Part 5 (2/2)

'As to the inner workings of the Adeptus Telepathica, that is something that I am pleased to be untouched by. The priest-lord gave the two women a long, calculating look. 'Let me ask you something. Do you fear the witch?'

The psyker is the gate through which Chaos enters. Only by sacrament and denial can those cursed with the witch-sight hope to live and serve Terra. Verity repeated the words from the Liturgy of Retribution.

VVell said, but now it is you who does not answer my question. He stared at Miriya. 'Answer me, Sister.

Do you fear the witch?'

She didn't hesitate to respond. 'Of course I do. Verity is right in what she says, the witchkin would destroy mankind if left unchecked. They are as great a foe as the mutant and the heretic, the alien and daemon. Our fear makes us strong. It is the spur that takes us to destroy these monsters. If I had no fear of these things, I would have nothing to fight for.'

'Just so. LaHayn nodded. 'If there were any doubts in my mind that you are the one to catch this pesti-lent, they have fled. He bowed to them. 'Now, forgive me, but the bell comes close to ringing and I have a sermon to deliver. The priest-lord took in the crowds below with a sweep of his arms.

As Venik ushered them away, Miriya halted and turned back to face LaHayn. 'Begging your pardon, deacon. There is one other question I wish to pose to you.

'If you are quick about it.She bowed again. 'While we have focussed on the incidence of Vaun's escape, a single factor eludes me.

The criminal had the chance to go where he wanted, to strike out for a hundred worlds other than this one.

Why, in the Emperor's name, did he elect to return to a planet where his face and his vil-lainy are so well known? What possible bounty could exist on Neva that he would risk all for it?' Miriya became aware that Verity was watching both of them very closely.

LaHayn's face became very still. 'Who can fathom the mind of a madman, Sister? I confess I have no answer for you.

Miriya bowed once more and let Venik hand them off to Colonel Braun, who in turn led them down a few levels to the viewing galleries. Verity was quiet, her face pale and her gaze turned inward.

What say you?' she asked.

Verity took her time answering. 'I... am mistaken. said the Hospitaller, the words difficult for her to give voice to. 'For a moment, I thought... the dila-tion of his eyes, the blush response...'

Miriya leaned in close, so that only the two of them could hear one another. 'Say it.

'No. Verity shook her head. 'I am in error.

'Say it,' repeated the Battle Sister. Tell me so I know I am not alone in my thoughts.

Verity met her gaze. 'When you asked him about Vaun's reasons... he lied to us.

'Just so. said Miriya. 'But to what end?'

When the lamps illuminated him, LaHayn felt as if he were being projected upward into the stars, cut-ting free of the confines of his human meat and becoming something greater and more ephemeral -something linked directly to the bright supernova that was the Light of the G.o.d-Emperor. It never failed to elate him.

There was an old saying on Neva, that all men born there had the calling. Indeed, every male child was required to take a term in the seminary to see if they were suitable for the planet's ma.s.sive caste of clerics.

It had been under such simple circ.u.mstances that Viktor LaHayn had come into the orbit of the Church of Terra, and in those gloomy cloisters, among the grim-faced adepts and the priests alight with brimstone oratory, he had truly found his first vocation. The mere thought of those days brought a smile to his face. Those were less complicated times, when the word and deed of persecution were all that occupied his mind, when all he needed was the chainsword in his strong right hand and the Book of the Fated in his left.

The roaring crowd filled his senses and he wel-comed them in, raising his hands in the age-old sign of the aquila, the divine two-headed eagle. Blind and yet not blind, forward looking yet knowing the past, wings unfurled to s.h.i.+eld humanity.

In moments of introspection like this one, LaHayn wondered what he would say if he were able to step back into the past and meet his younger self in those lost days. What would he have told him? Could he have stood to whisper the secrets that would later be revealed to him? How could he, when to do so would deny that callow youth the shattering, soul-blazing revelation that his later years brought?

LaHayn watched his hololithic image grow to giant proportions and drank in the awe of his con-gregation. If his first calling had taken him to a vast, new world in the Emperor's service, then his second had pressed him to the very foot of the Golden Throne. None of them down there in the amphithe-atre could see it, but they sensed it in the words he spoke, in the touch he laid on them. They knew, in their hearts, just as he did, never doubting, unflinching in his righteousness.

The final pieces were coming together. Lord Viktor LaHayn was the hand of the G.o.d-Emperor, and His will would be done. Nothing would be allowed to prevent it.

CHAPTER FIVE.

The Imperial Church was an engine fuelled by devotion, a machine lubricated by the blood of its faithful, and across a hundred thousand stars, the temples and spires of the G.o.d-Emperor's spirit cast long shadows. As each planet and populace was dis-tinctive, so each society took the wors.h.i.+p of the Lord of Mankind and made it their own. On feral planets like Miral, the primitive natives saw Him as a great animal stalking the stygian depths of their forests. The forge world Telemachus revered Him as the Great Blacksmith, the Moulder of All Things, and the people of Limnus Epsilon believed He lived in their sun, breathing radiance down upon them.

The church had learned in the days of the Great Crusade that enforcing its will on worlds by eradi-cating their belief systems and starting from scratch was a lengthy and troublesome process. Instead, the Ecclesiarchy worked by coercion and change, turn-ing native religions to face Holy Terra and showing them the great truth of the universe - that all G.o.ds were the G.o.d-Emperor of Man in one guise or another.

On a world such as Neva, where dogma and creed were irreversibly threaded through every single aspect of its civilisation, wars had been fought over single verses in holy tracts, over the smallest points in the reading of prayers.

Barons and city-lords had put each other to the sword when interpretations of credo boiled into violent discord. On such a planet, where every man, woman and child prayed to Terra in fear of their immortal souls, there was friction anddangerous strife over the meaning and the matter of the church's word.

To end such disharmony, Neva required a miracle, and by the grace of the G.o.d-Emperor, it received one. The people called it the Blessing of the Wound.

Lord LaHayn did not speak or gesture for the crowds to become silent. He merely watched and waited, his aspect neutral and his hands clasped behind his back. The tall hololithic ghost projection glittered beneath him, hovering over the stage sets mounted in the amphitheatre's dirt arena. He allowed his vis-age to turn gently this way and that, the image's eyes scanning the people with a cool, unwavering stare. LaHayn had long ago mastered the ability to address a crowd and have each person in it think that it was only they to whom he was speaking.

When they were quiet, he gave them a shallow bow. 'Sons and daughters of Neva. We are blessed. The priest-lord felt the gaze of thousands upon him, thousands of breaths held in tight throats. The path towards a better tomorrow stretches out before us, towards a future that is golden and eternal, but our journey together must cross a wilderness of hard-s.h.i.+p and struggle.

He bowed his head. 'Each year we gather here and ask for the Blessing, and we are granted it. Why? Because we are humanity. Because we are the chil-dren of the G.o.d-Emperor, the most supreme man that ever drew breath. Through His servants, we know Him and we know His words. We understand what is expected of us. Our duties, to be strong, to never weaken, to purge the xenos, the mutant, the heretic from our ranks. The priest looked up again. know that the price of all things is not gold, not uranium, not diamonds. It is faith unfailing. And that price is paid with blood.

When Saint Celestine's warfleet had appeared in Neva's...o...b..t to herald the pa.s.sing of the warp storm that had isolated the system, the churches across the planet were filled to bursting. Lives were lost in some places when chapels, overflowing with wor-s.h.i.+ppers, collapsed under their own weight. According to some records from that time, the living saint herself made planetfall at the Discus Rock some kilometres from Noroc - although log-tapes from the warrior's flags.h.i.+p never fully corroborated this incident, leading some historians on other worlds to doubt the words of the Nevan priests. But true or not, the saint's pa.s.sage under Neva's sun changed the planet forever. The monks living in the monastery that stood at Discus now guarded the spot. Ringed with bra.s.s electro-fences there was a shallow imprint in the flat stone, allegedly marking the place where Celestine's golden boot first touched the surface of Neva. The very richest and most favoured of the planet's n.o.ble castes were allowed to kneel there and kiss the mark. Some would ritually cut themselves and offer a few drops of blood to the footprint, if they were highborn enough.

Saint Celestine, the Hieromartyr of the Palatine Crusade, was second only to the Emperor in the number of Nevan chapels dedicated to her name. Her face adorned coins, icons and devotional art-works, and in every one, the man who had come to be known as Ivar of the Wound attended at her feet.

The priest gathered the people in with his open arms. 'I am humbled by the magnificent example that you, my congregation, have set. The workers and artisans among you who toil and ask not for acclaim, but accept the honour of our n.o.ble Gover-nor Emmel. The soldiers and warriors who burn with cold fire and unyielding resolve, never flinch-ing before the threat of the heretical and unmutual. The pastors and clerics who hold the very soul of our people in their hands, s.h.i.+elding it from the lies of the treacherous and disloyal. You seek reward in service alone. He made the sign of the aquila once more. 'I am forever in awe of you. After a long moment, he spoke again, but now the warmth in his voice was bleeding out, changing to something cold and hard. 'The greatest pride of the Nevan peo-ple is order and yet there are those among us who seek only chaos and destruction. As a chirurgeon might sever a limb to excise a lethal cancer, we must do the same. Our society offers so much to those who follow the rule of law, and yet these criminals want only discord and anarchy. To be pious is to be strong and never yield to such offenders. Remem-ber! The stalwart will inherit tomorrow; the weak will be buried today. We must protect our children and our nation from the malignancy of rebellion. In Ivar's name, they must know the cost. They must know it!'

Ivar's story was famous to every Nevan, taught in creches and re-told to them again and again throughout their lives.

There were books of his life, heavy with garish ill.u.s.trations and few words for the simple-minded and the young, or dense with layers of interpretation for the thinker. Each year the church had the public vox networks produce a lav-ish viddy-drama biography. He was celebrated in song and his patrician profile adorned murals across the planet.

An ordinary soldier in Noroc's city guard, Ivar had witnessed first-hand the arrival of Celestine in those turbulent days, and when the shadow of her star-s.h.i.+p quieted the a.s.sa.s.sin-wars and dismissed the warp storm, he was so moved by the event that he gathered a legion of warriors and followed the saint on her War of Faith. He called it a payment in return for Celestine's rescue of his homeworld, and so in the months that ensued Ivar and his men pledged themselves as militia in the service of the Adepta Sororitas. Ivar's soldiers fought with the pa.s.sion of true zealots, their numbers thinning through attri-tion until at last only Ivar himself was still alive.

Finally on the battlefields of the Kodiak Cl.u.s.ter where Celestine's force had engaged an eldar con-clave, the living saint was drawn into close combat with an alien warlord. Ivar, attempting to prove his devotion, tried and failed to strangle the warlord with his bare hands, and instead found himself taken as a human s.h.i.+eld by the xenos creature.

Con-fronting Celestine, the alien believed that she would never willingly kill a member of her own species in cold blood but Ivar called out for the saint to sacri-fice him in order to destroy the eldar commander. Celestine plunged the burning tip of her Ardent Blade through Ivar's chest, running him through and cleaving the heart of the alien behind him, but when the sword was withdrawn, by some miracle Ivar still lived.

'Zeal. Purity. Duty. The pillars of the church are the platform on which we stand, unbreakable and unending. We look to the future that only we can achieve. As Ivar showed us, history does not long entrust the care of freedom to theweak or the timid.' LaHayn gently returned to the smooth, care-ful cadence of his earlier words. 'Each of you shares in the greatest glory of them all - you are the truly virtuous. We, who are ruthless to those who oppose our vision, masters of those we defeat, unflinching in the face of adversity. I pity all those who are not born beneath our skies, for they will never know the touch of righteousness as we do.

The crowd roared its approval, and LaHayn gave it a fatherly smile. The path we have chosen is not an easy one. Struggle is the parent of all things and true virtue lies in bloodshed. But we will not tire, we will not falter, we will not fail. In the blood of our chil-dren comes the price we must pay. Blood alone moves the wheels of history, and we will be resolute, we will fear no sacrifice, and surmount every diffi-culty to win our just destiny. Redemption is within your grasp. The Emperor rewards His children who show courage and fidelity, just as He rejects those without it!' The amphitheatre exploded with sound, cheers pealing off the walls and booming across the city in waves of sound. Across Noroc and across the planet, the priest-lord's sermon reached the ears of Neva's faithful and they loved him for it.

The sword cut in Ivar's chest never healed. In hon-our of his great courage, Saint Celestine released him from his obligation to her and bid him return to Neva, there to serve the will of the G.o.d-Emperor among his people. From that day until the end of his life, Ivar's holy wound never closed, and despite the constant agony it brought him, he wore it as a badge of honour. It was said that those anointed with a drop of blood from Ivar's cut were blessed, and the bandages with which he wrapped it were held to this day as sacred relics. Ivar rose to the rank of lord deacon and founded the construction of the great Lunar Cathedral. His legacy of willing sacrifice, penitence, bloodshed and pain became the founda-tions on which the Nevan sect of the Imperial Church stood - and with his guidance, the Blessing of the Wound took its place as the most important religious ceremony in the planet's calendar.

Miriya and Verity stood at the lip of the gallery's fluted balcony, watching the riot of activity at the edges of the arena. LaHayn's hololithic image bowed and faded into the evening, a great cry rising from the audience as it went. Below, figures in all kinds of gaudy costumes were streaming out of hid-den gates, forming up into ragged skirmish lines or gadding about in peculiar, directionless dances. Just beneath the level of the observation galleries, there were catwalks and gantries made of thin steel, painted in neutral shades so as not to stand out beneath the floodlamps. The Celestian and the Hos-pitaller could see people in grey coveralls working feverishly at cables and pulleys, making parts of the wooden sets below s.h.i.+ft and move in time to the building hum of choral chants.

Verity blinked at the figures in the ampitheatre. Those are... They are just children.'

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