The Thirteenth Psalm (Warhammer 40,000) by Peter Fehervari

Author:Peter Fehervari [Fehervari, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2019-08-11T22:00:00+00:00

Sixth Reflection

We are almost done now, mirror-brother. This has been a tortuous redaction, far exceeding any other I have presided over, but Athanazius’ mirror is an artefact of a different order, hence the ritual cannot be expedited. I have castigated the unholy glass with the entirety of the nine hundred and ninety-nine litanies of Reverent Banishment, repeating every word until the intonation was perfect. Black incense wafts from my armour’s censers, filling the air with the burnt stench of regret, while the Exhalation Excruciatis drones from the skull-bound speakers upon my backpack, its atonal groan lending weight to my words.

Naturally, I divined the physical expression of the mirror’s redaction long ago. As witness Veland’s stray bullet, the glass cannot be broken directly, so I shall strike it from behind, where it is blind. My blessed crozius will make short work of the frame’s back-plate, and through it the glass itself. No, it is the spiritual aspect of the task that has challenged me, for I have been assailed by misgivings. Before I attempt the final step I must lay them to rest. And so I stand before you now, my first brother. Together we shall purge ourselves of doubt!

The sorceress is the least part of my irresolution. She has returned often to haunt me – taunting, teasing, cajoling or threatening as the mood takes her, but I am dead to her words. I cannot deny she knows what I once was, for she never tires of parading my sins before me, but she understands nothing. Her mind is sharp, yet surprisingly shallow, eroded to pettiness by unbridled ambition. In time what little remains of her shall devour itself, as a rapacious serpent consumes its own tail. Oh, make no mistake, she is poisonous beyond measure, but she has no form or substance to administer her venom unless we open ourselves to her, as thrice-cursed Veland did.

My fallen brother’s submission to the witch troubles me more than the tempter herself. Doubtless she prised open a fault line in his soul, yet the swiftness and extremity of his corruption makes a mockery of the Trial of Thorns. Is our testing flawed or are the judges themselves blind? To ask such things is forbidden, yet I must, for Veland’s outrage pales beside the quiet treachery of Salvatore Jacinto.

The Crown of Thorns is watchful for recidivists who cling to the blasphemies of art in secret. Thirty-one pariahs have been uncovered since the Great Excruciation, but not one among the Thornguard. Until now. If a devout warrior like Salvatore has betrayed the faith how can we be certain of anyone? How many more are there? Writing, composing, carving, painting, perhaps even sculpting in the shadows!

And therein lies my dilemma, brother, for Athanazius’ mirror could uncover the traitors among us. It revealed Veland’s corruption with damning clarity, as it did Laurent’s purity. I did not see Salvatore’s reflection while he lived, and though I dragged his corpse before the glass nothing of his soul remained to tell its tale.

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