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Anathemas – Extract

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Anathemas

An extract from Miracles by Nicholas Wolf

‘Jacen, would you like to say the blessing?’

I’m jolted from another formless, grey daydream. Night-cycle is falling on Praxis Hive and I’ve spent the last sixteen hours on an assembly line. It takes me a moment to process what she’s said. The faint buzz of amasec isn’t helping. Well, not with this.

Myra. Sweet, beautiful Myra. She’s staring expectantly at me, blue eyes encouraging me to pray. She’s always encouraging me to pray, especially in front of the children. The Emperor is our father after all, she says: they should learn about Him from their own father.

‘Of course,’ I say finally with a tired smile. We bow our heads over our plates: Markus, Arden and little Sophya, making the aquila over our chests. ‘Mighty Emperor, we thank you for your blessings this day, for light you give us in the darkness. Please protect us from harm, and bless this food, that it might nourish our bodies so that we may continue our service to you.’ I pause. I never know how to end prayers. ‘Thank you,’ I say finally.

I open my eyes. Myra is smiling. Markus and Arden are picking at their food. Sophya is still whispering, eyes closed, as though she’s speaking to the Emperor Himself.

When she finishes we eat.

Our rations are simple, but nutritious: reconstituted grox-meat, carbohydrate sticks and a grey fungus Myra has seasoned to make it somewhat palatable, along with vitamin-gel packets and anti-rad pills to stave off radiation sickness. The walls of our hab-unit are well lined, but the manufactorum overseers prefer to err on the side of caution.

I eat ravenously. We all do. Markus and Arden, eight years old and growing almost too fast to believe, scoff down their food in between groaning about having the same meal for breakfast. Sophya, already so bright, eats happily, humming something to herself as she chews. Myra eats quickly so she can begin cleaning up the dishes.

Outside the window I suddenly hear the tromping of boots, as familiar as the coming of night.

‘Third patrol tonight,’ I say absently, watching the enforcers through the slits in the window coverings. Within moments the procession of glowering black helmets passes by. ‘There were patrols all around the factory today, too.’

‘Why are there so many, papa?’ Sophya asks through a mouthful of vitamin-gel.

I give her the best smile I can summon. ‘They’re here to keep us safe, starshine.’ I don’t mention that three patrols is out of the ordinary, even for our hab-block.

‘I heard they found another body down the street!’ Markus blurts out suddenly.

‘Yeah, and I heard his eyes were cut out, and full of bugs, and–’

‘Enough!’ I bark, harsher than I’d meant to. The room spins a little. I take a swallow of water to chase my guilt, grimacing at the metallic taste. ‘Honestly, where do you two even hear such nonsense?’

The twins look at each other. I know that look. They’re trying to decide whether or not to lie. ‘At the schola,’ Arden admits finally.

I snort and return to the food growing cold on my plate. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear from your little friends at schola,’ I lie. ‘And you’re scaring your sister.’

Sophya gives me her best ‘I’m not scared’ face, but I can see the fear in her too-wide eyes. I can’t blame her. I’m scared, even if I can’t let it show.

Myra gets up and begins collecting the dishes, brushing off the morbid talk with the ease of a parent used to quickly changing the subject. ‘Well, do you know what I heard today?’

‘What is that, my dear?’ I say quickly, likewise eager to speak of something else.

‘You remember Old Guryn?’

Of course. Guryn Mansk, the blind Guardsman, had been begging down by the cathedral since I’d been a boy. ‘What of him?’

Myra smiles as though in possession of a great secret. ‘He can see!’

‘Huh,’ I shrug, going back to my plate. ‘How did he afford bionics?’

‘No, not bionics,’ Myra urges, setting down the plate she’s washing. ‘It was a miracle.’

I don’t mean to raise an eyebrow but I do. ‘A miracle?’

‘What happened, mama?’ Arden mumbles through a mouthful of food.

Markus swallows his food first. ‘Yeah, tell us!’

Myra sits down on the edge of the table. The children are instantly enraptured. She’s ten times the storyteller I’ll ever be. ‘Well, I was walking home from the cathedral, and I saw him there, dancing in the street. He said he’d seen an angel in a dream, and when he’d woken up he could see!’

‘An angel?’ Sophya squeaks.

‘An angel from the Emperor! Isn’t that exciting?’ she says, clapping her hands.

She’s looking at me. Expecting an answer. Corroboration. Support. I take another sip of amasec to buy myself a few moments to think of something to say, something that isn’t callous or bleak.

Suddenly I’m six years old again, at my father’s memorial service, standing in a room not ten feet from where I’m eating dinner.

‘The Emperor’s miracles are all around us,’ I say, remembering a piece of scripture someone had read. ‘And if you pray hard enough, miracles will happen to you.’

The rest of the night passes quickly. I sit in my favourite chair, attempting to keep my eyes open until it’s time to put the children to bed. I fight the urge to finish my amasec because I know I’ll just pour another and I’ve already had too much. Myra reads to them from a pamphlet she got from the cathedral. Somehow, even at the end of the day, she never seems to lose her vigour.

So like my own mother, before she’d lost her mind.

Eventually Myra’s story of Sebastian Thor comes to a close and it’s time to put the children to bed. The boys protest, as they protest having to do anything besides run in circles and fight, but Myra tactfully guides them to their rooms with a mother’s gentle hand, far more effectively than I would have.

I lead Sophya to her tiny sleeping alcove, and tuck her into bed. I go to extinguish the lumen. ‘Goodnight, starshine. Sleep well.’

‘Papa?’

I turn.

She’s quiet for a long moment, fidgeting with her tattered doll.

How old was she when I made it for her? One? Two?

‘You won’t let the monsters get me, right? The ones Markus and Arden were talking about?’

‘Oh, starshine,’ I say, going to my knees beside her bed and taking her hand in mine. ‘There are no monsters here.’

Her face scrunches up in thought. I can see her little mind turning it over, wondering whether or not to trust me. She’s clever, and more observant than I give her credit for. I still haven’t fully accepted that she’s not a baby.

‘Papa, would you pray to the Emperor for me?’

‘Sophya, you know you can pray to the Emperor whenever you want and He will hear you,’ I reply. It sounds like something Myra would say, except she’d sound like she actually believed it.

‘I know, but I want you to,’ she protests softly. ‘Please?’

I concede, of course. How could I not? What kind of father wouldn’t pray over his scared little daughter?

I close my eyes and make the aquila over my heart. ‘Oh, glorious Emperor, enshrined on Holy Terra, I humbly beseech you, please let your immortal light shine down on this bed, and keep it extra, extra safe so that my little girl can sleep tonight.’

She opens one eye. ‘And no bad dreams,’ she interjects.

I stifle a chuckle. ‘And please give her good dreams.’

Sophya smiles. As far as prayers go it wasn’t one of my best, but it seemed to be sufficient. ‘Thanks, papa,’ she says, holding open her arms for a hug.

I wrap her up in a long embrace. Outside I hear the stomping of steel-toed enforcer boots. And, in the distance, screaming.

‘The Emperor protects, my love,’ I whisper as I hold her tightly to my chest. ‘And so do I.’

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Warhammer horror

A Black Library Publication Imprint

‘Miracles’ and ‘Runner’ first published digitally in 2019.
This eBook edition published in 2020 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

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Cover illustration by Rachel Williams.

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ISBN: 978-1-78999-338-7

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