Beyond Redemption 23 Chapter 21

—WOHLHABENDE KLEIN, KLEPTIC ECONOMIST

Bedeckt faded in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of the journey to the Leichtes Haus inn. Wichtig dragged him to the stables in the back, sat him down against the tavern wall, a.r.s.e in a cold puddle, and left to prepare the horses. Bedeckt wanted to tell the Swordsman to get Launisch a few apples but couldn't summon the energy. Stehlen, looking like she'd eaten something sour, glared at him, said something about going to their rooms to fetch their belongings, and left.

Bedeckt coughed, spraying blood and snot. The kid—Morgen, Bedeckt reminded himself—squatted a foot away, eyes wide, arms crossed tight across his chest, careful to avoid the pooling blood, watching with intense interest.

"Dark," coughed Bedeckt, squinting past the boy. The long and perfectly straight street looked deserted.

The boy watched, saying nothing. Maybe he didn't realize Bedeckt had meant it as a question. Is it night? Everything looks gray.

The rain hadn't let up. If anything, the storm was growing in strength. To the south the sky flickered a h.e.l.l storm of flashing lightning and strange lights. He'd been thinking about the storm earlier, hadn't he? He couldn't remember.

The alley he sat in was a fast-moving, ankle-deep river. Bedeckt coughed again and hawked bright blood that swirled away in an instant. Water pooled around him, dark from the blood his body leaked and fading to a thin stream of light pink as it disappeared down the street.

The boy still stared at him.

"What?" Bedeckt growled.

"I've never been outside of the temple before. Is it always like this?"

Bedeckt coughed blood, spattering his chest. "Like what?"

"Dirty."

"Yes."

Morgen shuffled to one side to avoid a pinkish puddle spreading in his direction. He met Bedeckt's eyes. "You are dying, I think."

"I don't care what—" Bedeckt stopped. s.h.i.te. He did care what the boy thought.

This was a child actively groomed for G.o.dhood. What could the beliefs of this child achieve? His chest tightened in an unfamiliar feeling. Fear? Mortality and death were simple facts of everyday life. He'd faced greater danger in the past. But still . . . This boy can kill me just by thinking I will die. What would it mean to have the unified and directed faith of a Theocracy like Selbstha.s.s turned against him?

Did he feel weaker already? Was he bleeding faster?

"Not ready to die," he whispered.

The boy c.o.c.ked his head quizzically. "Why fear? You will awaken in the Afterdeath, unhurt and whole."

Aside from keeping a few coins stashed in his right boot to ensure he wouldn't awaken on the other side completely broke, Bedeckt had never given the Afterdeath much thought. The looming proximity of death had a way of focusing the mind.

"Your dead await you," said Morgen, sounding as if he meant it as comfort.

Bedeckt couldn't count the number of times he'd heard scarred old men and women repeating different versions of the Warrior's Credo. Most said the dead would serve. Some, more ominously, merely claimed the dead would be there. Waiting. Bedeckt's dead were beyond counting.
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Bedeckt chuckled bloodily and the boy shuffled farther away. "I generally don't kill people I want to see again." He saw Morgen's confused look. "Bit of an oversight, really. There was a wh.o.r.e in—" A fit of coughing interrupted him. "Can't remember. Too long ago. Like to see her again. Would have killed the wench if I'd thought of this sooner." He watched the boy watching him. Somewhere in the distance he heard the muted sounds of combat, steel on steel. He didn't care. He couldn't stand, much less defend himself.

"What do you think?" he asked the boy.

Morgen examined his own hands, checking the fingernails. "I need to wash my hands."

"Do our dead await us?" Bedeckt asked more loudly.

The boy glanced up. "I will be a G.o.d," he said, as if that somehow answered Bedeckt's question. "I think there will be no Afterdeath for me. I will Ascend and be the G.o.d of the Geborene." With a look of disgust he gestured at the blood pooling around Bedeckt and streaming away into the darkness. "Everything will be clean." With the tip of his shoe he pushed three pebbles into a line, frowned at them, adjusted one, and then nodded contentedly. "Everything will be neat. Tidy." He gestured at the blood swirling in filthy water. "Not like this."

Wichtig approached, leading the three horses. "Is there any blood left inside you?" Even soaked through in the rain, he looked every inch the hero. He ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair, slicking it back. "Where is Stehlen?"

Bedeckt coughed more blood.

The boy pointed at him with a small hand. "He's dying."

Wichtig raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"And he's making a mess."

"We can't have that, can we," said Wichtig, shaking his head. "Bedeckt, in a moment, you're going to owe me another one."

What's the fool talking about?

"You know, Morgen," drawled Wichtig, "Bedeckt was hurt rescuing you." He gave the boy a serious look, brows furrowed. "You owe him much. His death will stain your hands. Forever."

The boy's gaze jerked to his hands. He looked like the thought would bring him to tears.

"Aufschlag says cleanliness is important," said Morgen. "I need to wash my hands." He glanced about desperately, but the only water nearby was stained with blood and filth from the street. "I can save him," whispered Morgen. "Would that . . . pay the debt?"

"It would be a start," answered Wichtig.

"A start?"

Bedeckt watched the boy examine him.

"He's covered in old scars," said Morgen. "How much should I heal?" Bedeckt saw the boy notice the fingers missing on his left hand. "Should I heal everything?" Morgen asked. "Shall I give you back those fingers?"

Bedeckt tightened the ruined left hand into a fist. "No."

Wichtig nudged Bedeckt's foot with his own. "I always knew you for a sentimental old goat."

Bedeckt glared up from where he sat and Wichtig blew him a kiss. "Yeah, I know, you'll kill me later."

Motion in the swirling puddles distracted Bedeckt. A familiar scene, though not from this vantage. He saw the battle at Sinnlos on the Auseinander border.

Bedeckt watched as the last two fingers of his left hand were cut away and fell, spinning, to the trampled mud of the battlefield. The gold wedding band glinted for a moment, reflecting distant fires. In those reflections he saw older, almost forgotten battles from much further in his savage past. He saw a comrade, retreating under the onslaught of several opponents, step on the fingers, driving them into the mud and smothering those reflections. Distantly he heard the victorious yell of his enemy and his own, much louder roar as he hewed into the man's skull. The vision guttered and died.

"The reflections don't lie," said the boy. "But I can't always be sure of their meaning."

"I remember that day," said Bedeckt.

"Who would want to live with such ugly, scarred hands?" asked Morgen, sounding confused.

Bedeckt tried to answer but couldn't find the strength.

"At least now he'll be easier to deal with," he heard Wichtig say. "You can heal him, right?"

If the boy answered, Bedeckt didn't hear it.

BEDECKT STOOD IN the ruins of . . . a city . . . a battlefield? This was the site of a fight not long concluded. The stench of death remained. Ghostly memories of violence shivered the air with the metallic tang of spilled blood and sour terror. The city looked familiar. Sinnlos, maybe? The burned and smoking skeletal wrecks of houses lay scattered across streets. Siege weapons had done their work here. Perhaps this had once been a prosperous land, but now few buildings retained more than two standing walls.

Why does this look so familiar? Bedeckt glanced down at the scarred remains of his left hand and then back to the street.

A crowd of men and women, warriors each and every one, stood gathered before him.

Were they there before? Bedeckt thought not.

There were too many to count quickly. Dozens. Scores. All bore weapons, stained with use, hanging ready in scarred and muscled hands. Many looked familiar.

Bedeckt's hand reached for his ax. It wasn't in its customary place, hanging at his back. He took a deep breath, was surprised it didn't hurt, and crouched, readying himself for the attack. His knees creaked and groaned.

A voice muttered, "Some of us have been waiting a very long time."

Bedeckt couldn't tell who said this and was distracted as a large man pushed through the crowd, working his way closer.

His father, the very first man he had ever killed.

Morgen hunched over Bedeckt's still body and thought about how the wounds would heal. From the corner of his eye he saw Wichtig, the Greatest Swordsman in the World and dashing hero, wave the thin and ugly woman over. She was covered in even more blood than before entering the tavern but wore several new colorful scarves and gaudy trinkets. He listened as Wichtig asked her what had taken so d.a.m.ned long and as she explained she'd had to kill everyone in the tavern to cover their tracks and foil pursuit. Morgen could tell Wichtig believed not a word of this. He watched the Swordsman's face grow sad as he recognized the scarves.

"You had to kill her too, did you?" Wichtig asked with angry sarcasm.

Stehlen flared nostrils and spat at the ground. "She could describe all of us. Your little sticker in particular."

Morgen saw Wichtig's guilty glance in his direction.

"Fine. We'll talk about this later. Did you get much?"

"Not really."

She lied, but Wichtig seemed unaware.

"h.e.l.ls, we're almost broke. Morgen, you finished yet?"

"Yes," said Morgen, backing away. He had stopped the worst of the bleeding. The rest would have to wait. The ugly old man would live. The scars and wounds of his past, both within and without, would remain with him to his final day. Morgen watched as the b.l.o.o.d.y water swirled, showing glimpses of the future. Bedeckt, whom he'd just pulled from the gates of the Afterdeath, would again lie dying in a few short days. Next time Morgen would not save him. Bedeckt would be without his friends. Morgen wondered at this. Would they abandon the big man? Betray him? Morgen couldn't imagine the dashing Wichtig leaving his friend. If Bedeckt died alone, then surely Wichtig was dead too.

Will they die protecting me?

Stehlen was something entirely different. She had no softness in her, all edges and sharp angles, twitchy like the rodents Morgen kept as pets and dangerous like the caged cats and snakes he hadn't been allowed near. The woman scared him. She wore her willingness to violence in every glance and the way her hands constantly roved around the many weapons stashed about her body, checking their positions and accessibility. There was no act of brutality she was not capable of.

Wichtig and Stehlen wrestled Bedeckt onto Launisch's back. The black war-horse eyed them with ill intent. Wichtig dodged its attempts to nip at him and laughed at it good-naturedly as he tied the semiconscious warrior into place. Frustrated, Launisch gave up and eyed Stehlen for a moment before snorting and looking away. The horse knows better than to try and bite her, thought Morgen.

Minutes later they were mounted and riding southwest. Stehlen led the way on a gray gelding whose spirit had long ago been broken. Morgen sat before Wichtig, cradled and protected within the fortress of those strong arms. Bedeckt, slumped on the ma.s.sive destrier tied to Wichtig's horse, faded in and out of consciousness, mumbling quietly and occasionally warding away unseen opponents with clawed hands. The sky to the south rumbled and cracked with violence.

Morgen watched the distant storm. He could smell the fetid odor of a wounded soul reaching its breaking point. Whoever held sway over that tempest wouldn't last much longer.

He looked back over his shoulder at Wichtig and pointed at the storm. "That's bad."

Wichtig laughed. "A master of understatement. Just like Bedeckt. We're going to skirt the storm and ride for Neidrig. We"—he glanced at Stehlen—"know people there."

Morgen wondered at the pause. "What kind of people?"

"The kind who can help us hide you from the bad people who want to hurt you."

"Will Konig be there?"

"Probably not," said Wichtig. "Konig knows he is being watched. He doesn't want to lead your enemies to you."

"I have enemies?"

Stehlen looked back from the front, twisting around in the saddle to stare at Morgen with a nasty grin. "Everyone has enemies."

Wichtig sighed and rolled his eyes theatrically for Morgen's benefit. "Ignore her. It'll be exciting."

Just being beyond the walls of the temple had been exciting; this was something altogether different. Unknown a.s.sa.s.sins and a mad dash to an unknown city beyond the Selbstha.s.s border. This was an adventure, just like he'd read about. "What's Neidrig like?"

"It's a vomitous syphilitic p.i.s.s hole," Stehlen called over her shoulder.

"It's colorful," answered Wichtig. "There's all kinds of people there. It's like anywhere. Some people are good and some are bad. If you're going to be any kind of G.o.d, you'll need to know all this." The Swordsman sounded thoughtful. "This is part of the education Konig wants for you. We're supposed to introduce you to all the different kinds of people. Someday these folks will worship you. It's important you know who they are so you can better rule them."

This made sense, but why had Konig not exposed him to the people sooner? Rule them? "But Konig said a G.o.d should serve the people."

"Of course," Wichtig answered quickly. "Any good ruler, King, or Emperor rules by serving those he—"

"Or she," shouted Stehlen.

"—he . . . uh . . . rules over." Wichtig hunched forward to whisper in Morgen's ear. "There is much Konig wants me to teach you. These other two . . ." He gestured at Stehlen and the semiconscious Bedeckt. "They're brutes. We need them, but they're dangerous."

"I thought Bedeckt was your friend." Morgen twisted to look up into Wichtig's face. "Your only friend."

"You see much," said Wichtig, nodding and giving Morgen a sad smile, "but have much to learn. I am Bedeckt's only friend, and yet I am not sure if he is my friend. I'd have given up hope, except once . . ." He trailed off and stared into the distance.

Morgen watched the reflections dance in Wichtig's gray eyes: albtraum. Wild Doppels. Twisted versions of Wichtig and Stehlen, birthed by their nightmares, came out of the forest as the two slept, tossing fitfully in their sleeping rolls. Their campfire had long since gone out. Morgen saw Bedeckt come awake, the ax in his hand before he even knew what was happening. The big man stood, staggered back, retreating before the swarming albtraum. He turned to run and stopped as he caught sight of Stehlen, still asleep. Morgen saw the indecision in Bedeckt's eyes. Then, with a snarl, Bedeckt was among the albtraum, ax swinging, blood spattering everything. Wichtig and Stehlen awoke to find themselves surrounded by albtraum corpses. Bedeckt sat by a freshly lit fire. "Wichtig," he said, "if you let the fire go out again, I'll kill you."

Something about this memory haunted Wichtig. Morgen had heard stories of tragic heroes and understood the concept, but Wichtig didn't quite fit. Much in the Swordsman mirrored what Morgen saw in Konig. They shared similarly intimidating flat, gray eyes. Both men needed the people around them and wanted those people to need them in return. And both men sought something greater than themselves. Something elusive. Something important and yet terrifying to the two men. Underlying everything else, Morgen suddenly realized, lurked the fear of success. He didn't understand exactly what each man sought to achieve, but both feared success as much as they feared failure. Perhaps even more so. What could possibly terrify such men? What could scare the Theocrat of Selbstha.s.s and the Greatest Swordsman in the World to the point where they subconsciously engineered their own failures?

Morgen didn't know how to ask.

"Bedeckt once came back for me," Wichtig said in an awed whisper. "Back then, in the same situation, I would have abandoned him, but he . . ." The Swordsman laughed but sounded sad. "Either he saved me or he was a tool of fate. Either I owe him my life or he merely did what had to be done to show me my true destiny."

Morgen knew the Swordsman wished it was the former and believed it was the latter. "You're Gefahrgeist, like Konig," he said.

Wichtig forced himself not to react. "No," he said, "not like Konig. Very different. I'm no Theocrat. Just a simple Swordsman."

Modesty, false or otherwise, was not something he was accustomed to, but manipulation is contingent on knowing when to brag and when to be humble. It was a novel experience, and one he strangely enjoyed. There's something satisfying to proclaiming humility while knowing just how important you truly are. He'd have to experiment. Perhaps this novel approach might work with Bedeckt.

"No," stated Morgen with the definitive certainty only the young can manage. "You're the Greatest Swordsman in the World. You're important. Special. You cause things to happen. Different from Konig, but like Konig." The boy sounded frustrated, as if he wanted to say more but couldn't. "I can help you. I can make sure you don't fail."

Wichtig ruffled the boy's hair. Whatever Morgen's abilities, they didn't render him immune to the charms of a Gefahrgeist. Even one with such limited power as himself. The thought left an uncomfortable feeling tingling down his spine. I must not, he realized, practice this new humility on myself. There must be no room for doubt.

As they rode southwest Wichtig told Morgen of the adventures they'd have in Neidrig, though he left out all talk of wh.o.r.es, back-alley stabbings, and the fact that they'd be hiding like furtive c.o.c.kroaches.

Neidrig, he had heard from both Stehlen and Bedeckt, was an utter s.h.i.te-hole. He'd never visited the city, but it sounded like the perfect hiding place. There could be no doubt they would be pursued. The trick would be finding the kind of dubious, untrustworthy, and insane people who could hide them. Luckily the people who could best shield them from the prying eyes of Konig's Mirrorists and other Geisteskranken would also probably not be sane enough to appreciate the danger.

Truly, thought Wichtig, it's a beautiful thing: The more powerful—and therefore useful—a person is, the easier it is to manipulate them. Manipulating the sane was like herding sheep. It took a lot of effort, and if you focused on one sheep at a time, you'd get nowhere. But get the right sheep moving in the right direction and the rest will follow.