Cult of the Warmason Read online

  ‘Sister Superior, isn’t it possible you’re overreacting?’ another councillor suggested, trying to mollify the mounting tempers around the table.

  ‘I fought it,’ Trishala stated. ‘It was my sword that cut that arm from its body.’

  Kargil pounced on Trishala’s words. ‘There you have it then. In the heat of combat, in the turmoil of fighting for your life, your recollection has become distorted. You’ve turned a particularly noxious mutant into something entirely different. Something that maybe a Sister Superior can feel no shame for allowing to get away.’

  He licked his lips nervously when he saw the fury his last barb provoked in Trishala.

  Yadav interrupted Kargil’s harangue. ‘It is certain that the malefactors killed in this incident are a divergence from acceptable human stock,’ he said. ‘One has only to look at the rampant malformities readily evident in the carcasses recovered from the vault.’ His tone became conciliatory as he turned towards Trishala. ‘Yet there is nothing there so divergent that it needs some obscene xenos biology to explain it. However debased, these were men.’ He looked past Trishala to Colonel Hafiz. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’

  Hafiz nodded his head. As indebted as he felt to the Sisters for their rescue of his command, he couldn’t lend his support to something he didn’t believe. ‘Mutation,’ he said.

  ‘I know what attacked me,’ Trishala repeated. ‘It was nothing human.’

  Kargil rolled his eyes. ‘On the moon of Tarsus Nine I saw a creature that was almost two metres tall, covered in fur and with a frill of horns growing out of its shoulders. That atrocity was a mutation of an asteroid sapper whose radiation suit failed and left him exposed to the unfettered rays of Tarsus for a twelve-hour work cycle.’

  ‘It is a truism that those in whom the light of the God-Emperor is feeble are susceptible to the most pernicious genetic divergence,’ Cardinal-Governor Murdan declared. ‘We must consider the squalor and disorder of the Cloisterfells, an environment where the weak of spirit may find their faith tested. All too many fail that test and in doing so they invite into themselves not merely the heretical ideas that pollute the mind and soul, but likewise the contaminants that befoul blood and biology. The righteous will seek absolution through termination once they appreciate their degenerate condition.’ Murdan wrung his bony hands together, a deep regret in his eyes. ‘The faithless, however, fear the judgement of the God-Emperor. They cling to even such a miserable existence and, in the lowest pits of their wretchedness, they breed amongst themselves and perpetuate generations of polluted spawn.’

  ‘It needs no xenos to explain the monstrous qualities of these malcontents,’ Yadav agreed. ‘Mutation, spiritual and genealogical degeneracy are far more reasonable explanations.’ There was almost a tone of appeal in the priest’s voice as he spoke to Trishala.

  Kargil was more brusque in his manner. ‘I can understand why the Sister Superior insists this incident be magnified beyond its proportions. This excursion, this “exercise” as she terms it, has cost the city considerable resources. The damage done to the vault has inflicted a disruption to incense production, reducing output to thirty per cent. Efforts to redress the disparity have forced conscription squads into the tunnels to recruit extra labour for the factories.’ He turned towards Murdan. ‘Forgive me for pointing this out, Excellency, but it would create a poor impression on the pilgrims visiting Lubentina if they were unable to express their devotion through the purchase of properly sanctified incense sticks to burn in the Warmason’s Cathedral.’

  ‘There must never be any disruption inflicted upon the faithful,’ Murdan agreed. ‘The pilgrimage to Lubentina is one that should strengthen the faith, not cause it to be questioned.’

  ‘Then that is why you won’t listen to me?’ Trishala asked. ‘Because you don’t want to disrupt the pilgrimage or disturb the pilgrims?’

  ‘Understand the gravity of your accusation,’ Yadav pleaded. ‘If there is a xenos presence on Lubentina then we would be compelled to dispatch an astropathic call for assistance. The Imperium would send Space Marines and Imperial Guard to impose a quarantine while the situation was being evaluated. Maybe even the Inquisition to investigate. There would be no pilgrims allowed to pay homage at Vadok Singh’s cathedral, to restore their faith by seeing the Warmason’s relics. Word would spread that there was a blight on Lubentina. The faithful would go elsewhere. Even when things returned to normality it would take a long time to repair the damage.’

  ‘It might take years, even decades, for the pilgrimages to resume,’ Kargil elaborated. ‘Think of what harm that would inflict upon our economy. All the devotionals left unsold, the incense unburned. Empty hostels...’

  ‘Such concerns are transitory,’ Murdan said. ‘But it is the loss of prestige Lubentina would suffer. A place of holiness, a shrine world devoted to the God-Emperor’s Warmason, the noble Vadok Singh! How should the blemish of such a taint be effaced? It isn’t simply our own honour, our own position that is jeopardised but the legacy of Vadok Singh himself! How many might have their faith shaken, their minds left vulnerable to all manner of heresies, should we be found unworthy custodians of the duty entrusted to us?’

  Trishala looked towards Colonel Hafiz. ‘You were there,’ she told him. ‘It was your men who were killed by these things. Will you sit here and say that they were nothing but mutants and rebels?’

  Hafiz looked up from the table, forcing himself to meet her accusing glare. ‘I saw nothing that couldn’t be explained in such terms.’

  ‘Then we are agreed,’ Yadav said. ‘This incident was nothing more than a mutant uprising.’ He propped himself up in his chair, looking across at the other councillors. ‘An additional tithe shall be levied to fund more missionary work among the unfortunates in the Cloisterfells, that the Imperial Creed may draw them away from the confusion and madness that threatens to overwhelm them.’

  ‘That is the long view, palatine,’ Kargil said. ‘I prefer more immediate and practical solutions. We can evaluate each sector, each individual section if need be, based upon how indispensable they are to the city as a whole. Those that offer nothing vital can be sealed off and isolated.’

  ‘You would entomb the innocent along with the guilty,’ Hafiz warned the minister.

  ‘Necessary casualties to curtail this unrest,’ Kargil huffed. ‘If it eases your conscience, think of them as martyrs. Sacrifices to the prestige and prosperity of Lubentina.’

  Trishala slammed her palms down on the table. ‘You can’t eradicate a xenos infestation by simply sealing it away and trying to ignore it. Their taint must be purged, cleansed utterly before it destroys everything.’

  ‘I have heard your claims, Sister Superior,’ Murdan’s voice bristled with annoyance. ‘Your course would inflict injury upon the legacy of Vadok Singh and inflict upon this world a blemish that might forever tarnish it. There is no xenos presence here. There will be no distress call sent. What we have is a rabble of brazen mutants and malcontents that will be dealt with by our forces.’ He pointed at Kargil. ‘Initiate the conscription of another four thousand soldiers to augment the local militia. I leave the details of financing such an endeavour to you.’ The Cardinal-Governor turned his attention upon Yadav. ‘Amend the sermons of your priests to include a call to arms. Muster the frateris militia – draw your recruits from off-world pilgrims if need be. We will seal such areas of the underground as are feasible, but the rest of the tunnels will need to be cordoned off and purified.’

  Murdan leaned back in his throne and contemplated the anger he saw in Trishala’s face. ‘Confine your Sisters to their duties at the Warmason’s Cathedral,’ he ordered her. ‘There will be no more exercises in the tunnels. I will hear no more stories about aliens crawling through the bowels of Tharsis.’

  The Cardinal-Governor’s fingers drummed against the arms of his throne, an agitated tattoo that echoed through the hall. ‘We will handl
e this,’ he repeated. ‘There will be no distress call.’

  ‘Your obstinacy before the Cardinal-Governor was unacceptable.’ Palatine Yadav’s voice was subdued as he walked along the great archway that spilled down from the upper reaches of the Sovereign Spire and into the statue-lined expanse of the Starfold Plaza. Throngs of pilgrims in robes of grey and white could be seen prostrating themselves before the towering sculptures, sometimes setting sticks of smoking incense into the sand-filled pits that spread before the base of each eidolon. The congregations were largest around the colossus that depicted Vadok Singh himself, but none of the statues was without at least a few score petitioners seeking a blessing from the legendary hero or revered saint they depicted.

  Trishala stalked in silence beside the palatine. The discourse in the council chamber, the reprimand issued by Murdan, these were things that had cut deep. A pompous profiteer like Kargil would say that her pride had been wounded, but the injury wasn’t so shallow as anything she recognised as ‘self’. The intransigence of the Cardinal-Governor had challenged her sense of duty. For the first time since taking the sombre vow, she felt doubt. Not doubt in her own abilities or her own worthiness, but in the very nature of the calling she’d taken onto herself, the obligations she’d accepted as a Sister Superior.

  ‘My own home world was despoiled by xenos,’ Trishala said. ‘Smoke and fire spilling through the streets, the screaming and the shooting. The shrieks of aliens as they scuttled through the devastation. The whole of my family was lost. By the time the Inquisition came there was little left to save.’ She fixed a stern gaze on Yadav. ‘Whatever I have to do to keep that from happening here, whoever I offend or insult, by the Golden Throne I will. It won’t be by my inaction that such a thing happens again.’

  Though Yadav knew Trishala’s background, had read her history, never before had he heard her speak of it. No pain, no regret crept into her voice, only a steely harshness. Whatever sorrow she’d felt, whatever hurt she’d known, it had been buried so long that it had been transmuted into something entirely different. What the priest heard in her tone was hate, strengthened and sharpened by the purity of righteousness. Yadav had seen many times the awful power of such hate. It could fuel the most astounding valour, drive someone beyond endurance and reason, push them to feats that trespassed upon the realm of miracles. At the same time he’d seen the demands hate put upon both soul and body, a relentless taskmaster that left nothing of comfort and tranquillity to succour the mind.

  ‘By defying decorum and protocol you will only hinder your course,’ Yadav warned. ‘There are ways to get things done, but we must all of us abide by the strictures of status and position.’

  ‘No one wants to hear an unpleasant truth,’ Trishala said. ‘They have to be forced to face it. Dragged out and made to confront it if need be. There isn’t time for courtesies and diplomacy. This world is threatened by xenos and you need to accept that reality.’

  ‘The only one certain of that is you,’ Yadav pointed out. ‘Colonel Hafiz was there and he saw nothing to make him believe what attacked his men were more than rebels and mutants. Yet you are convinced that it is you who is right and everyone else wrong.’ The priest shook his head. ‘Isn’t it more reasonable to consider that maybe your belief is wrong? Some similarity between this mutant’s abnormalities and the xenos that attacked your home world has brought all those old memories rushing back. Distorting your perception.’

  ‘There are some things that retain their clarity no matter how much time has passed,’ Trishala said. ‘Don’t you think I have meditated on this? Don’t you think I’ve prayed that I’m wrong? But I’m not. That claw is from a xenos. And it would be reckless to assume that where there is one alien there aren’t others.’

  Yadav tried a different tack. ‘Would you have the Inquisition here, the Ordo Xenos set loose on Tharsis? You of all people know what would happen then.’

  Trishala’s eyes were cold as steel when she looked at Yadav. ‘Don’t mistake me, palatine. I understand that what the Inquisition did to my home world was necessary. All taint of the xenos had to be purged. In such a situation, mercy could only be the most unforgivable weakness. To risk the alien taint rising again... or spreading to other worlds and other people.’

  ‘You took your vows as a way of fighting back?’ Yadav asked.

  ‘No,’ Trishala said. ‘I became an Adepta Sororitas because I sought a way in which I could strengthen the Imperium, a way to be of service to the God-Emperor. Even to play the smallest part in His design, to defend all that He has built.’

  ‘Yet you are still haunted by your memories,’ Yadav persisted. ‘For all the valour and strength and discipline that the Order of the Sombre Vow has given you, somewhere in your heart you still hold on to this ember of hate.’

  ‘To despise the xenos is virtue, not sin,’ Trishala recited from one of Yadav’s own sermons.

  Yadav frowned at the reproof. ‘Without context, wisdom decays into foolishness. Hate can be servant, but it must never be allowed to become master. There must always be the understanding that what ennobles us is far more than hate. There is devotion and there is faith and there is obedience.’

  The stress the priest put upon the last word wasn’t lost on Trishala. ‘I can’t sit back and do nothing,’ she told him.

  ‘You aren’t doing nothing. The Order of the Sombre Vow has been entrusted with protecting the relics of Vadok Singh and the Warmason’s Cathedral,’ Yadav said. ‘The council is taking steps to deal with this unrest – whatever its nature. The expense will probably upset Minister Kargil and the merchant guilds, but they will rise to their responsibilities. An expanded local militia supported by several thousand frateris militia will settle things.

  ‘Your experiences when you were a child have clouded your judgement. The trouble down in the tunnels made you think back to what happened on your home world.’ Yadav tapped a finger against the side of his tonsured head. ‘In some corner of your mind you expected to find xenos down there and when you encountered a severely deformed mutant, that part of your mind latched onto it, transformed it in your imagination into the same sort of monster that killed your family.’

  ‘I know what I saw, what I cut with my sword,’ Trishala stated. ‘I’ve been ordered to keep my Sisters stationed in the cathedral. You need have no fear that I will disobey those commands. But nothing you tell me will change what I know to be true.’ She waved her hand at the plaza below, at the tiers of towers and minarets that rose beyond the statues to stab upwards into the sky.

  ‘My prayer is that you will see I’m right,’ Trishala said. ‘That you will forget your fears about lost revenue and lost prestige. That you will send the call for aid before it’s too late.’

  Far beneath the windswept spires of Tharsis, away from the cold light of a distant sun and the chill kiss of a polar wind, the air was hot and dank, mephitic in its cloying humidity. A dull, persistent pulse of orange light glowed from just beneath a skin of mineral encrustation built up over millennia.

  Beyond the orange glow was a place of shadows, a writhing darkness that sent flickering protrusions out across the pulsating walls. There was an intensity about that blackness, an antiquity that reached beyond the roots of this planet, stretching away into lightless voids cosmic and primordial.

  Bakasur bowed his head as he hastened towards that darkness. He stifled the fearful adoration that surged through such of his being as remained weak and anthropoid. He composed his thoughts, turning his mind to patterns that transcended mammalian flesh. He brought his intellect into that state of harmony that was receptive to the darkness, that could synchronise itself with the visions of the Great Father.

  The magus could hear the scuttle of the Inheritors as they stirred in the dark. He felt regret that he wasn’t like them, that his own form wasn’t cast in such wondrous shape. He could never be accepted by them as he was, only tolerated as a necessit
y, a means towards a divine end. But with that end, he would earn ascension. He would be cleansed and cast anew, drawn into purpose eternal and wondrous.

  Out of the shadows, Bakasur felt the Great Father brush against his own consciousness. The magus exulted in the contact, aware that he was blessed to commune with the master in such a profound manner. He opened his mind to the psychic touch, cast aside the barriers and defences that warded him from the notice of the astropaths and psykers that attended Lubentina’s Cardinal-Governor. Here, in the very lair of the Beast, there was no need of such precautions. The might of the Great Father was indefatigable and unyielding, more than equal to hiding both of them from scryers and telepaths.

  The Great Father’s intelligence poured into Bakasur, flooding through his mind like a raging tempest. The magus shrivelled in the ecstatic agony, his identity drowning in the psychic splendour of his master. Like a stalking hound, the Great Father’s mind probed into every corner of Bakasur’s being, exploring every facet of his individuality. Each experience, each memory and thought was turned over, examined, digested and then discarded. Higher and higher the floodwaters rose; Bakasur could feel his essence smothering, fading away beneath the enormity that had supplanted it. Terror, beautiful and radiant, suffused his being. He would be consumed, drained and devoured, absorbed into the majesty of his master.

  Bakasur collapsed, gasping for breath, feeling his organs shuddering in agony as nervous sensation was restored to them. His skull throbbed with pain, a tortuous pounding that seemed it could only end by bursting from his cranium. Most terrible of all, however, was the sense of emptiness, the dreadful diminishment that always followed communion with the Great Father. After housing even a fragment of his master’s mind, his own mind felt small and empty. A grisly loneliness clawed at the magus. Only the knowledge that the sensation would pass made it bearable and gave the magus the strength to rise from the rocky floor.