Beyond Redemption 44 Chapter 42

—HOFFNUNGSLOS

Night fell fast and Bedeckt led Launisch and the other two horses away from the road and into the shelter of the trees. Alone, he didn't want to run into the kind of trouble often found wandering roads such as this. With his two deranged friends dead, he had no fear of albtraum, nightmares of the insane given flesh. But he'd be easy pickings for the wandering gangs of thieves who haunted dark roads.

Tying the horses to a nearby tree, he set about lighting a small fire.

Once it got going, he sat at the fire, warming his feet. He ate well. With Wichtig and Stehlen gone, Bedeckt had more food than he could possibly eat. Come tomorrow, he'd carry what he could and leave the rest to the scavengers.

It was quiet. No one was bickering.

It was also lonely. He'd traveled with the two cretins for years. Their constant arguing had been a background hum he'd become accustomed to. G.o.ds d.a.m.ned if he didn't miss it.

Bedeckt climbed into his sleeping roll and stared into the twisting flames of the fire.

He'd see Wichtig and Stehlen again, no doubt.

Those whom you slay shall serve you in the Afterdeath: the Warrior's Credo. Stehlen would be waiting, but he couldn't imagine her in a role of servitude. She'll find some way to kill me. And if she couldn't, she'd find some way of making him wish she'd killed him.

"Wake up, you little s.h.i.te."

"What?" Bedeckt opened a crusty eye. Had he fallen asleep? He could have sworn he just heard a voice, one he recognized from—

"You're still a lazy s.h.i.te. You haven't changed. Useless c.u.n.t."

Bedeckt sat up. There, across the fire, sat his father.

"I've killed you once, old man. I'd happily do it again."

The old b.a.s.t.a.r.d grunted a dismissal. He didn't look as huge and scary as Bedeckt remembered. The old man sat hunched forward, his eyes rimmed red with exhaustion, his back bent with an age he'd never lived to see. This was his father as he would have looked had Bedeckt not slain him all those decades ago.

The old man waved a hand as if shushing him and prodded at the dying fire with a stick. "I'm not here to beat you—much as you deserve it. I'm here to talk."

Bedeckt watched the old man warily. "Begone, albtraum."

"Ah, still clinging to your much-vaunted sanity, I see. Well, here I sit. Perhaps you aren't as sane as you think."

"I am sane," growled Bedeckt.

"Or perhaps you are too sane, or believe in your sanity a little too strongly. Such belief, my son, would make anyone crazy."

"I'm not your son." Bedeckt scowled at the dream spirit. "Nothing you say will make me doubt my sanity."

"My point exactly."

"My father was never this smart."

The albtraum waved away his words. "This isn't about you. This isn't about your father."

"What then? Will you tell me I feel guilty for killing Stehlen? She left me no choice."

His father spat into the fire, much as Stehlen would have done. "Nice try, spirit."

"It's the boy."

"Morgen?" Bedeckt asked, surprised. "What do you know of him?"

"He will die soon."

Bedeckt's chest tightened. The boy had saved his life. "Tell me something I didn't know."

"You and you alone pursue him with no thoughts of killing him to your own ends."

"Not exactly true," Bedeckt pointed out.

"Wichtig manipulated the boy from the beginning, once he understood his significance. Even Stehlen, who loved you enough to follow you to the very ends of the world, planned to kill him."

Bedeckt shifted uncomfortably. "Stehlen didn't love—"

"She loved you so much it blinded her to the threat you were."

"Horse s.h.i.te."

"Really?" The albtraum snorted derisively. "You think you could have beaten her, unarmed? Even armed, you were never her match." The albtraum poked again at the fire, rolling a log into the reddest embers. "She had a knife in her hand the entire time you sat near her. She could have killed you in an instant."

"Horse s.h.i.te." But his words lacked power.

"Even as she tried to kill the boy, she never believed that you would kill her. She trusted you. Totally."

"Horse—"

"s.h.i.te," finished the albtraum, again gesturing as if it didn't care what Bedeckt thought. This wasn't right; the creatures were supposed to attack, to feed off their victim's fears and l.u.s.ts and dreams. This creature succeeded only in making him uncomfortable. What kind of nightmare feeds off discomfort?

"Morgen has fallen into the clutches of a powerful Gefahrgeist," said the albtraum. "A Slaver of the worst order."

A Slaver? The boy was beyond reach, then. Nothing Bedeckt could do would save him now. He watched his plans sink away into the depths of the foulest s.h.i.te-hole.

Wichtig and Stehlen, dead for nothing. Everything he'd been through and he was worse off now than when this began. Typical.

He ran a hand over his weary eyes. "Why would I care?" Bedeckt asked the albtraum. "I'm tired. Go stick pigs."

"You are old," said the albtraum. "You are slowing down. On this path you will die sooner rather than later. What then? Paradise is not for men like you. All those you wronged, all those you killed and damaged; all await you in the next world. You are a man without redeeming features. You will have no allies in the next world."

Bedeckt laughed, a snort of derision. "I have none in this world."

"Stehlen loved and worshiped you."

"She tried to kill me."

"You pushed her until she had no choice. Wichtig saw you as a father. He thought you his only friend."

"Wichtig was a manipulative fool."

"True," agreed the albtraum, poking again at the fire. "He tried to use you. But only to better himself. Yes, he was a fool for hoping you might find something worth liking in him when he saw nothing. He loathed himself and clothed it in bravado. All he ever wanted was to impress you, hear a kind word. He got nothing. He and Stehlen await you in the next life."

"I'll deal with them when I get there."

"No doubt. You'll probably, having learned nothing, kill them both. But it doesn't have to be this way."

"Ah, I can be redeemed?" Bedeckt asked sarcastically. "My soul can be saved so I may frolic among fields of virgins in the next life?"

"Morgen saved your life. You owe him."

"s.h.i.te on my debts."

Again the albtraum ignored his words. "The worst of what trauma humanity has to offer awaits Morgen. If the Slaver has his way, the child will Ascend in such a damaged state he will absolutely worship the one who caused him so much pain. And the beliefs of G.o.ds are powerful things."

"I don't care. I'm done."

"Save the child and—"

"Redeem myself?" Bedeckt barked a harsh laugh and found himself sitting alone in the dark, the fire long since gone out.

He sat blinking at the ashes. What had Morgen said about heading east? Bedeckt couldn't remember.

"s.h.i.te and h.e.l.lfires."

Redemption. What a laughable concept. When he looked back over his life, he couldn't see where he had first stepped off the righteous path. More important, had he even ever laid a single foot on that path?

Was this destiny? Was he doomed to a h.e.l.lish Afterdeath of slain friends and lovers.

"She wasn't a lover," he said aloud, his words hollow with doubt.

Somewhere far off to the east he heard the screams of a child.

"Not my problem. I go west."

The screams went on, unending agony.

"Who cares if the child dies and becomes the plaything of some foul Slaver? Who cares if he Ascends to be a twisted new G.o.d?"

The scream cut off suddenly, leaving Bedeckt sitting in silence. He sat, listening.

Nothing.

Bedeckt pushed himself to his feet with a groan, his knees and back popping.

"My a.r.s.e was getting damp anyway."

After setting Stehlen and Wichtig's horses free and sending them west with a slap on the hindquarters, he turned to Launisch. He spent half an hour removing the saddle and tack and brushing the destrier's black coat until it was silky and smooth.

"You've been a good horse, the best."

Launisch snorted as if to say, Tell me something I didn't know.

"You can't come with me this time. I think it will end badly."

Launisch stared at him.

"I'm serious."

The ma.s.sive war-horse looked over Bedeckt's shoulder to the east, turned, and headed west. Bedeckt watched it for several minutes. Expecting an emotional good-bye from his war-horse had probably been foolish.

Bedeckt collected his ax. Everything else he left behind.

He walked east.

When Konig finally made his way to the great courtyard, he found Trepidation waiting with a dozen ma.s.sive Dysmorphics. G.o.ds d.a.m.n it, he'd wanted the Doppel to gather all of the overly muscled morons. If he was to leave the safety of Selbstha.s.s, he would do so with an army at his back.

He approached quickly, intending to berate the Doppel. As he closed the distance he found himself staring up into the square-jawed face of a Dysmorphic. G.o.ds, they were huge. Even the man's neck—if indeed it was a man, Konig couldn't be sure—bulged with muscle. He felt a surge of fear and turned away from the giant, avoiding eye contact.

Wait. I have no fear of these muscled fools. He glanced at the Doppel; Trepidation looked unusually smug.

"What's going on here?" demanded Konig, his quivering voice undercutting the authority.

"It is as I said," announced Trepidation loudly, as if orating to all in the courtyard.

Konig's gaze darted about the open area. All the highest-ranking priests were in attendance. Why had so many people gathered here? Everyone watched, waiting.

Something was wrong. They stared at him with loathing. But why? They loved him! He was the High Priest! He'd made them their very own G.o.d!

"Where are the horses? I told you to get all this ready. We have to ride . . ."

No one moved.

"He pretends," said the Doppel. "But he can't hide the fear in his eyes."

Konig backed away and then caught himself. He squared his shoulders and tried to stand tall, but all stared at him. They hated him.

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"I am Konig!" Konig screamed, his voice cracking. "I am the High Priest!"

"It is as I said," Trepidation repeated. "He will come and pretend at being me. This weak sham. This desperate ploy. But look at him shake with fear. All can see his trepidation. I named him well."

"No!" Konig backed away. "I am Konig. He"—he thrust a finger at the smirking Doppel—"is Trepidation!"

Trepidation shook his head sadly. "Do any here see an ounce of fear in me?"

For a moment all eyes turned to the Doppel, and Konig sagged with relief, but in a flash they returned to him. Trepidation stood tall, fearless.

Konig's heart quailed. "No . . . I'm the real me." His voice shook, weak and pleading.

A hugely muscled hand landed on his shoulder from behind and forced him to his knees. He looked up, saw the ma.s.sive face glaring down at him, and squeaked pitifully.

No. Not like this. He was Konig. Wasn't he? G.o.ds, he was so scared. He couldn't think straight. This wasn't right. Konig knew no fear. Trepidation was his fear manifest. If he felt fear . . . either he was Trepidation or the Doppel was dead.

Why don't they love me? He'd done so much for his people. He needed their love. He'd earned it. They owed him worship!

Trepidation drew a mirror from within his robes and held it up for Konig to see. The mirror reflected the room, but none of the people within it.

Konig stared up at himself standing tall and fearless. "Who?"

And he stared down at himself. "I am who you would be. Konig Furimmer, High Priest of the Geborene Damonen, Theocrat of Selbstha.s.s. You are but a pale reflection." With the last word he winked at himself.

Reflection? Had a reflection somehow escaped a mirror? Impossible! Trepidation and Acceptance destroyed the mirrors!

Except Acceptance had kept one for himself. Had Trepidation done the same? Of course he had.

He gestured down at himself, and the weight of the hand lifted from his shoulder. Konig's relief was flashing brief. A fist closed about his bald skull with crushing force and lifted him off his feet. He hung dangling like a child's doll.

"He has become too dangerous," he said.

No, wait. He hadn't said it, the other had, the impostor. G.o.ds, he was so scared, so confused.

"And yet I have use for him. He must serve." He stood before himself, mirror raised and held just before his face. The mirror reflected naught but an empty room. "Push him in," Konig commanded the Dysmorphic.

Konig's face pressed hard against cold gla.s.s, the narrow rim of the mirror crushing an ear.

It's too small! I can't fit in here!

Slowly the surface of the mirror gave way beneath his cheek, sucking at him like thick, cold mud. His skull groaned from the pressure.

You're killing me!

The surface of the mirror collapsed and he tumbled into an empty room, landing badly. His skull throbbed with pain and each breath shot stabs of agony through his chest; he'd broken something inside. He stared about the empty room. Where had everyone gone?

Turning, he saw the room ended suddenly at a wall of gla.s.s. Beyond that wall, the people, Dysmorphics, priests, and acolytes, stood gathered, staring at him. They were huge, giants. The view through the window was spinning alarmingly and Konig found himself staring up at himself.

"What shall I call you?" the Konig beyond the wall asked.

Konig screamed, hurling himself bodily against the gla.s.s, pounding at it with his fists until the finger he'd broken beating Acceptance broke a second time.

The Konig beyond grinned, eyes wide and insane. "They can't hear you," he whispered. "No one can hear you."

Konig collapsed to the floor of his empty room. His prison.

"I think I shall call you Failure," he said, tucking the small mirror into his robes. He said more, but with his voice m.u.f.fled by the thick crimson robes of the Theocrat, Failure couldn't hear him.

No, that isn't me. I'm in here.

Sprawled on the floor, cradling broken ribs, Failure giggled and wept.

You may be free, but now I am the reflection. I see what you cannot.

The giggle broke into crazed laughter and then choked off into sobs of pain.

Konig's freedom would be short-lived, Failure knew.

Morgen will return.