Nabras Prime: Writ Rites Day

Rena ran through the streets, much to her chaperone’s dismay. Standing several meters behind the eleven year old heiress as she flittered about, her caretaker-slash-bodyguard walked at a normal pace, hands clasped at the small of her back. Grumble though she might, the lady soldier’s mouth tilted just so in amusement. If only she could recapture the excitement she used to feel as a child when the Writ Rites approached.

“Happy Rites Day!” Rena shouted, tossing a handful of glittered pseudo-thrones at one of the vendors in the marketplace.

The fishmonger glowered under his new shining accessories, falling occasionally from his head and shoulders as he moved. “Rites Day… just means I have more a mess to clean than usual…,” he muttered under his breath as he picked up a few of the fake thrones on his fish, staring at one of the coins longingly. “Used to be real..,” he murmured as he turned to secure the clear tarps he put over his wares to save them from the rain of glitter that was to come.

Rena was oblivious to the fishmonger’s sour mood. She giggled with delight as she ran about, throwing the tokens about here and there. Most of the citizens didn’t share the grumpy old man’s attitude. They smiled and laughed at Rena’s enthusiasm as she pranced about. Most people took the day to spend with their families and to attend the city-wide celebration that began at sunset, but those with trinkets and food to sell usually took advantage of the day to convince others to buy something special for their loved ones.

Of course, there were those of the aristocracy who remembered, via life lengthening technology and procedures, a time before Rites Day was celebrated on Nabras Prime. That was before Lady Gomez entered into a marriage contract with the Rogue Trader House D’Autry. Now, 100 years later, the ‘peasantry’ of the world didn’t remember having gone without this special day. Not to say any Nabras holidays were put aside or ignored. Never that, but it was easy to see that House D’Autry held this day, Rites Day, high above any other.

“I love Rites Day, Marta, don’t you?” Rena called to her chaperone, out of breath from having run about so much.

Stifling a chuckle, Marta nodded, “Indeed, milady, it is a special day.”

“I can’t wait to hear August recite the Telling tonight! He’s been practicing for weeks.”

“It’s his first time, isn’t it, milady?”

“Yea! He’s as nervous as a haklin in a cheys bog! I bet he’s gonna mess it up. They shoulda had me do it. I’m better at talking loud, anyways.” Rena giggled, and then turned to resume gifting everyone with glittering throne tokens.

With a soft laugh, Marta replied, “Yes, I suppose you are, milady.”

The streets were decorated with House D’Autry’s colors. Shimmering bolts of black and red synthsilk twisted about each other, hanging from one window to another across the street, back and forth in a long path down the main road that lead straight to the D’Autry Estate. Floating messenger bots were programmed to flash red blinking lights as they went to and fro with their messages. The common folk added bits of red and black to their attire: an armband here, a handkerchief there.

The aroma of freshly baked sweets filled the air. Usually so preoccupied with meeting quotas from offworld, the agrarian society of Nabras Prime usually forewent the luxury of baking sweets, but the people took the time to make and enjoy them on holidays, especially on Rites Day. There was, of course, the occasional missing pie from the windowsill, but that was the fault of the baker not setting a bot to watch them.

Rena paused in her running about the streets when she saw Jorge Menandez. The boy was as cute as eleven year olds could come and knew it, too. Rena hated him. He was such a brat, showing off his “exceptional psyker potential” at almost every possible turn. The proud House of Menandez was sure to elect him heir, they claimed. Well, Rena saw a pie cooling in the windowsill nearby, and decided she would show off her own psyker potential. With a concentrated effort on Rena’s part, the pie flung itself from the windowsill and into Jorge’s face. She didn’t bother to wait to see his face; she was satisfied with just his angry yell. Quickly running off and leaping over a sidewall, Rena dashed for home.

Marta sighed, using her microbead to let her fellow guards know the girl had run from her toward the Estate.

Jorge didn’t bother asking who it had been. With his budding psyker prowess, he garnered from surrounding minds the identity of the culprit. And with a single-minded determination, he ran after the twin heiress of House D’Autry.

Sunset came, and Jorge had failed to find the girl, but he knew where she’d be during the ceremony. Where she always was, standing up on her dais with her so-called well-to-do family. He’d heard the mutterings and complaints of some of the older aristocracy, most of which were simply the grumblings of bitter rivals for Lady Gomez’s marriage contract. He was beginning to see their points of view, though. The D’Autry House was annoyingly sure of themselves. Overconfident. Arrogant. Well, he was going to rectify that.

A quiet hush came over the gathering throng of peasants about the city streets, a large screen hovering above specific street corners to show the ceremony as it played out on the D’Autry Estate. The estate itself was full of the planet’s aristocracy. The place was packed with tightly checked psyker talent; as it was rude and reckless to openly use one’s gifts in public: an unwritten rule Rena had carelessly disregarded earlier that day simply to aggravate Jorge. Not that she was the only one who breaks the rule – for if you don’t get caught then there is no harm, correct?

House D’Autry stood on a floating dais above the milling crowds of Lords and Ladies. Carefully placed vidvoxes recorded and broadcast as the ceremony began to unfold. A few chosen cousins stood before the family, enacting the tale as Rena’s twin brother August began his recitation.

“In the days before House D’Autry was bestowed the Writ of Trade, a great trouble stirred on Terra. The great Vincent, a decorated merchant and honorable man close and dear to the Councilman Grannis, discovered a wicked and vile plot brewing against the Emperor himself,” the nervous boy spoke as clear as he could. As he spoke, their cousins moved about. One, obviously representing Vincent, crept closer to three others as they leaned in upon each other, wringing their hands with wicked anticipation.

“If Vincent had been a mighty warrior, he could have dealt justly with these evil men the moment he discovered their intentions. But he was not, and as such, he had to decide how he would handle this. Who was in on this plot? If he were to report it to the wrong person, it would be he himself who suffered and not the ne’er-do-wells.”

Rena was insanely jealous. She knew that August was very nervous, and she knew that he was not as interested in the history of House D’Autry as she was. Very often, she found herself pretending to be Vincent as she played with her friends. Conniving against those who would try to move against the Emperor, working a sly plan to bring the criminals to justice. How come it was August who got to Recite this year? Just because he was born two minutes before she was?

Just as she was pondering how to get back at her brother, and as he continued on about the quandary Vincent found himself in, she felt a nudge at the edge of her mind. Rena glowered and looked down into the crowd nearby. Someone was trying to push her to do something. Before she could pinpoint who it was…

“Vincent D’Autry was a washed up piece of bryla dung!”

Who would dare to say such a thing??? Rena looked to see who had said it only to find everyone staring at her. She blushed a deep crimson.

“I didn’t…!”

“I know…” said her father, though his angry eyes did not soften at all. “Guard Maquis,” he murmured softly, “Please see to your charge.” Then, he turned, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “Continue, August.”

And as August continued on about how Vincent had discovered a way to poison the conspirators using the thrones in their very own pockets (thus, the Rites Day tradition of glittered thrones arose), Rena was escorted off the floating dais by Marta.

Shame and anger roiled off of her, as she tried to determine who had so blatantly misused their psyker abilities just to make her blurt out that comment. Then it came to her. It had to have been Jorge. Her suspicion was confirmed when she saw Jorge’s self-satisfied smirk as she passed. Unable to restrain herself, Rena leapt from where she walked with Marta and tackled Jorge.

Accustomed to family rivalries and physical fights among the young, the Lords and Ladies in the immediate vicinity of the tussle parted to give the children room. No one moved to stop them, and no one seemed to give it a second glance. In fact, it almost seemed expected. In the end, Rena stood triumphant over the wounded and battered Jorge, she herself ragged and in complete disarray.

“I’m glad to see my granddaughter can hold her own,” came a smooth, gentle voice from behind the girl.

Men of House Menandez gathered the groaning Jorge up, but Guadalupe raised her hand to stop them. “Bring the boy to the study. Come, child,” she said to Rena.

Rena followed, obedient, her heart racing. There was any number of reasons why her grandmother would be walking her toward the study. She rarely went into the study, and when she did, it was never good. When they arrived, Guadalupe sat in the chair that no one else dared to sit in. She was going on 300, and determined to live another century. The elderly woman sat in silence. Jorge was settled on a seat near the door, and Rena’s grandmother gestured dismissively to his family guard. Reluctantly, they left – no doubt to stand right outside the door. Rena shifted nervously, waiting minutes, maybe hours for the woman to say something.

“Well?” her grandmother finally asked. That was it.

“He made me say--!”

“I did not!”

The old woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Any granddaughter of mine should be able to block a weak thing like him, and of course it was you, you horrible excuse for a psyker.” She said the last to the boy, a piercing gaze in her eyes.

“But I…” both of the children said.

“But you… what? Did you think you could hide your blatant disregard for custom? The Imperium breathes down our necks, intent to find a fault with psykers and any other different derivative of humanity, and your petty abuse of your abilities will give them one more nail to drive home.”

Rena glowered at Jorge, “See? You shouldn’t…”

“You, too, Augusta Rena D’Autry.”

“What?”

“Oh, come now, you should know better than to try to hide something from me, little girl. I know everything. You’re just as much to blame.” After a somber silence, Guadalupe took in a deep breath. “The both of you will be warded until such a time as I see fit to dispel the ward. You will attend the hearings of psyker criminals with me, and you will be present when sentences are carried out. If this doesn’t straighten the two of you out, then you will eventually be on the receiving end of the very same sentences. Whether you are my granddaughter or not.”

Rena winced… and knew that this was not going to be as good of a Rites Day as she thought it was going to be.