Chapter Text
‘Again.’
I kicked up my legs and rolled to my feet, just in time to see a sword arcing towards my face. I raised my own blade to block the blow, the impact of the clash sending a jolt along my arm.
Another swing came my way. I ducked low to avoid it, unaware of the knee waiting for me. It struck me on the jaw, and I was sent sprawling onto the cold floor of the training hall.
‘Again.’
I gingerly touched fingertips to my mouth. No teeth lost, no broken bones, but Throne was it sore. I focused on the pain, thinking of Priscilla. Hate and fury were her fuel. Perhaps I’d give it a go.
As I stood, I lashed out with a wild elbow, followed by a powerful, but miscalculated swing of my practise sword. Quenwill stepped aside with ease, shoving me across the hall with a boot to my arse. I staggered but did not fall. I crouched low, waiting for him to come, and slashed again, whirling to add some power to my swing.
It wasn’t enough. With a flick of his wrist, Quenwill parried and spun my strike away. I tried three more useless, desperate attacks, all of which clanged against Quenwill’s sword like I was an overly enthusiastic bell ringer. He lurched close, wrapped his free arm around my sword arm in a courting hold, and shoved me back down to the floor.
I was panting. There was nothing but fresh, filtered air in the training room, yet I was as sweaty and as red as if I’d been ditched in a desert. My jaw ached, my arms were sore, my feet tired. Yet, when I saw Quenwill’s bushy brow rise, asking if I was done, I couldn’t help but stand.
‘Yes, yes,’ I said, before he could get the word out. ‘Again.’
To his credit, Quenwill had never been one to boast as he beat me. Knowing the man as well as I could for the short time I’d spent aboard The Fairweather, I believed he could spar verbally just as well as he did with a blade. When we trained, he was a gentleman. Well, as gentlemanly as someone can be when they’re hurling you about as if you’re a stuffed toy.
As he approached, I kept low. There was a gap between us in swordplay, an insurmountable one. I’d not just been throwing myself at him repeatedly to boost his ego, though. I’d been learning, finding out any way in which I might catch him off guard. Raw fury wouldn’t do it for me like it did Priscilla and Notham. I had to be clever.
When he was close enough, I threw myself forwards, towards Quenwill’s boots. I pushed my shoulder into his shin, as hard as I could, finally toppling him like a great tree. He grunted as he hit the metal, his eyes wide with genuine shock. Finally, I had a chance.
I leapt atop him, leaning forwards, and had my blade held in both hands, ready to push down against his chest. Quenwill wore a padded bodyglove, with a loose, frilly shirt over the top. The blunted practise sword wouldn’t be strong enough to pierce more than the shirt, but I’d be happy enough knowing I’d left a scar even on his clothes.
I’d been so pleased with myself, so caught up in the dream of finally landing a hit on the Rogue Trader’s seneschal, that I’d failed to pin down Quenwill’s sword arm. He swung it across his chest, smashing my blade out of my grasp and sending it skittering across the room. My eyes couldn’t help but follow it, and by the time I was looking back at Quenwill, the tip of his sword rested against my throat.
‘Very good,’ Quenwill remarked. He sat up, forcing me off him until we were at a safe distance. He then passed his training blade to a nearby servant and gestured for the other to be picked up and placed back on the weapon rack as well.
‘I don’t see how your sword at my throat is very good for anyone but you,’ I said.
Quenwill chuckled heartily. ‘Well, you caught me by surprise. Doesn’t often happen these days. Besides, you gave quite the show to our audience.’
When Quenwill and I sparred, we did so in the late hours. It was more for his sake than mine. The training halls were packed during the day, with enforcers honing their skills, trying to prove themselves the best of Von Butersmarcht’s men, so that she might bless them with a promotion, or even find a space amongst her retinue. Quenwill didn’t want to be swarmed by them, nor did he want too many onlookers when he fought, even to train. He could keep his prowess a surprise then, he said. Still, there was always at least two that came to watch. At Quenwill’s mention of the audience, I looked up at them in the rafters above, leaning over the railing.
One of them waved at me playfully. A woman, with dark, dreaded hair that snaked in a long braid down the shoulder of a tan, formal coat. She had a youthful face, toned like dark honey with full cheeks and round, large eyes. Beside her was a grey-haired man with a flat, cat-like nose, a stern brow and a lean, muscular build. Nara Arept and Kanin Yolt. Quenwill’s protégés, if he had such a thing, and two of the Rogue Trader’s bodyguards. I had fought them both, in the same hall, to similarly embarrassing defeats.
‘I believe they’ll both try and persuade me into sharing a drink with them,’ Quenwill said, returning Nara’s wave. ‘Join us, would you? It might make their company a tad more sufferable.’
‘You can’t hate them. You spend almost every day with them.’
‘Which is why I’m often thankful for a break,’ Quenwill said teasingly. ‘They’re like the children I never had, Callem. Or they’re the ones I know about, at least.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘After I’ve washed and changed.’ I’d had enough of smelling myself down on Hetax Beta, and was making the most of the amenities in my new, luxurious accommodation.
‘If perhaps is a no tonight, then I’ll hold you to a definitely on the morrow,’ Quenwill said, giving me a nod farewell as he stepped out into the corridor.
My body was red and steaming after I’d spent far too long wallowing in my overly large bath. I stared at it in the mirror. It was the same, but different. I was still tall, slender to the point of being bony and skinny, yet I also had a squarer body. More rounded shoulders. A stomach and chest that were firm to the touch if I tensed muscles I’d not noticed before. Had I got hairier, too?
It had been only a matter of days since I’d first set foot on The Fairweather. No, it must have been weeks. Time was one flat line aboard the cruiser. It hadn’t been long enough for my body to have changed considerably, yet there were noticeable differences with it now. My time enduring the hell on the planet I’d once called home had changed me, that much I knew. It wasn’t just training with Quenwill, practising hand-to-hand combat and shooting with Priscilla that turned my soft, weedy arms into tough, ropey limbs. It was a need to survive. I hoped beyond hope that I would never have to face the horrors I saw again, but part of me knew I would. Were I to keep residing with my current company, I was destined to run into some other terror spewed up by the darkness of the galaxy. The logical thing would have been to leave while I could. That didn’t happen.
A shiver ran down my back. The heat of the bath was wearing off, and I kept my chambers cool enough to quickly get rid of the sweat earned by a hard night with Quenwill or Priscilla. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I made for the bedroom to dress myself in some fresh clothes. I found a simple grey shirt and black trousers, throwing my pilot’s jacket over the top to save myself from looking like one of the Rogue Trader’s servants.
Once I’d dressed, I exited my chambers out into the decorated hallway of the finer accommodation aboard Von Butersmarcht’s ship. I gave myself another sniff, just to be sure no lingering odour was on me. When you’ve been aware of your own stench for too long, you fear it sticks around like, well, like a bad smell.
Outside, I made my way towards one of the ship’s many viewing decks. Von Butersmarcht loved being able to look out at the vastness of space. She hated feeling like she was trapped in a metal coffin, as Quenwill told it. I could certainly empathise with the Rogue Trader. After spending a few nights aboard The Fairweather, I’d quickly grown more comfortable in the parts of the ship that felt like a miniature town, and avoidant of the areas that were effectively a more claustrophobic manufactorum. I didn’t just come to the deck for the view, though. It was the spot for a meeting; one I was already late for.
Priscilla was looking up at one of the towering glass panels in front of her, staring at one of Commissar Bruller’s ships hovering in the distance. The retaking of Hetax Beta was going to plan, yet it was taking longer than had been anticipated. Von Butersmarcht lent her ships and enforcers as long as she could, but she itched to leave. Already, her escort vessels had returned to her domain, citing raiders and pirates as the almost surely falsified reason for their departure. Bruller had kept the Rogue Trader’s flagship, knowing it would dissuade the Chaos cultists from returning, but soon enough The Fairweather would jump back into the Warp.
I tried not to think about that day, instead letting myself live forever in the time I could steal with Priscilla. We were like teenagers, shooting glances at each other from across distant corridors and lavish dining halls. She had become a part of the war effort, using her experience from the ground to advise Bruller and her commanders on their movements. I was a welcome guest, but a spare part, much freer to spend my days as I wished, having no expertise to offer aside from giving advice on fixing up old transports. The moments we had were few and fleeting, but the regret she’d shown on our first night together had dissipated. As far as I could tell, at least.
The viewing deck was empty, save for a few servitors scuttling about, checking maintenance ports and ensuring cogitators were still functioning as intended. I approached Priscilla, glancing around to make sure no one else was hiding in the shadows.
‘Callem,’ she said as I approached. She turned to me, and I lost myself in a place I’d never wish to escape, staring deep into her almond eyes. They softened. Her brow furrowed. ‘Your jaw.’
She touched my mouth carefully, her fingertips still warm through the hard shell of her gauntlets. I wanted to nestle my head into her hand, yet I knew not to make such a public display, not until she’d confirmed it was safe to do so.
‘It’s not so bad, is it?’ I had seen it starting to bruise in the mirror but couldn’t feel much lingering pain.
‘It may swell.’
‘What? If my face starts billowing, it’ll ruin my good looks.’
She smirked. ‘Perhaps then you should stop your training with Quenwill, if you wish to keep the face you have.’
‘I could pack it all in, really,’ I teased. ‘Training with you can get rough, too. It’s probably only luck that I’ve not been hit hard yet.’
Priscilla raised a questioning brow. ‘I should hope your sparring with Quenwill is nothing like our training, Callem.’
‘In some ways. There’s much less grappling, and he always invites me for a drink after.’
That won me a swift elbow in the ribs. ‘Cease that,’ Priscilla said. I saw a rosiness to her cheeks as she turned back to look at the stars. She glanced at me, to make sure I was still looking at her.
‘Do we have long?’ I asked.
Priscilla shook her head, her white hair bouncing around her face. ‘Colonel Spernor is meeting me here in a few minutes. He’s apparently arranged an agreement with Von Butersmarcht. The Guard will take a percentage of her enforcers, and she will finally be able to leave the planet’s orbit. The Navigators are already charting a course.’
She said it as if it was a happy thing. I wasn’t so sure. I risked touching my hand to hers. She rested her palms on a railing I didn’t know the purpose of. It didn’t stop you from falling. It might have prevented grubby fingerprints from touching the viewing panels, but this was the upper decks of a Rogue Trader’s ship, not a museum exhibit in the depths of a hive.
‘Then comes the question of what’s next,’ I said.
Priscilla let her head rest on my shoulder. I felt her firm cheekbones and jaw press into my arm. ‘Another front,’ she said. ‘Few know it, Callem, but the galaxy is upended by war. There is always another line to hold, a planet to defend, so that fragments of the Imperium can live in peace.’
She gave my hand a squeeze. I may have strengthened my body during the invasion and in the weeks after, but it was still difficult to endure Priscilla’s grip. I’d never tell her not to squeeze my hand, though, just in case she stopped doing it altogether.
‘Those of us blessed enough to be granted the Emperor’s strength, fury, and will,’ Priscilla continued. ‘We are called to those battlefields.’
And you, my weak and cowardly companion, you must wait here.
‘I don’t know if I’ll ever understand it,’ I admitted. ‘We fought for our lives every minute down there, barely scraped through each day with them, and you wish to do the same thing, over and over?’
There was an emptiness in Priscilla’s eyes. She was somewhere else. ‘Duty above all,’ she said distantly. ‘To quote Lord Notham. I saw him today.’
‘I imagine he was as eager to move as you are,’ I commented. Notham had been somewhat of a ghost on the ship since we’d all settled into our new routines. He hadn’t the patience to seek out officials of the Guard or the representatives of the Rogue Trader to demand his escort back to his Astartes brethren. He was desperate for battle. As far as I knew, he’d made some journeys back to the surface of Hetax Beta, hoping to quicken the cleanup of the cultists still left on the planet, so that he might secure an earlier departure.
When we’d seen each other, he was courteous with me, though never as friendly as he’d been on the day of our rescue. He would regard me, sometimes with a nod, other times I was lucky enough to get a word of greeting. When some semblance of normality returned to him, when he was once again surrounded by men and women who saw him as more demigod than man, he didn’t have the time for late-night conversations with his pestering pilot. I’d like to think I was mature enough to understand that this was the natural order of things. I really would like to, yet I couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. You don’t really make friends with an Astartes. It’s a bit like trying to marry a dog.
‘I know not if eager is the correct word,’ Priscilla said. ‘Yet he must answer the call of the Emperor. His purpose is not to linger here, not that I would ever need to tell him that.’
He’s anxious, I thought. There’s a part of him that needs to return to his brothers, yet he doesn’t know if they’ll take him back with open arms, or in cuffs.
I couldn’t tell Priscilla that, of course. I would take Notham’s secret to the grave, no matter who we were to each other.
‘Do you know yet where you will go?’ Priscilla asked.
I shrugged. ‘I’ve not often been good at making big decisions for myself. I’m almost hoping something happens that just takes the decision away from me.’
‘Perhaps I could be in need of a servant,’ Priscilla said. ‘You may have to join the Ecclisiarchy, just so it’s easier to explain to my Sisters.’
I smiled. It faded quickly. My chest felt tight, pained, whenever I thought about there being a day where I wouldn’t see Priscilla; one where I wouldn’t know her. To follow her like a lost puppy wasn't a life I'd ever be completely happy with.
The hallway door behind us slid open. Instinctively, Priscilla and I jolted away from one another. It was easy to see who was approaching. Kanin’s eyes glowed in the dark, preceding him before he stepped into the light. If it wasn’t for those abhuman eyes, and the swish of the sliding door, it would have been impossible to tell if anyone had entered at all. Kanin’s footsteps were eerily silent as he approached, even with some pace.
‘Sir Vielden,’ he said, his lips peeling back to reveal rows of pointed teeth. I caught Priscilla’s grimace out of the corner of my eye. An abhuman was as close to a mutant as she’d allow near her presence, but she didn’t enjoy enduring Kanin’s company.
‘I’m no sir,’ I corrected him. It wouldn’t stop the nickname. It had stuck ever since Quenwill had first used it in addressing me.
‘Sister Priscilla,’ Kanin said, mostly ignoring my protest. He glanced between us with a knowing expression. ‘Are you enjoying your evening?’
‘I await Colonel Spernor,’ Priscilla said formally. ‘Callem happened to pass by, and so I informed him of our imminent departure.’
Kanin relaxed, leaning against the railing. The sleeves of his bodyglove had been removed below the elbow, showing vascular, thick forearms and pointed nails. He knew. Of course he knew. Von Butersmarcht made it a matter to know everything that was going on aboard her ship, including “salacious affairs,” as Quenwill called them. Her retinue was informed, but sworn to secrecy. I’d been told, but had never opted to share the information with Priscilla, fearing her reaction.
‘I take it you’re not here to admire the view?’ I asked Kanin.
His grin widened, and he pointed at me. ‘Correct.’ His nails were the same, smoky colour as his hair. I’d never asked if he coloured them, or if that was just a part of his strange genetic code.
‘We’ve word from Hetax Beta,’ Kanin said. ‘Word specifically for you, Sir Vielden.’
My brow furrowed. ‘Who’s asking for me?’
Kanin’s smile reached the point of splitting his cheeks.
‘Don’t make me guess.’
The grin shrank slightly. ‘Your family, of course.’