The Divine Rite: A Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction

Part 2

I was a child born under the Amorok stars, the constellations the same as they had been that day when Latigia IV was first graced by the presence of offworlders. My parents said it fated me for a life of divine servitude, and they were most certainly correct in that regard, though the manner of my service would shock them. At the time it meant nothing more than my entering into the priesthood from birth.

The Latigian Cult of the Emperor on High was the only faith. It had been since it was birthed those generations before, when all other belief was wiped out. I was nursed on the sweet words of love and service, sisterhood and duty. I was swaddled in the tales of His angels, the defenders of humanity across the galaxy. And as I learned to move, to speak, those words drove my every action.

I realize now, but could not know then, that a life spent succoured only by the religious dogma of those around you is a hollow one at best. Absent were the close friendships of most children, the respect due my fate and station keeping them away. Absent too were the conflicts, petty and severe both, as none dared insult one chosen by the Amorok. Revered from birth, I was nonetheless constantly reminded of my duty and debt to the Emperor on High, and the service He required me to perform in His Name among His People.

It was a view that I would never question until I came of age. And why should I? Such sweet whisperings and assurances had brought me respect and comfort, if not companionship, and it is so very easy to believe in one’s own special nature.

Especially when it is reinforced at every turn.

There is one tenet of the Imperial Creed that we Latigians were especially devout in adhering to, as it had been a central belief of the Old Faith as well. Psykers, or witches as we knew them, were evil. Universally damned, they were corrupt souls who knew not the light of the Emperor, and lived only to bring ruin to the chosen.

So I was most chagrined to discover myself among their number.

*****

“Mother, one of the hunters has stained my robes again.” I complained, my voice thin and whining even to my own ears. It was not my public voice, which was filled with warmth, love, and surety. I was only sixteen after all, and only here among my family was I allowed to act like it. “Must I let them lay hands on the hem as I pass?”

I showed her the white garment, soiled with blood and earth both. I’d made the mistake of walking the village just as they were gutting the game. It had once struck me as odd to see the eldest, strongest, and most respected of hunters prostrate themselves before me, and scramble to get even a finger upon the pristine white robes I wore. Now though, it was a matter of course, and the timing of my trip to the temple should have been calculated to take this into account.

“They pay you great respect, as you grant them great favor.” My mother replied soothingly, looking with a critical eye at the stained garment. It was not the first time such a thing had occurred, of course not, but she would be working all evening to remove it. “To deny their obeisance is to deny them His favor. I know it inconveniences you so, but keep in mind this is the price of your favored position. You are a servant of the people as much as you are a conduit for the Emperor.”

My grumbled response was ignored, and properly so. The parents of a priestess still had nominal power to scold and punish them, but it was an awkward thing at best for all involved. Fortunately for all, my disposition was one of mild acceptance in almost all cases. Reprimands were rarely needed, and could often be disguised as advice. I remained out of sorts as I left, intent on washing what grime I could from my skin in the nearby river, while my mother scrubbed clean the holy garment.

The river Tlah was one of the ancient waterways my people relied on to sustain us as we traveled. My tribe was called the Marallah, and we traveled the plains between this river and two others, following the herds as needed, always along the same paths during the same months of the year. It was the game that determined our path, the stars that guided us across the land, and His will above all else that ensured that we thrive.

It was there that I ventured. Only the priesthood were allowed to bathe directly in the sacred waters, all others required to draw baths from the river. Such a task was always carried out by the spouses during the day, as their partners hunted, whichever was suited to each task the one expected to carry it out. The unmarried had other duties about the camp, except for myself and the elder priests. Our task was to see to the spiritual health and moral behavior of the entire tribe, and it was a task that had neither a beginning, nor an ending.

So it was with great surprise that I noticed one of my fellows at the river, a boy my own age, soon to be a man. He was old enough to marry, should he find favor with another in the tribe, and would be considered a man if he did. Otherwise, his boyhood would continue for only a couple more years. Still, Marcus was a talented gatherer, with the lean physique that comes from endless walking in search of food and other supplies, rather than the taut musculature of the hunters and warriors. I admitted then, as I do now, that I found him quite attractive.

As I approached the river, wearing only the breast and hip wrap that served as undergarments, he turned to me with a welcoming and respectful smile. “Priestess Katherine, I had hoped to catch you here.” he greeted, dropping briefly to a knee, head bowed. “It is a lovely summer night. An excellent night to bathe, and I’m more than happy to give you privacy if that is your desire.”

I inclined my head in return, looking him over as he rose. It was rare for a member of the Marallah to have more than one outfit, as we wasted nothing on luxury, and so all were comfortable seeing others in various states of undress. Bathing was also something of a communal activity, except for the clergy. For us such an activity was seen as sacred, a time to commune with Him on Holy Terra. It would not necessarily be taboo for him to remain, if invited, but a great deal could be inferred from such an event.

And while I found Marcus attractive, I was a priestess, and taking a spouse was a very serious thing for us.

“I appreciate your consideration.” I replied, quite comfortable before him, as exposed as I was. His own eyes lingered only upon my face, as was proper. Should we begin any sort of romantic entanglement, then they could wander, but until then he regarded me without any sign of desire. “This night I shall bathe privately, as I have much to ponder with His wisdom to guide me.”

“Then perhaps on another occasion.” Marcus suggested, his tone casual, though the words were anything but. “I admit I am stricken by the beauty of more than just the evening, and I know well that the respect and admiration given to you by the tribe is more than earned.”

It was extremely forward to declare such things, by the standards of my people. Now I am a far more worldly woman, and such innocence is hard to imagine. At the time it was mostly flattering. He risked rejection here, which would likely be followed by public disgrace for his intimations being refuted. A more subtle, gradual approach could fail without such consequences, disguised as mere friendship that ended with a falling out.

It seemed to me then, and is clear to me now, that his infatuation was such that any disgrace would be well worth it.

So I looked at him, cheeks as flushed as my own, and seriously considered changing my answer. “Perhaps another occasion.” I agreed, an extremely forward response that had his eyes shining with joy. We exchanged soft smiles. “Perhaps before then you will find some way to prove to me that you can be trusted with such an honor.”

As those words left my lips, the stars overhead began to blink in a kaleidoscope of colors. The moons became shadowed, hungry maws that shone the color of oil. And each word was echoed by the very air around me, a chorus of ethereal voices that whispered in various tones, each different. One was arch and superior, another welcoming and friendly, one filled with sarcasm and wrath.

Yet the whisper that caught my ear, the one that had my cheeks burning scarlet, was the voice that echoed them and was filled with yearning. The husky, breathless whisper reserved for late nights.

Marcus did not seem to hear those voices, to notice time stutter as they spoke, nor did he see anything wrong with the sky overhead. He merely smiled, nodded once, and turned to leave.

And so I was left to my bathing, my mind addled. I had no idea what had just occurred, nor what to do about it, but I was abruptly glad for the quiet and solitude. Now I did indeed have a lot to think about.