Heart & Soul - James Swallow

by Warhammer 40K

  Oleande stepped down off the Thunderhawk’s ramp and her troops followed suit. She gestured with her white-lined gauntlet towards the chapel sealed inside the force barrier. ‘We came when we learned of your victory. You are to be commended… But I must demand an answer of you, Sister. Where is the Iconoclast?’

  Miriya sensed an abrupt rise in tension among the assembled­ Sisters of the Valorous Heart as Oleande asked her question, and for a moment she was unsure how to react. ‘Trapped,’ she said at length. ‘You have arrived as we regroup for the final act of our mission.’ She nodded towards the imprisoned chapel. ‘I intend to enter with a handpicked strike force and kill the heretic before the next dawn.’

  ‘Have you come to affirm the execution?’ asked Verity. The hospitaller knew as well as the Battle Sisters that the shrines of the Valorous Heart had suffered in the past from the actions of the Army of the ­Iconoclast, as much as those of Miriya’s Order.

  Oleande seemed visibly relieved, and she shook her head. ‘Ave ­Imperator. The Master of Mankind has heard our prayers and granted them.’ She spoke the words to her cadre before turning back to face Miriya and the others. ‘Sister, take joy in knowing that you have done what no others could. You have captured this traitor and ended a murderous reign of terror across the stars. And now you can rest.’ Oleande cast an eye over their dented and laser-scarred wargear. ‘Your fight is over. You may stand down. We will take things from here. We will do what must be done.’

  Oleande’s statement was so unexpected that it briefly robbed Miriya of the power to reply.

  Not so with Ananke, however, who blurted out a fierce snarl of denial and shook her head. ‘What say you?’ she snapped. ‘After we have spent years fighting this crusade, you come from out of nowhere when the killing blow is to be struck and ask us to step aside?’

  ‘This is unacceptable,’ Miriya said, finding her voice. ­‘Oleande, you must see that. How can you ask such a thing of us?’

  The Celestian’s eyes narrowed and her voice grew cold. ‘I did not ask you for anything, Sister. I am telling you.’

  Miriya bristled at the other woman’s tone, and she sensed the same rush of anger wash over her cohorts. She was keenly aware of the difference in rank between herself and Oleande,­ even if the two of them were equal in veteran status and battle­field experience, but still it was hard to keep her tone level. ‘You demand this?’ She reached for the pouch on her belt. ‘I have here a warrant from the High Canoness, supreme commander of my Order–’

  ‘As do I.’ Oleande cut her off, as one of her warriors stepped forward to show a sheet of photic parchment bearing the mark of the Ophelia VII convent and the sigil of the mistress of the Valorous Heart.

  Without hesitation, Sister Verity imposed herself between the two groups of warriors, raising her hands in a gesture of conciliation. ‘Can this act of justice not be… shared?’

  ‘Never!’ Oleande snapped. ‘While the Valorous Heart has nothing but respect for the Sisterhood of the Martyred Lady and all they have given to expedite this mission, it must be affirmed that our Order has prior claim on the life of the heretic known as the Iconoclast. The heinous crimes of desecration committed against our most holy shrines by this criminal are monstrous in scope! Whole star systems burned in sacrifice to the Ruinous Powers. Sacred relics defiled and obliterated! Sisters and laypeople murdered in the most abhorrent of manners…’ She lost momentum for a brief instant, her eyes briefly clouding with tears at the thought of such things. Then Oleande pushed on, snarling like a firebrand. ‘All that matters is that this aberration dies screaming! Do you not agree, that by the hand of my Order or yours, the end result is the same? The galaxy will be cleansed of the Iconoclast’s existence and be better for it!’

  ‘You cannot come here after all the blood that has been shed and all the battles we have fought are done.’ Isabel’s words were icy and hard. From the corner of her eye, Miriya saw that her Sister was gripping her bolt rifle tightly, in a battle-ready stance. ‘After our Order has taken the burden of this mission for so long, we will not allow another to steal the glory of the final kill out from under us!’

  A deathly silence fell across the hillside, broken only by the low hum of the force wall and the ticking of the Thunderhawk’s cooling engines. The Sisters of the Martyred Lady were fatigued, that was undeniable – but they were still burning with rage enough to see their enemy ended. And if Oleande’s warriors tried to stand in the way of that righteous vengeance, there would be violence.

  Miriya’s martial mind parsed the situation in a heartbeat. The remains of the Vestal Task Forces outnumbered the squads from the Thunderhawks, but if this became an open conflict, the death toll would be great, and there was no way to know how many more Valorous Hearts were on the ships up in orbit.

  Then she caught up to her own thoughts and felt sick inside. ­Sister fighting Sister? It was unconscionable. They were not the Adeptus Astartes, whose fractious past had often set their Chapters into battle with one another; the Adepta Sororitas were supposed to be incorruptible and above such things, unified and forever whole through their true faith in the God-Emperor.

  ‘This is not about glory!’ Oleande admonished Isabel. ‘The right to strike the executioner’s blow is ours and ours alone!’ She glared at Miriya. ‘Will you force me to exercise my superi­ority over you, Sister? I shall make it a direct order if I must. Are you prepared to defy the will of the Covent Sanctorum?’

  Miriya struggled to hold her tone in check. ‘You ask too much.’

  ‘I do not ask,’ Oleande repeated.

  A mechanical cough sounded behind her, and Miriya turned as Questor Nohlan stepped forward. ‘If it pleases my Honoured Sisters, may I speak?’ She nodded to him before Oleande could say otherwise and the adept went on. ‘It would appear you both possess warrants of authority from your respective High Canoness, each of which is the mistress of an Order Majoris. By the letter of Imperial law and the edicts of the Ecclesiarchy, each warrant is equally valid. One cannot countermand the other, regardless of the rank of the Sister who holds it.’

  ‘This is so,’ added Verity. ‘Only the Abbess Sanctorum of Ophelia can hold sway over such an impasse. Her word on the matter would be binding and final.’

  Miriya put her hand on Isabel’s forearm and the meaning of the gesture was clear. Put up your weapons. She met ­Oleande’s gaze and held it. ‘I will accept the edict of the Abbess on this matter, Sister. Will you do the same?’ The rest of the sentence was unspoken, but everyone on the hillside heard the echo of it. Or will we be forced to draw blood over this?

  ‘What do you propose?’ spat the Celestian. ‘That we send a message to Ophelia VII for the Abbess to rule on who has primacy here? That could take months to expedite!’ She jutted her chin towards the force barrier. ‘And while we sit here, the traitor has time to plan and prepare for us… Perhaps even escape that confinement!’

  ‘Not so,’ noted the Mechanicus adept. ‘The ethereal envelope projected by the relic is not only a wall for mass and energy, but also a membrane against time. The enclosure was erected several hours ago, but for those trapped inside time will pass at a far slower rate.’ A smug tone entered Nohlan’s words. ‘I can assure you all that the Iconoclast is going nowhere.’

  ‘But we can move through the barrier from outside with the aid of the Cult Mechanicus whenever we wish,’ said Verity, ‘is that not so?’

  Miriya nodded, still holding Oleande’s gaze. ‘So we hold off entering the chapel until a higher authority decides which of us will have the honour of killing the Iconoclast. Unless you see another way to move forward, Sister Celestian?’

  Oleande was silent for a long moment, then she reached up and slammed shut her visor. ‘Send your message,’ she snapped, and turned on her heel to march back up the ramp into her dropship. Her troops did the same, turning their back on Miriya and the others.

  ‘How da
re they!’ Ananke could not hold her silence a moment more, and spat out the words as the Battle Sisters drew back from the clearing. ‘Bad enough that they might demand to join us at the last moment, but to order us off a fight that is ours alone to prosecute–’

  ‘It is no lie that they have fair cause to hate the Iconoclast as much as anyone,’ said Verity. ‘The heretic has cost them much.’

  ‘No doubt,’ said Marcia, ‘but what coin have Oleande’s Sisters­ spent in order to find the criminal? They did not fight with us, and we have paid with our dearest blood.’

  Pandora’s face, slack in death, rose and fell in Miriya’s thoughts. ‘Truth. Truth on all sides. But we must be clear-eyed on this. Our mission here is not just to take revenge for those we have lost. We were sent after the Iconoclast to serve the Emperor’s will and enforce His edicts. Suffer not the traitor to live.’

  ‘Suffer not the traitor to live,’ intoned the others in unison.

  Miriya glanced up at the sky. The crimson sun of Meseda Quintus was setting below the ruined horizon, and the constellation of bright stars revealed above were Sororitas warships in low orbit. ‘Questor Nohlan. Contact the astropathic choir aboard our vessel and order them to commune with their kindred across the void. Have them reach out to the Ophelia system. You know what question must be asked.’

  The adept bowed. ‘Ave Imperator. It will be done.’

  ‘And what would you have us do, Eloheim?’ said Cassandra.

  ‘Be mindful,’ Miriya admonished, striding away towards their temporary encampment amid the rings of tanks. ‘And be ready.’

  As was usual with any battlefield mission of the Adepta Sororitas, one of the Rhino armoured carriers in the deployment had been designated as the operation’s mobile chantry, and the tracked vehicle’s interior had been adorned with ­candles made of Ophelian tallow and portable icons of Saint Katherine and the God-Emperor.

  Estelle, one of the Novices Constantia whose duties were to maintain the sanctity of the shrineworks, bowed respectfully to Miriya as she entered. ‘Milady. Do you desire solitude?’

  ‘For the moment, aye.’

  ‘As you wish.’ The younger woman bowed and left her alone to pray for guidance.

  The servos in her power armour stuttered as she knelt before the icons and made the sign of the holy Aquila. Miriya bowed her head and spoke the litany that had been the marker for every action she had taken in her life. ‘A spiritu dominatus. Domine, libra nos. A morte ­perpetua. Domine, libra nos. Ave, Imperator. Domine, libra nos.’

  Only the wind answered her, a low moan through the Rhino’s­ open hatch. Outside, the hymns she had heard before had ceased. Word had spread quickly through the encampment of Oleande’s demands and Miriya’s Sisters were ill at ease. None of them wanted to raise their voices in celebration, not if their prize was about to be stolen away from them.

  She looked up into the eyes of her Order’s founder. ‘Holy Katherine, grant me wisdom this night. Give me strength.’

  Does it matter whose hand is on the blade? A quiet voice in her thoughts dared the question. As long as the traitor dies, does it matter?

  For a moment, Katherine’s face blurred and briefly became that of Pandora – then Lethe, then Portia, Iona and Decima – and all the other lost Sisters Miriya had known, who fought and perished to uphold the ideals of the Order. What had they died for, if not for these victories?

  How can it be anything but an insult to them if we are denied our retribution?

  Someone entered the chapel-compartment behind her and Miriya turned to see Sister Verity make the stations of obeisance before the God-Emperor’s icon. The hospitaller met her gaze with a nod. ‘Forgive my intrusion. I thought I would find you here.’

  ‘Have you come to convince me to let Oleande have her way?’ Miriya eyed her. While Verity was trained to fight if the need arose, she was as much a woman of peace as the 41st millennium could allow one to be. She constantly sought that path through the thicket of dangers that the galaxy threw at her, and it was a testament to her strength of character that she remained resilient in her beliefs after all this time.

  ‘I would never do such a thing,’ Verity replied. ‘She asks for that which she has not earned, even if the wounds of the Celestian’s kindred make her deserving. If Oleande had only shown some humility in her words, made a request instead of a demand…’

  Miriya gave a humourless chuckle. ‘Ah, Sister. You show how little you know of the Valorous Heart. Humility is not their strongest suit. And Sister Celestian Oleande has never been one to court it.’

  ‘You fought with her against the Eldar, yes?’

  She nodded. ‘Aye. The aliens were preying upon pilgrim ships and our Orders merged some of their forces for a time, in order to show the xenos the error of their ways.’ Miriya remembered the bloody business clearly, and as the night drew on and the candles burned low, she told Verity a few stories of the battles that had been fought.

  ‘Oleande is a warrior of great repute,’ she concluded. ‘But a woman of tempestuous temperament, not one of moderation. She has always shown the greatest, most ruthless zeal.’

  ‘I’ve seen the like,’ said the hospitaller grimly. ‘Those who do not shy away from the taste of blood.’

  Miriya nodded once again. ‘Truth in that. Although I will say that she does not seem like the woman I remember from those days. Time has altered her… Made her harsher, if that could be possible.’

  ‘Perhaps that is why she is so intractable,’ offered Verity. ‘We cannot know what trials she has faced since those days. But based on what you do know of her, answer me this… If the word of the Abbess Sanctorum goes against Oleande, what do you think she will do?’

  ‘Obey,’ said Miriya. But part of her was not as certain of that as she wished to be, and she felt compelled to illuminate her friend. ‘You must understand, Verity, that the Sisters of the Valorous Heart carry a heavy burden. When the Reign of Blood was at its height, the apostate Goge Vandire duped our Blessed Katherine and the other mother-founders of our Orders into fighting against the Throne of Terra. It was only when they were brought to face the God-Emperor himself that they learned the truth and turned upon the heretic.’

  Verity bowed her head. She, like Miriya and every other living Sister, knew this shameful chapter of their shared history only too well.

  Miriya went on, recalling the lessons she had learned by rote as an orphan child in the Schola Progenum. ‘In that act of redemption, the Adepta Sororitas was born. Saint Katherine created my Order, just as her cohort Saint Lucia created Oleande’s.’ Two of the original six Sisters of Battle, Katherine and Lucia were close confidantes and that strength was reflected in the names of their Orders – the Valorous Heart and the Fiery Heart. It was only much later, when Saint Katherine was betrayed and murdered by the Witch-Cult of Mnestteus, that her Order changed its name to reflect their terrible loss.

  But while the Order of Our Martyred Lady embraced the edicts of righteous faith and cleansing fire that their mistress had embodied, Oleande’s Order walked a different path.

  ‘They believe they must atone for the mistakes of the past in all that they do. Their drive for penitence is unbounded, Sister, and they are inflexible in their crusade to redress a balance that can never be resolved.’ Miriya tapped the Aquila symbol etched into the floor of the Rhino, in a gesture of fealty. ‘This is why they press so hard to take the Iconoclast’s punishment from us. To deny it to them will seem like a defeat. An insult.’

  ‘I appreciate the clarity,’ said the hospitaller. ‘But knowing it does nothing to defuse the tension here. The other Sisters…’ Verity paused, framing her words. ‘Some of them speak of Oleande’s cadre with far less charity than you do.’

  ‘It has been a long campaign,’ Miriya allowed. ‘But we cannot allow lassitude to erode our correctness. And I–’

  The distant, unmistak
able crack of a bolt-round sounded outside the Rhino and both women froze. A heartbeat later, more shots rang out, and Miriya was already sprinting through the open hatch, pulling up her breather mask against the tainted air. Verity came scrambling after her, eyes wild as she cast around for the source of the sound.

  Now that night had fallen, the hellish liquid light cast from the towering force wall gave everything around them a shifting, infernal cast. Other Battle Sisters were already climbing atop the hulls of parked tanks, scanning the landscape for threats.

  Miriya could not stop herself from casting a look in the direction of the two silent Thunderhawks down in the clearing, a worrying possibility gnawing at her thoughts. Both craft were black shadows against the ground, silent and unmoving.

  Bolter fire sounded again and this time she saw the twinkle of ­muzzle flashes up atop the crest of the hill, close to where the Mechanicus adepts had secured the giant tech-relic.

  Miriya tapped a key on the side of her mask and snarled into her vox pickup. ‘Report! Who is firing?’

  Questor Nohlan’s reply was instant, crackling through the audial bead in Miriya’s ear. ‘We are under attack! The Celestians are here–!’

  The signal suddenly cut out and Miriya saw another flurry of gun-flashes, the crackle of the shots reaching her an instant later.

  ‘Did we miss some of the cultists?’ Cassandra called out the question as she raced across the camp to Miriya’s side. ‘I swear we eradicated every last one! Those Throne-forsaken fools don’t know when to lie down and die…’

  ‘I fear it isn’t our enemies,’ said Verity, the thoughts mirror­ing those of Miriya, ‘but our allies.’

  ‘To arms!’ shouted Miriya, and she broke into a run towards the crest of the hill.

  Isabel was there before them, her face like thunder. Nearby, Rubria bent over the corpses of half a dozen skitarii and gun-servitors, examining them dispassionately. The impact marks on the chests of the Mechanicus soldier-servants were unmistakably the grisly entry wounds of bolt-rounds from a Godwyn-De’az pattern weapon, the standard long arm of the Adepta Sororitas.