Chapter 44: Homecoming
Gorgias walked the mountain path, his scout armor scraping softly with each step. A bolt pistol and combat knife were mag-locked to his hips, and a heavy rucksack was strapped to his back.
He moved toward the home he remembered. As he drew closer, he could smell the salt on the wind, and the familiar, rocky terrain tugged at his memory. He'd herded sheep on these very slopes as a boy, his life split between the fishing boat with his father and the pastures with his mother.
He'd been a good shepherd. He'd made the flock fat, and his ewe had even borne two lambs. Then his older brother had married, and his father had sold the flock. His new sister-in-law had arrived, and she had... not liked him.
He'd been too young then to understand why she hated him; he'd done nothing to her. It was only years later, when he was a void-ship sailor, that a deck-captain had explained it: she was afraid he would one day claim a piece of the family's meager inheritance.
It didn't matter now. He was an Astartes. His future was with the Lord of the Forged, fighting in the void between stars. This tiny scrap of land, this fisher-shack, had no claim on him.
He reached the edge of the village. He saw the familiar, weathered huts. A few children, seven or eight years old, were squatting by the road, playing a game. Knuckle-bones. He'd played that game, too. He'd always lost to the top kid, the one who had drowned in a squall a few years later.
The children looked up and saw him. They froze. The "giant" was so massive, so terrifying, that they dropped their polished sheep-bone dice and ran, screaming.
"A giant! A giant! The giant is here to eat us!"
A wry smile touched Gorgias's lips. He walked to his family's home. It was a small, mean hut, built of stone and crumbling mortar, the outer walls flaking. The small sheep-pen at its side was empty and had been for a long time.
He crossed the yard and had to duck low to enter the doorway. He didn't remember the lintel being so low.
A middle-aged woman, her figure gone to fat, saw the armored giant with the blade at his hip enter her home. She gasped, and the wooden basin in her hands crashed to the floor.
Gorgias looked at the familiar, fearful face. "Sister-in-law," he said, his voice a new, deep rumble.
She stared, her fear turning to shock. "Gorgias!? The ship-master said... he said you were lost!"
Gorgias ducked under a string of dried, salted fish hanging from the rafters. "It's me. I wasn't lost. How are Mother and Father?"
They were... old. His brother and sister-in-law cared for them, but age was a heavy burden. His father's gout was a constant, fiery pain. But this was the life of poor fisherfolk. It was normal.
When his parents saw him, they wept at the monstrous change. He simply unslung his pack, took out a heavy pouch of silver coins and a stack of new, printed scrip, and placed it on their table.
"This is Imperial scrip," he said. "It's the new currency. I know it's... a lot to understand. I joined the Lord's army."
He looked at his aged parents. "I will have money sent to you every year. If the money stops... it means I'm dead."
That night, his older brother came home, and the family sat around the small table, eating the same simple, timeless meal of fish and seaweed soup that Gorgias had eaten his entire childhood.
At the same time, in the royal palace of Lacedaemon, Alexios sat in the Queen-Dowager's private dining hall.
He sopped up the last of the thick, black soup with a hunk of whole-wheat bread and ate it. Beside him, his brother Lykurgos was peeling an orange.
The Queen-Dowager, their mother, spoke, her voice soft. "Was it to your liking, Alexios?"
He looked at her. In the six years they had been gone, she had aged. "Yes, Your Majesty. The food of home is always good. Are you well?"
She smiled, a sad, proud smile. "Your uncle rules as king now. He treats me with honor. I am well. And in private, Alexios... you may still call me 'Mother'."
She folded her hands. "How long will you be staying?"
Lykurgos spoke up, his mouth full of orange. "Not long. Two or three days. The Lord of the Forged wants us back to train with our new wargear. Next month, we leave this world. We are going to fight... in the void. Among the stars."
Their mother nodded, her disappointment masked. "After your meal, go to the baths. A hot bath washes away the dust and ill-fortune of a long journey. May the foam of Aphrodite protect you."
Later, in the palace's private bathhouse, Alexios and Lykurgos soaked in the steaming water. They had specifically ordered the servants to make it scalding, near-boiling, a temperature that had made the mortal attendants recoil in fear.
Alexios stepped from the steam, a towel knotted at his waist. His mother was waiting for him, holding fresh robes.
The moment she saw him, the robes slipped from her hands. She stepped forward, her eyes wide, staring at his body.
She reached out, her fingers trembling as she traced the horrific, raised latticework of scars and surgical ports that covered his entire torso, front and back.
"So many... so many scars," she whispered. "My son... does it hurt?" She knew it was a foolish question.
Alexios shook his head. "Not anymore. The first surgeries... they used anesthetic. For the later ones, they did not. But it was... tolerable."
She leaned closer, her eyes fixed on the newest, angriest-looking scars. "What are these?"
Alexios shrugged, the motion pulling the scarred skin taut. "The Black Carapace. The Apothecary had us stand. He peeled our skin back, like flaying a hide. He laid the carapace on the muscle, and then he... stitched the skin back on over it."
The Queen covered her mouth, her own skin crawling. "What... what did it feel like?"
Alexios thought for a moment. "It didn't, really. When the carapace touched the muscle... it just... itched. As it burrowed in."
His mother suddenly grabbed him, pulling his massive, scarred body into her arms, and she finally broke, sobbing into his chest.
Lykurgos, also wrapped in a towel, emerged from the steam. "Brother, what...?"
The Queen quickly composed herself, wiping her tears. She pulled away, motioning for both her sons. They immediately knelt, bringing themselves down to her height.
She put one hand on each of their faces. "My sons," she said, her voice fierce. "We are Lacedaemonians. We save our tears for our enemies. I do not understand this... 'void'... or these 'stars.' I only know that you are going to war."
She leaned in and kissed both their cheeks.
"Remember the old words. Return with your honor... and with your spoils."