The Divine Rite: A Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction

Part 3

I did not realize immediately what those strange sights meant. My first glimpse of the warp was a subtle one, the first whispers from the rulers of that Immaterial plane barely registering at all. I thought myself a woman in all but name, and was in truth nothing more than a girl, innocent and naive to the ways of the universe. I have since learned.

I have since learned that naivety and innocence are to be treasured, valued at least as much as knowledge. Many believe that experience is the ultimate goal, to be weathered and hardened by the galaxy until you can endure it without flinching. The Ecclesiarchy would tell you that suffering in the name of the Emperor is the ultimate reward, an end in itself. So long as your pain serves their ends, then it doesn’t matter to them at all.

In a way, I agree with their basic argument. Suffering for a cause, or for another, can be the most noble of sacrifices. But it is not because that suffering has value in itself. If you die to save a loved one, so that they might continue to know joy, that is indeed nobility. But if you die to save them, when they are enslaved, unvalued, sheep led to the slaughter, then your death is worthless. To toil in the name of tyranny, to fight to uphold oppression, to die in the name of those who keep you in shackles, that is folly.

This is why the Imperium is corrupt, why it is evil. Untold billions of citizens, millions of them dying every minute on battlefields across the galaxy, all for a rotten and dying empire that does nothing but bring suffering to humanity. You are slaves in all but name, toiling day in and day out, forced into a single belief system, deprived of imagination, of independence, until your Emperor one day demands your very life. You are shackled, if you but had the eyes to see them. I do not offer an alternative yoke, as heavy as any other. I do not offer a new taskmaster, a new overlord. You already have those in plenty.

You are shackled.

What I offer is the key.

*****

The spectacle did not repeat itself for over a week. I returned to my home after bathing, my robe good as new, and mulled over that strange vision for hours. So distracted was I during dinner, my parents felt the need to inquire after my health. Pleading a headache, I retreated to my room, but solitude did not offer any answers. I knew it wouldn’t. So I turned to the one place where I was never alone, and where wisdom always waited.

I turned to prayer.

Falling to my knees beside my bed, clad in nothing but my shift, I shut my eyes. I crossed my arms, fingers fanned out on my chest, making the eagle-like sign of the aquila. “Emperor, grant me your wisdom. I know not what the vision you showed me means, but I seek the answer. May your light be my guide, when all the universe is dark.”

Words failed me then. I’d always found the formal presentation of prayers awkward, though that is how I had been taught. One did not go to the Emperor casually, as you would a friend, and ask favors of him. In couching your request in the flowery words of formality, you grant them weight by showing the Emperor your devotion.

It had always seemed strangely impersonal to me.

“Emperor, help me.” I began again, voice trembling. In truth, I was terrified. I had been since the river. Visions weren’t granted by the Emperor frequently, or lightly, and the one I’d had didn’t sound like those other priests described. Did he call me to some task? If he did, I had no idea what it could be. Did he warn me of some disaster? If so, I hadn’t the faintest clue how to stop it. The only ones who could help would be my fellows, and I couldn’t go to them for a very simple reason.

I was afraid.

“Help me.” I pleaded once more, catching myself as I fell forward. The aquila was broken, my fingers clenching the sheets tightly, tears beginning to stain them. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you want. If you’ve sent me this vision, I must know what it means! Is it a warning? A request? A demand? I would do your will, if I but knew it.”

I raised my body, arms straight, neck craned so I stared up at the ceiling, through it, to Holy Terra in the far distance. “I cannot divine your desire. And worse, I cannot ask for aid. I would go to the others, to the High Priests, but I fear for myself. I fear for my life. I want to believe you speak to me, God Emperor, but I fear it is not you at all. I fear those sights were because of me.”

The image of a pyre burned in my mind, my own screams sounding over the crackling flames. My village stood by silently, grim fury etched in their faces. Only my family wept as I charred, writhing in agony. This was the fate of those who received visions from any but the Emperor.

This was the fate of psykers.

“I do not know if I am corrupt, how could I? Does the heretic feel his soul wither? Do psykers sense the demons wrapped around their hearts? If faith is the measure of purity, then I am pure. If it is innocence, I would say the same. But no person is perfect save you, Emperor, and how far can I stray from that impossible goal before I am damned?”

I froze in the silence, broken only by the sobs I choked back to avoid alarming my family. I waited for his answer, but of course it never came. He would listen to his children, but his will was bent always to the salvation of all. He could spare not a single breath for any individual when all the Imperium rested in his hands. “I must know. Tell me, show me.” I pleaded.

The room went dark, shadows encroaching from every corner until only blackness surrounded me. It absorbed every noise, until silence reigned, all sound muffled until it suffocated. I was frozen in place, my muscles locked, constricting me against my will. My whole body went numb, the roaring panic dying before it could fully develop, and my mind fogged over. I glimpsed those iridescent stars in my thoughts, that gaping, oil slick maw of a moon.

And then I was answered, not in one voice, but by four.

“Soon.” whispered a voice, filled with self satisfaction.

“Soon.” boomed another, carrying the promise of violence.

“Soon.” comforted the third, the words an embrace.

“Soon.” breathed the last, lust racing through my veins.

Frozen as they responded, the world dark around me, I gasped, leaping at last to my feet. My sight was restored, the candles on my desk dimly lighting my room. My body was allowed to move again, stumbling with the abruptness of it, back banging against the door. My hearing returned, the worried cries of my family sounding through the wooden barrier. Sensation returned, my head throbbing. And thought was restored, terror settling heavily over me. The Emperor hadn’t answered, but someone else had.

And I wasn’t sure what that meant, but my suspicions tore gasping sobs from my lungs.