The Mirror's Truth: A Novel of Manifest Delusions

by Michael R. Fletcher

  You love her.

  Her chest hurt.

  But why would she love you?

  Why indeed. Stehlen understood her own reasons—even if she was uncomfortable examining them—but Lebendig’s remained a mystery. It wasn’t like she could just ask.

  She’s with you because she has no choice.

  No, that wasn’t true.

  Really? The Warrior’s Credo: Those whom you slay must serve. You killed her.

  And not even for a good reason. She killed Lebendig to annoy Wichtig, to steal something from him above and beyond mere gold.

  She has no choice.

  Stehlen ground blunt, yellow teeth. Lebendig would stay with her even if she were freed.

  Free her. Find out.

  She couldn’t.

  Coward.

  Stehlen shoved the thought aside. She was happy with Lebendig, comfortable in a way she never was with other people. Not even with herself. She thought about those nights she lay nestled in the woman’s strong arms, sheltered and protected.

  Do I love her?

  She knew the answer but shied from admitting it. Even to herself. Especially to herself. There was something about the woman that reminded her of—

  Shite.

  Bedeckt.

  In spite of their many differences, Lebendig reminded Stehlen of Bedeckt. It felt like a betrayal.

  Yet Lebendig was very different. She showed affection like it was a challenge to the world. A few days ago some drunk back in what remained of Neidrig commented on Stehlen and Lebendig’s relationship in snide tones. The Swordswoman cut him down without hesitation. One moment he was a snarky arsehole, the next, meat for the dogs.

  She really is brutally efficient with those swords, mused Stehlen. She’s gorgeous to watch. She showed none of Wichtig’s flare and showmanship, which was probably why Wichtig was the Greatest Swordsman in the World—Stehlen could admit that as long as the arse wasn’t around—and Lebendig was just great.

  But comparing Lebendig with Bedeckt hurt. I loved him and he killed me to protect that insipid little shite of a godling. And for what? So the little bastard could build a militant theocracy of obsessive arseholes? She’d heard from those who’d died after her own death that Selbsthass and Gottlos would soon be at war. It was only a matter of time before the grubby little kingdom fell before the directed faith of the Geborene.

  The guards stepped forward to block their way. Stehlen relaxed, suppressed the urge to steal from them or leave their corpses littering the immaculate street. Lebendig would handle everything. Her calm demeanour made such things so much easier, so much less violent.

  “Gentlemen,” said Lebendig, her large hands resting easily on the horn of the saddle. “We’re…” She trailed off as the guards glanced past her at Stehlen and parted to make way.

  Stehlen and Lebendig rode past unhindered and unquestioned.

  “What’s the point of having guards if they’re going to let the likes of us in?” asked Stehlen. “Who would they turn away?”

  Lebendig shrugged.

  Too easy. Something is wrong. Stehlen growled at her horse, urging it to take the lead. The beast’s ears flicked and twitched like it was afraid she’d hit it.

  The streets were straight, impossibly straight. They were clean last time she was here, but now every cobblestone gleamed like it was polished and shellacked. The city’s populace, fat and soft and clean, gave them a wide berth but otherwise ignored them. The buildings had all been painted white since her last visit. Every third person wore the white robes of the Geborene. She didn’t remember seeing priests outside of the temple last time. And the Geborene were armed, new swords hanging at their side, chain armour concealed beneath vestments. Pig-sticking religions. Stehlen loathed all who were so weak as to willingly sell their choices for the illusory safety of religious precepts.

  Stehlen saw the Leichtes Haus ahead and said, “There it is,” unnecessarily.

  Lebendig grunted agreement, gaze sliding from one fat citizen to the next like grease skittering on a hot pan. “No Swordsmen,” she said.

  Stehlen bit back the urge to say ‘good’ and nodded. Swordsmen were like rats. Every city-state had them. No doubt the idiots would be somewhere, lurking in taverns and boasting to half-wit barmaids about how amazing they were.

  A single grey horse stood tied to the Leichtes Haus horse rail. Stehlen recognized it. Wichtig was here. She saw no sign of Bedeckt’s horse. Immediately upon finding a beast large enough to carry his fat old arse and black enough to suit whatever passed for his tastes, Bedeckt promptly named it Kriegsgetier. He still whined about missing Launisch. Sentimental fool.

  Stehlen slid from her horse and tied it beside Wichtig’s. He must be waiting within, and Bedeckt had yet to arrive. She didn’t relish facing the Swordsman and his speculative glances at Lebendig as if he too wondered what the women shared. So far he hadn’t said anything and that made her more nervous than if he prattled on in his usual babble of petty Gefahrgeist manipulation. It meant he planned something, was saving his bile for something special. She hesitated to enter the inn with the Swordswoman at her side. Would Wichtig ridicule Stehlen? He had a talent for spotting weakness, no doubt an aspect of his Gefahrgeist power. Would he poke holes in her doubts, tearing them into gaping wounds? Would he feign happiness for her while carefully failing to conceal the pity in his eyes? Or would he not give a shite? All seemed equally likely. No matter what his surface reaction, she knew she couldn’t trust it.

  I should have killed him years ago.

  Lebendig dismounted and Stehlen’s head ached with pent tension.

  “Wait here.” Stehlen entered the inn without looking back, knowing Lebendig would obey.

  She has to, you killed her.

  The Kleptic pushed through the doors and stood just within the tavern. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light instantly. They always did.

  No one glanced up at her entrance. It was like she wasn’t there. No one even seemed to have noticed the door had opened. She spotted Wichtig sitting in the centre of the room. Idiot. Anyone with even half a brain sat with their back to a corner. She should walk up and put a knife in his liver as a lesson. A young blond man—a Geborene priest, judging by the white robes—sat across from Wichtig. The youth’s hair was a shock of gold in the eternal grey of the Afterdeath. They were bent in conversation, unaware she stood watching. Stehlen cut across the room to get a better look at the priest. Still no one noticed her. When she saw his face she stopped. Morgen. The godling wore the skin of a man of maybe twenty years, but she recognized him. Where Wichtig was ruggedly handsome, square jaw and dark eyebrows framing flat grey eyes and a perfect nose, Morgen was blandly attractive and immediately forgettable. His flesh, pale and pink, was an affront, much like his hair. He wore life like a badge, stood out in this place of the dead like he was better. She wanted to open him.

  Where the hells is Bedeckt?

  Stehlen examined Wichtig, taking in his broad shoulders and perfect hair, mussed, but intentionally so. He sat slumped in his chair, relaxed and confident, winking at girls and offering soft words as they passed. He did it unconsciously, not even caring that they ignored him. Only his eyes, cold and calculating, betrayed the lie. There was no one in all the world Wichtig wouldn’t betray for the slightest gain, no matter how fleeting. He was a bastard and she hated him and she wanted to rut him and she wanted to gut him and leave him to bleed out in a dark alley.

  A hot kernel of lust sparked to life.

  She remembered Morgen standing over her, watching her die. He looked curious, nothing more. Not scared or sad, just inquisitive as to what she felt. He could have saved her. It didn’t matter that she held a knife hidden, ready to kill the boy if he came within reach. He could have tried.

  Put a knife in the little shite.

  Stehlen ghosted closer. Would it work? If she opened his throat, would he die? He is a god. True, but he was no more aware of her than the rest of these wretches. The old wooden floorboa
rds beneath her feet didn’t creak. No eye turned in her direction. A barmaid stepped around her without noticing. Stehlen blinked, pausing for a moment to watch the woman deliver drinks to a table and wander off back behind the bar. I killed her. She examined the rest of the room’s inhabitants. I killed all of you. Well, except Wichtig and Morgen. She might yet rectify that little mistake.

  When she first awoke in the Afterdeath after Bedeckt killed her, she found herself surrounded by an army of those she had slain. Why hadn’t these people been there awaiting her own death like the rest of her dead? They aren’t warriors, she noted. Did they not believe in the Warrior’s Credo? Was that all that saved them from an eternity of servitude? An interesting thought.

  Here she was, following Bedeckt’s orders because she had no choice. He killed her. If she could learn to believe differently—that the Warrior’s Credo had no hold on her—could she free herself?

  Do you want to?

  She avoided the thought.

  A crowd of people she killed following her around was creepier than she expected. After killing the dozen or so she wanted to kill again, she abandoned the rest. Not set them free of their need to serve, just wandered off and left them. Would they follow her here? She didn’t care.

  Stehlen glanced again about the inn. Here were these people, free from servitude, and what had they done with their deaths? Gone back to the same gods-damned tavern to get right back to drinking themselves to whatever followed the Afterdeath.

  What are you doing differently? Still following Bedeckt around like a bitch in heat.

  She had to, she had no choice. He killed me.

  But she was doing something different this time: Lebendig. Never before had Stehlen allowed someone to get so close. Never before had she trusted someone with so much.

  You only trust her because she can’t betray you.

  Stehlen’s teeth groaned in her skull and her jaw ached. She moved closer, standing behind the Swordsman, breathing his manly stink. She wanted to eat him. Even though she was plainly visible over Wichtig’s shoulder, the young godling failed to glance at her. He leaned close to Wichtig, muttering in conspiratorial tones. While the little shite hadn’t personally killed her, he was the reason Bedeckt had. Her hands itched for violence. Grab a fistful of hair and yank his head back, exposing that flawless expanse of soft throat. Drive the knife in hard and she could impale both arteries, one either side of the neck.

  He stole from me. He killed Wichtig, stabbed him in the gut and left him to die a slow and painful death. No one got to kill Wichtig except Stehlen and the little shite took that from her. No one steals from me.

  But that wasn’t all he took.

  Bedeckt. She could have been happy with Bedeckt. She thought back to that one night, that drunken tumble in an alley in Neidrig. Morgen ruined that, killed her one chance at happiness.

  What about Lebendig?

  Stehlen crushed the thought.

  Morgen stole her chance at being with Bedeckt. He was the reason Bedeckt killed her, was the reason she was here in this eternity of grey death.

  She owed the little bastard for that too.

  Killing Morgen was not enough. Murder wouldn’t balance the scales of justice. For that she must steal from him, something for each of his thefts. And then she’d kill him. God or no, I’ll be his death.

  What an arrogant shite, wearing a man’s body he hadn’t earned. A stupid little boy who knew nothing of the world. She imagined the surprise on his face when he realized she’d killed him.

  No one steals from me.

  Ignored by both men, Stehlen circled the table to stand behind the godling. He smelled of soap and bleach. Peering over his shoulder, she watched him pick flakes of blood from his hands, which he kept hidden from Wichtig’s sight. She understood. This was a manifestation of delusion, driven by the boy’s need to be clean and his guilt at the murder he committed. Guilt is a weakness. Even morons like Wichtig and Bedeckt understood that.

  Much as Wichtig poked at her for being a minor Kleptic, she knew the truth. She was powerful. She could take anything from anyone if she wanted it badly enough. Stealing lives was the ultimate theft.

  Someday they’ll catch me. Someday they’ll punish me for my crimes. It wasn’t fear, it was a prayer. Her entire life she’d been ignored, invisible. Someday they would see her.

  Stehlen took three items, small, wood and warm, from Morgen and pocketed them without a glance. It didn’t matter what they were, that wasn’t the point. They’d been his, and now they were hers.

  Hearing mention of Bedeckt and seeing the sudden spark of concealed hurt and rage in Wichtig’s eyes, she listened in on their conversation.

  Bedeckt, Morgen told the Swordsman, abandoned them here in the Afterdeath and returned to life with a sack of gold. Wichtig pretended not to care but grief and hurt were writ plain across his handsome face. Unlike Stehlen, his own Geisteskranken power did not seem to have grown.

  She listened as Morgen convinced the Swordsman to pursue and kill the old warrior. He led Wichtig like a man leading a stubborn donkey to water, tricking him with shiny distractions and promises that were—like all promises—lies. The man might be a Gefahrgeist, but Stehlen had never met anyone so easily manipulated. The boy wasn’t even subtle.

  Stehlen caressed the stolen items in her pocket. Content with her theft she returned to stand behind Wichtig. She preferred his manly scent to Morgen’s harsh cleanliness.

  “One last thing,” said Wichtig, pocketing the coins Morgen placed on the table before him. “Stehlen.”

  Out of habit, Stehlen relieved him of the extra wealth.

  What had he said? Fixated on her own thoughts, she hadn’t been paying attention. The blather of men and boys was seldom interesting. She replayed what snippets of conversation she heard. Morgen was sending Wichtig after Bedeckt but not Stehlen? That made no sense whatsoever. The idiot couldn’t find his own arse with both hands, a map, and two mirrors.

  “What about her?” asked Morgen.

  “She’ll be angry,” said Wichtig, and Stehlen felt the slightest warmth for the Swordsman. “And Bedeckt abandoned her as much as he…” That warmth grew. The self-centred fool was actually thinking of her? Was he upset at the idea of abandoning her? “She’ll be angry,” Wichtig finished.

  He hides it, but he really does care.

  “Are you afraid of her?” asked Morgen.

  “Of course not,” said Wichtig, clearly lying. “But she might cause trouble for you here in the Afterdeath.”

  “I’m a god,” said Morgen. “She’s just a Kleptic.”

  Wichtig knows not to underestimate me. Stehlen considered returning the pouch of gold.

  “You’ll make sure the hideous bitch doesn’t come after me?” Wichtig asked and that warmth died, strangled by hurt and hate. Stehlen barely managed not to knife the man right then and there.

  “Of course,” said Morgen.

  “I’ll do it,” said Wichtig.

  They prattled on but Stehlen wasn’t listening. I’ll kill them both.

  Realizing their conversation was coming to an end, she hurried to the entrance, thinking to tell Lebendig to take the horses around the back of the Leichtes Haus where Wichtig wouldn’t see them. She paused, hand on the door, glancing back to check she hadn’t been seen, and stopped. Wichtig was gone. Not gone like he somehow stepped out without her noticing—that was impossible. Gone like he’d never been there.

  Morgen remained, sitting patiently like he was waiting for—Me. He’s waiting for me. She remembered Bedeckt telling Wichtig and her—though he sent the Swordsman off first—to meet him at the Leichtes Haus. Here sat the little snot godling in his place. She remembered how easily they entered Selbsthass City. Morgen planned this. Somehow he knew they’d come here.

  Stehlen stepped out of the inn and flashed Lebendig a quick wink. The Swordswoman twitched an eyebrow. Where a man would have asked a stupid question she said nothing.

  Re-entering the Leichte
s Haus, Stehlen banged the door open and strode within. Still no one noticed her entrance. Not even the godling. Grumbling, she approached Morgen’s table. The shite didn’t see her until she dropped heavily into the chair Wichtig previously occupied. It was still warm. Morgen glanced up, his eyes sad, and then not.

  And what is it that plagues you, my bland little godling? Guilt, perchance?

  “What are you doing here?” asked Morgen, calm and composed.

  You’re a good liar, but not that good. “We made good time,” said Stehlen, ignoring his question.

  “We?”

  Again she ignored his query. “Bedeckt said to meet him here. Said he had a job planned. The World’s Greatest Moron hasn’t made an appearance yet, has he?”

  Morgen shook his head, avoiding her eyes. Only Lebendig ever looked directly at her. Everyone else shied from her gaze with poorly concealed looks of disgust. Even gods.

  “Just as well,” she said. And now to sow some doubt. “He can’t follow the simplest directions. I’ve seen him get lost on a straight street with no intersections.”

  “Bedeckt is gone,” said Morgen as if she hadn’t spoken.

  Fine, let’s play that game. “Gone? Dead? Again?” She snorted, a nasal snork of amusement.

  “No,” said Morgen. “He’s alive.” Now he did look her in the eyes. “Unlike you.”

  “Returned to life? How?” Did Wichtig asked this question? She hadn’t been listening. Probably not, the fool never thought to question anything.

  “He killed me. I must obey his commands.”

  “I know how that is,” said Stehlen, feigning camaraderie. It felt awkward and false.

  “He forced me to return him to life. He said he wanted to be free of you and Wichtig. He said you were insane. Filthy.” There was no hint of apology in his voice. “He abandoned you here.”

  Stehlen’s breath came ragged with rage. Control yourself. He’s doing to you what he did to that idiot Swordsman. You’re smarter than this. God or no she’d kill the little shite, paint his world with blood.