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Cover

The Crystal Cathedral – Extract

A Black Library Publication

eBook license

The Crystal Cathedral

By Danie Ware

Sister Augusta Santorus stood at the bottom of the wide stone steps, her scarlet armour gleaming, her head bared to the light. She had entrusted her weapons to the upheld tray of the little brass servitor and she carried only reverence and awe, as was proper in His presence. To bear arms in the house of the Emperor was blasphemy – after all, was His protection not enough?

In a line to her left stood her sisters, the squad’s black-and-white cloaks stirring faintly, though there was little wind in this carefully carved valley. Its rock walls were almost sheer and they glittered with crystalline fragments, reflecting the blue-green gleam of the planet above, hazed in its own atmosphere and glorious to behold.

But that was not what held the Sisters’ attention.

‘Truly,’ Sister Superior Veradis said softly, from the centre of the line, ‘one finds His miracles in even the darkest of places. Sing with me, my Sisters…’

‘A spiritu dominatus…’ They raised their voices in the Litany, their harmonies echoing back at them, chiming from the rock. The acoustics were flawless, and Augusta felt a chill go down her back.

The darkest of places…

This was Caro, the smallest moon of the planet Lena Beta, orbiting its blue-white star. And upon its bleak, rocky surface, there stood a miracle.

Forgotten for a thousand years, encased and defended by this carved, rock-walled gorge, it was a great, dark edifice, its bell towers and arches soaring over their heads. That much was imposing enough.

But the cathedral was also black.

Made from pure, black glass it was shadow, a cut-out, a great silhouette that took towering bites from the planet’s perfect curve. It was flat pane after flat pane, every one held in place by thin struts of dark flexsteel, every one glittering with myriad crystalline reflections. Warrior statues stood guard at its doorway, their strong faces bearing familiar fleur-de-lys tattoos, their carved armour bearing the mark of the Bloody Rose.

From the very first days of their order: their Sisters.

Augusta wondered if they judged her, her newness and inexperience.

Between the stone Sisters, the cathedral’s huge front doors stood open, and the squad could see that the building’s insides were also dark, lit only by the flickering, ruddy gleam of electro-sconces. Despite the gloom, however, the congregation already waited within.

‘We beseech Thee, destroy them.’

As the Litany came to an end, Veradis’ voice sounded in their vox-beads: ‘Witness our Sisters, Farus and Neva. The Accords of the Rose tell us that they defended this moon once before, a thousand years ago. Upon the site of their victory, and in the Emperor’s name, was this cathedral constructed. It is a true phenomenon, the only one of its kind.’

‘Yes, Sister.’ Augusta was still staring, transfixed by the wonder that awaited them, nervous of making any misstep.

‘Stand ready,’ Veradis said.

Ahead of them, the organ blasted the first notes of the hymn of greeting.

‘And move!’

The squad formed up, double file, and stamped crisply up the steps.

Her boots ringing from the stone, the young Sister Augusta marched with her chin up, her gaze straight ahead. With a rustle, the congregation came to their feet, their data-slates in their hands and already flowing with the text of the hymn. The slates’ pale light reflected from the people’s faces and throats – dignitaries all, their robes and jewellery sparkling.

Expectation rose from them like smoke.

At the aisle’s far end, the great Sol-facing window was as black as everything else, its images lost to opacity. The altar was a great block of dark stone, the organ-pipes all but unseen in the shadows of the steel-supported roof. Only the pulpit and the choirstalls retained any glimmer of light, and, as the Sisters approached, so the choir took up the words of the hymn, their harmonies shiveringly perfect.

The darkest of places.

Beautiful, incredible though this was, something about this great building made Augusta tense – it provoked a sense of anticipation, almost, a feeling of huge expectation. The squad were here as an honour guard, marking its reconsecration, but still…

In the pulpit, the deacon eyed her as if he could see her very thoughts. With a prayer for the unworthiness of the doubt, she lowered her gaze and remembered her humility.

Nodding sternly, the deacon joined the hymn. Broadcast out through the vox-coder, his bass boom rose to the black glassaic roof, its power making Augusta’s arms prickle. It seemed almost as if the hymn would shatter the building asunder, bring it down in a tumble of glittering and sharp-edged fragments…

Her tension grew sharper, whetted like a good blade.

Levis est mihi!

Show me the Light!

They came to the altar rail, and spread out to kneel. Augusta’s blonde hair fell over her face, but even as it did so…

‘By the Throne!’

The soft exclamation came from Veradis – startling from the severe and disciplined Sister Superior.

Before them, the very tip of the Sol window was touched with Lena’s rising light.

Augusta stared, rapt.

Slowly, the light spread down through the glassaic. And not only through the window; it pooled out through the walls, and across the great arched curve of the roof. It chased the darkness away, turning panes of shadow into panes of pure, blue-white light. Rainbows danced in the vaults of the ceiling; the ruddy gleam of the sconces paled as the pillars rippled with dazzling illumination.

They had known to expect this – as this tiny moon curved about its planet, as the planet curved about its star, so this, its singular conjunction, came again. It was the only time in a thousand years that the light touched the bottom of this valley, the site of the previous battle, and the glassaic of the building it now contained.

But still, the wonder of it…!

Augusta knew she should lower her head, but she could not look away.

Illumination flowed down through the great window, revealing Him in all His glory, His armour gleaming, His flaming blade upheld. The singing rose to a crescendo, a crashing celebration of His presence, and of the great victory that had taken place here. It carried a strong contralto line that picked up the thread of the Sisters’ own Litany.

Again, she shivered.

She could not avert her gaze, she was transfixed – the light continued to spread, making the polished brass of the organ pipes shine. It made rainbow patterns slide down the aisle; it brought a gleam to the circling cherubim, their metal eyelids clicking as they surveyed the scene below.

Overcome and breathless, bereft of the words of hymn and Litany both, Augusta could only watch.

The splintering of the roof took the Sisters completely by surprise.

And the screams rang like music.

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.

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ISBN: 978-1-78999-245-8

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