Faith is my shield. Purpose is my sword. The Emperor Protects, even in this eternal night.
I repeat this mantra as I ride a cargo elevator from the spaceport towards the ground below. Astorgius, a cardinal world of great repute, stands in the lashing rain. For every church and spire filled with candles, a perfectly smooth, orange cylinder rises to equal them. Xenos architecture. The Tau profanes this once great world.
Cool air rushes across my shaved head. I am no repentia, but I couldn’t travel this deep into Tau territory with my haircut in Saint Celestine’s honour. I left my armor at the conclave. I gave the border guards my bolter and chainsword. I sat on my bridge, letting their abominable intelligence scour it for weapons. I fashioned a blade from my ship, hours before landing on Astorgius, or Kesh’val as they blasphemed.
‘Sister Aurora,’ Abbottess Candida had said. ‘I have news on Sister Leontia, straight from the Order Xenos.’
As I feared. Leontia wanted to be an Abbottess with a dedication that tiptoed the cliff of heresy, and she fell off the precipice.
The elevator beneath my feet lands with an alien smoothness. I exit the landing building, carrying my ‘taste from home’ rations. On the street, clean air fills my lungs. For the first time in months, I smell human sweat other than my own.
Feet splash through puddles. Strained human voices mimic the xenos’ sing-song tongue. A clip-clop, clip-clop fills the air, the Tau’s hooves on the road. There are no servitors, no servo-skulls, and no cherubs that should fill this street before a grand church. Candles and lamps line the eaves. Xenos and humans alike bow their heads to me, the humans smiling.
To them, I am another refugee, another deserter, another heretic. But I force a smile, bow, and raise my head into the storm, letting the cool drops clean my disgust.
Rain pelts a stained glass window that reaches for the heavens, Saint Celestine herself, wings glowing, sword flaming, standing against the defiled city.
‘Gree’tings,’ a xenos says, too close to me.
I look down, but it isn’t a Tau. A woman with crimson hair, flushed cheeks, a smile across her face, and a scar running down her trachea.
‘Scary, I know,’ the woman’s voice is sing-songy and altered for her new masters. ‘But be not afr’aid. The Greater Good doesn’t require the surgery and the Tau understand us fine. Welcome to Kesh’val.’
I bow my head. ‘Greetings to you too.’
‘Do you have a place to stay? Work?’ The woman pointed down the road. ‘The orange shutto there will help you find ability-based work and housing.’
‘Not here long, selling freeze-dried grox meat,’ I say. ‘But I’m looking for a woman, green eyes, a hand shorter than me.’
‘On Kesh’val, there are many women a hand taller and shorter than you.’ The woman glanced around, leaning in to whisper. ‘Brothels are only in the gue’vesa and thraxian quarters, they’re frowned upon but still part of the Greater Good.’
I stifle a laugh. ‘How are brothels part of your—our greater good?’
‘Stress?’ The woman shook her head. ‘Though I would stay clear of the thraxians, it’s… difficult.’
‘I’m not looking for a brothel. I’m looking for a woman with a haircut like that.’ I point to Saint Celestine, standing against the blight around her.
‘Sister Repentia!’ The woman smiles.
My brow furrows on the name.
‘—She leads a convent on the far side of the city. Takes in all of those struggling with the Greater Good. There is a monorail three blocks from here that goes straight there.’
‘Thank you,’ I say and leave Celestine’s gaze.
I exit a polished train that runs fast and breaks its silence, reading the exits in tau and low gothic. Rain pours off the church ahead of me in waterfalls that are so clear I can drink them. A statue of the God Emperor judges me before the entrance.
I push the double doors open, grimacing into a warm, bright church. Thousands of candles fill the edges. Beyond a balcony deck on the left, the city spills into undulating hills, and masses of humanity stand in the rain. But these are ogryn, twenty of them with several opening their mouths to the sky.
One turns its head to me like a grox. ‘Sis-ter!’ it yells.
The tell-tale humm-clip of Adeptas Sororitas power armor, worn by a friend, echoes on a grand staircase to my right.
I reach into my bag, removing the freeze-dried grox burgers and tossing them to the ogryns. I need them distracted. I remove my blade, hide it in my sleeve.
Heresy hides in the dark and so does retribution.
‘Welcome, my child,’ Sister Leontia’s familiar lilt carries across the nave. ‘I welcome you to the Sisterhood of our Greater Good.’
Power armour that should be painted black steps into candle light with a blue coat of paint. Gone is the fleur-de-lis and in its place the Tau circle. Leontia resisted the urge to paint her face, but dyed her hair black and shaved it into their top knot.
Her eyes meet mine.
‘Aurora,’ Leontia says, ‘by the Greater Good, I knew you’d find the truth.’ She sprints across the cathedral, the candles quivering on her wake.
Cold ceramite presses against my rain-soaked body. I bury my blade into Leontia’s right side, where she always left her armour open for a breeze.
Ogryns eating with their mouths open had a habit of turning anyone’s stomach, but mine coiled onto itself, even if the vengeance was righteous.
‘I declare you excommunicate traitoris,’ I whisper into her ear, hot blood running down my hand. ‘For spreading foul sermons. For heresy. For breaking my heart. May He find mercy on your soul.’
I twist and wrench the blade free, ending Sister Leontia’s life in two heartbeats.
Faith is my shield.
‘Oi.’ Several Ogryn shadows grow over me. ‘She was me favourite.’
But it won’t save me now.
