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Lacrymata – Storm Constantine

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Lacrymata

Storm Constantine

He breathed a steam of stars, each mote of light igniting in his lungs bringing a hot, sweet taste to his tongue. Space, time? What are these trifles?

Solonaetz Di Cavagni, navigator of the Imperial trader ship Dea Brava, coasted the warp tides of neural ecstasy, oblivious of all save his own blistering responses and the guiding scream-light of the astronomican, the Emperor's own psychic beacon, searing through the heat of Chaos. He and the ship were one; a shining world speeding through the warp, his consciousness the benign god that nourished it.

Real space drop minus fifteen…

Solonaetz realigned consciousness. The warpscreen on the helm just in front of him was pulsing dully, displaying a convulsion of lesser eddies in the immaterium outside; nothing too worrying. He glanced upwards through the translucent plascryst of the navigation blister into an aching tumult of colour and optical noise. This was overlapped by his warp-sight, courtesy of his third eye, a mutation peculiar to navigators, which transmuted the chaotic fluidium of warp space into recognizable symbols. A phantom of his mother's face gaped inches from the translucent blister, evoking the thought response: 'Damn, I forgot the call!' He had meant to send a message back to Terra before the jump into warp space. He knew Laetitia, his mother, fretted during his absence more than she did for any other members of the family. Out of consideration, he always sent brief communications whenever he remembered. Now, some deep shred of guilt within his mind had projected a thought-form into the warp, which was currently scratching disconsolately at the ship itself as if trying to reach him.

Real space drop minus ten…

He felt Dea Brava stir around him as the automatic real space navigational functions prepared to relieve him from duty. She was a witch-queen of the heavens, was Brava, a sleek little strumpet, one of many owned by the affluent Fiddeus merchant family, who for centuries had enjoyed a lucrative franchise from the Administratum. Solonaetz had been working for clan Fiddeus for some time now, following injuries incurred during military service.

He'd warp-piloted the battlecruiser Veil of Hecate (a crueller, less beautiful lady than Dea Brava) for three missions before a hideous accident during what should have been a routine purge of mercantile dissidents had decimated the crew and left Solonaetz little more than a disassembled jumble of bones within a leaking bag of flesh. Mercifully, because of his family's prestige, he'd immediately received the best of medical attention, thorough reconsecration and a frozen trip home to recuperate.

The healing had been a long, wearing process, and his body still creaked with frissons of old pain occasionally. He comforted himself with the thought that one day the Administratum would accept his reapplication for duty, deciding, at last, his faculties were once more sharp and steady enough to entrust with the welfare of a battlecruiser. Solonaetz, though still mourning the thrill of such commissions, also suspected his yearnings to return to the Imperial fleet were slightly insane. He had a cosy niche within the Fiddeus fleet and the Dea Brava was a dream to work with. Over the three ship's-time years he'd spent in her company, he had come to appreciate her personality. Her totem was one of recklessness and adventure; perhaps, like himself, she fretted impatiently at being confined to the routine function of cargo carrier.

The phantom of Laetitia lost its hold on the slick surface of the blister and was churned into the amorphous boiling that Dea Brava left in her wake. Solonaetz became aware of physical pain; his neck was playing up again. That was another thing he'd meant to do before entering warp space: consult the medic about this problem. It had not been an easy trip out this time all round. He would not be sorry to get home. One more drop and then…

Real space drop minus five…

Solonaetz smiled. The warp portal into real space was a stunner this time. Dea Brava was dwarfed by an incredible apparition in the void ahead: brazen gates miles high, miles wide, encrusted with elaborate carvings. Giant beasts, their heads invisible in a smoke of stars, blew mammoth horns as if to bid the ship farewell with a star-shattering fanfare.

Solonaetz shook his head. Was it his own influence, he wondered, or the psychic, fluidium-bending whim of another navigator bored after a long stint alone? Perhaps the illusion had been spawned by the creative residue of some dazed eldar poet who'd once coasted the warp tides, coaxing dreams to reality. Whatever. Someone, somewhere liked to leave their own signature upon the warp. Three drops back, he'd cruised the ship through a yawning, fang-toothed mouth, whose gullet delivered him into real space near one of the Ministorum administrative worlds. Someone with a sense of humour, maybe?

The inevitable, and thankfully brief, spasm of nausea vibrated through his flesh as Dea Brava left the warp. He couldn't resist glancing over his shoulder as he pulled his bandana back into place over his third eye. There were no mammoth gates closing behind the ship's tail; of course not.

Journey completed. Solonaetz touched a sequence of protective runes above his control helm and then lightly laid his fingers against his brow. 'I thank thee, Lord Emperor, Divine Father of all that lives, for thy endless love that reacheth out to the corners of forever and carries us all, thy children, in safety. Blessings and respect.' He rubbed his eyes when the prayer of thanks was recited and began to unstrap himself from the navigator's pod. His neck was singing in agony now. It would have to be seen to before the next warp shift.

Whatever protections Dea Brava might have, Solonaetz was always deeply relieved when they dropped back into real space, even if he never consciously admitted it. Sometimes, the things he saw out there were just too tempting. One sleeptime, he'd had a nightmare about the astronomican suddenly blipping away to nothingness, leaving him alone, without guidance, in a ship screaming blindly into entropy. He'd woken up sweating and pawing the air, his ultimate fear being that his dream self, despite being terrified, had also enjoyed a wild exultation. He had yearned for the final embrace of Chaos. If his subconscious toyed with such sentiments in sleep, Solonaetz was all too aware of how vulnerable he was in the warp.

But then, who wasn't? He'd seen the burn-outs, shielded by their families, newly released from Ministorum retreats where the priesthood tried to launder the frazzled brains of those who succumbed. It was a risky business he was involved in: his lifeblood.

Solonaetz descended to the walkway leading to the camera recreata, rubbing his neck as he walked. It was always the same, this aftermath: vague depression, insecurity. He knew very well by the time the next warp shift was due he'd be aching to ride the stuff of Chaos once more.

Captain Graian Fiddeus was giving in to his usual ritual of inspecting the cargo now they'd dropped back into real space. He was aware that this was slightly neurotic behaviour - Dea Brava herself would know if anything was amiss - but could never talk himself out of doing it. Maybe, with time, his concerns would lessen.

He was a young man and the Brava, one of his family's smaller vessels, had not long been entrusted into his care. Like Solonaetz, he was eager to return home. There'd been a series of mishaps this trip: an unexpected bout of illness amongst the crew, a near miss with a warp storm near the gate to Hovia Nesta. Problems with the consignment of goods on Phaeton South had caused an irritating delay, thus upsetting the receivers on the following drop. Problems, problems.

Graian was also concerned about the ship's new astropath, Shivania. This was her first trip out with the Dea Brava; her first trip aboard any space-faring vessel, in fact. She had been assigned to take over from old Bassos, the previous astropath, who'd been with the Fiddeus family all his working life. Astropaths were essential to communication aboard ship, and Graian felt uneasy about the apparent delicacy of the girl, her strange air of feyness. He had trusted Bassos implicitly, who had been a robust and dependable creature.

Graian mistrusted Shivania's capabilities, despite the impressive references with which she'd been despatched from the Scholastica of Adeptus Astra Telepathica. She seemed little more than a child, although Graian had to admit, however grudgingly, she had a keen mind. If anything, her ability to transmit and receive information surpassed Bassos's considerably. His misgivings were instinctual, but until he could identify some fault or another, he had no proper cause for complaint.

As he walked through the cargo hold, Graian unconsciously ran his fingers fondly over the ribs of the vault. Very quickly, the ship had seemed to become part of his soul. He felt her movements and sighs, each creak and moan, as if he made them himself. Her arched vaults, plated in dull black plasteel, were thickly inscribed with protective runes and totems; she was a virtual fortress. As he'd expected, everything was in order. He knew it was apprehension about the next cargo that was making him jittery. Maybe it was an honour that his father trusted him enough to take the job on, but Graian suspected even the most experienced captain would think twice about stowing a consignment of lacrymata on board. Naturally, most of the legends surrounding it would be exaggerated, but unnerved by the mishaps he'd had to deal with already on this trip, Graian fought a superstitious fear that picking up the lacrymata would only precipitate further dangers.

Taking one last look around, Graian forced himself to leave the hold and make his way to the camera recreata. All Fiddeus ships had a member of the Ministorum on board, so that cleansing rituals could be performed after each warp shift. As well as being effective in cleaning away any psychic debris, it also boosted the morale of the crew.

He met Solonaetz in the passageway two decks up, considering the navigator was looking as fey as Shivania nowadays. Navigators were all inclined to pellucid delicacy but Solonaetz's huge, dark eyes were almost feverish. Graian made a small, formal bow which jerked the navigator's mouth into a smile, not entirely devoid of mockery. 'Hard time, Cavagni?'

'No.'

'You look tired.'

'I am tired!'

Solonaetz had to quell resentment of the captain's officious manner occasionally. What did he expect: his navigators to come bursting out from the blister leaping with joy and vitality? Fiddeus looked offended by his tone, however, so Solonaetz smiled to make amends.

'I always look tired after a drop.'

'What's wrong with your neck?'

Solonaetz abruptly dropped his hand. 'Nothing much.'

'Well - get it seen to.' Graian attempted what was clearly supposed to be a fatherly smile, but which Solonaetz meanly interpreted as condescension. 'Well, we mustn't keep Brother Gabreus waiting…'

Solonaetz shook his head wearily at the captain's retreating back and followed him up to the rec. 'Patience, patience,' he told himself.

Dea Brava was coasting serenely towards a cool, blue gem of a world, which could already be seen through the narrow, arched ports of the rec. Solonaetz could barely concentrate on the words of Brother Gabreus's benedictions, his eyes constantly drifting towards the world they were approaching. He knew Fiddeus was making a pick-up here rather than a delivery and that it was a cargo the Fiddeus clan were especially eager to get their hands on. Because of it, everyone had been promised a bonus when they returned home. Solonaetz presumed this was to over-ride any misgivings the crew might feel about sharing confined space with lacrymata, a potentially destructive material.

Personally, he felt no apprehension. Recorded incidents of fatality had all derived from negligence, which certainly wasn't one of Fiddeus's failings.

Solonaetz never knew whether to respect or be annoyed by the captain's nit-picking. He was not that much older than Fiddeus, yet sometimes Solonaetz noticed a jarring immaturity in the captain, which in bitter moments he felt derived from Graian's lack of hardship in life. The captain tried hard to establish comradeship with his navigator, which Solonaetz was well aware of, but neither of them could ever relax enough for friendship to develop. Solonaetz felt it was something to do with his mutation, ignorant of how adept he was at freezing people off.

Typically, Graian asked Solonaetz if he'd like to accompany him down to the planet's surface. Solonaetz winced inside as the captain made awkward references to the delights to be found below. Salome Nigra was one of those legendary places of the space-lanes, rumoured to be home to a thousand thousand illicit pleasures, all of which were available to discerning travellers for an appropriate fee.

Solonaetz, an unfailing cynic - perhaps a burdensome trait of his kind - knew it was the inhabitants of the planet herself who had engineered and now maintained this reputation. He considered it to be a tourist retreat of the most tawdry kind, and would have preferred to curl into his sleep-cell for a well-earned rest rather than force himself to endure the pantomime of being shocked and delighted by what they might find below. Fiddeus, however, insisted the trip would do Solonaetz good and even in the face of mordant uninterest kept on insisting until the navigator gave in.

'We can visit our contact, Guido Palama, organize delivery of the cargo and then the rest of the drop is ours…' Graian said, with a boyish grin, which Solonaetz had to admit was almost endearing in its innocence.

'If you like - though, as you noticed, I'm in a little pain.'

'Your totems look worn, Sol. Perhaps you should have them renewed. I'm sure Gabreus could do that for you before…'

Solonaetz's hand absently clutched the Navis Nobilite amulets hanging from his throat. 'At the risk of sounding irreverent, it is not a spiritual injury,' he said, stemming any sharpness in his voice. 'An aromatic rub should do the trick. I intended to visit Hermes Foss before the last drop, but it slipped my mind. Relic of old duty, you know.'

Graian nodded gravely. He barely spoke of Solonaetz's previous commission, emitting a restraint that made Solonaetz feel vaguely like a defrocked priest. Often, he wished people would just ask him blatant questions about his past and be humanly curious. Inside, he needed to talk about it, but he suspected old man Fiddeus had charged everybody with the dire command not to upset him in any way by raking up old hurts. Gomery Fiddeus was a good friend of Solonaetz's own father; the commission had been a favour.

'Well,' Graian said brightly, rubbing his hands together, 'maybe we can find you a sweet young hetaira gifted in the arts of massage. As you know, the city of Assyrion is famed for its therapy shrines. A far more stimulating experience than having old Foss grinding away at your bones, eh, Sol?' He laughed.

Solonaetz smiled thinly and inclined his head. 'As long as we carefully inspect the aromatics before submitting to the treatment, of course.' He felt a weak surge of expectation. Perhaps the planetfall wouldn't be as gruelling as he'd feared.

Several other crew members were gathered in the shuttle, intent on visiting Assyrion, Brother Gabreus amongst them, which caused a certain amount of good-natured mockery. Gabreus settled himself fussily into a seat, pretending to be affronted. 'May your tongues be black!' he said grandly. 'All I seek is an assortment of puissant fumes. This you all know, so caw away, as you like! We'll see the grins wiped from your faces when we're back in the warp and only my incenses keep the effluent of Chaos from your sweet, untainted minds!' He wriggled his considerable frame into a comfortable position. 'Come, pilot, let's away! Night spreads her black, feathered fan upon the bosom of Assyrion and I, for one, want to be on the streets before the essence-blenders close shop!'

'Well said, brother!' Graian agreed. 'Pilot, all are aboard. Activate the elementals of the portals!'

The cramped shuttle was filled with the excited atmosphere generated by those who expected to sample exquisite dissipations in the near future. The pilot acknowledged his captain's request with a carefree gesture and made to seal the ports.

A sharp cry stayed his hand. 'Hold!' Someone was scrambling in through the doorway in a flutter of viridian robes. It was the astropath, Shivania.

'Shivania!' Graian said, unable to control his surprise. 'I really don't think Assyrion is the sort of place…'

'Enough, captain. I have eyes in the back of my head, if not the front! I'll be safe enough, especially with all these gallants to protect me!'

None of the party looked especially flattered by that, chaperoning a blind girl not having been on their agenda for the evening. The shuttle fell ominously quiet. Shivania seemed oblivious of the response or else ignored it. She found her way to a seat, as nimbly as any sighted person, turning her head back at Graian. She was wearing an embroidered mask over the upper part of her face. The two thread-woven eyes stared at the captain owlishly. 'You're not going to deny the permission, are you, sir?' she asked sweetly.

'Well, we do have… business,' Graian began, in the voice of someone who was wondering how he could eject the girl without offending her.

'Oh, leave her be!' Solonaetz said. 'I'll be glad to offer you my arm, Shivania.' He smiled at the captain.

'What about your neck?' Graian asked. He looked disappointed, if not mortified.

Solonaetz shrugged. 'It can wait. We've all been cooped up for weeks. I for one would not deny a person the chance to stretch their legs on solid ground if they desire it!'

'I thank you, navigator, for your courtesy!' Shivania said formally, but there was laughter in her voice, mocking laughter. She directed the needle of her attention at the priest. 'Ministorum duties planetside, brother?'

Gabreus shifted uncomfortably. 'Of a kind. Naturally, I would have offered to accompany you but…' he began, but Graian silenced his apologies.

'Come, come, the matter is settled. Let's fly.'

Assyrion was a remarkable confection of a place. Her streets were paved in pearled marble, her towers rose, tier upon tier, aflutter with the pennants advertising which services could be found within. Sulky eyes, painted on silk, gazed through laced fingers, the perfumed breezes causing them to ripple as if alive. Graian had already made up his mind he wanted the navigator with him when he visited the Palama residence, so Shivania ended up joining them. Rather than use public transport, the captain insisted they walk on foot to admire the city sights. Solonaetz was disappointed. The main form of conveyance was provided by elegant open carriages drawn by beasts of burden native to the planet; creatures that seemed to be an absurd blend of camel and wild dog. He would have liked to ride in one. Perhaps later he and the astropath could hire one for a while.

Shivania, extending her heightened senses to encompass all they passed, kept up an awed commentary, which Solonaetz could tell soon began to get on Graian's nerves.

Palama House was situated in the heart of the Aromatics district; a sweeping pale leviathan of a residence, with many low, sprawling workshops to the rear. The air was so filled with the reek of perfume-blending, Solonaetz's and Graian's eyes began to water profusely. Shivania, being blind, did not experience this discomfort.

Presenting themselves at the soaring main entrance, its elegance enhanced by its classical simplicity, Graian and his companions were shown by an imperious servant into an understated yet exquisitely furnished salon near the front of the house. Refreshment was brought: pale, fragranced wine and tender wafers perfumed with local flower essences. Shivania exclaimed that Salome Nigra must be a world created solely for the pleasure of astropaths. 'The stimulus is for the nose, the nose!' she enthused. 'Who needs physical sight in such a place?'

Graian and Solonaetz, still wiping their eyes with kerchiefs, were inclined to agree with her.

Guido Palama made a grand entrance after a suitable time had elapsed. He was a tall, well-built man, his handsome face set in a perpetual smile. After a short, polite enquiry as to his visitors' journey, health and opinions of the city, he settled immediately to business.

'So,' he said, leaning back in his silk-cushioned chair, 'you essay an entreaty to the Dark Lady of Nepenthe!' He helped himself to a biscuit, nibbling thoughtfully. Graian and Solonaetz had both leaned forward expectantly. 'My family have captured the essence of the mystic flower for centuries,' he continued. 'Mysteria Hypno Morta - a prayer, her name, a prayer!' He sighed. 'We call her the lacrymata, the moonskin, the last breath of a favoured concubine. Mysteria - dark maid of the hidden caves. Fragrant, fragile bloom, whose fleeting kiss is spiritual joy, whose bitter juice is oblivion!' He smiled.

The speech was obviously a sales pitch, Solonaetz thought. However, the plain truth would be lacking in romance. The Palamas grew a rare flower in underground catacombs, whose perfume was highly narcotic and whose essential oil was a deadly poison if ingested. It could also be sold for ridiculous amounts throughout this corner of the Imperium. Naturally, such an honest description would not have excited Graian's desire for purchase as much, but then, why bother anyway? The Palamas were rigidly discerning about who they dealt with in the world of commerce. The fact that Graian was here at all indicated the sale had already been finalized with the Fiddeus clan back on Terra. Graian was just a courier. Guido Palama obviously liked to romance his merchandise.

Solonaetz noticed Palama was looking at him keenly. 'Naturally, you wish to see… for yourselves,' their host said, with a wider smile.

The catacombs were accessible via a single door in the heart of the Palama workshops. Violet glowstrips illumined the worn stone steps that led downwards into a damp murk. Shivania slipped her arm through Solonaetz's as they descended. 'Can you smell her?' she whispered. The navigator could feel her trembling.

'Is this what you came down here for?' he asked in an undertone. It was possible. Astropaths, being psychic and therefore mystically inclined, would be bound to be interested in the lacrymata. Shivania squeezed his arm. She did not answer.

'Here the beds of lesser maidens,' Palama intoned when they reached the bottom. Terraces of peaty soil, black as grave-dirt, swept away into the dimness, micred with pale stars; the blooms themselves. 'Mysteria Puella,' Palama said. 'She is destined for the warm throats of ladies of the grand houses of all the worlds. A decoration, merely mimicking the forbidden sensuality of her elder sister.' He plucked a single bloom and presented it to Shivania. 'For you, my dear. Press her well between the pages of your mea libra and she will greet you with a benediction whenever you go to inscribe your meditations.'

'Thank you, sir!' Shivania said. She sniffed the flower cautiously. 'Mmm. Here, Solonaetz!'

He leaned over to sample the perfume. Its first note was bright and fruity, descending for a brief flirtation with the carnal bloom of musk before rising to a final crescendo of riotous spring flowers. 'Excellent! You will look forward to your inscriptions from now on, I think!'

Palama led them further into the breathing dark. Solonaetz's skin prickled with a weird excitement. He felt as if a thousand sighing creatures of the night were shifting restlessly on black satin couches around him; vampire beauty concealed from sight beneath a venomous mat of narcotic flower flesh.

'And here,' Palama whispered reverently ahead of them, 'the boudoir of the lady herself. Have care, my friends, she sleeps and dreams.'

Solonaetz heard Graian gasp. He himself was holding his breath, but not for long. Ahead of them, a gloomy crypt spread into infinity, its tiers snaking between massive columns and arches. Each tier was overflowing, indeed gravid, cancerous and alive with convolutions of shimmering fleshy whorls. Bloom upon bloom crawled over their sisters, engulfing, tumbling, sending out whippy suckers festooned with tumescent buds and the perfume…

Solonaetz had to suppress a groan. The sorcerous elixir of it seethed and flexed upon the tongue, the throat, reaching down with limber fingers to the belly and groin. No simple cadence here, but a hectic symphony of aromatic notes. The first was fruity too, but this was the over-ripe, giddy eruption of autumn in full swell, sweeping lustily down to a dark woodland of musk and sandal spiced with civet and ambergris, rising orgasmically to the exuberant scream of spring; jasmin, asphodel and creamy rose. Flowers of the flesh. Solonaetz swallowed thickly, dizzy with the aroma that was playing havoc with his sense of reality, never mind his more carnal senses. At his side, Shivania was motionless. Her touch had become vague upon his arm.

Palama let them all sample the agonizing ecstasy of it for a few moments before clearing his throat and saying, 'Well, I trust you are satisfied, Captain Fiddeus. Perhaps we can repair to the salon once more to arrange delivery of your consignment.'

Rather overcome, and silent because of it, Graian, Solonaetz and Shivania eventually emerged into the streets once more. Shivania toyed gently with the bloom Palama had given her, settling it safely behind a talismanic pin on her robes. They reached the tourist quarter, almost unaware of how they had got there. Cafes and bars lined streets that radiated out from quaint squares, discrete alleys limned with globes of deep red light leading to areas of more lascivious delights. The aroma of cooking food did something to dispel the enchantment of Palama's crypt, and Solonaetz suggested the three of them choose one of the cafes to sample local cuisine. Shivania agreed enthusiastically, but Graian, looking sheepish, mumbled something about going to find the rest of their party. Solonaetz, fighting the urge to poke fun and discomfort the captain, merely smiled and told him he and Shivania would meet him back at the spaceport in three hours, ship's time. Graian gratefully scuttled off down one of the alleys.

'Are you sure you don't want to go with him?' Shivania asked, clearly aware of what Graian was looking for. 'I don't mind. I'll be quite happy sitting here alone. Really.'

'No!' Solonaetz insisted, firmly tucking the girl's hand through his elbow. 'Come along. This looks an interesting place. Glazed fowl hanging everywhere! Take a sniff!'

Shivania laughed delightedly and they went inside.

'I wish I could see you,' Shivania said wistfully as they sat drinking a dessert beverage after the meal. 'I mean, really see you. Your aura is handsome, navigator, and yet…' She shrugged. 'Silly of me. It must be the effect of this little lady here!' She touched the bloom in her robes. 'I suppose I must be ugly to you, blind as a cave bat as I am!'

'Shivania, stop that,' Solonaetz said. 'You are a very pretty girl, as you well know, and I am a rather haggard spectre of a man. Drink your dessert!'

'You haven't seen me without this,' she said mournfully, indicating her mask.

'So show me then!'

'You won't scream?'

Solonaetz laughed. She was joking, of course. 'Only behind my hand. I'm not squeamish, Shivania, really.'

Impulsively, she reached up and untied the strings of her mask, lowering it swiftly, with an air of challenge. Her eyelids drooped over blind milky orbs sunk deep into her skull, as if shrunken. Thin, almost pencil-drawn, brows shadowed the sockets. It was not gruesome, however, which Solonaetz knew the girl must be aware of. A test then? Was she inviting a physical response from him?

'Disgusting,' he said, with a laugh. 'Dress yourself at once!'

She smiled and replaced the mask. 'I could ask you to remove yours, navigator, but there'd be little point. Doesn't it itch having to keep the eye under a band all the time?'

'Not at all.'

'Would you be able to see into the warp now, from here, if you removed it and opened the eye?'

'What I would see is the otherworld of our reality. In a place like this, it might be educational, but rather upsetting, I feel.'

'Strange. I wouldn't have thought you'd be so squeamish.'

'I'm not, just careful. So, tell me, what was your interest in coming down here? You intended to accompany Fiddeus to his client all along, of course.'

'Your warp sight lends you a sharp perception, navigator,' Shivania replied. She was enjoying herself immensely, he could see. She sipped her drink daintily. 'Lacrymata is a legend. I was curious. Also, if the fables surrounding it are true, it possesses innumerable properties which haven't even been guessed at yet.'

'Really. And which of these legends concerns you?'

Shivania laughed. 'You sound like an inquisitor, navigator. Aren't I allowed a girlish curiosity?'

'Allowed it, certainly, but I doubt that is your motivation.'

She shrugged. 'The interest was casual, really. It was only a rumour. I heard the lacrymata stimulates psychic sight - far beyond what a humble astropath can imagine.' She shrugged again, jerkily. 'However, I've smelled the stuff now, and my inner sight has not improved significantly.'

'I should hope not!' Solonaetz exclaimed. 'Whatever properties the perfume has, it is also very dangerous, and possibly attractive to hostile forces.'

'And that, dear navigator, is probably just as much a fable as any other connected with the lacrymata. Palama has to sell the stuff, doesn't he? It was all just talk.'

Solonaetz remembered the effect the lacrymata flowers had had on him and suppressed a shudder. He did not share Shivania's apparent scepticism.

'Anyway, I'm bored with the subject,' she said. 'I'm more interested in you. How old are your injuries?'

'What?!'

Shivania smiled slyly. 'Oh come now, navigator, you should know I see more than others, lacrymata or not. Your aura has scars. How did you get them, and where?'

Solonaetz was impressed. 'It happened what seems a long time ago, and my name is Solonaetz - remember?'

She shrugged. 'Well?'

By the time he'd finished pouring out his life history to the girl, they had scant minutes to return to the rendezvous point with the others from the Brava. Solonaetz felt as giddy as an excited boy as they hurried through the streets; purged and renewed.

He'd been waiting for someone with whom he could exorcise the past to come into his life, someone free from the drippings of cloying pity. Whoever would have thought this young, quirky girl would be the one? So much for the pleasure-vaults of Assyrion. Solonaetz had no doubt that what he'd experienced by simply talking in the dim-lit cafe far superseded any delights of the flesh Graian and the others had experienced.

Of course, she came tapping on his cabin door while he lay restless in his sleep cell, weary to the bone, yet unable to rest. Of course, she came with words of reassurance. 'Rest easy, Solonaetz. I ask no more than this of you.' Of course, it was a lie. And she, lithe avatar of release, cast a shawl of tawny hair across his breast and stroked his brow, saying, 'Look upon me, navigator, with the eye that sees my soul!' She removed his bandana and kissed the closed lid, bringing a fragrant memory of the lacrymata to his throat. She was so beautiful and skilled with such dark voluptuousness that, in the midst of their love-making, he did open his eye.

Is this woman, he thought, this that I see?

Pure female, her overlapping currents of spirit rivalling even the chaos of the warp. He had never thought to do such a thing before; no one had requested it. His eye was a danger as well as an intrigue; a glance could kill. Shivania, in her blindness, was immune, but she cried that she saw the light of him unveiled, his forehead shedding radiance which she claimed shared the same brightness as the Emperor's own beacon. Heresy. Maybe.

'If we only had a sample of the cargo,' she said, close to his ear. 'Think, Solonaetz, what ecstasies we could share!'

'Or what pain,' he added. A shiver of presentiment summoned a vision of the next warp drop: he, alone, in his pod, with the dark, moving liquid of the lacrymata, in the vaults below, singing its insidious song to the ever-vigilant powers of Chaos.

'You fear it!' Shivania laughed. 'Ice and passion of the wounded navigator!' She stroked the scars on his chest and belly. 'I envy you your sight,' she said.

Afterwards, she curled into his arms, humming a strange little tune, running her fingers over his smooth, white skin, reaching up to wind them in his long, fine hair. 'Divine mutant!' she said.

'Hush, don't say that!'

'Well, you are! As I am, in truth. Both of us tolerated for our uses. Blessings upon our Imperial Father that we may find solace with each other.'

'Sometimes, Shivania, I think you say dangerous things.'

She scorned him gently. 'Faithful navigator, always quick to obey, to bend his back before the whip of Imperial doctrine.'

'Shivania!' He tried to ease himself away from her, suddenly feeling she had become a twining, suffocating thing. 'What are you saying? Listen to yourself!'

'I have done that for years!' she said sharply. 'Always listened to myself, from the day the blackship came and took me from my home!'

'You are an astropath. Privileged, honoured! Your very soul is bonded with the Emperor's!'

She sneered. 'Hah! A bonding that burned away my eyes! Bonding is another word for slavery, is it not?'

Solonaetz shook his head in confusion. 'I will not argue with you, but when you say these things, remember what your fate could have been!'

'And you think this is any better?' She sat up, brushing back her hair. Her voice possessed the dry quality of some seasoned, jaded assassin; a woman whose flesh was laced with scars. Solonaetz reflected how you never came within a whisker of knowing someone until they'd shared your bed. 'It is easy for you to be so complacent,' she said bitterly. 'A ship here, a ship there, flitting around, cushioned by the influence of your great family. What am I? In comparison, a mere slave, leased out by the Scholastica. I do not choose my commissions, navigator. Your life is your own. Mine?' She turned her face towards him and the white eyes between their slitted lids looked snake-like. 'I belong to Fiddeus and his clan. My freedom aboard this ship is an illusion.'

'No good can come of this talk, Shivania.'

She shrugged. 'Whatever. I have offended you, shocked you. For that, I am sorry. I like you. Still…' She sighed, her voice taking on a wistful note. 'Perhaps it was a mistake to leave ship. I did not want to come back, you know.'

Solonaetz reached to touch her. 'Forget this. Say nothing else. Come back to me.'

Reluctantly, she curled against his side. 'Sometimes,' she said, 'a great fear comes to me. I feel as if a depthless abyss waits to open at my feet.'

'Not for now,' Solonaetz whispered, and held her tight.

Graian Fiddeus supervised the stowing of his cargo, restlessly pacing the cargo vault as members of his crew carefully secured the crates. At Graian's insistence, Brother Gabreus came puffing down the access ramp, clutching a smoking censer of his recently-purchased, potent Assyrion incense and a handful of newly-etched talismans to drape around the cargo.

'We cannot be too careful,' Graian said. 'This stuff, for all its value, is a seductive substance. I am concerned what may occur should warp-leakage steal its way inside the ship. Gabreus, I want the whole of the Brava consecrated again; every corner, every duct, every rune re-blessed and anointed. Is this clear?'

'As the bloom of a nebula, captain. Never fear, Gabreus's unparalleled spirit will quell and subdue any effluvia seeking entrance!'

Graian smiled and patted the priest's bulky shoulder. 'I know I can trust you, brother. Now, I must hunt down our little communications system and ask her to transmit a message to my father. I intend to ask him to have a banquet ready for my crew courtesy of Clan Fiddeus!'

Gabreus grinned. 'He could breed whole generations of prime beef by the time we get home!'

It had not gone unnoticed by Graian that some kind of carnal transaction was taking place between his navigator and his astropath. For some reason, this caused him deep discomfort. Shivania, he decided, had a streak of insolence inside her. Perhaps it was this that made him distrust her. Sometimes, when he issued a command, he sensed a wry malevolence in her expression; something about the mouth. It worried him she might alter the sense of his messages when she sent them, just out of mischief, to cause him embarrassment and inconvenience. Why should this be? Shivania might be a laser in comparison with Bassos's steady but small candle-flame, but he could not bring himself to have faith in her.

He also feared she might be bad for Solonaetz. After all, who knew what went on in the navigator's head? It was no secret he'd been horrifically wounded and had suffered a serious breakdown afterwards. Gomery had instructed him to treat Solonaetz with care, look out for him. Graian felt his instincts bridle at the thought of the quick, incomprehensible Shivania having him in her clutches. He intended to speak severely with his father on return. There was no way he would have that girl on board again. The crew of a ship were an enclosed community, mostly removed from time and space itself; the universe rolled inexorably on without them. It was, therefore, intrinsic to the ship's well-being that the crew resonated harmoniously with each other. One jarring note and the whole delicate structure could fall apart; entirely the kind of occurrence that foul influences from the warp could get a hook into. This possibility alarmed Graian more than that of engine failure or facing a warp storm. Dea Brava was his kingdom and he was sensitive to its ambiences.

With this in mind, a few days later, when they were approaching the jump zone into warp space which would lead them finally back to Earth, Graian accompanied Solonaetz as he made his way to the blister, covertly assessing him for signs of strain and fatigue. 'Did you get your neck seen to?'

'Huh? Oh yes. Foss gave me a working over. It's fine now.'

Graian pulled at his lip, standing on the access ramp and watching Solonaetz carefully as he shimmied into the confined space of the blister and eased himself into position.

'Sol, can I speak… plainly with you?'

Solonaetz leaned sideways and peered down the ramp. 'Is that an order?'

'Sol!'

'Sorry, what is it?'

'Shivania…'

'Oh.' Solonaetz began fiddling with the controls to the warp-screen, his face taking on a mulish expression.

Graian fidgeted uncomfortably. 'I have to speak, Sol, as friend and commanding officer. Be careful.'

Solonaetz looked at him again, his expression guarded. He wanted to say: what gives you the right to call yourself my friend, but vented his annoyance with other words. 'I am not an invalid, Graian! I wish you'd stop treating me like some half-fuddled, incapacitated veteran! Quite frankly, much more of this and I'll be forced to resign my position. I am quite over what happened. It has not made me vulnerable. I am an adult and—'

'All right, all right!' Graian raised his hands placatingly. 'I had to speak. Appreciate my position.'

'She knows you don't like her,' Solonaetz said abruptly, once more adjusting his screen. 'Now, that can't help the situation, can it?'

Graian made a non-committal sound. 'At the risk of further tongue-lashing, just how serious is this… business with you and her?'

'As serious as any relationship for people in our positions can be. We live for the day. I can't see it's any of your business, Graian. Have no worry that it will affect my work - or hers. Now, if I could be allowed to get on with the business of warp flight…?'

Graian shrugged, reached up and slapped Solonaetz's thigh in an assuaging gesture, before making his way back to the camera operati, where he would catch up with a little paperwork, leaving the Dea Brava in Solonaetz's care. The interview had not progressed exactly as he'd planned.

Solonaetz sighed, and settled back in his chair, blinking up through the blister at the streaming stars. If only Graian could know how he too had reservations about Shivania, reservations however that could not compete with the temptation of her body, her sweet soothing of his own. He knew there was an undeniable shred of repulsiveness about her, as compelling as her attractiveness. This, he told himself, was simply because she came out with unwise heretical statements from time to time. She was young, bitter; with guidance she was sure to overcome her grievances. That her quick flashes of temperament could presage anything worse than dissatisfaction was unthinkable; she had been trained by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Their screening processes for removing tainted material was infallible; it had to be. 'It has to be,' he said aloud, as he removed his bandana.

The warp was quiet beyond the gate. Streams of pure immaterium boiled lazily on either side of the ship, but seemed unlikely to form themselves into maelstrom conditions. The warpscreen showed no inconsistency. Solonaetz dared to hope this would be an easy journey A few thoughtforms flitted in and out of materiality ahead, but they were minor emissions. Solonaetz recited a prayer to the Emperor to enforce his self-protection and banish all anxieties. It was important to maintain a serene psyche during warp travel. He kissed his totems and fixed his concentration on the journey. A short jump. Dea Brava never ventured that far from Terra.

Solonaetz began to hum a mantra, improvising the tune. It lifted his spirits, and he drifted into sublime communication with the ship, becoming one with her body, faster than light, faster than thought, an exultant silver fish upon the the bosom of this arcane sea. He breathed an essence of salt and spume, euphoric, riding the wave of the astronomican as it pulled him homewards. Salt. Sea. Dunes. Dune-flowers. Flowers. Fruit. Musk. Sandal… Sandal? Solonaetz gulped and was pulled into a momentary reality. He inhaled. What? By the Emperor's sweet blood, what was this? Lacrymata? Impossible! He consulted the warpscreen, his head dizzy with the insidious perfume. The blister was full of it! A pulse glowed on the screen, signifying warp activity. But where? Solonaetz wondered frantically. Behind us? Before us? Where? So close. So close!

He fixed his eye towards the warp. Nothing definite and yet, a suggestion of imminence. The immaterium was excited! He scanned for Chaos emanations. Perhaps something had clung to the ship. The screen seemed poised, waiting to bloom with information, denying him the knowledge. He strained his senses to penetrate the cause as the perfume flowed over him in delicious, wicked waves, perverting the purity of his concentration. His skin prickled with sweat. The cargo! A focus! He must ignore it, banish it. The scent was an illusion. He must…

'Solonaetz!' A husky call.

As a lance of pain pierced the muscles of his neck, the navigator's head whipped towards the access ramp. The hatch was open and there, creeping towards him, naked and glowing as a hot flame, was Shivania, her mouth open, red tongue licking her lips, hair flowing like a cloud, her fingers idly stroking her breast. The perfume assaulted him in waves. He tried to speak. Shivania laughed and opened her shrivelled lids. Had he thought those dead eyes milky? No, they were more than that! Opal, fiery, shifting with a hundred colours.

'Solonaetz,' she said, shaking her head, so that her lustrous hair seethed like a nest of furred vipers. 'Come to me. The essence is my flesh. It gives me sight! I have anointed my eyes! I see! I see so much! I see you, Solonaetz!'

'No!' he said, in a strangled voice. He felt as if the very substance of the Dea Brava was melting before his eyes. All that existed was the pale, shining form of the astropath, and the hideous seductions of the warp waiting to take him in the final, everlasting embrace.

'No, Solonaetz? What is this no? We are in our place, are we not? Mutants, we! I can hear my sisters calling, vapours upon the warp tides! All those that die, Solonaetz! All those that die! You slide this ship upon a torrent of their blood! Open that great eye of yours and really see! Look at me! Touch me! Open the blister and take me home!'

For a few moments Solonaetz wondered whether he was hallucinating his own desires. Is this what I want, what I've always wanted? Then, Shivania reached out a hand to touch him, her fingers flexing, curdled eyes blinking and leaking sluggish tears. She hissed and smiled. 'I spit your seed into Chaos!' she cried and lunged forward to throw herself into the blister upon him.

Acting reflexively, Solonaetz winced back and then, with an extreme spurt of effort and will, pulled himself from his chair and flicked out his leg to kick the access-way shut. He heard an agonized squeal, and an infinity of violent colours smacked against his warp-sight, bringing peals of agony, pain he could not have imagined in the worst of nightmares. His body writhed and his stomach convulsed. The surface of the blister was aswarm with foul shapes, all grinning, all scratching at the plascryst, telling him with sickening gestures of all they planned to do with his body when they reached it.

Solonaetz tasted salt, knew he was biting his tongue. He slammed his head against the console, screaming, 'Fiddeus! Gabreus! Anyone!' but the communications node seemed a million miles away, beyond his reach. Had the ship left its course? His eye was blind to the route, seeing only a tangle of voluptuous shapes that beckoned and tempted, promising eternal pain, eternal ecstasy. He could hear Shivania scratching at the hatch, her voice a hoarse whisper of desire.

'My Lord Emperor!' Solonaetz screamed. 'Help me! Help me!'

And then a pure strain of unadulterated thought forced its way through the melee. 'Take my hand,' it said. 'I am with you, navigator. Take my hand.'

And he focused on that beam, his consciousness flowing with it, melding with it, following. Although he knew in his heart the Emperor was cocooned within his palace on Earth, his aged, tortured body kept alive by machines, the navigator's spirit saw a figure walking the astronomican's beam as if it was a shining path, leading the Dea Brava away from danger, dismissing the effluvia of the warp with the strength and the grief of its soul. A vision of his faith, maybe? But to Solonaetz it was the Emperor himself, spirit-walking in the void.

Some moments later, he came to a kind of reality, and realized the fluidium outside was quiescent, the warpscreen clear of clots. There was no sound beneath the hatch-way and the fume of lacrymata had left the blister. He was Dea Brava and they swam the wave of the astronomican, embraced by the spiritual essence of a thousand martyrs, swimming home.

'Did you call me, Solonaetz?' Back in real space, Graian Fiddeus was at the blister even before Solonaetz had unbuckled his safety harness. 'I thought I heard a call, but the ship's mind told me otherwise. Even so, I thought I'd better check. Are you all right?'

Solonaetz looked terrible, his white face slick with sweat, dark shadows around his eyes. He had not even replaced his bandana; just hanging there in his chair, like a corpse - or someone dragged - the mutant eye staring dully at the warpscreen. Averting his gaze, Graian squeezed into the blister alongside him and gently tied the bandana back in place. 'What happened?' he asked. 'Sol?' He gave the navigator a shake.

Solonaetz shuddered, jerked and then gulped air. Ship's air: faintly metallic, rubbery-sweet and, thankfully, free of perfume.

He sighed and momentarily leaned against the captain. The instant was of silence, suspended heartbeats. Then he pulled away.

'Many die to keep the astronomican alive, don't they?' he said.

'Not unwillingly. You know that.' Fiddeus had a horrible dread Solonaetz had suffered a further breakdown. 'What…?'

Solonaetz shook his head quickly to silence him. 'No. The cargo; it has been tampered with.'

'What?! Impossible! I would have been informed!'

'Nevertheless, what I say is true.'

'It was protected.'

Solonaetz looked at him bleakly. 'Yes, undoubtedly. As I am. Always. Believe me, Graian, I am not mistaken.'

Fiddeus rubbed his face uncomfortably. 'You are ill, Solonaetz. Get yourself out of there. I'll take you to Foss.'

Solonaetz leaned back in his chair and uttered a low, bitter laugh. 'Ill, am I? Take me somewhere where I can talk to you, Graian Fiddeus. Play the part of being the good friend you always profess to be. I have a favour to ask of you.'

She was in her cabin, dressed in her finest robes, brushing out her hair. She wore her mask, the eyes unseeing, staring into nothing. 'I thought you would come,' she said, laying down her brush.

Solonaetz didn't comment. 'I have something for you,' he said. 'A gift. It is the best I can give you under the circumstances, Shivania. I know you will understand and use it wisely.'

She accepted the gift, closing her fingers over the small, crystal bottle. Her laugh was shaky. 'Well, Solonaetz, there goes your bonus, I suspect! Such generosity!'

'Not generosity, Shivania. I loved you in a way. It is compassion. Merely that. A report will be made to the Scholastica when we return. You know what the verdict will be, and its consequences. You are tainted; you must know that. You complained before about your lack of freedom. Well, if you reach Terra, your life aboard this ship will seem like paradise. They will send you to feed the Emperor's soul. Because of what we shared, I want to spare you that. Thank me. I grant you your dearest wish: a full draught of the maiden of oblivion. If you are lucky, for a moment, you'll have the sight you craved.'

He left immediately and, for a while, Shivania sat motionless, the bottle held in her lap. She could not cry, no matter how much she yearned for that release. Her lips shook around the shape of his name. He'd possessed a strength she had not anticipated; to her, a hideous strength.

Then she opened the bottle.

A languorous, sensuous aroma flooded her cabin, sweet with desire, poignant with loss. Its crescendo was the last damp fires of autumn, before the winter comes, when all is burnt, the rubbish from the fields, the dead wood. She smelled dark earth and sensed a welcoming. Somewhere. With shaking hands, she tipped a little of the essence onto a single finger and anointed her throat. Moonskin, lacrymata, lady of tears, dark sister. Not for the weak, oh no.

As the siren scent rose around her in a final, embracing cloud, Shivania tilted back her lovely head on her perfect neck and tipped the contents of the bottle down her throat. For a few, fiery seconds, her body sang a maniac dance of unendurable beauty and passion, but for a few seconds only.

It was a swift death.

'I know it is hard for you,' Gabreus said, 'but you acted in the noblest way, Solonaetz.' The priest fondly patted the navigator's shoulder. They were sitting in his chapel-vault, beneath the light of benediction. It had been a difficult confession. 'Come now, lift your head, young man. Fiddeus is pacing outside like a brooding leopard. Don't give him cause for concern. Be strong!'

'Why, though?' Solonaetz asked helplessly. 'Why her? She was so…'

'Tainted!' Gabreus interrupted sharply. 'Believe it, Solonaetz! The lacrymata was merely a catalyst, and a lucky one in the event. Worse could have occurred if you think about it. You bested the powers of Chaos in your own way. No trivial feat, I assure you. No system is infallible. There will always be mistakes. The Adeptus Astra are thorough but their dominion is vast. Because of this, it is inevitable the odd blight slips through their screening net. It is true she might never have succumbed, and that the essence itself was the cause, but that is irrelevant really. Live your life, navigator. Forget her! In scant days, we shall be home and your family awaits you.' He smiled. 'And don't forget the feast Fiddeus has promised us!'

Solonaetz nodded, kissed the priest's belt and backed from the vault.

Graian was waiting outside, as Gabreus had told him. 'One thing I have to know,' Solonaetz said. 'The lacrymata: where is it bound? The Adeptus Terra would never allow such a substance to pass hands in the free market, surely. Who commissioned its purchase?'

Graian Fiddeus scratched his neck, wrinkled his nose uncomfortably. 'Well… Guido Palama is indentured to one department back on Terra, just one. The dispersal of the perfume, the true lacrymata, is rigorously controlled.'

'Who bought it, Graian?'

He sighed. 'The Inquisition.'

Solonaetz laughed. 'I should have known! An instrument of torture!'

'Hardly a matter for humour!'

'You think not? We live in a universe of contradictions, my friend, to our continual delight. Now, I suggest we repair to the camera recreata to toast our fair Terra when she reveals herself in the heavens. The Inquisition!' He shook his head.

'You look better, Solonaetz,' Fiddeus said bleakly.

The navigator was already striding away up the passageway. He flung a remark over his shoulder. 'Just a reprieve, my friend. Just a reprieve.'

About the Author

Storm Constantine is a British science fiction and fantasy author, primarily known for her Wraeththu series. Since the late 1980s she has written more than 20 novels, plus several non-fiction books. Storm is currently working on new fiction and non-fiction books, as well as working with other writers through Immanion Press. She lives with her husband and four cats, in the Midlands of the UK.

A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2001, in the Deathwing anthology.

This eBook edition published in 2012 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Paul Dainton.

Lacrymata © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2012. Lacrymata, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
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ISBN: 0-7434-1171-4

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