Part I Young Zeke made his way home on this day, just as he did every day. His lessons today had been particularly grueling, so he was taking more time on his walk than usual. He was a small child for his age of ten, but his tutors thought him brighter than normal. He was more aware of his world around him than others his age, and he made extra efforts to understand himself. But the Preachers who attended his home at the Schola Progenium in Belkand took affront at his questions and curiosity, and squelched it whenever possible. He had learned long ago not to ask questions of the Preachers. His tutors, however, were local folk, raised in the Imperial Cult and granted the task of teaching the planet's population. Not that there was much population to teach: Egana III was a poor agricultural world with only a handful of towns, and even fewer cities. The planet was strategically unimportant, and provided only enough food for itself and a few surrounding asteroids inhabited by miners. It was protected by the Imperium simply because it was easier to leave the people there than to cart them off to another world. But the Imperium was a long way away and local ties often overrode the more stringent Ecclesiarchal doctrine, so his tutors tolerated -- even encouraged -- his curiosity. Zeke knew little of his planet's place in the grand scheme of things. He only knew it made for a pleasant existence: hard work, yes, growing crops and surviving the winters, but so far in his short life it had been good to him. Occassionally, starships of the kind he had pictures of in his books came to visit Egana III, bringing new settlers and the rare military figure. Zeke's home at the Mission orphanage was just outside one of the larger cities, and so saw most of the space traffic. Once he'd seen the changing of the guard at the Arbites' Fortress, called "Castra Exercitus" by the locals, when a fresh batch of over four dozen shiny-armored men had come to relieve the garrison. He'd stood transfixed with wonder as they filed in and out of the Courthouse. No one had paid any attention to him, and it was long after dark before he remembered his chores. Tonight his walking took him over paths he had not travelled in some weeks, as he followed his curiosity behind sheds and into neighbors' yards. Most folks' land here was closer together, this near the city, but as he went further in the direction of his home at the Mission the houses grew further apart. He had several hours on this day until he had to start his chores at the orphanage, and several hours of daylight as well, so he let his inquisitiveness have free reign. Thus it was no surprise that he eventually ended up at the Hermit's house. The Hermit was a source of constant speculation amongst Zeke and his classmates. The old folk spoke of him in whispers, and no one ever crossed him. Even the Preachers seemed to lose some of their fire when talk of him came up. No one knew his name, or even how long ago he had come to live here, because he had lived here in relative seclusion longer than any of the old folk had been alive. He had a small dwelling -- a hovel, nearly -- far removed from all but the farthest farms, "...and the Mission," thought Zeke, but the Mission was still a goodly ways from the Hermit's house, though it didn't seem like it to his youthful enthusiasm. Here he tended his crops, which grew strongly even when the rest of the region suffered from diseases and pests. He never took part in town business, and it was said he paid no tithes to the Emperor. There was much gossip about the Hermit -- most of it blatantly wrong -- but one story that seemed to have credibility involved the Adeptus Arbites and the Lord Marshal Salzbry. Years ago, they all said, when first the Judge had come to Egana III, he tried to collect from the Hermit the taxes all citizens paid. He sent a single squad of Arbites out to the Hermit's shack; they returned, literally, in pieces. Next he sent four squads led by the Captain of the guard; less than half of them returned at all. After that, no one ever tried to collect anything from the Hermit again, and Salzbry covered up his failure from his own superiors. An uneasy peace had existed ever since. But Zeke knew the Hermit, and the Hermit knew Zeke. When he arrived at his door, and the familiar but unknown Mechanicus devices had hummed and buzzed at him, the Hermit let him inside. Zeke was always amazed at the way the Hermit chose to live: he had a modest-sized house, but it was practically unfurnished. Whereas the Mission deliberately kept its charges in a Spartan environment for their souls' purity, the Hermit seemed to live in it by choice. His harvests should have been more than enough to buy him anything this world could afford him, yet his home was occupied only by a few simple chairs and tables. No hangings adorned the walls, no machines assisted him by showing him images or playing music, no artistry appeared in even the patterns of the fabric on the furniture. All was plain and simple. And yet Zeke felt that sometimes the Hermit wished for more; his manner suggested controlled force, a potent angry strength that longed for output, but which he forcible denied. Zeke was never able to put such feelings into words; the Hermit just made him uncomfortable that way. But Zeke wasn't afraid of him. Part II "Greetings, young charge," the Hermit said as Zeke entered his house. He was dressed in the same thing Zeke had ever seen him wear: a simple tunic of bland yellow, frayed around the edges. Almost a robe in the way it hung on his arms, with a hood in back. This time, however, it seemed to bulge in odd places, and the man looked larger than Zeke remembered. Glancing down, he saw that the Hermit was wearing black steel shoes. "Hello," Zeke replied. He never called the Hermit "Hermit," and had not been told any other name to use. The Hermit didn't seem to mind and it seemed perfectly natural to Zeke. Almost immediately, though, Zeke's attention was caught by the weapon the Hermit had on the table. It was nearly as big as the boy himself, and painted bright red with Imperial eagles on its sides. The eagles appeared as though someone had tried to scratch them off, but had been unable to. Or perhaps it was just the dim lighting which made them look defaced. "Are you going hunting?" Zeke asked, not knowing the meaning of the gun. The Hermit chuckled, a deep sound, not unfriendly. "Someone is going hunting, but it is not I," he replied. "But it is well you've come when you did. If you had come tomorrow instead, you might have missed me." Something in the tone of the man's voice snatched Zeke's attention from the gun to his face. He'd never heard the Hermit sound quite so...solemn before. True enough, the Hermit was a solemn, somber man, with only rare moments of lightness. Zeke thought he spent much of his time in meditation. But this was different: he sounded like he'd come to a decision of some kind. What it was, Zeke couldn't even guess. "You are going somewhere, then?" Zeke asked. An itch at the back of his brain seemed to tell him something important was happening, if only he could recognize it. Again the Hermit laughed, but this time it was only half-hearted. "Not if I can help it. But I don't think I can." He stopped his cleaning of his gun, looked up at nothing. "They just don't understand. I've made my peace." He returned his attention back to his cleaning rag. "But that won't be enough for them." Zeke was completely confused. He'd never heard the Hermit talk like this before. All the other times he'd visited the man, he'd only spoken of simple things: farming, the stars, and the Imperium of Man, but only in general terms. He seemed to have lived forever, or at least to have lived here forever, because he knew so much! Things his tutors and the Preachers only pretended to understand, the Hermit _knew_. "Won't be enough for who?" Zeke said. Normally, such forwardness would merit him a smack by the Preacher's staff; but the Hermit never minded his questions. This time, though, he wouldn't answer. "Never you mind. It's my concern." Finishing with his weapon, its chrome plates gleaming brightly in the dim light, he laid it on the table. He eyes straying far away again, he murmured, "I've heard stories that they pray to their weapons now." An ironic smile played on his lips. "Fools. That so fine a force could become such...." but his voice broke slightly. He went on in a whisper, so low that Zeke could barely hear him, "We were the best of them all. Even Horus wanted command of us, though he'd never admit it. His Grace knew where best we served. If only we'd been more faithful, more...." He broke off again, turned a look like a haunted ruin on Zeke. "I cannot cry, boy, but I have wept in my soul every night for four hundred years. _No one_ will exact my punishment but the Emperor!" Suddenly he raged, "I SERVE THE EMPEROR!..." and just as suddenly the rage flooded out of him, "...no longer." |
REDEMPTION By Kelly L'Roy |
TOMES OF VALOUR |
This item has been reproduced without the permission of the author. It's use here is not intended as a challenge to the original authors copyright and is reproduced here for the sole purpose of enhancing the Dark Angel spirrit and the warhammer 40,000 experience. Sadly all attempts at contacting the author have been unsuccessful and the original site where this was published no longer in existence. The story has been too invaluable to the DA community to be simply lost in the warp and therefre been reproduced here. If Kellt L'Roy happens to read these pages, please contact by email. |
