself climbing a great spiral of rusting metal steps. They rang at her boot-strikes, notes clashing and loud, but she ascended them without fear, her Sisters at her side, her throng of faithful behind. She bore her shield high and shining, and she crested Morugo’s very highest point, a latticed steel platform bearing a host of vox-antennae.
Here, there was wind, though thick and faint. The clouds had thinned and she could see the smallest sliver of the planet’s reddening sun. The platform seemed unstable – rust ate at the handrails, chewed its way across the floor. It curled round the antennae like some blotched and living serpent. The height was not safe, but the saint was unworried. He had guided her, and she was in His hands.
She was also not alone. At the platform’s centre, surrounded by the antennae as if they were worshippers, the rust had coalesced to a huge symbol, a symbol of terror and blasphemy, a symbol we do not describe. And upon the far side of this symbol, at the edge of the opposite walkway, there stood a being, its arms upraised, the last clouds wreathing about it as if they stroked its very skin.
The Sisters had not surprised it. At their arrival, it lowered its arms and smiled at them, its expression like pure indulgence. Amid the people’s poverty, it wore rich pendants, costly robes now stained with blood and fluids. And from it, there came a wave of savage hunger, of need. It was as unconstrained as pure sensation, an assault upon their minds and souls.
It sang to them, ‘Welcome.’
The word was but a single note, vibrating from wind and steel. Yet it echoed louder, and louder, as if it was reflected by the whole of Morugo’s surface, as if it was sunk into every piece of metal that rusted here upon this world. As if the antennae themselves were some terrible, daemonic instrument. It hummed harsh in the Sisters’ ears and armour, seeking to strike at their souls. To bury them in a lushness of sound.
But Katherine and her Sisters raised the Litany in return, a chiming of vocal perfection, and the creature stopped, its mouth spread in a mocking leer.
‘You will need more than music,’ it told them, ‘daughters of conceit.’ Its voice was rich with appetite. ‘Witness my world,’ it said, ‘and what it has become. I was governor here, once, lord of a dark and gloomy backwater. But behold! Look upon what I have wrought! I have found rewards beyond imagining, and I will spread them among my people like joy. I will take away their pain, their suffering, their hunger, their loss. And instead, I will gift them this…’ He spread his arms wider. ‘This celebration!’
Katherine did not respond with words. She raised her bolter and fired, but the air shimmered visibly and the round struck it as if it were armour. The force field rippled, echoed, but stayed firm. Her Sisters raised their weapons but she held up a hand.
‘Wait,’ she said to them. ‘We must study this barrier.’
They spread out to an extended line. Behind them clustered the planet’s new faithful, those who had responded to Katherine’s clarion call.
The governor looked upon all of them, and sneered. ‘Weaklings,’ he said, amused and scornful. ‘Your petty tunes are of no relevance, not here. Your souls are yet mine to do with as I please. Witness!’
Again, he raised the hum of invasive sound. Defended by their faith and their baffles both, the Sisters did not flinch, but the people of Morugo twisted under the assault, putting their hands over their ears and buckling to their knees. Many bled from their eyes and noses. Incensed, Katherine raised her voice and her vox-caster to bury this attack, but even as she did so, she realised the cunning of the governor’s plan.
Beneath them, the trailing group of warped menials had not ascended to the planet’s heights. They waited below in gangs, their filthy faces turned upwards, watching the rotted metal above. The platform, already corroded, was quivering under the onslaught of the noise. The toxic power of the governor’s hum was pitched to make the metal vibrate.
And then, with a creak, it collapsed.
Outside, a colossal crash accompanied Arabella’s last word. All of the Sisters jumped, every one reaching for her weapon, but the noise was not repeated. Instinctively, Avra sent a query out over the vox, but the voice of the Order came back to her.
