The Mirror's Truth: A Novel of Manifest Delusions

by Michael R. Fletcher

  “To be the original,” said Wichtig.

  “You will help break Morgen for me.”

  “Kill a god?” Wichtig uttered a sputtering laugh. “If anyone could do it, it’s me. But I think not.”

  “I said break. And I said help.”

  “Still, piss off.”

  “I have Morgen’s memories from before we were separated. I remember you. You were perfect, handsome and strong and flawless.”

  Excitement ran sparks dancing down Wichtig’s spine. I’ll manipulate this little shite and get exactly what I want. Wichtig pushed himself to his feet. Straightening the blood and puke-stained bed sheet, he struck the best heroic pose possible in this condition in this room.

  “What was it Bedeckt always said?” Wichtig asked the boy. “Life eats you and shites your well-chewed remains into the Afterdeath.”

  “I don’t remember him saying that.”

  “I probably made it up,” said Wichtig, bending to collect his bloody sword from the ground. “I made up most of the smart stuff I think he said.”

  “I’ll make you whole,” said Nacht. “I’ll make you beautiful and flawless again.”

  Wichtig remembered Schnitter. “What is beauty worth?” he asked.

  “Interesting question coming from you. What is it worth?”

  “Everything.” He cocked an eyebrow at the boy. “Why should I trust you. Morgen said he’d—”

  “Morgen hates you. If he didn’t, he never could have killed you. Everything he promised is a lie. You disgust him. Even when you were perfect on the outside he knew how much rot there was within.”

  “Ha! And you’re basically him. Why trust—”

  The boy interrupted him with a theatrical sigh. “I’m his Reflection, his opposite. I love everything he hates. I want everything he loathes. To me, you are perfect. The beauty on the outside masking the sick shite within.”

  But that exterior beauty was gone, replaced by thick ridges of raw scar tissue and missing fingers and ears and teeth. Wichtig hid his hurt. I have redeeming qualities. It wasn’t his fault most people were too stupid and narrow-minded to see them. He gave so much of himself to his friends. No one appreciated him and this little shite of a god was no better than the boy whose delusions birthed him. I’ll outsmart the smug little bastard. I’ll outsmart them all. Wichtig would use this Ascended Reflection to his own ends, get everything he wanted, everything he deserved.

  Something in the god’s words bothered Wichtig, something about Nacht being Morgen’s opposite. That sounded important. It would tell Wichtig of the boy’s intentions and motives if he could figure out what that something was.

  “Tell me exactly what you want,” said Wichtig.

  “Stehlen must not kill Bedeckt. If she does, Morgen wins and you,” the boy thrust a dirty finger at him, “lose.”

  “I can handle Stehlen,” Wichtig said.

  “There’s more,” said Nacht, grinning that smug grin Morgen always tried to hide. “Konig sent two of his Wahnist Priests after Bedeckt. They’ll return to Selbsthass and he’ll kill them, ensuring they—and all they’ve slain—serve him in the Afterdeath.”

  “Wahnists?” Wichtig snorted in disgust. “Some fool who thinks he’s the King of Geldangelegenheiten shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

  “Ungeist is the Holy Exorcist of the Geborene. He believes within every soul lurks a demon.”

  “So?”

  “He drives the demons out.”

  “Again I ask, so?”

  “They claw their way free. It’s a rather bloody process.”

  “Oh. Lovely. And the other?”

  “Erdbehüter believes the earth is alive,” said Nacht, watching Wichtig for reaction. “She believes she commands dirt and stone. She built the new walls and towers and roads of Selbsthass with her delusions. Both teeter near the Pinnacle.”

  “Put a foot of steel in a Wahnist gut and you have a Wahnist corpse,” said Wichtig. “They won’t be a problem.”

  “And there’s Drache. She’s a Therianthrope.”

  “I hate Therianthropes,” said Wichtig. Neidrig. He swallowed as he remembered the dry scales of a thousand snakes closing about him, crushing the air from his lungs, squeezing the life from his throat. There’d been scorpions and a massive bear too. He shuddered at the memory. That was the first time he died.

  “This one is far worse than what you’ve seen,” said Nacht with an evil grin.

  “A foot of steel—”

  “She flies a thousand yards above the earth, watching and spying for her Geborene master. Her delusions melt flesh from bone.”

  Wichtig shrugged, pretending uncaring calm. “I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t charm.” He imagined Schnitter’s grin, the gaping maw of her open sinus cavity. How had the Körperidentität ignored his considerable charisma?

  “She is without emotion, reptilian and cold. Your limited Gefahrgeist talents will have no effect on her.”

  You are a fool, boy. You set me a task and tell me it’s impossible. You think by making it seem impossible, I’ll be unable to refuse. Well no one uses Wichtig Lügner.

  Bad as the Wahnists and Therianthrope sounded, they were not his worry. What kind of an idiot intentionally got into a fight with Stehlen? If she wanted them dead, he was damned sure they’d end up dead. Of course he would never admit this to Stehlen. Or anyone. He’d have to outsmart her. Or be far away. Or maybe, when he was once again beautiful, he’d kill the Reflection and Morgen and help Stehlen kill Bedeckt. The old goat abandoned them both in the Afterdeath. That should be worth something.

  “Make me whole,” said Wichtig, “and I’ll go find the old bastard.”

  “No,” said Nacht. “I’ll make you whole only after you save Bedeckt.”

  “Oh,” said Wichtig, pouring hurt from his eyes like he’d been stabbed in the heart. “You don’t trust me?”

  “Of course not. Even you don’t trust you.”

  “Well then I don’t trust you,” Wichtig said, mustering stung indignation. “How do I know you’ll deliver on your promise?”

  “I love what you are. Serving you serves me.”

  That at least made sense. People only did what was best for them. As long as their interests were intertwined, the boy would keep his word. And you’re in a shite bargaining position.

  “Fine,” said Wichtig. “I’ll need money, and—”

  “You must do this on your own. Hardship shapes the man.”

  Shapes the man? Wichtig blinked at the boy. “My life hasn’t been hard?”

  “You flee every real challenge.”

  “I fought countless duels to become the Greatest—”

  “You use that to avoid your real fears. Death is nothing. Responsibility, that terrifies you.”

  “Sticking great. A little boy telling me of responsibility. What the hells do you know?”

  Nacht shrugged, flashing a mocking smirk. “Do as I say, and you’ll get everything you deserve.”

  Didn’t Morgen say something similar? “I’d better! If you’re lying—”

  “I know. That’s why I like you. You’re predictable.”

  “I may surprise you yet, you little shite.”

  “If Bedeckt dies, I’ll give you to the Täuschung.”

  “Huh? The tie-what?”

  Alone in the room, Wichtig curled on the floor in agony. There was no sign of the boy.

  How did I get here? Wasn’t I standing?

  His ruined hand screamed. His missing ear throbbed. His face felt like it had been dragged behind a fast horse from Sinnlos to Geldangelegenheiten.

  Crawling into the empty bed, Wichtig passed out on the stained sheets. He dreamed of scars ridged like savage mountains, cavernous ravines cutting through once flawless flesh. He dreamed of blood and destiny, swords and worship. He dreamed of killing friends and gods.

  He awoke haunted.

  What did a man do when he achieved his life-long quest?

  What did a man do upon achieving his
destiny?

  Wichtig swung his legs off the bed. He sat, a filthy and stained sheet wrapped about his hips, staring at the sword lying on the floor.

  “I am Greatest Swordsman in the World.”

  It wasn’t a brag. He wasn’t trying to convince himself or anyone else. It was fact.

  “I am the Greatest Swordsman in the World.”

  He scowled at the sword, its blade caked with drying gore and blood and clumps of hair. He didn’t know when or how it happened. Maybe I’ve been the greatest for years and not known.

  “Now what?”

  What the sticking hells was he going to do now? He never thought beyond the quest.

  Well, not everyone in all the world knows I’m the greatest. That mattered.

  “So I’ll wander the city-states killing Swordsmen until all the world—” He remembered his dream about the scarred old man wandering out of the Gezackt Mountains, remembered the missing fingers. He was on the far side of those mountains, killing. Why?

  “Because there are people over there who don’t know—” Wichtig’s breath caught. They didn’t know he was the greatest and you can’t truly be the Greatest Swordsman in the World unless all the world knows.

  All the world.

  Wichtig sighed with relief. I’m not finished. There was more he must do before he…

  Before what? Before he returned home? Saw his wife and son? Before he could be a father?

  ‘You use that to avoid your real fears,’ Nacht said, referring to his quest to be the Greatest Swordsman in the World.

  Gods. You couldn’t trust them. They always knew what to say to cause the most pain, to plant the deepest seeds of doubt. If Nacht wanted Wichtig to question himself, then the best thing Wichtig could do was remain steadfast. He would believe in himself blindly and wholly, never questioning his destiny. Or his decisions.

  I’ll show that little shite.

  What was doubt but fear?

  I fear nothing.

  Wichtig stood with a groan and only managed to stop from falling by catching himself on the wall. When he bent to retrieve his sword he vomited sour drool down the front of his already disgusting bed sheet.

  “Shite.”

  He stood, weaving, staring at the naked steel in his hand.

  “Shite.”

  Stumbling to the door, Wichtig shoved it open with his half hand. He stood with his forehead pressed against the wood of the jamb while the room spun and he coughed dry racking heaves and spat bloody phlegm and shards of teeth. His head felt like someone held the left side in a bed of hot coals most of the night. After trying several of his vast repertoire of facial expressions, he gave up.

  So, this is why Bedeckt always has that block of wood expression.

  Gods, with his good looks gone, was he going to have to rely on his wits to bed women?

  Damned good thing I’m so sticking witty then.

  Wichtig limped down the stairs and into the common room, blood drooling from the left side of his mouth.

  The room fell silent, all eyes on Wichtig. Adjusting his bloody bed sheet, he struck his best heroic pose, though he did have to cling to the back of a chair for support. Where was the applause he got last night? Or had he dreamed that? The inn’s patrons stared at him, waiting.

  Will people treat me differently because I’m ugly? Just thinking the word ugly hurt. Normally people fawned over him, men and women alike.

  Wichtig watched them watching him. Was that fear in their eyes?

  Fear is okay. Spotting a pretty woman with a low cut blouse showing plenty of cleavage, he shot her his best cocky smile, the one that—

  The smile died on his face as she blanched and turned away.

  He remembered doing that to Stehlen, sometimes on purpose—to hurt her—because her smile was so goat-sticking hideous.

  Wichtig’s stomach rumbled and he realized he was ravenously hungry but seriously doubted his ability to keep food down. Collapsing into the chair hed held for support, he lay his naked sword on the table and waved at the innkeeper.

  “Food,” he said when the man approached.

  “On the house,” said the innkeeper when he dropped a plate heaped with sausages and fried potato in front of the Swordsman.

  Wichtig nodded like it was expected but was secretly relieved. This bed sheet and sword were all he owned.

  He stared at the food, stomach grumbling its desire while simultaneously threatening upheaval and all-out revolt.

  Go back to bed.

  No. The sooner he found and saved Bedeckt—the thought of saving the old goat’s life gave him a grin of dark pleasure—the sooner he’d be beautiful again. Being hideous was hardly ideal, but he wouldn’t let it bring him down. If Stehlen could make it through each day looking like a jaundiced sow’s arse, he’d survive a few scars. As long as he knew it was a temporary situation.

  Wichtig ate slowly, shoving the food to the back of his mouth where he could chew with his molars—which seemed to have escaped damage—and waited after each swallow to see if the food would revisit. Foul belches aside, it seemed to stay down. As he finished the last sausage and mopped at the pooled grease with a crust of dark bread sharing both flavour and consistency with sun-dried horse manure, a young woman approached his table. Wichtig glanced up, noting the horrendously old sword hanging at her hip. The leather wrapping the pommel, tattered and worn thin, looked to be older than the girl, though it was impossible to guess her age. Either she hadn’t yet hit puberty or had and would never be called ample. Stehlen would like this one. She wore a motley of leather armour made up of pieces from a dozen different eras and regions. The armour didn’t look like it would slow a blunt stick, never mind a good sword. Wichtig, who scorned armour as the refuge of cowards and people too stupid and slow to get out of the way of their opponent’s attacks, found himself rethinking his position on the topic. I would like, he decided, not to get hurt again. I have scars enough.

  The young woman stopped at Wichtig’s table and bowed low, waiting.

  “What?” demanded Wichtig, in no mood for a fight.

  “Sir, everyone is saying you are Wichtig Lügner, the Greatest Swordsman in the World, reborn.”

  “For possibly the first time ever, everyone is right.”

  “I am young,” said the girl. “But I really am very good with a sword.” She swallowed, no doubt realizing she was bragging to the World’s Greatest Swordsman, and added, “For my age.”

  If the fool draws that sword, I’ll puke on her. Wichtig stared the girl down with flat grey eyes, turning his Gefahrgeist power against the lass. Go away.

  The kid didn’t even seem to notice. “I’m fast.”

  “Show me how fast you can piss off.”

  “And I can learn, sir.

  “Can you learn to piss off?”

  “Uh. Sir?” She licked her lips, dark eyes glancing about the room as she noticed she was now the centre of attention. “I wish to apprentice with you,” she said, forcing the words out in a rush. Then she thought for a moment and added a quick, “Sir.”

  Apprentice? Since when did Swordsmen take apprentices? Did this idiot think being a Swordsman was like joining any other trade? Welcome to my bakery! Today I’m baking a fresh batch of death! Wichtig grinned at the thought and the girl retreated a step. The kid was an idiot, but maybe Wichtig could make some use of her first. Maybe the moron had a few coins he could relieve her of.

  “You can pay?” asked Wichtig.

  “No, sir, I—”

  “Then piss off.”

  “I will care for your sword and armour, sir.” The lass blinked at Wichtig’s bed sheet, her mouth opening and closing. She soldiered on, looking increasingly unsure of herself. “Um…I…will care for your horse, sir. I will keep your camp. I will guard your back while you sleep. I will—”

  “You’ll keep the damned fire going?” Wichtig hated how desperately hopeful and childishly scared he sounded.

  “Big and bright,” said the girl, nodding so fast
he thought her head would fall off. “I’ll cook your meals, wash your—”

  “Done,” said Wichtig. “What’s your name?”

  “Opferlamm, sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir, reminds me of my father.”

  Opferlamm nodded, apparently not trusting herself not to add a sir to whatever else came out of her mouth.

  “You have a horse?” Wichtig asked.

  “No.”

  “We’ll get you one.” Wichtig thought for a moment. “Go to the stable and see if mine is there. It’s a cross-eyed sway-back tan mare. If it ignores the name Blöd, it’s mine.”

  Opferlamm opened and closed her mouth, nodded, and bolted for the door. She was back before Wichtig could swallow the crust of bread he’d been working about the remains of his teeth.

  “It’s there,” said Opferlamm. “Tried to bite me.”

  “Yep, that’s mine. Give me your sword.”

  Opferlamm placed her sword reverently in Wichtig’s waiting half hand, doing her best not to stare at the missing fingers.

  Wichtig scowled at the pitted blade and she made a frightened squeak, though whether from the face or his disappointment in the sword, he couldn’t tell. “This is the shittiest kitchen steel I have ever seen.”

  “It was my grandfather’s,” said Opferlamm. “He died in the—”

  “With a sword like this, no wonder he died.” Wichtig dropped the sword on the table and when Opferlamm reached to retrieve it added, “Leave it. We’ll get you something better.”

  “You’ll buy me a horse and a sword?” Opferlamm did her best not to look sceptical and Wichtig ignored it, trying not to let it sting.

  “Hells, no,” said Wichtig, pushing to his feet. “Follow.”

  On the way out, he passed a young man with a sword laid out on the table before him. The youth refused to meet his eyes. There was something familiar about him, but Wichtig couldn’t figure out what. Had he given the lad the sword last night while drunk? Unsure, he let him be. He’d find what he wanted outside.

  Leading the young Swordswoman into the street, Wichtig glanced about until he saw what he was looking for, a Swordsman leading a horse. Wichtig limped to intercept, Opferlamm following.