The Bloodied Rose - Danie Ware Read online

  A familiar, armoured footstep sounded at the chamber doorway. Without turning, Augusta knew who it was, standing in the outer cloister and waiting for her to finish her morning devotions.

  ‘Sister Superior,’ said Sister Jatoya respectfully, as Augusta raised her head. ‘I did not wish to interrupt.’

  In one smooth move, Augusta came to her feet and turned around.

  Her second-in-command stood waiting in the cloisters’ biolume, her head bare, her helm upturned under her arm. Her dark skin gleamed, but there was expectation in her stance – she was here with a request.

  Or an order.

  ‘You’re early,’ Augusta said. ‘Do you not have a class this morning?’

  ‘Aye,’ Jatoya said. ‘Teaching the schola’s novices the finer tricks of open-handed combat.’ She gave a faint smile, and the light from the window lit her face with the reflection of the Saint, and with the deep colours of the Bloody Rose. ‘But Canoness Ianthe has requested our presence, Sister. When our devotions are done, we’re to report to the Order chapel.’

  A rush flickered through Augusta’s skin. ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘No.’ Jatoya shook her head. ‘I’m not privy to such knowledge, and the servitor was little help.’ The smile spread, then faded. ‘But for the summons to come before the morning begins…’

  Jatoya let the implication speak for itself. A personal summons from Canoness Ianthe was rare – in twenty years, half of them as the Sister Superior of her squad, Augusta had responded to maybe a dozen… and every one of them a call to war.

  The rush grew stronger, but it was instinctive, recognisable. It was the touch of her faith, that so-familiar flare of passion and hope.

  She looked up at the Saint in the window, at the holy light that haloed her stern, sword-bearing form, and gave a moment of thanks.

  Jatoya said softly, her tone amused, ‘I feel the nature of our devotions is about to change, Sister.’

  It wasn’t Jatoya’s place to speculate – but the two women had known each other for more than a decade. They’d stood side by side against the orks on Lautis, the aeldari at Mis’bah, the tyranid invasion at the war-ravaged cities of Yulzond Cross. The trust between them was battle-honed, and strong.

  ‘You may be right.’ Augusta began to pick up her armour, donning it piece-by-piece – breast- and back-plate, cuisses, greaves. She closed her gorget around her throat, slung her blade at her hip, picked up her bolter and snicked the sight and magazine back into place. Then she opened the breech, sighted briefly down the barrel, and closed it again.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, holstering the bolter and picking up her helmet. ‘It would hardly do to keep the canoness waiting.’

  They walked through the cloisters together, the huge drop of the convent’s outer walls to one side, the black rise of the Hallowed Spire to the other. The great, stained-glassaic windows ran with rain, and the blur of starships – the war vessels of the Imperium, the cargo and transport ships of the Ecclesiarchy – moved across them like shadows.

  The Chapel of Saint Mina was a later addition to the Convent Sanctorum, built by Deacis VI some two and a half thousand years after the ascension of Sebastian Thor. The Order of the Bloody Rose was young, but as warlike as its Saint had been, and no less militant.

  Walking past the votive candles and the floating cherubim, past the statues of the Saints and the engraved prayers, Augusta murmured the Litany of Mettle like a reflex, words of hope and strength.

  Beside her, Jatoya echoed each line.

  Age and faith surrounded them. Since the days of Thor himself, the Sisters of Battle had carried the flame of their devotion to all corners of the galaxy, had waged a ceaseless war against the Emperor’s foes – every witch, every mutant, every heretic, every xenos, every trace of Chaos wherever it could be found.

  As if eager, Augusta’s sword rattled against her thigh. She placed her hand on the pommel. Her squad been cooling their heels in the convent for almost a month – studying, practising, teaching the arts of war to their less experienced Sisters.

  It was rare for a veteran of Augusta’s rank to be at rest for this long, and peace was not in her nature. She missed praising the Emperor with bolter and blade.

  From the convent, voices began the morning hymnal, the verses immediately lifting into crystal-pure, four-part harmony.

  Gooseflesh prickled down Augusta’s arms.

  Jatoya said softly, ‘I will be glad if this hiatus is at an end. By Dominica’s eyes, if I have to spend another evening playing Tall Card…’

  ‘Only because Sister Caia always wins.’ Augusta chuckled, but briefly. ‘But beware, Sister Militant. You may say those words to me, but in the presence of the canoness, you will show the proper respect.’

  ‘Aye,’ Jatoya agreed. ‘I understand.’

  She was nervous, Augusta realised – curious, as Jatoya had never once shown fear in the face of an enemy.

  ‘But…’ Jatoya made a final comment as they neared the chapel doors. ‘Tell me you don’t long for a new mission.’

  They knew each other too well, and Augusta did not need to speak her answer aloud.

  Chapter Two

  The heavy doors creaked, loud as a declaration, and the servitor clicked as it checked and reported their presence.

  Ignoring it, Augusta paused in the open doorway, a draught stealing over her armour.

  The chapel seemed empty.

  It rose before the Sisters in a long hollow of pale grey, pillared and chill. Twin lines of banners, red and black and white, depicted the fleur-de-lys and the Bloody Rose of their Order. At its far end, flooding its emptiness with light, the great window portrayed the Emperor Himself, His gauntleted hands gripping the hilt of a huge, upturned blade. Sol rose behind Him, haloing Him in wonder, and the star’s bright yellow illumination slanted all the way down through the nave, and warmed the walk to His feet.

  Electro-candles burned upon the altar, outshone by His Light.

  In two decades of service, Augusta still could not enter this building without a catch in her throat.

  She lowered her gaze and murmured a prayer. She heard Jatoya again echo her words.

  ‘Sister Superior, Sister Militant.’ One of Ianthe’s novitiates, robed in grey and her blonde head down, had appeared soundlessly beside them. The girl was flanked by two more servitors, each of whom carried a wide brass tray. Observing the proper respect, both women relinquished their helmets, then unclipped their bolters and laid them aside. More slowly, Augusta drew her blade and placed it, too, within the servitors’ care.

  She felt bereft without her weapons, but you did not enter the chapel bearing arms.

  The servitors retreated.

  ‘In the name of Saint Mina and the Golden Throne,’ Augusta said. ‘We are the willing daughters of the God-Emperor. We come at His command, and to do His bidding.’

  ‘The canoness is waiting for you, Sisters,’ the novitiate said. ‘Come.’

  She beckoned, and the two women followed her up towards the chancel. They passed beneath the organ’s lofty hollow, the tall lines of brass pipes that rose glittering towards the vaulted roof. They passed beneath the armoured statue of Saint Mina herself, her sword at her hip. From the window, Sol’s yellow illumination brought a touch of gentleness to her austere features.

  They came to the foot of the altar steps.

  Here, both women dropped to one knee and traced out the lines of the fleur-de-lys on their armour. Then they rose back to their feet and stood smoothly at ease, feet apart, hands behind their backs, their chins lifted and their heads bared to the light.

  At the foot of the pulpit, Canoness Ianthe was waiting for them.

  ‘Your eminence,’ Augusta said. ‘You wished our presence.’

  The canoness said nothing. Tall and pale and bone-lean, her chill gaze raked both women head to f
oot.

  ‘I did,’ she said, when her examination was complete.

  Neither Sister reacted. Ianthe was a stern disciplinarian who kept her Order under tight control – and they both knew when not to speak.

  She snapped a command, and both women stamped to attention, hands to their sides, feet together. She nodded at their efficiency. Her steps quiet, she stopped before them, hair ice-white, her face lined and her tattoo faded to blue with her age. She inspected their wargear as if they stood upon a parade ground, her gaze pausing on the multiple beads on Augusta’s chaplet – her many medals of merit. Augusta had faced foes across every segmentum of the galaxy, and had never once flinched from the fight.

  Both women continued to stare at the steps.

  ‘At ease,’ Ianthe said at last.

  With a simultaneous stamp, they returned to their original stance.

  ‘Sister Superior.’ The canoness’ words seemed like an announcement. ‘Sister Militant.’ She paced before them, her rigidity uncompromised. ‘I understand that you are both becoming…’ she spun on her heel, ‘… restless… with your studies.’

  ‘Yes, milady.’ Augusta answered honestly, though her gaze didn’t waver. ‘We miss the hymns of the battlefield.’

  ‘I have some sympathy with your agitation, Sisters.’ Ianthe spun back again, and nodded at them, her face almost smiling. ‘These walls are holy and no foe would dare assail them. Yet it is a Sister’s place to hunt and slay the foes of the Light, wherever they may be found.’ She stopped, eyeing Jatoya, the moment of amusement gone. ‘But I take it that you comprehend your hiatus?’

  ‘Yes, milady.’ Augusta said. ‘We have a new Sister in our squad, replacing Sister Kimura. Blessed be her memory.’

  ‘Blessed be her memory.’

  The litany was returned, and all three women observed a moment’s quiet.

  Ianthe said, ‘Certainly, you must be familiar with your new recruit.’ Something in her voice seemed to hint that Augusta had missed the point, but she went on, ‘You must trust her with your lives, know that you can rely upon her, know that she will praise the Emperor fearlessly, with battle, blade and bolter, just as you do.’ She spun, paced again. ‘You need to know her as well as you know all your squad.’

  ‘Yes, milady,’ Augusta said. ‘Sister Akemi is young but wise. Her skills are extensive. And this hiatus has enabled her, and us, to learn a great deal about each other.’

  ‘You say “wise”, not “strong”.’ Ianthe paused, looking from one face to the other. ‘Do you consider her battle-ready, Sister Superior?’

  Augusta knew her canoness well enough to realise that the question was a test in itself – an examination of her expertise, and of her knowledge of her squad. If she answered ‘yes’ simply to secure a new mission and to bring their hiatus to an end then she was not worthy of her command.

  But Augusta had long experience – she had been tested before and would be tested again. She answered, evenly, ‘I judge her battle-ready, milady. She shows both strength and insight. Sometimes the latter can be a strength of its own.’

  ‘Just so,’ Ianthe agreed. ‘And you, Sister Militant?’

  Jatoya answered, ‘I, too, would trust her with my life. She is a worthy addition to the squad.’

  ‘Good.’ Ianthe said, nodding again. She resumed her pacing. Despite the location, the canoness wore her armour like a confrontation, like some constant challenge – and her own numerous merits told tales of that challenge fulfilled. Ianthe was a formidable warrior, and not one of her Order would question her.

  ‘Then, Sisters,’ she said, ‘I have some news for you – perhaps news you will even welcome.’ She spun on her heel and paused in front of them. ‘Your hiatus has reached its end. I have a mission for you that may test even your…’ she glanced at Augusta, ‘…considerable mettle.’

  The last words were faintly edged; they carried implications that Augusta didn’t quite follow. ‘Milady?’

  The canoness gave a faint, humourless smile, and continued her pacing, making them wait. At last she said, ‘How well do you remember Sister Superior Felicity Albani?’

  Felicity!

  The name was like a shock – sudden and unexpected. Augusta knew Felicity, had known her for years. She remembered the woman from the schola, small and dark and determined, and one of the single finest swordswomen that the Order had ever seen.

  Carefully, she said, ‘I know Sister Felicity well, milady. We studied together.’ She paused, catching up with the implications, and then said, ‘And she commanded the squad–’

  ‘That took your place. Upon Lautis.’ All signs of levity gone, Ianthe turned to face them and stopped dead, her hands behind her back. Her tone was cold, now. The light from the window made her red shoulders gleam.

  Caught, uncomprehending, Augusta could only stare straight ahead and say, ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘The world,’ the canoness continued, ‘which you and your squad had reported secure.’

  The word was an outright accusation. Augusta felt Jatoya almost flinch, but both Sisters held themselves still.

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  Ianthe came forwards, glared into Augusta’s face.

  She went on, ‘In your final report, you declared that the ork tribes upon Lautis had been slain or broken, and that the area was secure enough for the Adeptus Mechanicus to begin their analysis – and repair – of the discovered cathedral. Do you recall this report, Sister Superior?’

  Still staring straight ahead, Augusta said, ‘Yes, milady.’

  The canoness continued to glare. ‘You slew the ork warlord?’

  ‘Not I, milady,’ Augusta told her. ‘The warlord was slain by Sister Viola Taenaris.’

  ‘But the warlord was slain by your squad?’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘And with the beast dead,’ Ianthe said, ‘you considered the task completed, did you not?’

  ‘No, milady,’ Augusta said. Her voice was level, betraying nothing. Yet the light from the window seemed too bright; she could not have raised her gaze to Him even if she’d been permitted. Instead, she offered the contents of her report. ‘After the death of the warlord, we remained upon Lautis for fifty-seven days. We sought, and discovered, the landing point and the established base of the Crossed Axe ork tribe. Without strong leadership, we found them ­scattered and easy to defeat–’

  ‘That was not the question, Sister.’ With an inhalation like annoyance, Ianthe resumed her pacing. Her shadow moved across the floor like an accusation. ‘I’m asking you whether the area was, indeed, secure.’

  ‘To my knowledge, milady,’ Augusta said, ‘the area was secure.’

  Ianthe continued to watch them, narrow-eyed and gauging. Above, the cherubim circled as if they were recording every word, preserving the data for the Order’s records.

  An error, never to be forgotten.

  The canoness said, ‘As of Compline yesterday, we failed to receive Sister Felicity’s regular report – and all our subsequent attempts to reach her have found only static. It has been seven days since any communications have come to us from Lautis. Attempts by the Adeptus Mechanicus to reach Jencir have been likewise unsuccessful.’

  Prevented by stern discipline from doing anything else, Augusta waited for the canoness to keep speaking.

  ‘I need,’ Ianthe said, ‘your assurance that your reconnaissance was thorough. That there was no ork, or xenos, or taint of Chaos, remaining upon Lautis when Sister Felicity was despatched to take your place.’ The lash of her anger was strong, now. ‘Because if I discover that you were in error, Sisters, I will see you both among the Repentia.’ She had stopped again, her red shoulders seeming to fill the grey space of the chancel. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘I gave the order, milady.’ Augusta said. Her mind recalled the cathedral ruins upon Lautis, the battle with the ork
s, the sweaty heat of the jungle-marsh and the poverty of the townspeople. ‘Sister Jatoya is blamele–’

  ‘Silence.’ The word was not loud, but it brought Augusta to an immediate halt. The canoness flexed on her toes, her armour creaking. She said, ‘I understand that you do not always insist upon your squad’s… strictest discipline, Sister Superior. Am I correct?’

  ‘Milady,’ Augusta said. ‘Upon the battlefield, our discipline and unity are without question. And, as it was my decision to execute the missionary Tanichus for his deception of the Adepta Sororitas, so it was my decision to declare the Lautis cathedral secure. Sister Jatoya is blameless in this.’

  The canoness said nothing; she seemed to be considering. Above them, the Emperor watched, seeing all.

  ‘Very well,’ Ianthe said, at last. She gestured at the novitiate, who scurried for the doors. The girl’s place was taken by one of the servitors, who offered the canoness a data-slate.

  ‘Stand easy,’ she said, allowing both women to relax. She scrolled through the data, then said, ‘Sisters, your service records are flawless, both of you. You’ve served Throne and Emperor with courage and faith for more than thirty years between you, and I’ve seen you both grow from girlhood into warriors of whom I am extremely proud. But this…’ she brandished the slate, its surface glittering, ‘…this is Sister Felicity’s final report. She states that their base had been established, their perimeter defences set up. She states that the missionary Lyconides had made beneficial contact with the local town, and that the reconstructive assessment of the cathedral was commencing on schedule. The Adeptus Mechanicus have released information which corroborates this, and they add that the tech-priest’s servitors had commenced the initial works.’ Ianthe looked up, her expression cold. A warrior to her core, Augusta had little patience for politics, but she had learned at the schola that there was a strong and long-term bond between the followers of Saint Mina and the Adeptus Mechanicus.

  ‘Something has happened to them, Sister Superior,’ the canoness said. ‘Whether an electromagnetic storm has damaged the transmitters, or whether an unseen foe has arisen, we do not know.’