Dante

by Guy Haley

  ‘Draw the first two,’ commanded Verono.

  The pot’s neck was too narrow to accommodate a Space Marine’s arm, so the potsherds were pulled by a blood thrall. He prayed as he put his hand within, and handed the two pieces of pottery with great reverence to Verono.

  ‘Primus and quintus!’ said Verono. He dropped the sherds upon the stone dais and ground them to dust under his boot heel. ‘You have the honour of the Battle of the Morning. You shall compete first.’

  In total silence, the first two groups were led away, neither side looking at the other. The remaining four groups were taken to the edge of the Place of Challenge, and bade sit in the shade of the wall. The Space Marines conferred on the dais, then left the training grounds for the reinforced building they dwelt within. Unlike the shaped stone of the rest of the Place of Challenge, their keep was made of seamless, grey plascrete studded with dishes, antennae and other unfathomable items. Shortly after the Space Marines entered it, a crowd of devices flew silently up from the roof and headed out into the desert. Dust trails, the telltale sign of vehicles moving across the sands, rose into the sky to the east.

  Silence fell. The tarpaulins covering the angels’ sky chariots rippled in the desert wind.

  ‘I wish it was us out there first,’ muttered Ereos.

  ‘Why be in a hurry?’ said Lorenz with a grin. ‘It’s a lovely morning.’

  Luis thought Lorenz’s bravado thin. He avoided being drawn into their conversation, but stared fixedly at the ground. He gathered up handfuls of the fine dust and let it trickle through his fingers, making small, perfect cones in the sand.

  ‘I would prefer to have this over and done with,’ said Ristan.

  ‘Quiet there,’ said one of the blood thralls watching over them. ‘You are not permitted to speak. You will have time to discuss whatever you wish before the trial begins. For now, cease talking. Think. Meditate on the honour given you, and pray that you are successful.’

  Three hours went. Luis had made a field of sand cones. The inner gates of the wall tunnel swung inwards. The blood thralls escorted a battered, bloody group back within. Half of them were wounded, some absent. They were grim, but victorious.

  Another group of blood thralls followed, escorting the second group. Only seven remained of the eighteen; all had their heads bowed. The aspirants watched the first two groups in silence. They were taken into the low medicae building abutting the inner wall not far from the barracks.

  Another half an hour went. The angels came out from their building, and went to the dais. The boys were taken to stand before them. Again, two groups were chosen by lot.

  ‘Tertius and Quartus!’ proclaimed Verono. ‘For you is the Battle of Noon. Fight well, and you shall draw the eye of the greatest son of the Emperor.’

  ‘Just our luck,’ breathed Florian anxiously. ‘We’re going last.’

  Again, Luis’ group was taken to the shade of the wall. The Space Marines withdrew. This time, the aspirants knew for certain who they would be fighting, and had to sit in close proximity to the youths they would soon have to kill. Luis watched them watching him. He knew them all well. He had completed exercises with them, sparred with them, joked with them. He had expected this to happen, and had kept his distance, but others had formed fast friendships across the groups. These aspirants were grey with dread.

  Two more hours. The groups returned, similarly depleted, though the numbers lost on either side were more even.

  The ritual of the potsherds was repeated, though all knew the result.

  ‘Sextus and Secundus!’ said Verono. ‘You are honoured to fight the Battle of Evening.’

  ‘At least it’ll be cooler,’ said Lorenz under his breath.

  It was their turn to be taken out of the gate into the wider desert, and loaded into vehicles. Their unpadded seats were sticky with blood, its metallic reek even more disturbing than the feel of it on their fingers. Luis sat opposite Florian, who stared at him, his face white.

  Not all of the boys had killed before the trials. Rivalry between the Baalite clans led to war from time to time, and there was the ever-present threat of the Dispossessed, those bands of exiles, renegades and malcontents that preyed on others, but the tribes of the Blood relied on each other for survival, and the boys were young. They had all been in danger. They had all fought against the best efforts of their home to kill them, but to end another’s life was a step many had not taken. Luis considered himself lucky that he had, and his stomach still churned. He had the urgent need to urinate. Upon the sand of the training grounds he had managed to contain his emotion, to stay calm. But the walls were coming down, and he felt nauseous.

  Time in the back of the stuffy transport went too quickly. As if in a dream Luis found himself standing in the desert several miles from the Place of Challenge. Between a lacework of crossed tyre tracks, the ground was dark with trails of spilt blood. Luis followed them with his eyes to a humpbacked rock outcropping riven with cracks. It could have been a mile or five miles long. A dead flat plain of packed sand surrounded it, reducing the island in scale to an unguessable size. Homesickness ambushed him; the place reminded Luis of the Great Salt Waste.

  Verono approached them. His means of coming to the place were mysterious. Luis wondered if he were safe out there. No one of the Blood travelled alone if possible. Then his stressed mind conjured up the ridiculous thought of all the aspirants assaulting the captain. They would bounce off and be crushed, was his conclusion. Then it didn’t seem so dangerous for Verono to be alone. There was nothing on Baal that could harm one such as he.

  ‘There you will fight, the Island of First Blooding,’ said Verono. His armour purred as he pointed a vitae-red finger to the outcrop. ‘This was an island in a great lake once. You would be well to see it as an island, with no way off. For an island it is, surrounded by a sea of death. If you leave its environs before the trial is done, you shall be killed.’

  He gestured at a line of blood thralls bearing solid-shot weapons. They were few, one every half-mile, but the desert was free of cover of any kind, and Luis thought it certain they were excellent shots.

  ‘And well so,’ went on Verono, ‘for disgrace shall be heaped upon the name of the one who flees. Do not assume safety upon the island. At either end is a fort. In each fort is a skull. The goal of this contest is simple. You must take the other group’s skull and bring it to your fort, if you can. You will be watched. Your behaviour will dictate who will proceed to the Final Choosing.’ He let his arm drop and spoke more quietly. ‘Victory is not all. We do not look for ferocity. Brotherhood, honour, humility, mercy, restraint and intelligence we prize above all other qualities. But make no mistake, if you do not kill, you will die.

  ‘The contest will last ninety minutes. You will have twenty minutes to appoint your leaders and devise a strategy. Decisiveness is the forerunner of success. You must move quickly, or you will fail.’ He turned to Luis’ group. ‘Group Secundus, you will take the western fort. Group Sextus, the eastern. A red flare will signal the beginning, a second the end. When the second is fired, all of you will drop your weapons immediately. Anyone who fights on will be killed by me, personally.’ He towered over them all. Luis imagined the captain’s armoured hands crushing his skull.

  ‘Do you understand?’ said Verono.

  ‘Yes, my lord!’ the boys shouted in unison.

  ‘Good. Sanguinius guide you. Now go!’

  Group Sextus contained a youth name Barrazael from Baal Primus. He was huge, the biggest in the two groups. He glared at Luis a second, eyes narrowed, before he held up his hand to gesture to his colleagues. They ran in close formation for the island.

  Luis broke into a run. Lorenz, Florian, Ereos and Ristan followed to catch up to him. Duvallai was engaged in fierce debate with a boy named Michaelo, and sprinted hard to join the others.

  ‘They’ve chosen their leader already,’ said Florian. ‘It’ll put them ahead, won’t it?’

  ‘Barrazael is a fierc
e kreck,’ said Lorenz. ‘The others are frightened of him, but he doesn’t think well.’

  ‘Fear is a good motivator,’ said Luis. They were running and talking easily, despite the heavy spring guns they carried across their chests. Weeks of hard training and good food had improved their physiques. ‘And we’re all afraid.’

  No one disagreed with that.

  ‘Well, I’ll be backing you for leader,’ said Lorenz. Luis gave him a quizzical look. ‘Come on, Luis,’ said Lorenz. ‘You’re the smartest out of us, even if you aren’t the biggest.’

  ‘That he ain’t!’ chuckled Florian.

  Duvallai joined them. The rest of the group was straggling out behind. It didn’t look good – Barrazael’s warriors seemed far more cohesive as a group. ‘Michaelo is going to put himself forward as leader,’ Duvallai said in his thick Priman accent.

  ‘Well I’m backing Luis,’ said Lorenz accusingly.

  ‘Me too!’ said Duvallai indignantly.

  ‘I didn’t ask for this,’ said Luis.

  ‘Then who were you going to back?’ said Lorenz. ‘You can’t hang back all the time. We know you, waiting for everyone else to mess it up before coming forward and telling us all how we should have been doing it. Not this time, my friend. We haven’t got time for the famous Luis patience. Sometimes, you have to step up and take the responsibility of action.’

  ‘I’m patient?’ said Luis.

  ‘More so than me,’ said Lorenz.

  ‘Half the others are for Michaelo,’ said Duvallai.

  ‘We’ll see who’s in charge,’ said Lorenz.

  They reached the island. The rock was worn smooth, the channels through it carved into fluted shapes by prehistoric waves. They leapt from the flatness of the packed sand and onto the stone, bounding from outcrop to outcrop as they moved up to the fort.

  Florian was first up, well used to such terrain. Luis arrived not far behind. The rock spread out, its surface pitted and cracked, a wart on the smooth skin of the desert. A sole bleeding tree grew from a crevice a few hundred yards away, its limbs bent sideways in the direction of the prevailing wind. Far off, the surface of a broad expanse of water shattered the sun into orange razors: one of Baalfora’s remaining stretches of toxic sea.

  The fort looked like something a child would build had he time and resources for such folly. There was a wall a little over five feet high, twenty feet a side. In its modest courtyard a small tower, ten feet tall, stood over the wall. Atop a rusty pole an ancient skull had been placed. Once, it had been stained green, but the dye had rubbed off most of it, showing dirty brown through the washed-out tint. It was missing its lower jaw and most of its upper teeth. The few remaining shone in the sun like jewels.

  There were bloodstains everywhere from the earlier contests.

  ‘Kreck!’ said Florian and pointed at a figure watching from the low summit of the island. ‘They’ve got a scout up already.’

  ‘We should do the same,’ said Luis. ‘We need to look this place over, see how defensible it is and put together a plan. And we need to be quick.’ He looked at the sun, descending on the final leg of the day’s journey. Other boys were joining them – all looked at Luis. ‘Florian, you’re quick.’

  Florian nodded and made to run for the summit.

  ‘Stop!’ said Michaelo, running up. ‘Who are you to give orders? We should choose a leader first.’

  ‘We’ve chosen,’ said Lorenz, standing in front of Luis, his meaty arms folded.

  ‘Luis has got the mind for it,’ said Florian.

  ‘He’s clever, so am I. If you were clever, Florian, you’d follow me.’

  ‘We don’t have time for this!’ said Ristan.

  ‘We don’t, so choose,’ said Laziel, one of Michaelo’s closest friends.

  ‘Just let me do it. We don’t want to lose,’ said Michaelo.

  ‘You’re going to get us killed,’ said Lorenz.

  ‘And you’re wasting time!’ said Laziel, squaring off to Lorenz.

  ‘Let him,’ said Luis. He nodded up. A motionless black shape hovered over the group. ‘They’re watching. Michaelo wants to do it, so let him.’

  ‘Bad idea,’ said Lorenz.

  ‘Not as bad as arguing until the others come charging over here, kill half of us and take our skull,’ said Luis. ‘Go on, Michaelo. What are your orders?’

  Michaelo blinked several times. He had not expected to be given command so easily. ‘We should defend. Stop them taking our skull. That way we’ll win.’

  ‘Wow, you’re a real strategist,’ said Lorenz sarcastically.

  ‘We have to take their skull,’ said Luis.

  ‘We’ll force a stalemate,’ said Michaelo. ‘That’s what we’ll do. Barrazael’s strong, and his group is tight-knit. We don’t have time to beat that. We’ll hold them off until time is called.’

  ‘Barrazael’s overconfident and too aggressive,’ said Luis. ‘He’ll throw everything he has at this fort. That’s his weakness.’

  ‘Yes!’ said Michaelo, seeing agreement where there was none. ‘That is why we should prepare to throw them back.’

  ‘So,’ said Luis, looking at the fort. ‘You think we should all try to cram ourselves into that?’ he said.

  ‘There’s no space,’ said Lorenz, smiling unpleasantly.

  ‘He’ll hang back, fire his spears upwards and…’ Luis mimed the falling of spears into a packed fort. ‘He will not miss.’

  ‘It’ll work!’ said Michaelo.

  ‘Maybe you’ll listen to this,’ said Luis, walking towards Michaelo. The other boy bristled at Luis’ confidence. ‘You hold this fort with eleven of us. I’ll take seven up ahead and take the fort from Barrazael’s men while you hold them off here.’

  ‘What if he does the same?’ said Michaelo.

  Luis shook his head. ‘He won’t. He’s too arrogant. Their scout has already seen us arguing, and that will make Barrazael more reckless. He’ll attack with everything, take our skull, then retreat back to his fort to defend it. We can sneak through these channels and arrive unseen. Speaking of scouts, maybe we need one? Like I was saying,’ said Luis mildly.

  A flare shot upwards over the transport’s position, trailing red smoke.

  ‘The signal. The game has begun. What do you say, Michaelo? We’re losing time,’ said Luis.

  Michaelo’s face darkened. ‘Do what you like. We’re staying here.’

  Luis shrugged. ‘Who’s with me to take the skull?’ All the aspirants from his barracks group put up their hands. Luis chose another, Kalael, to supplement his core group. ‘I’d take you all, but we don’t want to leave the commander short-handed.’

  Michaelo spat on the rock.

  His men made to move out. Luis caught Florian by the arm. ‘Get up on the rocks. Let them see you. Let them get close, then allow them to chase you. We’ll head north around the island, lead them to the south.’

  Florian nodded. ‘Got it,’ he said, and scrambled away over the rocks.

  Luis looked back at the fort. Michaelo’s men were bickering over who got which spot.

  ‘Come on,’ said Luis.

  Lorenz shook his head grimly.

  They disappeared into the maze of the rock, jogging through the channels. Luis didn’t think Barrazael would use them; he was too straightforward. In all their tests, brute strength had been his first and last position. Luis halted his men every so often, listened carefully and popped his head out of the cracks. Seeing no one, he would proceed.

  The sound of distant shouts stopped them. Luis looked out. On the ridge of the island, Florian was sprinting. He waited. Fourteen of Barrazael’s warriors chased after him. Florian was far enough ahead to avoid the spears thrown out by the spring guns.

  ‘Fourteen,’ he said to his men. ‘That means he’s left four in the fort.’

  ‘We knew you’d be right,’ said Ristan.

  ‘We’ve not won yet,’ said Luis. ‘Come on.’

  They ran down an open tube worn from the rock in
wetter eras. Its lips curved together to almost touch, leaving a stripe of sunlight to mark the centre. They were heading diagonally across the island. Luis took them into a narrower crevice, switching back and forth, coming nearer and nearer to the enemy fort. From the direction of their fort came a distant yelling.

  ‘It’s begun. The guards in the other fort will be distracted,’ said Luis. ‘Quickly now.’ He split his group into two, putting Lorenz in charge of one. Leading the second group himself, he went around the island, emerging from a crack within spear-shot of the walls. The gulley was shallow, lower on the desert side, and they had to lie against the stone to avoid being seen.

  ‘Wait,’ said Luis. He eased his head up. Four sentries stood vigilantly around the walls. A sharp whistle sounded from the other side. Three of the aspirants rushed over to look. The fourth hesitated.

  ‘Now!’ he whispered.

  Luis leapt out of the crack and ran for the wall. The boy remaining on their side of the fort aimed and shot in a panic as he saw Luis coming, missing him. Ristan shot from behind Luis, his spring gun punching a spear through the boy’s shoulder. Squealing, the boy fell from sight. Ereos ran up to the wall with Luis. They slammed into the crumbling masonry.

  ‘Boost me over,’ said Luis.

  Ereos laced his fingers together. Luis stepped into them and Ereos half threw him over the wall. Luis vaulted it easily, scrambling onto the firing step set around the inside of the fortification. The injured sentry was lying on the floor, half unconscious from pain. There was no one in the tower. Only their skull kept sightless watch over the rocky island. The other sentries were on the far wall, hidden by the tower, shouting excitedly as they fought against Lorenz, what they thought to be a token force.

  Luis looked from the gate to the tower and back. Silently, he slipped across the small courtyard. While the other three sentries were busy exchanging volleys of spears with the aspirants outside, he undid the simple bar holding the gate shut.

  Ereos and Ristan came through, spring guns loaded. They aimed them at the boys. Luis whistled.

  ‘Surrender!’ he said. ‘Hand over your skull and no harm will come to you.’