Beyond Redemption 20 Chapter 18

Aufschlag watched Morgen and the three false priests. They'd never know, but it was his doing—sending priests and guards on make-work errands—that had cleared the path for them. And why he had done so . . . he still wasn't sure. He had done many horrible things as Konig's Chief Scientist, and though he'd often contemplated defying the Theocrat, not once had he dared to act. Not really.

No, that's not true. I saved Wegwerfen. That had to be worth something. But even that, sending her fleeing to Gottlos, had been an act of cowardly disobedience. And every day he still thought about sending someone to kill her, terrified Konig might discover what he'd done.

This was different. This was not some insignificant deception. He wasn't simply ignoring an unnecessary order or sharing a book with Morgen that Konig wouldn't approve of. This was it, the real thing.

Go ahead. Say it. Admit to yourself what you're doing. Be honest.

"Betrayal."

What an awful word.

Aufschlag remembered a drunken and emotional conversation he and Konig had shared all those years ago, about how important it was to him that he not let down his friends. He remembered Konig's eyes and the look on his face and how he'd thought it was understanding. G.o.ds, Konig had used that every day since.

Betrayal. Here, beyond the influence of Konig's power, Aufschlag was on the verge of doing just that.

He checked the hall floor, counting tiles between where he hid and the kidnappers to gauge the distance.

Only a scientist would have thought to study and quantify the reality-defining effects of insanity, and Aufschlag was a scientist through and through. His entire life, every moment of his existence, had been dedicated to understanding the metrics defining Geisteskranken. Everyone knew that the effects of insanity dwindled with range and were damped by proximity to sane minds, but no one else thought to measure this. Aufschlag knew that even as powerful as Konig was, his Gefahrgeist delusions only affected him, Aufschlag, when close by. Here in the hallway, watching Morgen's kidnapping, he had the freedom to contemplate something other than mindless loyalty.

Such as saving Morgen's life . . . and perhaps his own soul. He glanced at his hands, blunt-fingered, skin wrinkled like a lizard left to dry in the sun. They were clean now, but they'd been bloodstained many, many times. The things I have done. Sure, he told himself, it had all been at Konig's request and for the greater good of both the Geborene and even mankind, but that was a lie. Some of his experiments had been unsettling to the extreme—and Aufschlag performed them willingly. Delving into the deeper truths, scratching at the underpinnings of reality, understanding the laws and limits of a reality defined by delusion, these were goals worthy of a great mind. And if I have one delusion—he laughed mockingly at himself—it's that I am a great mind.

It was his discovery that it was possible to turn ordinary, sane people into Geisteskranken. The correct mixture of physical and psychological torture could achieve incredible results. Forcing a mother to witness the torture and brutal murder of her children was enough to turn some into dangerous Geisteskranken. Aufschlag had even learned—at great personal risk—that the more heinous and drawn out the torture, the more powerful the Geisteskranken became. He once lost dozens of staff during an experiment when, after witnessing her husband and children tortured for several months, one woman shattered her shackles, tore scientists limb from limb, and burned down a sizable section of the Science Wing.

Still you seek to justify your actions, as if doing so somehow distances you from the pain you inflicted. Calling it science doesn't change what you are.

Konig, caring only for results, asked no questions. Aufschlag, however, had nothing but questions. And not once had he asked whether or not he should be doing these experiments in the first place. No, at the time he had wondered only why it took her so long to snap. Why was she so powerful when she finally snapped? Why did some people retreat into gibbering uselessness at similar stimuli while others found the ability to shapeshift or create armies of albtraum at will? And, of course, there were the most interesting questions:

What were the limits?

How powerful could a Geisteskranken become?

He'd done it for Konig. He'd done it for the Geborene, for humanity.

Right.

How many have you tortured to scratch the itch of your own dark curiosity?

The Theocrat—the shallow and shortsighted fool—thought Aufschlag's research was meant to further Konig's own goals. And while, when he was in the High Priest's overpowering presence, this often became the truth, Aufschlag had plans of his own.

Belief defined reality and insanity—which Aufschlag defined as any unnaturally strong belief—manifested as power. But this, Aufschlag understood, was not the only form of power. Knowledge too was power. Though Aufschlag could not alter reality with the strength of his beliefs, he could manipulate it through his understanding of its underpinnings. Such as watching Morgen being escorted from the keep. Aufschlag smiled bitterly, pleased the boy was escaping Konig's grasp, terrified what the Theocrat would do if he discovered Aufschlag's role in the escape.

Not that the Theocrat's grasp was quite as firm as the Geborene leader thought it was—and Aufschlag's betrayal was only a small part of it. Konig sought to use Morgen for his own self-centered purposes—this was the way of all Gefahrgeist. The fool clung to the belief Morgen could save him from his delusions, staving off the horrific end all Geisteskranken faced. But for all his belief, Konig never thought to ask how this would happen. And after seeing Morgen's display of power, Aufschlag had begun to doubt the Theocrat's ability to control the boy once he Ascended. But doubt wasn't enough; Aufschlag needed to be sure. If Morgen Ascended under the influence of a deteriorating Gefahrgeist, there was no telling what would become of him. If, however, Morgen Ascended beyond Konig's manipulative grasp, he would become the G.o.d the Geborene and the people of Selbstha.s.s deserved. A good and fair G.o.d. A G.o.d who protected his people instead of manipulating them like toys.

A G.o.d Aufschlag desperately needed.

Many nights Aufschlag lay sweating and shivering at the memories of what he had done in the name of science. No man should witness the horrendous acts he had seen. No man should commit the horrendous acts he had. But there was no changing the past: he had perpetrated those evils, staining his soul such that it would haunt him in the Afterdeath. But the Afterdeath was also redemption, a chance for the future to maybe not be as grim as it was shaping up to be. And maybe one truly selfless act could wipe clean a besmirched slate. Aufschlag prayed this was true. In the past he prayed to vague G.o.ds, but now he prayed to Morgen. If one pure result came out of all the suffering and misery he had caused, perhaps redemption could be his.

Morgen will bring a new purity to a foul and terrible world.

"Konig is not the Geborene Damonen," Aufschlag whispered. He only thinks he is. "I must do what is right."

The Chief Scientist might not have the strength of will to defy Konig while in his presence, but once far enough removed, Aufschlag could again think clearly. And now he was thinking of a time when the Geborene had a G.o.d to worship, and not a man ravaged by his own insanity.

"Take care of the boy," he whispered to the backs of the false priests, watching them move stealthily through the emptied church. Anywhere had to be better than here.
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As the thieves stole away with what they surely thought was their great prize, he saw his path to redemption. His plan coalesced, as simple as it was dangerous.

Shortly he would make his way to the private chambers of Schwacher Sucher, the only Geborene Mirrorist currently residing in Selbstha.s.s City, and murder the young priest. Yes, it was going to be murder—he wouldn't cloak his actions in misleading labels. Honesty mattered if he was to ever have a chance at redemption. It was a dark deed, but with Schwacher dead, it would be far more difficult for Konig to trace Morgen and his kidnappers. Hopefully this would buy Aufschlag time to find the thieves and either purchase or take the child—and keep Morgen out of Konig's own murderous hands.

Aufschlag cleared his troubled mind and focused his thoughts. He must keep a clear vision of his plans or any interaction with Konig might sway him.

"Kill Schwacher," he whispered. Again he looked down at his clean hands, spidering veins showing through the thin and wrinkled skin. Though he had caused much pain and suffering in his research, he had never personally killed another human. Will murder change me? How could it not?

Aufschlag watched the three thieves approach the gate—he hadn't been able to think of a way to remove the guards that wouldn't have immediately aroused suspicion—with Morgen sheltered under the arm of a man dressed as an acolyte.

Aufschlag prayed Morgen would be safe.

He watched with sadness as the smallest false priest, dressed as a Bishop, killed the acolytes standing watch at the main gate. That had been unnecessary. But it was done and the boy was beyond Konig's reach. At least for now.