Finally the GEV’s engine note downshifted and they began to slow. Tros pointed to something in the near distance, and Soalm glimpsed the shapes of tents flapping in the winds, low pergolas and yurts arranged around the stubs of another forsaken township. As the skimmer closed in and settled to the sand in a cloud of falling dust, what caught her eye first was the mural of an Imperial aquila along one long pale wall. It looked old, weather-beaten; but at the same time it shone in the fading daylight as if it had been polished to a fine sheen by decades of swirling sand.
There had only been a handful of people in the makeshift chapel hidden in the rebel base, and Soalm had been slightly disappointed to see how few followers of the God-Emperor were counted among the freedom fighters. But she realised now that small group had only been a fraction of the real number.
The followers of the Lectitio Divinitatus were here.
She stepped from the skimmer and walked slowly into the collection of improvised habitats and reclaimed half-buildings. Even at first glance, Soalm could see that there were hundreds of people. Adults and children, young and old, men and women from all walks of life across Dagonet’s society. Most of them wore makeshift sandcloaks or hoods to keep the ochre dust from their mouths and noses. She saw some who carried weapons, but they did so without the twitchy nervousness of Capra’s rebels; one man with a lasgun eyed her as she passed him, and Soalm saw he was wearing the remnants of a PDF uniform, tattered and ripped in the places where the insignia had been stripped off – all except the aquila, which he wore proudly.
These people, the refugees, were in the process of gathering themselves together for the coming night, tying down ropes and securing sheets. Out here, the winds moved swiftly over the open desert and the particles of dark dust would get into everything. The first curls of the breeze pulled at the hems of her robes as she walked on.
Tros matched her pace and pointed to a strangely proportioned building with a slanted wall and a forest of skeletal antennae protruding from where its roof should have been. ‘Over there.’
‘These are Lady Sinope’s followers?’ she asked.
The man gave a snort of amusement. ‘Don’t say that to her face. She’d think it disrespectful.’ Tros shook his head. ‘We don’t follow her. We follow Him. Milady just helps us on the path.’
‘You knew her before the insurrection?’
‘I knew of her,’ he corrected. ‘My da met her once, when she was a younger woman. Heard her speak to a secret meet at Dusker Point. Never thought I’d have the chance myself, though… Milady has done much for us over the years.’
‘Your family have always been a part of the Imperial Cult, then?’
Tros nodded. ‘But that’s not a name we use here. We call ourselves the Theoge.’
They approached the building and at once Soalm realised that it was no such thing. The construction was actually a small ship, a good measure of its keel buried in the cracked, ruddy earth. Beyond it she saw the rusted frames of dock wharfs, extending into the air. Once this place had been a wide river canal.
There were tents arranged along the side of the old vessel, each lit from within by lamplight. ‘The people here are all from Dagonet?’
‘And other worlds on the axis,’ said the man. ‘Some of them were here on pilgrimages in secret. Got trapped when the clanner nobles tipped everything up.’
‘Pilgrimage?’ she repeated. ‘For what reason?’
Tros just nodded again. ‘You’ll see.’ He opened a heavy steel hatch for her and she went inside.
The old ship had once been a freighter, perhaps a civic transport belonging to some branch of the colonial Administratum; now all that stood was the gutted shell, the sandblasted hull and the corroded metal frames of the decks. Inside, the skeleton of the vessel had been repurposed with new walls made of dry stone or steel from the hulls of cargo containers. The door closed with a solid thump behind Soalm and took the brunt of the wind with it. Only a tendril of chill air reached through to paw at the small drifts of sand in the entryway.
‘Child.’ Sinope approached, and she had tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, child, you came. Throne bless you.’
‘I… owed it,’ said the Venenum. ‘I had to.’
Sinope smiled briefly. ‘I never doubted you would. And I know I have asked a lot from you to do this. I have put you at risk.’
‘I was on a mission I did not believe in,’ she replied. ‘You asked me to take up another, for something I do believe in. It was no choice at all.’
The noblewoman took her hand. ‘Your comrades will not see it the same way. They may disown you.’
‘Likely,’ Soalm replied. ‘But I lost what I thought of as my family a long time ago. Since then, the only kinship I have had has been with others who know the God-Emperor as we do.’
‘We are your family now,’ said Sinope. ‘All of us.’
Soalm nodded at the rightness of the old woman’s words, and she felt lifted. ‘Yes, you are.’ But then the moment of brightness faded as her thoughts returned to the content of the voclocket message. She retrieved the device and pressed it back into Sinope’s thin, wrinkled hands. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Come.’ She was beckoned deeper into the shadowed wreck. ‘Things will become clearer.’
The beached ship, like the camp beyond it, was filled with people, and Soalm saw the same expression in all of them; a peculiar mingling of fear and hope. With slow alarm, she began to understand that it was directed towards her.
‘Tros said you have refugees from all over Dagonet here. And from other worlds as well.’
Sinope nodded as she walked. ‘I hope… I pray that there are other gatherings hiding in the wilds. It would be so sad to admit that we are all that is left.’
‘But there must be hundreds of people here alone.’
Another nod. ‘Four hundred sixteen, at last count. Mostly Dagoneti, but a handful of visitors from other worlds in the Taebian Stars.’ She sighed. ‘They came so far and sacrificed so much… And now they will never return home.’
‘Help is coming.’ Soalm had said the lie so many times over the past few weeks that it had become automatic.
The noblewoman stopped and gave her a look that cut right through the falsehood. ‘We both know that is not true. The God-Emperor is embattled and His continued existence is far more important than any one of us.’ She gestured around. ‘If we must perish so that He may save the galaxy, that is a price we will gladly pay. We will meet again at His right hand.’
Sinope’s quiet zeal washed over her. Soalm took a second to find her voice again. ‘How long has the… the Theoge been here?’
‘Before I was born, generations before,’ said the old woman, continuing on. ‘Before the age of the Great Crusade, even. It is said that when the God-Emperor walked the turbulent Earth, even then there were those who secretly worshipped Him. When He came to the stars, that belief came with Him. And then there was the Lectitio Divinitatus, the book that gave form to those beliefs. The holy word.’
‘Is it true that it was written by one of the God-Emperor’s own sons?’
‘I do not know, child. All we can be sure of is that it is the Imperial truth.’ She smiled again. ‘I grew up with that knowledge. For a long time, we and others like us lived isolated lives, ignored at best, decried at worst. We who believed were thought to be deluded fools.’