Fanfiction written for Cold Open Stories, a collection of wonderful fan-made stories for the grim-dark universe of Warhammer 40,000. Some may be linked - this will be indicated in the parts, but all can be read as standalone.
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There was another mournful bang. The pitted metal dented more, showering him with an admixture of oil and viscous brown sludge. The passengers, however, were silent. There was even a soft smile on his father's face. He held onto his hand tighter.
"Don't worry, we will get there," He whispered.
Twenty-six months. He had crawled through burning air ducts, streams of toxic effluent, nights without food, his body riddled with scars courtesy the taskmasters. His father's skeletal frame swayed a little along with the three hundred supplicants to the Shrine of St Arde of the Burning Sight. What she did, Alled couldn't say, but his father prayed to the saint every morning and night. There was a prayer on his father's lips now. Someone groaned. His arm itched at the stump, a mess of badly healed scars, wires and twisted metal that served as a hook; a lifelong punishment from the taskmaster.
Another moan and a rivet burst from above. The sludge splattered on his face like mud, burning and smoking. Alled cried out and struggled to wipe it away, only to be splashed with warm fluid. It trickled down, melting away the sludge and the pain, streaming into a thin rivulet down his cheek. He pulled his hand away, watching the coagulated brown mass dissolve into clear fluid and drip from his fingertips.
"Praise to St Arde!" His father sang out loud. The ship's hull echoed with hymns as the passengers were roused from a deep sleep. A stream of clear fluid flowed through the missing rivet onto people jostling to catch it. A woman pushed herself closer to lick Alled's cheeks, but his father pulled him away protectively. There still was a drop on his fingertips. He tasted it.
Clean water.
There were joyous shouts, more prayers, and a wave of people surged from behind. A little ways from him, a small man pried at a rivet with his fingertips until the metal was coated in a sheen of blood. Further ahead, two men were furiously sucking at a leaking seam, punching each other out of the way. Alled retreated deeper into his father's embrace. The air, stale and still for most of the three-hour journey, hummed with an inexplicable fever. The surge forward continued. He heard muffled cries for help; he heard bones break.
The vox crackled, spitting static before screaming a deafening tone. The air went slack and the crush eased. It was deathly quiet with only the creak and bumps of the hull. There was a sonorous bump. Gears and hinges hummed as the machine spirit was roused; they arrived.
---
They filed out of the ship solemnly, the procession moved down a wooden pier towards a concourse, heads bowed in prayer. Channels of flowing water cut through the rockcrete plaza in a maze-like pattern, dotted with small bubbling fountains and overflowing bowls. Alled had to stab someone every week to get a cup of used cooling fluid. And here was the lifetime earnings of an entire population of underhivers decorating the path to a saint he didn't know.. The months of torture truly had brought him to paradise.
Priests in brown robes handed everyone a tin cup the size of his fist. Some sipped at it slowly, others drank it all in one gulp and licked it greedily. He received his from a priestess, her head bald, her face serene and peaceful, her eyes aglow with a soft golden light. She smiled at him as she handed him his cup and he felt a splinter of fear. He didn't know why. But the cool water quenched something deep within him.
His line came next to a drain. Within, small shells with yellow stripes crusted every surface beneath the surface. Every so often, feathered plumes struck out to grasp at some invisible morsel and retreated into the shell.
"Drink and be whole with the Blessings of St Arde," a priest said, ringing a bell. Pipes showered water upon the people. His father joined the many cries of joy. A refreshing chill washed all over him, soaking into his clothes and skin. He felt like dancing. He felt good. He felt...joy. Laughter bubbled up as he heard people singing happily. His father was hugging him and everyone around him.
They filtered into the hall, separated by the runnels. People drank and washed, marvelling at the dirt and grime dissolving into pure water. Alled filled his cup from the channel, looking reverently into it. Hundreds of tiny clear-bodied creatures wiggled in the water. He glanced worriedly at his father, whose upturned face showed only bliss. He poured the water away.It must have been an hour after their arrival when he felt a twinge of pain in his stomach. A light fluttering at first, tingling up his body in a nervous shiver. His father began shivering violently. The tingling reached the stump of his left hand and pain exploded behind his eyes. He cried out, blinking back tears as two robed figures shifted towards him. The priestesses looked identical, a copy of the priestess before, their eyes shining with golden light. One held his left arm tenderly, a deathly chill screaming through his body.
"Poor child. You lost your hand?" Alled nodded, not daring to pull away.
"The waters remember you as you were whole, and even now, try to mend the broken." The gentle, empty voice soothed, stroking his arm. "The pain will fade, but it will take time." The other filled his cup with water from the channel. The twinge in his stomach worsened, his insides stabbed by thousands of sharp teeth.
"Drink deep child. The waters will heal you." He took the cup There were hundreds of those things wriggling inside. He saw them. He looked at his father, who smiled gently down at him, his eyes beginning to shine a little yellow, clumps of hair falling from his head.
