Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===The Taste of Betrayal===
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The black car glided along, somehow seeming to go much slower than it was. 'It's probably the Palace, it's so big you never seem to get there.'' Despite that, the ride passed all too quickly, and soon the Palace's massive shadow darkened the car, matching the sudden drop in mood.

''We're here.''

Doug was always a little amazed at how fast the trip was despite the size and complexity of the Palace's halls, made simple with the aether-synaptic mech-intellect guiding them as they entered the structure. They each broke off at different places.

First was Vin, who walked up to a gentle sheet of water streaming down over a wall, relaxing in both sound and appearance. He simply walked through the wall, the stone parting as easily as the water, and disappeared. By the time Doug turned around Janus was gone as well, the slow creak of a great statue's wings the only indication of his disappearance.

At one point they walked through a long, unlit, narrow hallway. Chucho disappeared before they entered, the last in line, and when they emerged Callie was gone. Violet disappeared in a garden room, behind an enormous display of Arasian lilacs. Ev stopped and tried to follow, but found no entrance. ''How fitting, Ev will wait until it's too late, until Violet is gone, to chase after her.'' They boarded an elevator next, and Doug stepped off while Ev stayed behind.

He relaxed as the boy disappeared, then concentrated, doing what little he could to reinforce his mnemonic against what was to come. He walked blindly, following the subtle audio and tactile cues of the mech-intellect. 

''Nelan shorn, opposition.''

Doug brought to mind first white.

''The purity of everything, every color.''

He thought on it for a time, ignoring the many sights and sounds of the Palace, and finally came black.

''The purity of nothing, no color.''

At first the colors existed simply as two halves of an endless expanse, a perfectly defined border separating them. Doug breathed in, relaxed, and the colors began to merge, moving in orderly lines at infinite speed. For a time lines of black and white stretched from horizon to horizon, and then he squared them off.

''And now for the hard part.''

Doug beheld now a great checkerboard, an eternity of crisp black and white squares, alternating, all precisely the same size, perfectly square and flush with each other. He breathed out, and, through sheer force of will, expanded black and white. They did not intermix, did not become gray.

''Though I imagine that is what Janus, what most psykers see.''

Both black and white expanded, grew to fill the whole of his vision, his perception, his mind. All thought and concern was wiped away as Doug visualized the greatest expanse of pure opposition he could. The image was held for a long time and the apprehension that Doug felt, the tension in his blood and muscles, began to relax as he did so. ''Black and white. Tension and relaxation. Opposites in perfect balance.''

Still, Doug felt some apprehension remain. He knew he would need more to face this. ''Opposition.'' Doug concentrated, looking for what most rang with him, what most defined opposition to his very core. Furia entered his mind again, freely, easily.

''As she entered my life.'' Doug saw her face, saw the boiling anger as she strode through the hall. He saw himself bump into her, purposely. Doug saw, out of the corner of his own eye, Furia's face turn, twisted by rage. She spoke, the words meaningless, body language and tone everything. She was enraged, furious, and at the same time thankful for what he'd done. Gratitude and anger in enormous measure, perfectly balanced. ''Even if you don't understand why.''

A psyker watched, waiting, as the gray box finally reappeared, stronger and cleaner than ever.



Ten minutes later Doug sat in the Tueor, the base of operations for the Officio Tutamentum and its Protection Forces. But he knew it wasn't home. He'd entered home only minutes ago, the memory of Furia finally opening the door fear had closed.

''And I am afraid.'' He sat there now, shuddering despite an unusually warm fire crackling in the hearth. The lush fields and trees of Bolanion swayed gently outside, the first true frost of the short, harsh winter tinging all white. ''It's going to snow soon.'' Doug considered going into the library, but Furia shimmered at the barest corner of his thoughts, flitting by outside the window, and he decided against it. ''I suppose I should prepare for my guest.''

The door opened then, in the Appraisal room where Doug sat. He was vaguely aware of it, but focused on his mental home, his mnemonic construct, honed by years of strict meditation and months of terrible trial.

'And necessity. Nothing is so steadying as purpose. True purpose.''

The library door cracked open. Doug walked over, whispered through the crack, then gently pulled it closed. He sat back down in front of the fire to observe the front door. He was somewhat surprised to find himself in his normal, everyday clothes. For months he'd come here to relax, and each time he'd worn the simple clothes of his homeworld, his past. ''Something has changed.'' Furia appeared in the corner of his eye again, another memory making itself known, and Doug finally relaxed completely, ready to accept what came next.

He could feel the terrible weight, the sheer mental presence, even through the closed doors and shuttered windows. The house began to rock and Doug stood, having nearly forgotten to bar the library. He returned to his seat feeling the press of intellect seep through the weather-sealed door. Anger, rich and spicy, came first and strongest.

''But that is only a cover.'' More subtle smells began to enter as the mental house swayed under escalating wind and rain, sleet. Sadness. ''Only a tinge of course, he is not one to feel helpless or lost.'' The salty scent, almost like crisp ocean air, quickly receded.

''And now comes the truth.'' Betrayal came through finally, the door itself beginning to crack under the immense stress. ''The others are merely symptoms, reactions to this. To my betrayal of his trust.'' It was thick, far more so than the others, a physical breeze pushing against him. The fire flickered, nearly guttered.

''Well, we can't have that now, can we? I just stoked you properly again.'' The house began to shake, rocking as if in an earthquake while Doug calmly stood. He took another pair of logs and placed them gently in the fire, drawing warmth, strength from it, before sitting once more. The tremor dulled, lessened, if only so much.

Doug smiled, even as the betrayal came afresh with hints of outrage, indignation and, under it all, fatherly pride. He could taste it now, the taste of betrayal. It was pungent, cloying, like biting into a fresh apple and chewing, only to pull it away and see the rot exposed, watch the worm wriggle and feel it slither down your throat. 

''Earthy, gruesome, not so unlike death.'' Doug took a last smell of the fire, rich like anger, but sweeter. ''Rosewood perhaps? I find it appropriate.'' He felt it, felt the last shudder as he sweated, eyes bulging with unseen effort, felt the door crack and give way under absolute, unadulterated psychic power. His benefactor entered then, and Doug concealed no pride at seeing his state, having been tried in the smallest way by his entrance.

"Not that I could conceal anything from you in here, Lord Malcador."





The First Lord of Terra, Malcador the Sigilite, entered the Appraisal room. ''You have failed me, Dubhannan.'' He felt the slightest echo of the thought from Doug's mind, from the flat surface of opposition. Malcador sat, and the Appraisal began. He knew the children feared the Appraisal. That it drove them to succeed, sometimes beyond their limits. ''And why shouldn't they?'' The Appraisal was no simple interrogation, no torture or berating.

It was far simpler, more basic and affective.

''I am their father, and no child likes to disappoint their father.''

Malcador had no need to speak his displeasure, the full weight of his mind simply smothered most psyches. Whole rooms fell silent when he entered, feeling the power he bore as a matter of course. Without effort he could bring silence to thousands, through his simple presence. Or he could hide it, make himself completely unknown.

''And these children depend on me, love me as a father. And they are my children.'' For them it was different, his mind was a welcome presence, the entirety of a family's love, pride, happiness and more. In his presence they felt it at all times, a warm embrace of the soul. But when the Appraisal came he would single them out, one by one, and let the anger, the disappointment and sadness crush them.

Malcador spoke, but it was only a reflection of the true conversation, happening in the confines of Doug's mind, contained by his mnemonic. Malcador had broken into it in mere seconds, but it was by far the longest it had ever taken him to do so.

"You have betrayed my trust, Dubhannan, the Emperor's trust. Do you have an explanation for this? Why you did it? How did you justify it to yourself, Dubhannan? Tell me, that I may correct you. Your job is to protect the Daughters, as you all swore. You must maintain distance, for their safety and happiness."

Doug sighed, the house flexing and relaxing around him. Still, the fire warmed him.

"Need I speak, Lord? Simply take the answers you seek."

At this Doug gestured to a small table beside Malcador, one that had not been there moments ago. The book submitted to the Sigilite's will, lifting and revealing itself to him. He saw Furia, cold and alone. Nowhere in particular, but a general awareness of her emotional state. First it was at Imperator High. Here she was angry, angry but alone. She thrashed Doug, they fought, each attack thrown a minor relief for her. The week passed in a blur, Doug always there, Furia venting, yelling, punching, laughing even. Then came Friday and Furia was cold, cold and alone. Both literally and emotionally.

Doug was following up on his assignment, locating the #113 slide dealer. He glanced over and recognized Furia, saw her scratching her arm, saw her throw away the empty lho pack. Doug stared, waiting until she noticed, then left. She followed, making no attempt to disguise her presence.

Furia was pinned, again laying into Doug, familiarity only barely softening her anger. They spent the evening together, and for a time she wanted for company no more, the itch of her arm gone. Then it returned and with it came more, something deeper, an entire night together. The weekend, already well known to Malcador, elapsed in an instant, only Doug awakening briefly saturday morning to see Furia leave with his jacket lingering.

The mission came and went, but Furia remained in Doug's thoughts, sometimes distracting, sometimes embarrassing. The attack in the hallway, what happened after. More anger came from Malcador, the overpowering weight of his mind tingling with anger as Doug encountered Freya, then hints of pride and amusement as he maintained his composure and kept his secrets.

"I did not give lifetimes worth of knowledge to you, Dubhannan," Malcador gestured to the shelves lining the walls of the house, full to bursting with books, hundreds of years of knowledge, of history and combat, of arts and sciences, all that he himself had bequeathed, "so that you could duel with a Daughter."

Doug thought back to his departure from Bolanion, when Malcador took him from the jail cell and spirited him away aboard a Black Ship. Months were spent in the warp, months where Malcador stocked Doug's mind with untold volumes of knowledge of all kinds. Much of it was Malcador's own knowledge, but enough was taken, sometimes forcibly, from others. He'd learned the vagaries of combat a thousand times over, he'd learned trades and skills, methods and languages. His meditation had been tested and strengthened as well. Malcador had assailed his mental fortress time and time again while he studied in his mind, honed him into the operative he was today.

"I could not back down, my Lord. Furia needs me, as much as I need her right now." Doug gestured at the fire. Malcador sighed, and for a long moment they sat in the comfortable chairs, the fire now roaring at full strength again. He regarded Doug for a long time, then finally relaxed.

"I suppose it must be so, Dubhannan. Once more I find that luck has given you my blessing. So long as you are necessary, what keeps her from vice and despair, I will allow this." Malcador glanced at the library. "So long as she needs you, and only that long. If you are not removed from her personal life by this time, then I will make it so. This is not an order, Dubhannan, this is knowledge, and once again I gift you with knowledge. Use it properly."

After another long moment Doug nodded, and the Appraisal was done. He stood to leave, but felt an urge to stay. “I will be leaving for some time Dubhannan, there are matters to attend to with the High Lords, and other organizations. I shall return in two months' time. Look after our family.” In the real world Malcador stood and left, and Doug followed shortly thereafter, eager to keep his next appointment.





Malcador settled into his office, so rarely used, for one of his few quiet moments. He thought of them all, of his children. ''Even Dubhannan, if less so than the others.''

He had been searching for something more, but found only Doug instead. The boy's curious warp presence drew him in and, when Malcador realized the potential, not only for Janus, but of the newcomer himself, he tested the strands of fate. The Sigilite saw one strand, far away. A single possibility that would not be without this boy. ''So I took him from his incarceration, gave him purpose once more, a chance to understand.''

He had potential, Malcador knew. ''He is a rare individual, the kind who always seeks the cause behind something, but, at the same time, does not default to looking for blame.''

''Open-minded through virtue of being at odds with his rural birth community, he agreed to come on the condition that he would help people. An odd request, considering the circumstances I found him in, but the decision nonetheless bore fruit.''

Still, Doug was a consolation prize, and he upset the delicate dynamic Malcador had constructed the team with, to ensure each had a partner. ''But now, because of him, they are making it work, now less a trio of partnerships and more a unified whole. While the others, besides Janus, have already been indoctrinated, and Janus himself has undergone his trial by fire, Douglas remains empathic.''

''Not a manipulator, like Caroline, and more cordial than Chucho. He is largely ignorant of this, perhaps the most important of his skills in regards to this cabal. He is the middle ground. He is the only member who is compatible with all of the others.''

''And this is my fault: the indoctrination causes them to view themselves and others as tools, even pawns. It restricts their emotions, binds them to their tasks. It is unfortunate, but necessary. They have loyalty ingrained in them, loyalty to me and by extension each other. Loyalty, but not trust.''

''That is where he is most important, why he must remain unrefined, rough, why he must keep his full gamut of emotions. The others are as bricks, they need a mortar to settle into, to unite them. Or they would simply slide apart.'' 

Malcador sighed, a rare event, as he considered his young daughter, Callie. ''I should have foreseen Vincent's distraction and diverted him from that path, or perhaps encouraged Dubhannan to comfort her. But then where would Furia be?''

The Sigilite looked to the ever-changing future and, though he saw much trial, he also saw that Callie would, in the end, be made whole. It was turbulent for some reason, hard-to-read, even for one of his skill, but Malcador felt hope for his children's future, and let it flow over them.

''You will find what you seek, Caroline, you need only be patient. You need only wait.''