Sacrifice by Danie Ware

Author:Danie Ware
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2020-06-16T14:14:56+00:00

About the Author

Danie Ware is the author of the novellas The Bloodied Rose, Wreck and Ruin and the short story ‘Mercy’, all featuring the Sisters of Battle. She lives in Carshalton, south London, with her son and two cats and has long-held interests in role-playing, re-enactment, vinyl art toys and personal fitness.

An extract from Mark of Faith.

The sky overhead is raining fire.

I stand beneath it with my limbs aching and my lips parted just so that I can breathe. Blood runs in rivulets down my face and into the collar of my blessed armour. I hurt from countless cutting edges and the touch of warpfire. From the scorching, whispering wind that stings my skin and tears at the oath seals affixed to my shoulder guards and weapons. But most of all, I hurt because of what lies before me. Because of what lies ahead. I tear my eyes from the nightmare sky and look at my surroundings.

At my home.

Before me, Ophelia VII burns. The grand, gothic buildings of the Convent Sanctorum and its surrounding city-state are fractured and aflame. Smoke rolls up towards me in thick plumes from the tiered city-levels, as if the world is trying to exhale. Trying to breathe, just as I am. The smoke smells of perfume and rotting flowers. It makes me want to spit. To scream. The sounds of battle roll up with the smoke. Of bolters and battle tanks and bellowing. Of other squads of Sisters, fighting to defend their own corner of our Convent Sanct­orum – our home. Many-coloured bolts of lightning twist up from the ground in answer, tethering themselves to the underside of the bleeding sky. Each bolt landing makes a sound like laughter.

‘Evangeline.’

I look away from my despoiled home at the sound of my Sister Superior’s voice. Adelynn’s armour is as much a ruin as the cardinal city. The gilding has all but flaked away, and the ceramite is split. Adelynn’s face is painted with blood that settles into her old scars and the lines around her eyes. It mars the beautiful, intricate faith-brands on her part-shaved scalp. Her emerald eyes are clear, though. Clear and furious.

‘They draw near once more,’ Adelynn says, in her accented, rasping voice.

She is right. I can hear them. The vile enemy, gibbering and chattering in tongues. Heretics and fanatics and things wrought from smoke and shadow and hate. My heart burns with rage now, as well as pain. Adelynn puts her gauntleted hand on my shoulder guard and locks me with her emerald eyes.

‘Are you ready?’ she asks.

It is a question that Adelynn has asked me countless times since she made a warrior of me. A question that there is only ever one answer to.

I nod my head. ‘I am ready,’ I tell her.

Adelynn draws me close and presses her forehead to mine, eyes closed. For a moment, I cannot hear the laughter of lightning or the wicked words of the enemy. All is still, and I catch the scent of sacred oils, even over the ruination.

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