“The storm has grown closer for days,” said Anomie. “I assumed you knew.”
“Gods damn everything,” Konig snarled in frustration. “Go to the heart of the storm, discover its source.”
Acceptance leaned forward to whisper in Konig’s ear. “Morgen’s kidnappers must have a powerful Gefahrgeist among their numbers. How else could they have slain Morgen’s Mehrere bodyguard so easily? How else could they take Aufschlag’s loyalty from you? You must ensure your assassins remain”—Acceptance eyed Asena over Konig’s shoulder—“faithful once they are beyond your influence.”
Acceptance knew exactly what Konig thought: of course he was up against another Gefahrgeist. It made too much sense. Another Gefahrgeist had somehow found out about the Geborene God project and thought to turn Konig’s genius plan to their own ends.
Protecting against a Gefahrgeist was virtually impossible, but steps could be taken.
“The thought of harming you breaks my heart,” Konig said to Asena.
Acceptance whispered, “Emotion is weakness, manipulation is everything,” in Konig’s ear.
Konig nodded unconscious agreement. “I need to protect you,” he told the assassins, “from the possibility of Gefahrgeist influence.”
Asena drew a sharp breath and bared teeth at Acceptance. “How?”
The Tiergeist gathered behind Asena moved closer, looming large and dangerous. Anomie, the living corpse, merely stood and watched. The Schatten Mörder waited motionless as if nothing of import or interest had yet occurred. Perhaps, to them, nothing had. What interested the damned?
“To truly protect you from their Gefahrgeist,” said Konig, “I would have to blind and deafen you.”
Acceptance stifled a triumphant smile, hiding his ruined mouth behind a hand. He watched Konig closely; the man wanted to apologize. Acceptance could read it in the way he stood, the way he twitched as if about to reach out to Asena.
Konig stilled his motion. “Obviously you would be useless to me blind. You will, however, be deafened.” He looked from Asena to Anomie, meeting their eyes. “It is for your own protection.” Acceptance knew Konig said this aloud only to convince himself. “I care deeply for and seek only to shield you from danger. You are my champions. You must not fail me in this. You must not fail Morgen.”
“How will you deafen us?” Asena asked. “We Therianthropes heal quickly. Particularly if we twist.”
Anomie was not to be outdone. “The dead do not rely on ears to hear. How shall you deafen us?”
“I am Konig Furimmer. Theocrat of Selbsthass. High Priest of the Geborene Damonen. My will gave birth to the first man-made god. Reality bends to my desires.” He smiled sadly. “My assassins, I don’t think you are deaf. I don’t believe you are deaf. I know you are—”
Asena didn’t even hear the last word. She stood blinking, struck dumb with surprise. Her love had stolen part of her world. She flared nostrils, breathing in Konig’s odor and the smell of startled fear wafting from the other Tiergeist. Did the Theocrat not appreciate how important sound was to an animal?
Or does he not care?
Konig’s mouth moved and he pointed south, but Anomie had already spun on her heels and, followed by the Schatten Mörder, marched from the room. If he saw Asena’s pain, he didn’t react. Without a word she turned and left.
Kill Morgen. The Theocrat’s order should have left no room for question, but still she felt doubt. Could she kill the boy-god, even if it meant his Ascension?
Acceptance watched Konig stare after Asena as the door swung closed behind her. The man stood rigid. Once she’d left, a single tear leaked from his right eye. Acceptance watched the lone tear slide down the Theocrat’s cheek and knew bright joy. Every person Konig pushed away meant Acceptance would be drawn closer.
“She will, in time, come to understand,” said Konig without conviction. No one believed it.
Interesting. As evidenced by the ease with which he deafened a roomful of powerful Cotardist and Therianthrope Geisteskranken, the Theocrat’s power was growing rapidly. His ability to shape reality with his delusions would soon be outstripped by his inability to control his many psychoses. Sanity would be peeled from his mind much like Aufschlag had peeled the flesh from his victims in his attempts to cause insanity. Konig would reach the pinnacle of his power, a master of reality, and yet powerless to master his delusions.
And yet he cannot convince himself of Asena’s forgiveness.
Acceptance’s time grew near. He hid away his smirk of triumph and followed Konig from the room. The other two Doppels trailed behind. Abandonment eyed him with distrust and Trepidation watched with his usual fear.
I’ll deal with them soon enough.
CHAPTER 23
I was sane once. It was horrible.
—EINSAM GESCHICHTENERZÄHLER
For a time Gehirn enjoyed the gentle swaying, allowing it to lull her like her mother never did. When she finally cracked open an eye, she found herself sprawled across Erbrechen’s litter. The Slaver, fat, greasy, and ugly, sat beside her. When Erbrechen noticed Gehirn’s attention he beamed his fat baby smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, though. They glistened cold, both calculating and terrified.
“You must love me,” said Erbrechen. “I need you to love me. You love me.”
Gehirn did. Erbrechen was beautiful. Caring and giving, he personified everything a true friend could ever be.
“I do love you,” said Gehirn, and though she meant it, she clearly remembered the moment she realized she was little more than a tool. Knowledge hadn’t set her free. Her prison remained unchanged no matter how much she might currently enjoy imprisonment and worship her jailer. She thought back to Konig. They use me for my power and care nothing for who I am. Had anyone ever genuinely loved or even cared for her? Or am I somehow unlovable? Was the fault hers or theirs? Or was she drawn to people who would abuse her?
“I know you do . . . even if you’re a lousy cook,” Erbrechen said with grim humor. When he saw Gehirn’s confused look he continued. “There would have been enough soul stew for everyone had you not burned the meat.” He laughed, sending waves through jiggling fat. The laughter gave way to a petulant scowl.
“Sorry,” muttered Gehirn, levering herself into a sitting position. Erbrechen’s mob of friends had grown considerably. More survived than Gehirn expected. Come to think of it, she had not really expected anyone or anything to survive her fire.
She remembered. “You hit me.”
Erbrechen snorted. “I saved you. You should thank me.”
She had no choice. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. But, in the future, I think I shall keep you a little closer.” Erbrechen laughed deprecatingly. “This is a body built for comfort, not for speed.”
“Sorry.” Her heart soared. She’d be close to her love. If he just understood how I feel, maybe he’d feel something for me. How could she show him? She wanted to reach out, to touch him, caress his soft skin.
She lifted a hand and Erbrechen frowned at it. “Don’t think I don’t value your friendship,” he said.
Her soaring heart crashed to the ground. Erbrechen will use me and toss me aside. “Never,” she said.
“And don’t say I never do anything for you.”
“Never.”
“Good, because I love you dearly. You are my closest friend.” Erbrechen laughed happily. “Get it? You are inches from me. You are my closest friend!”
Gehirn laughed in spite of herself. “Are you sure there isn’t a small boy tucked up your arse somewhere?”
Erbrechen’s eyes widened in mock outrage. “Well, now that you mention it,” he admitted, “I had wondered where the lad had got to.” He suddenly lost his joking demeanor. “I need you.”
Gehirn beamed, happy to be needed if not actually loved. “I won’t let you down again.”
“I know. I am going to keep you very close indeed.”
The closer the proximity, the more control. Gehirn said noth
ing, her happiness evaporating.
“Our last little experience taught me something,” mused Erbrechen. “Though I need my friends, it is myself who I must most rely upon. This destiny is mine.” He shook his head and looked apologetic. “My friend, I need your strength, but I must also safeguard my strength. I am pivotal. Central to everything. When I Ascend to godhood it will because of my actions.”
He thinks using me to burn cities is something he can claim as his own? Gehirn’s flash of anger died the moment she looked at Erbrechen.
“I can no longer share the soul stew,” he said, ignoring Gehirn’s fearful whimper. “I’m not sure it worked for you anyway.” He beamed at the Hassebrand. “Not to worry. My destiny will protect both of us. The stronger I am, the safer you are,” he explained reasonably.
GEHIRN RODE THE litter beside Erbrechen, never allowed more than a few feet from the Slaver. Erbrechen’s influence sat on her like a great weight crushing her chest. She could barely breathe. The pain and rage of perceived betrayals fell away. Not forgotten, but unable to raise its head against Erbrechen’s dominating will.
Konig never used his power like this, and Gehirn wondered, in those rare moments when Erbrechen was distracted, if the Theocrat was even capable of such malignant intent. Konig was undeniable when he set his mind to something, but this felt different. Where Konig inspired loyalty and a desire to serve, Erbrechen demanded thoughtless devotion. Was Konig less powerful, or did his Gefahrgeist power simply manifest differently? Did Erbrechen’s past define the parameters of his power? What of her own past? She’d always assumed she could blame her parents, but what if she’d been born broken? Gehirn thought she’d ask Aufschlag when she returned to Selbsthass.
Maybe the pompous scientist’s little experiments aren’t so useless after all.
Brutal storms hammered the horizon in every direction. Here in the eye the thunder was deafening, but little touched them. Heavy clouds occluded sun and sky and made it impossible to tell night from day. All life became a monotony of gray. The storm moved with them and Gehirn knew Regen still lived, though she hadn’t seen the scrawny shaman in some time. The lands they traveled had first been visited by Regen’s poorly controlled storm. Fields of corn and grain lay crushed flat by tornado winds and hail. Most of the trees stood cracked and wounded, burned and blasted by lightning.
Erbrechen scowled at the filthy mob surrounding his litter and Gehirn enjoyed the temporary freedom to feel used and enslaved.
“I’m sorry,” Erbrechen said softly, shaking his head. “So, so sorry.”
Gehirn stared, stunned. “What?”
“I know you love me.” He lifted a hand toward her, frowned at it, and then returned it to his fat thigh. He blinked and tears leaked down round cheeks. Never before had she seen such crushing sadness.
He loves me! He just doesn’t know how to show it! That she understood all too well. Emotions were so difficult to communicate, and love most of all.
“Everyone loves me,” he said. “Everyone. How can I know who really loves me?” He glanced at her, his eyes red and pleading for understanding. “They have to.”
“I love you,” she said. Then she remembered those moments at the edge of Erbrechen’s reach. Slaver.
“Of course you do.” He offered a lopsided smile. “Everyone does.” He looked past her and said, “I’m so alone.”
You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I am at your side. The moment his attention wandered, her heart cracked. You are a fool. He cares nothing for you. No one does.
THE CARAVAN STOPPED at three more small cities and their numbers swelled. At this pace, a journey taking Gehirn three days would take Erbrechen and his friends two weeks.
But Erbrechen grew in power with every city and town that fell under his influence. Certainly the range at which he was able to infect people had grown considerably. The last city—a fortified town Gehirn didn’t know the name of—had been tightly bottled and awaiting their arrival. Archers lined the walls and a dozen Geisteskranken of differing ilk stood with them. The Hassebrand had been sure she would be called, once again, to burn. The desire thrummed through her like her soul was a plucked string.
Instead Erbrechen gestured to Gehirn to remain sitting and levered himself, with much grunting and straining, into a sitting position. Erbrechen bellowed at the walled city at the top of his lungs, talking about how much he cared about its populace and how much he needed them. Within minutes the gates opened and the city’s leaders filed out, followed by its army and cadre of Geisteskranken. Everyone apologized at great length for the misunderstanding and any inconvenience Erbrechen may have felt. Once-proud men and women, begging forgiveness, offered daughters and sons as gifts. Erbrechen grandly waved away the apologies as if nothing had happened, but took a boy and two girls onto the litter.
The Slaver’s distraction hurt like a kick in the guts. Gehirn felt like a child scorned by her mother, hating and yet still needing.
Erbrechen’s new friends spent a rushed hour raiding their own city for valuables and food, and the procession was once again moving. The litter, now carried by fresh men and women not yet weakened by their service to the Slaver, swayed rhythmically as the mob flowed across the land.
Though free to think more clearly, Gehirn couldn’t leave the litter. When she had to pee she crouched at the rear edge of the litter and looked over her shoulder to watch the following crowd even as they glared at her. They looked envious of her exalted position as they marched through the puddles she left.
Fire never disappoints, never breaks your heart. Gehirn showed canines in a feral leer to those closest to the litter. They shied away under the heat of her gaze. If Erbrechen allowed her off the litter, perhaps she’d burn this growing nation of slaves to ash. The thought left her salivating with desire.
THE SUN SET and Erbrechen declared it time to make camp and light the fires. Gehirn could no longer estimate the number of Erbrechen’s friends. They numbered in the thousands, covering the storm-blasted land like a wretched and stinking carpet.
Erbrechen kept the growing cadre of Geisteskranken close to his litter. In rare moments of clarity Gehirn understood that the Slaver feared them. The rest of the time the Geisteskranken were simply Erbrechen’s favorite new friends, and as the only Hassebrand, Gehirn retained her position of privilege and remained on the litter.
As day faded, campfires sparked to life and lit the land in a faltering yellow glow. Here, in the eye of Regen’s storm, there was no wind, so the smoke from the thousands of fires went nowhere. Like Gehirn, it was trapped here.
Gaunt bodies, dancing, writhing, and cavorting in the flickering firelight, turned the scene hellish and unreal.
“I must be dead,” whispered Gehirn. This was the Afterdeath of judgment and torment her father had threatened her with.
Gehirn had slain uncountable numbers in the service of others’ goals. Though Konig never used her as Erbrechen did, the Hassebrand still managed a sizable body count in the Theocrat’s service. Not once had she regretted a single death. Each fire, each twisted and boiled body, each smoking pillar of ash, had been in service to something greater. Greater than Gehirn, greater even than Konig. The Geborene Damonen offered Gehirn something she’d been unable to find elsewhere: purpose. However distant, her actions served a role in the creation of mankind’s first true god.
Gehirn looked to where Erbrechen lay with the three children, still struggling to satisfy his needs. The thought of handing Morgen—everything pure and good—to Erbrechen twisted Gehirn’s guts like a fist gripping her intestines.
The Slaver will use the boy in ways—
Erbrechen glanced over the bent backs of the children and smiled contentedly at Gehirn.
Then his eyes sank closed as his attention wandered. Gehirn blinked and looked away, confused as more and more of her opposing feelings toward the grotesque man coursed through her. A stick-thin figure stumbling toward the litter caught her attention. Regen Anrufer, the S
chlammstamm shaman. Skeletally thin, gaunt like sun-bleached bone, and grinning like a lunatic, the man glared hatred at Gehirn.
“Hassebrand, you licker of donkeys, how does your friend’s love sit with you now?” said Regen, voice cracking like dry leaves. “Enjoying your place of honor?” His laughter stumbled into a fit of bone-racking coughs.
Gehirn glanced back at Erbrechen, but the Slaver remained distracted by the children. She turned to sneer at the shaman. “Enjoying walking through my shite and piss?”
Regen shrugged but scowled at the ground. “I went out to the edge of the camp. Right to the edge.” He looked up at the Hassebrand. “I almost walked away.” He cackled. “Me and my storm.”
“Why didn’t you?” Gehirn asked, genuinely curious.
“I couldn’t!” Regen sobbed. “I saw my freedom and was unable to want it enough to move.” He darted a glance at the sprawled obesity. “One step,” he whispered. “One gods-sticking step.”
“He is too much,” Gehirn said softly.
Regen grunted, the look of hatred returning. “I falter.” He gestured and cackled as a bolt of lightning stabbed the sky, leaving Gehirn blinking at the purple afterimage slashed across her vision. The Slaver ignored the lightning, the answering roll of thunder, and the scared cattlelike moaning of his followers. “I haven’t slept in days. I can barely walk. My mind wanders where I cannot.” Regen giggled. “As does my sanity. When I crack, the storm will be free.” He grinned brokenly at Erbrechen. “Will you tell him? Will you warn him of the danger?”
Gehirn stared at the trembling shaman and thought of the awful destructive power trapped in the roiling storm clouds ringing the horizon. Day by day, hour by hour, the calm eye slowly closed. Destruction came ever closer.
“No.”
Regen looked both grateful and disgusted. “You are a cowardly—”
“What the hells is that?” Gehirn interrupted, pointing past the diminutive shaman.
Regen, annoyed, grunted and turned to look. At the northern end of the camp people moved frantically to clear a path. The two watched mutely as the disturbance grew closer. A group of figures worked their way through the crowd, unhindered, and avoided by Erbrechen’s people.
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