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“Are you well?” Meros had come, with his captain, aboard the Red Tear. The atmosphere was celebratory if not festive–the Angels had once again done their duty on Heloxos Alpha in a manner that made their father proud.
Meros was in robes, his position as a lesser guest not requiring the formality of armor, while Kano’s position as Raldoron’s adjutant required him to wear armor and all the concomitant honors.
It was a generic question, almost a greeting, but the knitted eyebrows of the Apothecary hinted that the question was anything but mere pleasantry.
Still, Kano tried to pull it off by pushing away the implications. “The First acquitted itself with honor on the field of battle.” As he said the words, he knew he was pushing back too much, and that Meros, of all, would not let him get away with it.
“I admit, I almost didn’t recognize you, in the red.” It didn’t follow, but neither had Kano’s comment. He recognized it for what it was: Meros resetting his footing in what was going to be a battle, however kind. And the comment struck closer to the point.
Kano didn’t recognize himself sometimes, since Nikaea, since his armor had been taken, refitted without the conjunction points for a psychic hood, the light blue of the Librarius painted over with the proper vermillion of the Blood Angels. It had been months, but it still felt strange, like wearing someone else’s shoes. A coat of bonded paint had changed his armor. Would that it were so easy for him.
He could try to deflect again, but he did not have the heart. “It is the armor of my rank. I am grateful to still be considered worthy of the command cadre.” Many ex-Librarians had simply been absorbed back into the line, into whatever companies, whichever squads, had openings. But Raldoron had kept him close, kept him honored.
It was an admission that things had changed, but no more. But he could do more than block in this battle-dance of words. “Your Captain Furio looks recovered. I assume it is due to your skills.”
Meros shook his head, demurring. “It is due to his own formidable constitution.” Nothing short of a promethium warhead would take Furio out. But Meros parried as well, dropping his voice to barely above a whisper. “Brother Kano, are you well?”
The soft insistence crumbled something inside him. He had every right to pull rank on the medicae. Every right to tell him that he was not of the Ninth Company and therefore not in Meros’s charge. But he couldn’t do that.
“It has been. Difficult.” He admitted it like it was shameful. He had sworn an oath, and he fulfilled that oath. That didn’t mean it had been easy.
Then again, if it were easy, it would not require the force of an oath.
“How are you sleeping?” Meros pressed, falling into step beside Kano, as he headed for the armoring chamber. Since its refit, his armor had felt like it was borrowed, somehow, not fully his, and he found himself keen to get it off.
“Are you going to harry me like I’m a child?” He wasn’t half as irritated as the words sounded. It was strange to have anyone ask after him. Especially about this.
“Are you going to ever answer a question directly?”
“I am–” But he was, and he felt silly trying to deny it. “I am fine.” Everything was fine. If he said it enough times, it would become true.
Meros’s face registered disbelief, but he didn’t press. Kano got the feeling it was only a brief respite.
And then they were in the armoring chamber: Meros stood by the door, as Kano let the chapter serfs go to work, utilizing servitors to lift the heavier parts of his armor. It wasn’t long before the armor was off. He hated to say that he felt some relief. He’d felt uncomfortable all ceremony, barely able to concentrate on the Great Angel and his exhortatory words, aware of eyes on him--suspicious, confused, and some pitying.
Kano shrugged into the robe that Meros held out for him, the action, normally done by a chapter serf, felt strangely intimate.
And still, he missed his Librarius robes, he thought, frowning, as he smoothed the winged droplet insignia down across his chest.
“You are expected at the feast,” Meros said, probing.
“Yes. Not for a while yet.” Kano could brush Meros off here, claiming some business, some errand or check for Captain Raldoron. But he didn’t want to. It had been too long since he’d been able to just talk, even if it was this awkward, fraught conversation.
Which it was time to alter. “If you have concerns, be forthright in them.” Apothecary Meros, nagging him about how he was feeling and doing. It wasn’t just professional concern.
Meros’s face half-winced, caught out. “Some of your former peers have…struggled.”
“I would imagine.” Kano kept his voice as bland as possible.
“You fought on Heloxos?”
Kano nodded, turning his steps, and taking Meros in his wake, toward his quarters. He knew what was coming next. He could stop Meros’s next words, his next inquiry.
He did not. He forestalled them. Let it be out in the open, then.
“I kept my oath,” Kano said.
“But it was difficult.”
Of course it was difficult. It hurt more than he thought it would. He had thought it would feel like fighting with a handicap, one hand encumbered, something like that. Something like the challenges legionaries played around with in training.
It had been worse.
Because if one fought with a blindfold, or one hand bound to one’s chest, the only person at risk was…oneself. He saw–he kept seeing–moments, slices of time, opportunities where he could have helped others, perhaps saved others. And though few had died, some had been injured and he knew he could have done something. Something.
oOoOo
Arenzo, cursing over vox as the ground gave way under him, as one of the xenos’s boring machines punched through the surface, leaving a void in the ground. Arenzo had backpedaled, hard, clumsy, stumbling backwards, focusing so hard on getting to stable ground that he didn’t see the bone-eater leaping from his flank.
Kano had. He had seen the whole thing play out in slow motion, acutely aware, so aware he wondered if he had not shut down his abilities enough, of every shift of Arenzo’s weight. He saw the bone-eater crest the ground, from a hollow created by the boring machine, the grinding talons reaching to foul Arenzo’s step.
Kano had felt the urge rise in him, almost like a need, something he had to batter aside with force, to lash out with his gifts. One bolt of force lighting from his hand would be enough to turn the bone-eater’s grab aside, or to reach out with geokinesis and harden the ground around the xenos, freezing it in place.
Kano could almost feel the chill wash over him, the cold of the draw of power from the Warp.
He couldn’t.
So all he could do was shout, and send two fast shots with his bolter, toward the xenos, and hope it was enough.
It hadn’t been.
Arenzo was still in the Apothecarion right now, likely to lose the leg. And Kano could have stopped it. Would have stopped it--
--save for his oath to Sanguinius. It was one thing to bear the cost of one’s oath oneself. It was something else to watch someone else suffer for one’s loyalty.
oOoOo
“Yes, it was difficult.” He sighed and then cut off what he presumed would be Meros’s next query: “And I do not expect it to become easier.” How could it? Hardening his hearts and watching others fall when he could have aided them? He would lose something worse than his gifts and abilities. He would lose something vital to fraternity.
He would give up much for his Primarch, but not that. He hoped never that.
“Brother Ephrath,” Meros said, quietly, “has requested psytroprene.”
Kano shot a sharp glance at the Apothecary, the question obvious enough. He couldn’t even bring himself to say the name of the drug.
Meros shook his head. “I have not. Yet. It is one thing I wanted your counsel on.”
“What are your thoughts?” Kano struggled to keep the shock from his voice, trying to plumb Meros’s thoughts. He couldn't imagine Meros would agree. But that was why Meros had asked.
“I do not wish it. It is drastic and unpredictable, and not remembering is not the same as not having the ability. I fear an unconscious relapse."
Kano made a noncommittal grunt. It was a distinct possibility Using psytroprene to eradicate the memory of the Librarius and all its training was dangerous. Even if Meros–or any Apothecary, he would not doubt Meros’s skill–attempted it, the precision needed was impossible. Something more would be taken, or something less left. “You have shared this thought with him?”
“No.” Meros shook his head. “I do not…there is a fear among, well, the newer brothers that he could be dangerous.”
“Not unfounded.”
A grimace as Meros agreed. “But he is struggling, mightily.” He turned away, at the far side of the corridor as they walked, hiding his face as though ashamed of the evidence that he cared so much. “It is hard to watch a brother struggle so.”
A little too close to Kano’s own thoughts during battle. But he had not broken his word or his will. “It is by struggle we are made stronger,” he said. Proper, pious words. “It is by adversity a blade is whetted.”
Meros’s shoulders sagged, not in defeat, but as though accepting a weight. “I do not know how else to help him.” He looked over at Kano. “I am seeking your wisdom.”
“That is my wisdom,” Kano said. “For whatever it is worth.” It felt inadequate. To him, to Meros. He turned, abruptly, placing both hands on Meros’s shoulders. “What helps us all is the reminder of our duty. How our honor is bound with the ties of duty, and we can use those ties, those binding, which we think restrain us, sometimes, to pull ourselves out of a deep pit.” His lips compressed, failing to contain the confession. “It is not easy. I struggle in combat. I struggle here. I am struggling right now, with how easy it would be to just reach out and touch your thoughts, and know your mind and heart.”
“I hide nothing.” Meros met his gaze, soft brown eyes meeting Kano’s darker ones.
“Everyone hides something. Even from themselves. Especially from themselves.” It had been part of the Librarius training to find those voids, those shadows where one hid things from oneself, knowing it was an unending work. “The Great Angel does not expect us to be pure and perfect as he is. He only asks that we strive.” And Kano was striving, trying to become the perfect servant of his Primarch’s will.
Meros nodded, slowly, letting the words, and the weight of Kano’s truth behind them, sink in.
“As for Ephrath,” Kano said, letting his gaze release Meros’s eyes, “Treat him not as he was, but as he is. Not as a former Librarian, but as a brother. Fear him, and he will fear himself. Treat him as though he is frail, and he will become so.” That was the best advice he could give, and what he had been telling himself every day since the word of Nikaea had spread and he and the others had knelt before Sanguinius, rending their hoods, swearing an oath on the Primarch’s own blood to keep this new vow.
Meros’s hand came up, resting lightly on Kano’s forearm, his hand pale against the warm teak of Kano’s skin. “I thank you for this,” he said, and Kano could feel the gentle squeeze of his hand. “And for what your frankness has cost you.” Because it had hurt, to speak of it, to dredge it to the surface and let it be seen.
He would not deny it. Instead, Kano merely inclined his head, acknowledging. “Not everything can be healed by an Apothecary’s skill, Meros,” he said, but not unkindly. “Some may never fully heal. But at least they can be stopped from festering.” It had hurt to talk of it, but it had felt cleansing, like debriding a wound before bandaging it once more. “If our lot is to bear pain, in a thousand forms, then I am glad that we can share this burden. That is what makes our cause noble and our brotherhood a sacrament.” Kano took his other hand, resting it on Meros’s until he felt the other’s hand turn under his, weaving their fingers together, dark and light, more of the ties that pulled one out of the shadows.