Celestine - Andy Clark

by Warhammer 40K

‘Purpose, I know your true name, and it is Duty,’ said Celestine. ‘And if the Dark Gods think for an instant that I would allow such a tainted abomination as this to act as the arbiter of my will, then they prove only that they cannot possibly understand the depths of my faith, or my conviction, or my strength.’

  With that she sprang. The monstrous executioner swung its blade down with all its might and Duty screamed. There was a resounding clang as Celestine’s blade stopped the executioner’s axe bare inches above the nape of Duty’s neck.

  ‘I defy you, as I defy all the works of the Dark Gods,’ snarled Celestine, arms shuddering with the effort of holding back the executioner’s blade. ‘I accept my duty for it is every bit as much a part of who I am as is my faith, and I spit upon you and all your filthy kind!’

  Servos whined in her armour as she pivoted, forcing her blade upwards and driving the executioner’s weapon back. The monstrous warrior roared, the sound muffled by the faceplate of its helm, and swung its weapon back for another blow. Celestine grabbed Duty by one shoulder and hurled her unceremoniously aside before diving the other way. The monster’s axe fell and struck the brass block. Sparks spat from the impact, but both Celestine and Duty were unharmed.

  With a rumbling growl, the executioner wrenched its weapon out of the block and lumbered towards Celestine. Wingless, her back to the empty void, she took up a fighting stance. She was exhausted from the climb and this hulking monster shuddered with unnatural might. Yet perhaps if she could goad it into a reckless charge she might lunge aside and send it pitching off the ledge to its doom.

  The executioner staggered as a raging blast of fire struck it from the side. Celestine saw Faith advancing on the monster, burning brands raised and a look of murderous determination on her face. The executioner spun her way, then staggered as another pyrotechnic blast hit it from the other direction. It spun again, flesh blackened, and Celestine saw that Duty was on her feet and wielding burning brands of her own. Wings had burst from the woman’s back, shimmering in the colours of ruby and obsidian.

  Celestine didn’t waste her chance. She charged, ramming her blade through the executioner’s back, its tip aimed for the heart. The monster bellowed in pain, stiffening as though electrocuted as her sword point exploded from its chest in a shower of blood.

  Muscles rippled under worm-pale skin as the executioner tried to turn. Celestine cried out as her blade was wrenched from her hands. She threw herself flat as the enormous axe thrummed over her head, then rolled away as the executioner’s foot slammed down where her head had been.

  Flames billowed again as both Faith and Duty hammered the monster with their burning brands, and it staggered with another muffled roar. Blood showered from around both point and hilt of Celestine’s sword and the executioner stumbled.

  Surging to her feet, Celestine dodged another almighty axe-swing and grabbed the hilt of her sword. With a grunt of exertion, she dragged the blade free.

  ‘Emperor, guide my blade!’ she cried, then spun on her heel and whipped her sword in a hissing arc. It struck low and hacked through the executioner’s right knee, severing the leg entirely. The creature gave another roar of mindless fury, but it was powerless to stop itself toppling sideways and crashing to the ground. Blood jetted from the stump of its severed leg and poured from the holes in its back and chest. Still it tried to drag itself towards Celestine, axe clutched in one massive fist, eyeless face locked upon her.

  Faith and Duty strode closer and bathed the monster in flame until its flesh crackled and body fat spat and sizzled.

  Still it crawled, emitting grunting snarls. Celestine eyed the ruined creature with disgust.

  ‘Such are the wages of heresy,’ she intoned, raising her blade high. ‘Such is the fate of all who defy the will of the Emperor.’

  With that, Celestine’s blade whistled down and struck the monster’s head from its shoulders. Molten gore jetted, spattering Celestine’s greaves, and the axeman’s remaining limbs drummed against the rock as though its body still fought against death. Only when she was quite sure that it had stopped moving, and was finally, irrevocably slain, did Celestine allow herself to drop to her knees in exhaustion.

  412TH DAY OF THE WAR – 1300 HOURS

  IMPERIUM NIHILUS – PLANET KOPHYN

  MANSEYT CRATER FIELDS – LO:722-6/LA:633-4

  Major Blaskaine rode in a borrowed Taurox armoured personnel carrier named Endurance. For the past seven days, the vehicle had acted as his mobile command base and Blaskaine had to admit that, for a cramped and often sweaty metal box on tracks, he had become quite fond of the old girl.

  At night, when temperatures plunged, he had been glad of the vehicle’s ability to pressurise and seal off the interior atmosphere. Now, though, with the midday suns beating down, he rode high in the vehicle’s cupola with the hatch open and his cap off. Blaskaine luxuriated in the simple pleasure of the wind blowing through his greasy hair as the Taurox rumbled along. If he was honest with himself, it was a rather pleasant surprise simply still being alive; Blaskaine found his spirits disproportionately lifted by the act of still breathing.

  The view wasn’t much to speak of, of course. It rarely was on Kophyn. The planet was hard and scarred, a ball of rock and dust that had been deemed worthy of habitation only because of the rich mineral deposits running through its geological strata. Currently, the crusade was advancing across a dusty plain under a hard blue sky, with not so much as a scad of underbrush or a jutting rock formation to break up the lifeless monotony.

  Endurance travelled near the head of the straggling column of tanks and soldiery that made up Saint Celestine’s crusade. The vehicles were forced to move at marching pace, for there had not been enough armour to mobilise everyone, and so progress had been steady at best. Still, reflected Blaskaine, they had been phenomenally fortunate thus far. Aside from a few scattered cult warbands and a single column of rusted renegade tanks, the crusade had met no serious resistance in an entire week trekking through hostile territory.

  ‘Nothing short of miraculous, really,’ he muttered to himself, and was surprised to find he meant it less acerbically than he had thought. Still, it unsettled him; in Blaskaine’s experience, an unseen foe was more dangerous than one stood proud before you. He had thought about convening quietly with the other Cadian officers to discuss their absent enemy, perhaps to arrange additional scouting parties, but he had put the decision off. Blaskaine told himself this was because they couldn’t spare the scouts. The truth was he couldn’t bear the thought that his doubts might be answered by warriors he had long respected now spouting zealotry and talk of unquestioning faith.

  He could see her up there, at the very front of the marching column. The Saint, flanked by her Geminae Superia, striding along amidst the Adepta Sororitas. She walked like everyone else, even though he had seen her fly with ease. The message wasn’t lost on Blaskaine. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt as he glanced back at the Cadian soldiers marching stolidly through the dust trail kicked up by his armoured personnel carrier.

  His reverie was broken by movement below him. Blaskaine scooted back to make space as Kasyrgeldt passed a vox handset up to him.

  ‘Captain Maklen for you, sir,’ said Kasyrgeldt. ‘Sounds like trouble.’

  Maklen’s Leman Russ Executioner, Sunderer, was half-way back down the column. The potent plasma-tank was barely visible through his magnoculars amongst the dust clouds kicked up by the vehicles surrounding it.

  ‘Thanks, Astryd,’ said Blaskaine, taking the bulky handset and hitting the ‘receive’ rune as his adjutant ducked back into the troop bay of the Taurox. ‘Captain Maklen, this is Major Blaskaine receiving.’

  ‘Charn, my scouts are reporting possible trouble up ahead,’ said Captain Maklen.

  ‘What nature of peril comes our way?’ asked Blaskaine, wondering to himself whether now, as he had suspected, the other boot was about to come crashing down
.

  ‘We’re approaching the Manseyt Crater Fields,’ said Maklen. ‘Prime ambush territory. And we’re only a hundred miles shy of the Khatmadh’Nul mountains now.’

  ‘Closing in on Shambach against all odds,’ said Blaskaine.

  Shambach, the City of Ingots, was the ancient prayer city of Kophyn, and served as both the planet’s spiritual and mining capital. It resided in a rocky valley at the feet of holy Mount Imperator. Its blessed mines had been the richest on Kophyn for over a thousand years.

  It was also, according to the Saint, the enemy’s primary stronghold and the source of the corruption that had beset the planet. She wouldn’t say how she knew this, of course, or what precisely the nature of that corruption was, and Blaskaine had become increasingly infuriated over the previous seven days with her firm insistence that he ‘have faith and trust in the Emperor’.

  Still, he reflected sourly, such blandishments seemed enough for everyone else and he wasn’t one to fight losing battles. Privately, Blaskaine figured that dying beneath the guns of one traitor stronghold was much the same as dying beneath the guns of any other, and all would offer an equal chance to salvage some manpower and escape when matters inevitably went south.

  ‘Yes, but we’ll never make the City of Ingots if we run and get slaughtered by enemy ambushers out here,’ said Maklen, her regal tones snapping Blaskaine back to the present. ‘The Salamander crews are reporting huge renegade icons jutting from some of the craters.’

  ‘Seems a bit blatant,’ said Blaskaine. ‘Could just be scare tactics, heads on pikes, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Maklen, sounding singularly unconvinced. ‘It could also portend some dark sorcery or other. Throne knows they’ve demonstrated ample aptitude for the conjuring of nightmares since this all began.’

  ‘Well, thank the Emperor we’ve a Saint on our side then, eh?’ said Blaskaine before he could stop himself. He winced at the cold silence that hissed back to him over the vox.

  ‘For a man with the nous to rise to the rank of major within the Cadian military, you really can be a spectacular arse sometimes, Charn,’ said Maklen eventually.

  ‘That, Petronella, is beyond question,’ said Blaskaine. He knew Captain Maklen well enough to know that, so long as she subjected you to the odd biting insult, you were still on her right side.

  ‘Well, just see to it that such blasphemous twaddle doesn’t reach the ears of the soldiery,’ she snapped. ‘Or, Emperor forbid, the missionaries. If they were zealous before the Saint’s arrival, they’re positively fanatical now. It’s a powerful weapon, might even give us a fighting chance in this madness, but I believe it’s made some of them dangerous.’

  Blaskaine’s thoughts jumped to one priest in particular, the rangy one with the wild eyebrows and the penchant for baiting the soldiery. He’d had to discipline the man three nights ago at camp when he heard him preaching fire and damnation for all. Since then he’d caught the priest’s wild-eyed gaze fixed upon him more than once. It made him deeply uncomfortable.

  ‘You will find no argument here,’ said Blaskaine. ‘So, what is the best course of action, in your opinion? Circumnavigate the crater field or push on? What sort of delay are we talking about if we go around?’

  ‘Substantial,’ replied Maklen. ‘But Charn, it isn’t our decision, is it?’

  Blaskaine sighed heavily before keying the ‘send’ rune again. ‘No, captain, it is not. Have you advised the Saint?’

  ‘I wanted to warn you first,’ she said. ‘But you know what she’s going to say, don’t you?’

  ‘Press on, and let the Emperor guide our path,’ he said heavily.

  ‘Precisely, and that tone of voice is why I wanted to give you a moment to adjust to the notion before I spread the word to Celestine, Tasker and Velle-Marchon.’

  ‘Thank you, Petronella,’ said Blaskaine.

  ‘You’re a damn good officer, Major Blaskaine. I’m proud to serve under you and I consider you a friend. But really, would a little more faith kill you?’ asked Maklen brusquely. ‘He’s sent us His Living Saint, for Throne’s sakes. What more indication do you need that the Master of Mankind still watches over us?’

  Blaskaine scowled, then shook his head and laughed mirthlessly.

  ‘Between you and I,’ he said, keeping his voice low, ‘I’m amazed there’s a single Cadian left with any faith in the Emperor after the death of our world. She was there, too, don’t forget. She fought the Despoiler himself alongside Creed, and yet the Cadian Gate still fell after ten thousand years of resistance. It fell during our watch. With Celestine present at the death, might I add. There was no divine intervention that day was there? No last-gasp route to salvation for the loyal folk of Cadia. Doesn’t it make you feel angry, Petronella? Ashamed? Betrayed? How do you do it?’

  ‘Major Blaskaine, I would have thought it obvious,’ replied Maklen, the crackle of the vox making her tone hard for him to read. ‘It is only because of our faith in the Emperor that there are any Cadians left.’

  With that, she cut the vox-link, leaving Major Blaskaine to brood. He looked to the eastern horizon and saw that dark clouds were gathering in their path, wisps of vapour coagulating unnaturally quickly into thunderheads that swallowed up the sky. The occluded light of the suns turned watery and grey.

  Blaskaine pulled his cap back onto his head and set his jaw.

  ‘Very well,’ he said grimly, and found himself hoping that there were enemies waiting for them up ahead. He had a sudden, powerful need to shoot something.

  Sister Superior Meritorius checked the clip on her bolter for a third time. Still full, she thought. Still clear, well oiled, all in good order. Even now, with all that beset her mind, she found her equipment drills came automatically. They were a touchstone, she supposed.

  Warriors stirred around her, and a string of pips shot through the vox network.

  ‘The Cadians and Astorosians have closed up their formation and unshrouded their weapons,’ observed Sister Penitence. ‘They are ready to advance into the crater fields. At last.’

  ‘That was impressively swift for so large a formation of soldiery, Sister,’ said Sister Absolom. Penitence grunted in reply, clearly unimpressed.

  The crater fields lay dead ahead, the flat regularity of the plains broken and torn where ancient asteroid impacts had ruptured the bedrock. Some of the craters had lips that rose several hundred feet into the air like the severed slopes of dispossessed mountains. Others simply plunged away into dark pits. From the lips of many craters rose huge icons of Chaos, towering iron shafts wrought on an industrial scale, supporting dark skull sigils the size of landing pads. Their lowering presence was beyond ominous, thought Meritorius.

  ‘The skies darken,’ she said, casting her eyes towards the heavens. Overhead, black clouds had gathered until the crusade found themselves mired in twilit gloom. Some of the Imperial tank crews had chosen to activate the stablights mounted on their turrets, and Meritorius found herself glad of their stark illumination.

  ‘Faithful warriors of the Emperor,’ cried Saint Celestine from nearby, her voice vox amplified so that it rolled across the Imperial lines. ‘We press on with prayers upon our lips and gladness in our hearts. Fear not the shadow on high, nor the symbols of the Dark Gods, nor any threat of foes ahead. The Emperor will test us in whatever way He sees fit, but I know that we shall all prevail, for we have true faith and its light can illuminate any darkness.’

  Around Meritorius, her Sisters raised a mighty cheer. She saw the faith shining in their eyes, the ferocity of their determination, and felt the gulf of loneliness widen around her. Self-loathing warred with anger and recrimination in Sister Meritorius’ heart. How could she stand before a Living Saint of the Emperor and yet feel nothing? Why had this curse fallen upon her?

  Hard-eyed, she raised her voice to cheer as loud as any of them. She had a duty to lead these
women into battle, and she would not be found wanting, no matter how clogged with ash her soul had become.

  Saint Celestine turned and advanced, her Geminae Superia close at her side. At the same time, the Imperial crusade force surged forwards amidst prayers and hymns, the snorting of tank exhausts and the massed tramp of boots.

  ‘Ten miles of this terrain, give or take,’ said Sister Absolom as they strode out at the army’s head. The Sisters of Battle formed a black-and-white-armoured spearhead that would lead the push through to the other side of the crater fields. ‘Perhaps three hours’ loaded march through rough terrain.’

  ‘Do you think the enemy are out here, or have the icons simply made the Cadians paranoid?’ asked Sister Penitence.

  ‘We’ve seen scarce sign of resistance so far,’ said Sister Absolom. ‘Perhaps their forces are far afield, fighting other Imperial holdouts of which we’ve no knowledge?’

  ‘Or perhaps they fell upon Tanykha Adul and are even now closing on our trail,’ said Sister Penitence, darkly. ‘The Saint soars aloft, surely she can just tell us if the enemy are lurking ahead?’

  ‘She is not a literal angel,’ said Sister Meritorius, her voice harder than she intended. ‘Even with that artificer pack upon her back, the Saint would have to put herself dangerously out of position to scout the highest craters. Besides which, I would not wish to stray too close to those clouds, would you?’

  The first sparks of lightning were now crackling through the clouds overhead. A dry heaviness settled in the air, making everything feel close and charged. Corposant flickered across the towering Chaos icons, making them appear unnaturally energised.

  Despite her words, Meritorius couldn’t shake the traitorous feeling that the Saint did know whether there were enemies out here and had simply pushed on regardless. Thus, it came as no shock to her when, an hour into their march, the groan of vast horns echoed out over the crater fields and masses of silhouettes appeared upon the lips of the highest craters.