Beyond Redemption 17 Chapter 15

The hand leaked life as meaning was plucked. Putrefaction clutched love and was thrown to the midden.

—HALBER TOD, COTARDIST POET

Though easily big enough for a hundred students, Aufschlag had reserved this sprawling cla.s.sroom for his single-most-important pupil. When not in use, a pair of Otraalma guards, both capable of becoming monstrously twisted demons, remained stationed here to ensure no one touched the lessons left out on the ma.s.sive oaken tables. Now the two guards waited beyond the closed door, ready to give their lives should any attempt entry.

The Chief Scientist sat rigidly. Morgen paced back and forth in front of him, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted forward, eyes locked on the floor. Aufschlag had not seen this mannerism before.

Morgen stopped pacing and faced Aufschlag. The boy glanced toward a mirror and then back at the Chief Scientist.

"Konig watches me. Always."

"Even now?" Aufschlag asked.

"He thinks so." Morgen smiled. "But Schwacher Sucher is not much of a Mirrorist. It's easy to fool him when I wish."

"And you wish to now?"

"Yes. I don't mean to hide things from Konig, but there are some things I find awkward to talk to him about." The boy's face went from confident to worried and scared and back to confident so fast Aufschlag wondered if he'd imagined it.

"Morgen, you can always talk to me. You know I will always be here for you."

"Konig expects something from me, doesn't he?"

"Of course. You will be the Geborene G.o.d—"

"I mean something more specific. Something personal." Morgen watched him, face open and trusting.

Should he tell Morgen? Yes. To h.e.l.ls with Konig. "Konig is a powerful Geisteskranken," he said.

Morgen just looked confused.

How we have shielded this child that he doesn't know this simple axiom! "It means his delusions are also powerful. And growing in power. He will share the fate of all Geisteskranken. Eventually his delusions will seek to wrestle control from him."

Morgen's eyes widened. "His Doppels! I have to save him!"

"Well, yes, but—"

"But . . . but how?"

Aufschlag stifled the desire to laugh. Details had never been Konig's strength. "I don't know," he admitted. "He just believes you can . . . believes you will. His belief is enough." Or so he believes. Aufschlag had doubts. "Don't worry. You will do what needs to be done."

The boy flashed a look of grat.i.tude. "I've been thinking about what it is to be a G.o.d. No one has ever really told me what is expected. What will happen when I Ascend?" He waved his hands around as if trying to grasp at an idea. "Will I retain my physical form? What will I look like? What will I be capable of?"

Aufschlag made a placating gesture. "The truth is . . . we don't know."

"Konig says I won't be the first man-made G.o.d, but I will be the first intentionally man-made G.o.d. He used the word 'designed.' I didn't understand what he meant before, but I do now."

"It is not with malice," Aufschlag said softly, unsure if he lied.

Morgen studied the Chief Scientist. "I know."

Thoughts of Morgen's Ascension left Aufschlag feeling tired, old, and sad. For Morgen to Ascend, he had to die with enough people believing he'd rise again as a G.o.d. For two decades Konig had been shaping the Geborene Damonen, and all the people of Selbstha.s.s, for very this purpose. Soon the child must die.

Why hadn't I thought this through before bringing my plans to make a G.o.d to Konig? He'd been desperate to please his only friend and that desperation had blinded him. Konig took Aufschlag's plan, saw possibilities the scientist had missed, and twisted it in ways both appalling and stunning.

Morgen must soon die.

But healthy children don't just die on their own. The realization sickened the Chief Scientist, as he had grown to love the precocious child. For a brief moment he considered stealing the boy away, rescuing the child and fleeing the fate Konig planned. That was just as quickly dismissed, though. There would be no escaping Konig. The High Priest was an unstoppable force of will. And he'd release the Schatten Mörder, his Cotardist a.s.sa.s.sins, to punish the scientist. The thought turned Aufschlag's guts to water. No, the boy will die as Konig plans.

Morgen laid a gentle hand on Aufschlag's shoulder. "You look sad."

Aufschlag forced a smile. "I was thinking how quickly you've grown up."

Again Morgen studied Aufschlag, searching his eyes. What was the boy thinking? Had he seen through the lie?

"I've been thinking about G.o.ds," Morgen finally said. "G.o.ds aren't bound by the same rules as people. People gain power from their beliefs and delusions. The stronger the belief, the more power. I had a.s.sumed this was true of G.o.ds as well, but I'm no longer sure. You see, people generally have one delusion. Some, Comorbidics, may have secondary delusions, but these are always minor in comparison. Like Konig. He's first and foremost a Gefahrgeist, but he's also developed Doppelgangist and some minor Mirrorist tendencies. Though he's a powerful Gefahrgeist, he has little control over his Doppels, and still has to go to Schwacher Sucher in order to use a mirror." Aufschlag could hear the boy struggling to frame his thoughts and sound adult. "People are defined by their primary delusion.

"But this isn't true for G.o.ds."

This caught Aufschlag's attention. "What do you mean?"

"A G.o.d doesn't require delusion or insanity, because his worshipers suffer for him. Yet in a way, he has all of their delusions."

"How do you know this?"

The boy smiled happily. "Because I am not limited and I will be a G.o.d."

If that's true, perhaps he doesn't have to die to Ascend! Konig wouldn't like that. Morgen's death was a critical part of the plan. Those whom you slay must serve in the Afterdeath; the boy's death was control. Aufschlag swallowed a lump of nervous tension. "Can you show me?"

Morgen held out his left arm and wriggled the fingers. "Watch."

Before the Chief Scientist's eyes Morgen's arm turned black. The skin peeled away and the stench of putrefaction filled the room. In moments the boy's arm was nothing but leathery gristle clinging to bone.

"Cotardist—"

"Watch." Morgen's arm writhed as flesh grew outward from his shoulder, wrapping the bones in glistening tendons, squirming veins, and thin slabs of muscle. When the arm was whole the boy smiled and a nearby table burst into flames. It was ash in seconds. Aufschlag opened his mouth to speak, but the boy exploded, engulfed in roaring fire. The floor was scorched and Aufschlag was forced to retreat from the heat. Yet Morgen, still smiling at the scientist's shocked expression, remained unharmed. Then the fire was gone and Morgen stood in a circle of burned floor. He gestured toward the mirror and dozens of his reflections scrambled out. The room soon filled with hundreds of identical children all holding different conversations.

Aufschlag stood paralyzed with fear. The child is demented! We haven't created a G.o.d, we've made an insane monster!

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"We're scaring Aufschlag."

The Chief Scientist couldn't tell which boy said this; presumably the one still standing in the charred circle. As one the Doppels—or are they reflections?—stopped talking and turned to face him.

"We're sorry." One hundred voices spoke in perfect unison. "We had to show you so you'd understand."

The boys formed rows and climbed back into their mirror. One child remained. It wasn't the one in the burned circle.

"Are you . . ." Afraid of the answer, Aufschlag couldn't finish the question.

"Yes. The original."

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly." He suddenly stepped forward and hugged Aufschlag, burying his face in the man's chest. "I had to show you. I knew you'd understand."

Understand? If anything, all the scientist had was more questions. Was the boy's control as perfect as it seemed? If so, maybe he truly was a G.o.d, maybe they hadn't failed after all. Was the child correct in stating he could make use of his worshipers' delusions without sharing in them, or was Morgen's mind shattered beyond all redemption? And with that shattering, did that mean his inevitable fall was soon to come, like every other Geisteskranken?

But these questions paled when held against the one thing Aufschlag had learned.

Morgen is ready. But does he still need to die?

He knew Konig's answer. Yes! Unless Morgen died at the High Priest's hand, Konig would have no sure means of controlling the G.o.d. What then should he tell Konig?

Aufschlag's unanswered questions fled, forgotten, drowned in the desperate wave of love washing over him. I have to save the child. If the child was a Mirrorist, Doppelgangist, and Ha.s.sebrand, why not Gefahrgeist too? Even as the thought occurred to him he saw what had to be done.

Aufschlag hugged the boy close and struggled to keep his tears in check. He couldn't remember the last time he'd held another person. "Morgen, you have to listen carefully."

The boy pulled back, confused but nodding. "Okay."

"You cannot show this to anyone else."

"But why? Konig will—"

"A good G.o.d is humble." Aufschlag forced himself to be firm with the boy. "A good G.o.d doesn't show off. Konig would be very disappointed with such an ostentatious display. Think back: Have you ever seen him show off his Gefahrgeist powers?"

Morgen's brow crinkled in thought. "No. And he does keep his Doppels mostly confined to his chambers."

"Right." Konig had other, far more desperate reasons for confining his Doppels, but the boy didn't need to know them. "You must do as Konig does. You must learn subtlety."

When the boy had promised not to tell anyone of his abilities, Aufschlag sent him on his way. He'd have to order a work crew to replace the burned table and clean the scorch marks from the floor. He was treading dangerous ground. Deceiving Konig for long would be next to impossible, and if he was caught, his punishment would be a long and lingering death. Yet he knew the risk was worth it.

A new feeling took root in the depths of Aufschlag's soul. A warmth he didn't recognize. He was, for perhaps the first time ever, truly doing the right thing. He loved Morgen as a son and no man would allow his only son to be slain. Not without a fight.