Day 69 – The Coil: Dead Men Sailing
Vendrake greeted me like a manic ghost this morning, his eyes rancid with the Glory. He didn’t mention Trinity, but waking or sleeping, I know that’s where he spent his night. Without his narcotic fix I doubt he could walk straight let alone pilot a Sentinel. Reve was aghast at the sight of him, but I shrugged it off. There was a time when I would have berated or pitied his addiction, perhaps even shot him for it, but such things do not matter anymore. If Vendrake needs the Glory to lead me to Ensor Cutler then so be it. And lead he does…
The Sentinels guide my ship from the riverbank, flitting through the dark tangle of vegetation like bright shadows, navigating the weft and weave of the Coil without hesitation. Their riders have learnt to see hidden paths where lesser men – or men less damned – would see only chaos. And so we follow, sailing the Coil in a floating tomb, our numbers diminished and our supplies almost gone…
Iverson’s Journal
Standing on the upper deck, watching the Mire drift by, Iverson caught sight of Bierce waiting at the river’s bend. The phantom’s finger was still jutting out in accusation. He was implacable and immovable, but the Sentinels waded through him as if he wasn’t even there.
‘You saw his eyes this morning,’ Reve insisted. ‘He is a degenerate.’
‘Captain Vendrake will keep his word,’ Iverson said.
‘But he cannot be trusted.’ She was whispering even though they were alone.
‘You said the same thing about the Letheans. You’re not the trusting type are you, cadet?’
‘And you are?’
No, Ysabel Reve, I am not. But I’ve grown lax.
Before he could answer there was a heavy clanking on the steps below and the surviving Corsair climbed up to join them. He had discarded his mangled helmet after the battle, revealing a head like a craggy moon daubed with paint. His tattooed face was brutish, yet his pale green eyes were penetrating, suggesting a shrewd cunning. Iverson wasn’t sure if that was going to be a problem, but so far the man had fallen into line and the Mariners had followed.
‘Milosz’s wounds claimed him this morning,’ the Corsair said in surprisingly fluent Gothic. ‘And Bencé will die before sunset. Six seadogs survive to serve.’
‘This is a big ship. Can they keep it running?’ Iverson asked.
‘They are bred to sail,’ the Lethean answered. ‘They will be enough.’
The ship rounded a bend and Iverson watched Bierce drift by once again. He turned to face the Lethean. ‘You understand that they are your men now, Corsair?’
The Lethean shrugged, seeming neither proud nor perturbed.
‘And you are my man.’ Iverson made it a statement.
‘As you say, commissar,’ the Corsair said flatly.
‘I didn’t get your name, soldier.’
‘I am Tás Zsombor, tethered blood-brine of Underlocker 5.’
‘You’re proud of your lineage?’
‘I am shamed. The Underlockers are sunken prisons where the scum of Lethea are cast down to brawl and drown and die,’ Zsombor grinned like a shark, displaying his gem-studded teeth. ‘But like all Corsairs I fought my way up to the land and the light.’
‘To redemption?’
‘To penitence and pain,’ Zsombor growled. ‘There is no redemption, commissar. There is only holy torment. Have you not heard the Lethean Revelation? The Emperor condemns.’
Iverson made no reply. Bierce was waiting for him at the next bend in the river.
Day 70 – The Coil: Redemption and Damnation
Vendrake says we will reach the Arkan camp tonight. I admit I am eager to meet Ensor Cutler at last. Whatever he has become, I am certain he will bring me a step closer to Wintertide and my salvation. Unlike the Letheans I will not accept that redemption is impossible. I’ll willingly suffer and die for the God-Emperor, but I won’t believe it’s for nothing. Surely there must be a purpose to the misery we endure in His name?
But before I redeem myself I must fall a little further.
There’s one final loose end to tie up before I reach Cutler. I’ve been putting it off because I’ve never been quite certain of my suspicions. By Providence, I’m still not certain, but with Cutler so close I can hesitate no longer. Too much hangs in the balance for doubt. Reve was right – I must act. And may the God-Emperor forgive me if I am wrong…
Iverson’s Journal
Reve hacked through another curtain of creepers with her machete and pushed through into a narrow glade. The clearing was hemmed in on all sides by gargantuan toadstools whose caps melded into a knotted, mucilaginous canopy high above. Violet light drizzled down from the gills, transforming the space into a pocket nightscape.
‘Surely this is far enough,’ Reve said, scowling at the pale things scuttling amidst the fleshy rafters. ‘We have been walking almost an hour, sir.’
‘You’re right,’ Iverson said behind her. ‘This place is as good as any.’
Something in his tone made her turn and she saw the pistol in his hand. It was levelled at her head. Iverson watched her face flit through a range of emotions until it settled on plain annoyance.
‘You promised me the truth,’ she said quietly.
Yes, I did, Reve…
Around midday Iverson had ordered a halt to their journey. Offering Vendrake no explanation for the delay, he’d asked Reve to follow him into the jungle. A little later he’d told her she’d earned the truth, but the truth was too dangerous to risk around the others. Later still he’d fallen behind and let her take the lead. And so they’d finally stumbled upon this twilight glade.
It seems a fitting place for our shadow play to end, Ysabel Reve.
‘So you have decided not to trust me,’ she challenged.
‘I think you’re working for the Sky Marshall,’ he said.
‘I am not.’ There was no trace of fear in her voice. He had expected nothing less of her.
‘You appeared out of nowhere and claimed Lomax sent you when I know she didn’t. You pretended to be green when you were anything but and you’ve stuck to me like my own shadow, always prying for secrets.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re a spy and an assassin, Ysabel Reve.’
‘Then why did I come for you at the tainted village?’
‘Because you needed me to reach Cutler.’
‘You are wrong.’
‘I might be,’ he admitted sadly, ‘but you were right: mistakes are smaller sins than doubts. I can’t take the chance you’ll kill Cutler.’ The emotion slipped from his voice. ‘Give me a reason not to shoot you.’
She sighed and opened her hands, palms upwards. ‘High Commissar Lomax was my mother.’
‘Too contrived. You can do better than that, Reve.’
‘She kept my existence secret and trained me personally. I was raised to be her weapon against the Sky Marshall. I hate Zebasteyn Kircher more than you ever can. That bastard murdered my mother.’
‘It’s a good story.’
‘It is a true story.’
‘I don’t believe it.’ Iverson shook his head. ‘I think you murdered Lomax. She was on to the Sky Marshall’s game and you were sent to silence her, just as you’ll silence anyone who threatens him.’
Reve sighed. ‘Your mentor was correct. You are a fool, Holt Iverson.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I am talking about Commissar Nathaniel Bierce, the hero you betrayed in your youth. He was like a father to you, was he not?’ She nodded, acknowledging the surprise on his face. ‘Yes, I have seen your record, but that is the least of it.’
‘You’re not making any sense, Reve.’
‘Then listen to me. Bierce never stopped looking for you. He followed your trail across the galaxy, but when he finally found you on Phaedra and saw what you had become he turned his back on you. I bel
ieve this was three or four years ago.’
‘That’s impossible. Nathaniel Bierce was murdered decades ago on a planet you’ve never even heard of.’ The guilt tasted fresh on Iverson’s tongue. ‘An assassin got to him with a xenos neurotoxin – something the medicae couldn’t begin to fight. I saw him die.’
And I’ve seen him dead every day of our journey through the Coil. In fact he’s here now, hovering just over your shoulder. Turn around and maybe you’ll see him too, Reve!
‘You did not see Bierce die,’ Reve said. ‘You left him to rot, but he survived.’ She gave him an icy smile – the first he’d ever seen on her face. ‘The neurotoxin destroyed his flesh, but the Commissariat decreed his mind worthy of preservation so they gave him a new body. I never met him, but my mother thought him a remarkable man. Although man was no longer quite the right word for him.’
‘You’re lying, Reve.’
‘Then how do I know all this?’
‘Because the Sky Marshall has given you half-truths to work with.’ He could feel the rage uncoiling in his chest like a burning snake aching to strike. He looked past her and met Bierce’s eyes.
She’s right of course. You were like a father to me, old man. And I’m sorry. I’ve never stopped being bloody sorry…
Iverson forced his gaze back to Reve. ‘You’re lying,’ he repeated hollowly.
‘Then shoot me.’
‘Do it!’ dead Niemand hissed in his ear. ‘The bitch is playing mind games with you!’
Iverson’s finger was tightening on the trigger when he saw Number 27. His third revenant was watching him from across the glade. Unlike her companions she was a rare and precious curse and weeks had passed since her last visitation. As always, she filled him with ineffable sorrow.
What do you want here? What are you trying to tell me?
Following his eye line, Reve glanced over her shoulder. She looked right through Bierce and saw nothing. She turned back to him, frowning. Iverson could almost hear her mind working, calculating her chances.
Yes, I’m distracted, Reve. Make a move! Force my hand and prove me right!
But Reve made no move. Doubtless she suspected a trick.
So be it, girl.
Iverson stepped back, widening the distance between them. Slowly he lowered his pistol and eased it back into its holster, but his hand hovered over the weapon.
‘Back on Providence we have many old myths and customs,’ he said. ‘Most wouldn’t make any sense to an off-worlder and truth to tell, many don’t make much sense to me either.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘But there’s one I don’t doubt. It dates right back to the first colonies and runs like firewater in the blood of every Arkan, noble and savage alike. We call it the Thunderground.’
Iverson noticed Bierce nodding in rare approval. The old vulture was Providence born. He was the one who’d taught Iverson the traditions and tales of their home world, weaving them into the Imperial creed with masterful logic.
‘The Thunderground is a secret place waiting inside every one of us,’ Iverson said. ‘It’s the needle in the eye in of the storm that’s life, the testing point that’ll make or break you in the God-Emperor’s eyes. You’ll only walk it once, but that walk will be forever. There’s no turning back and no second chances so you’d better walk with fire in your heart and steel in your spine.’
‘You sound more like a wordsmith than a commissar,’ Reve said, sounding uncertain for the first time.
‘All good commissars are wordsmiths, Reve. Words are our business as much as guns. When we get them right, our charges face death willingly.’
‘Then you still believe you’re a good commissar?’
He smiled bleakly. ‘I know I’m a poor wordsmith.’
‘Are you trying to tell me this is your Thunderground, Iverson?’
‘No, Ysabel Reve, I’m telling you it’s yours.’
The fingers of his augmetic hand twitched reflexively, but its human partner stayed rigid and perfectly poised over his holstered pistol.
‘Go for your gun, Reve.’
Very slowly, very deliberately she raised her hands. ‘No.’
‘Then I’ll kill you where you stand, assassin.’
‘I will not humour your delusions of honour, Iverson.’ She sounded angry now. ‘I will not give you that comfort. If you kill me it is on you alone.’
They remained frozen for a long time, locked in a stalemate while Iverson sought his bearings amongst his ghosts. Like a sailor navigating by black stars he floundered between Niemand’s spite and Bierce’s contempt and the dead girl’s strange compassion, but in the end it was simple weariness that decided him.
‘Throw aside your gun,’ he said. She obeyed gingerly, careful not to offer any hint of a threat. He nodded. ‘If you try to follow me I’ll kill you.’
‘I understand,’ Reve said. As he turned to go she called after him. ‘Iverson! You do realise you are insane, don’t you?’
He stopped and looked back at his ghosts, lingering on Bierce. If she’d told the truth he was being haunted by the shade of a man who still lived. Was that worse than being haunted by the dead? He found he had no answers.
‘Do you think it makes a difference?’ he asked, but Reve had no answers either, so he turned away.
Have I just stepped back from the brink?
‘She’s going for her gun!’ Niemand yelled.
Iverson swung round and his pistol seemed to leap into his hand with a will of its own. Number 27 rose up before him, her hands outstretched as if to beseech him or ward him off, but he was already firing. The bullets ripped through her in a splatter of ectoplasm and found Reve. She was standing motionless and…
What gun? I see no gun!
The first round punched through her right eye, the second and third sheared away half her face. Horribly she was still alive when she hit the ground.
‘Reve!’ Iverson knelt over her, already knowing there was nothing to be done. ‘Ysabel, listen to me…’
Her surviving eye rolled in its socket, hunting for him. ‘Ivaah…ssaah…’ Her shattered jaw mangled the words into wet nonsense as she clutched at him. ‘Yah… baahh…staaahh…’ With a last shudder she was gone.
Iverson looked up at Niemand. The ghost was staring at the corpse avariciously.
‘Why did you do it?’ Iverson asked.
‘It was the only way to be sure, Holt,’ the dead commissar gloated.
Iverson opened fire on full auto and sundered the phantom into whirling ribbons of ectoplasm. His pistol clicked on an empty chamber and he slotted in a new clip mechanically. He kept on firing, going through clip after clip until the spectral gobbets had faded into nothing.
He never saw Detlef Niemand again.
‘Where did your lady friend get to?’ Vendrake asked when Iverson returned.
‘She’s gone,’ Iverson said.
Just like Modine, he thought, knowing full well it wasn’t. Unlike Kletus Modine, Ysabel Reve would certainly be coming back.
PROVIDENCE MILITARY ARCHIVES,
CAPITOL HALL
REPORT: GF067357
STATUS: *CLASSIFIED*
FROM: General Thaddeus Blackwood, Director (Internal Affairs)
ATT: Major Ranulph C. Kharter, Investigating Officer (Internal Affairs)
REF: War Crimes – 19th Arkan – Trinity Township, Vyrmont
SUM: Be advised that this town has been designated a rebel affiliate. While the ruthlessness of Major Cutler’s purge is regrettable, such incidents are inevitable in times of war.
CON: You are ordered to desist all investigations of the Trinity site forthwith. The 19th Confederates will be disciplined by Internal Affairs in due course. This matter is closed.
Note: I want Cutler and the 19th gone within the month. Give the man his stars and ship him off-world. He did
what needed doing, but he’s a hothead and too unpredictable to trust with a secret like this. If the Inquisition gets wind of Trinity the consequences for Providence are unthinkable.
‘You are an anomaly on Phaedra, Ensor Cutler,’ Por’o Dal’yth Seishin observed from the pulpit of his throne drone, ‘but you have always been an anomaly, have you not? Most especially to your superiors.’
The white haired prisoner behind the force barrier snorted. ‘You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, blueskin.’
‘But I am offering you an opportunity you cannot deny,’ the tau ambassador urged. ‘Unlike your Imperium, the Tau Empire embraces creative leadership. A man such as yourself could be an invaluable asset to us.’
‘Then let’s see your cards.’ Cutler leaned forward on his stool, his expression sly. He had grown lean and wolfish during his incarceration. ‘Come clean with me, Si. What’s your game on Phaedra?’
O’Seishin steepled his fingers, contemplating the question. This was his twenty-fifth ‘interview’ with Subject 11, yet the man’s stubbornness was undiminished. Perhaps it was time to twist the blade a little deeper.
‘Phaedra is worthless,’ O’Seishin declared. ‘It is a sinkhole for a war the Tau Empire has no intention of winning. The conflict serves the Greater Good where victory would not.’
‘You’re telling me the war is a sham?’ Cutler said bitterly.
‘Not so. The fighting is genuine, but there is no heart in it. A single company of your vaunted Space Marines would take this world within a week, a few regiments of seasoned Guardsmen within a year, but your Imperium chooses to send only the dregs of its military – the incompetent, the broken or the deranged – soldiers who have lost the will to win or the faith to care.’
‘That sounds to me like a slur on the 19th,’ Cutler snarled.
O’Seishin raised a placating hand. ‘As I stated previously, anomalies sometimes slip through the net.’
‘Real soldiers, you mean?’ Cutler shook his head. ‘No, I don’t buy it. Why would the Imperium play to lose?’
Fire Caste Page 25