“He thought he could use me,” Morgen snarled with startling vehemence. Never before had Bedeckt heard anger from the boy.
Stehlen shoved Bedeckt aside.
“Can you bring him back?” she asked. Bedeckt saw naked hope on Stehlen’s pinched face.
“Yes. But I’m not going to.”
Stehlen’s sword hissed free of its sheath and glinted in the sun, and Bedeckt wondered if she took as good care of anything else as she did her blades.
“You might want to reconsider,” she said with cold calm.
“No.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll try.”
Bedeckt watched the meaning of Morgen’s words dawn across Stehlen’s face like a fire raging through dried leaves. “Shite.”
Stehlen moved.
With no time to draw a weapon, Bedeckt slammed into her from the side, his greater weight sending her sprawling in the dirt of the road. “Stehlen—”
She was up before he finished speaking her name. Bedeckt wished he’d spent time getting his ax from where it hung off Launisch’s saddle instead of talking.
Stehlen advanced, death in her eyes. “He killed Wichtig,” she hissed. “He dies.”
Bedeckt stepped between her and the boy. He spoke fast, desperately trying to reason with her, or at least appeal to her greed. “We need him. Like you said, Wichtig is just spoiled meat. This boy will make us rich. But only if he’s alive.” He saw in her face that he’d said the wrong thing. Because now she no longer looked like she’d kill the boy; she looked like she planned on killing Bedeckt instead.
Gods. Women. Who could understand them?
“You bastard!” she spat, pointing the sword at his heart. “His body is spoiled meat. Wichtig is still our friend. He’s one of us. He died when you ran away.” She advanced and Bedeckt retreated before her, keeping the boy behind him.
Shite, she’s still angry about that? “I didn’t kill him. Then or now. This isn’t my—”
“Coward.”
“Coward?” Bedeckt laughed. “How long have you known me? You think running away is on the list of things I won’t do? When half a dozen Therianthrope come after you, only an idiot stands his ground.”
“The idiot was our friend.” She leaped forward, stabbing, and Bedeckt threw himself sideways. He landed hard, crushing the air from his lungs. When he rolled to his feet blood streamed down his side, pouring from a deep gash along his ribs. Gods, she is fast. He darted a look toward Launisch and the ax and she laughed evilly. “Forget it, old man.”
Bedeckt circled away and she followed, her sword darting and dancing. “I saved your life,” he said desperately. “Remember? The albtraum.”
“Which is why killing you is going to hurt.” She launched another series of blistering attacks, stabbing and slashing.
Bedeckt retreated before the onslaught, ducking and spinning. When she let up, Bedeckt, wheezing, bled from a dozen long wounds. His lungs burned fire. She’s toying with you. The old murderous rage built within. He fought to strangle it, to bury it deep. He had to reason with her.
“Stehlen,” he gasped, “if you kill the boy, the Geborene win. He Ascends and becomes a god. We get nothing. Wichtig’s death was for nothing.”
She stopped advancing and stared at him with a look of pity. “Moron,” she said. “Wichtig’s death was for nothing. You making money off the boy doesn’t give it meaning. And the Geborene . . .” She laughed, a short bark of disgust. “They’re as dumb as you are. Those you slay serve in the Afterdeath. That’s the rule.” The words poured out of her in a torrent. “I kill the boy, he serves me. I will be served in the Afterdeath by a god.” Her voice cracked into a wet sob. “You think you’re the only one with plans? You think I haven’t thought this through? This was always the way it would end, from the moment we took him. How could you ever have trusted me? I am a Kleptic, I take. From everyone. No matter how much I love you.” Tears streamed freely down her face. “Wichtig’s spirit is here now watching, waiting for its vengeance. I will give it to him.”
“No, you’re wrong,” said Morgen from behind Bedeckt. “Wichtig’s spirit is—”
“Damn it, shut up!” Bedeckt snapped.
Too late. Stehlen launched herself at Morgen with a snarl, all thought of killing Bedeckt washed away in a tide of hemorrhaging emotion. Bedeckt saw it as if time had slowed to a crawl: her rage made her careless. He sidestepped her charge, slamming the hardened fingers of his half hand into her throat. The force of the blow lifted her feet from the ground, sent her crumpling to the hard dirt of the road. She curled into a tight ball and made a raw choking sound as she fought to suck air past her crushed trachea. Bedeckt stood over her, unsure whether to bend to see if she was all right, or take this opportunity to run and get his ax.
He knelt beside her and rolled her onto her back, ready to defend himself. Her face turned blue, her eyes and tongue bulging. She shuddered with the attempt to draw air past her collapsed windpipe. With clawing fingers she grabbed at his sleeve, supplicating.
Bedeckt laid a calming palm on her forehead. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Morgen, heal her. Quickly. She’s dying.”
Morgen neither moved nor spoke. He stood watching, eyes wide.
“Gods damn it, child! Heal her. Heal her like you healed me.” Bedeckt reached for the boy but the lad backed away.
“This is as I saw it,” whispered Morgen. “The reflections didn’t lie.”
“Heal her!”
“She dies here.” Morgen backed farther away. “She’ll be waiting for you.”
Bedeckt cursed at the boy and turned back to Stehlen. Her spasms weakened, her face and tongue an angry, mottled purple. She grabbed weakly at Bedeckt’s sleeve.
“One chance,” he said. “One chance.” He pushed Stehlen flat and drew one of her small knives from its place of concealment. Her eyes widened with dawning fear. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “I saw this done once. On the battlefield. A long time ago.” He paused with the blade held to her throat, just below where he’d crushed it. Will this work? He couldn’t remember how it had turned out last time. “Morgen,” he asked, desperate. “Will this work?”
Morgen fetched the rock he knew would be there at the side of the road. He hefted it with a grunt of effort and approached Bedeckt from behind. It took two hands and all his strength. He tried desperately not to think of the filth on the bottom of the rock. He tried to ignore the crawling feeling as something slimy and wriggling slipped across his fingers. Everything he’d seen had come true. This too must happen.
“Morgen, will this work?” Bedeckt asked.
He stared at the grizzled warrior’s broadly muscled back and hefted the rock above his head. “Yes, and no.”
Bedeckt turned and Morgen brought the rock down with all the force he could muster. There was a sickening crunch and Bedeckt collapsed forward to land on top of Stehlen. She struggled to push him away, but his weight and her weakness made the task impossible.
Morgen stepped forward to where Stehlen could see him over the bulk of Bedeckt sprawled on top of her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. She ceased her struggle and glared venomous hatred. “Had you killed me, we would have been the scourge of the Afterdeath. You’re not well. You’re . . . you’re crazy. You hate everyone, even the people you love. And you hate yourself most of all.” She bubbled saliva, probably trying to spit at him. “But it isn’t too late. The Afterdeath is just another life but with different rules. It’s a chance to atone, to correct past mistakes.
“There is redemption to be found there. If you want it.”
Stehlen’s yellowy eyes grew dim, unfocused. She reached a supplicating hand toward him as if begging for one last moment of human contact before she passed on to the next world.
Morgen frowned at the filthy hand and ragged, dirt-stained fingernails. Those hands had spilled so much blood over the years.
“No,” he said, backing away. “I know you h
ave a knife in your other hand.”
She died silently with a strange smile.
When he felt sure she was dead, Morgen gingerly took the knife she’d held concealed; the fires had once again shown him the truth. In many futures she succeeded in killing him when his pity for her drew him near. Those futures were too dark to contemplate. Life beyond death spent in servitude to someone incapable of loving themselves . . . there was no redemption there.
To the west the sun set in a beautiful display of swirling oranges and reds, a soft pastel smear of warmth. The rolling hills of Reichweite beckoned, promising freedom from the future. Morgen turned his back on that promise. It was an illusion anyway.
Bedeckt groaned but didn’t otherwise move and Morgen was glad the big man was still alive. The reflections had promised he would be.
“Your head must be harder than stone,” Morgen whispered.
His arms ached with unaccustomed effort. His pampered life with the Geborene Damonen had not prepared him for such physical hardships. In truth, they hadn’t prepared him for much of anything.
It’s of no matter: my reflections guide me true.
Morgen put the setting sun behind him. Dark took the eastern sky. There lay fire and pain, slavery, and maybe, just maybe, redemption. Holding Stehlen’s blade before his eyes, he stared at the reflections gathered there. “Should I walk, or take one of the horses?” As he watched their pantomimed performance, his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He would continue on as he must.
MORGEN STUMBLED EAST, leaving Bedeckt behind. His feet felt like leaden weights. His legs were sodden wood. The old warrior would rise and follow. Why, Morgen couldn’t begin to guess. Knowing the future didn’t grant the sight to see the reasons giving it birth. He saw outcomes, nothing more. It was a weakness, a lack. Decisions mattered. Or they should. Might he not react differently to the possible futures he witnessed if he knew the reasons of the people involved? Perhaps he had already extinguished someone’s chance at redemption. He couldn’t know.
CHAPTER 39
The voices in my head just told me they were hearing voices. They said the voices wanted them to do something dangerous.
—HOFFNUNGSLOS
Searching from top to bottom, smashing every mirror he found, dulling every reflective surface, Trepidation finally arrived in the bowels of the ancient church. He had no idea what god or religion previously walked these halls, but sometimes he felt the ghosts of dead faiths following him. Today was one of those days. Shadows danced on the edges of his vision, but no matter how fast he spun, there was nothing there. He’d doubt his sanity, except he knew beyond a doubt he was delusional.
The only question: Did he believe what he saw strongly enough to make it real?
The thought of his delusions becoming real was less scary than being tracked through dark halls by dead gods. Or so he told himself.
“If you’re angry we made our own god,” he told the stalking spirits, “take it up with Konig. Leave me be.”
There was, of course, no answer.
In the farthest recesses of the deepest basement, Trepidation found a room. The door, thick oak bound in rusting iron, opened with great screeching protests.
He stood waiting, the lantern in his hand all but shuttered, for half an hour. No one came to investigate.
Dare he hope?
No. Fear would never allow him anything so hopelessly silly as hope. Still, fear would keep him alive. It was the only sane emotion in an insane world.
Trepidation unshuttered the lantern and lit the room. Wood benches and pews from at least three different time periods sat piled haphazardly against one wall. Half buried under a mound of rotting tapestries, broken chairs, and strangely shaped idols lurked a massive statue carved from some dark wood. When Trepidation worked up the nerve to raise the lantern to better see, the wood turned red like drying blood. The statue, depicting a woman with viciously curved blades protruding from orifice, limb, and joint, stared at him with hollow eyes.
Gems probably once filled those sockets, he thought. She looked blind now, though judging from the way she stared at him, he wasn’t so sure.
“I’m not here to further desecrate you,” he promised. “Maybe later, when Konig is dead and I rule, I can bring you back upstairs and into the light. I could use a god, even one as old and dead as you.”
This seemed to appease her and she left him alone.
Trepidation swallowed his fear and drew a cloth-wrapped bundle not much bigger than the palm of his hand from within his robes. Carefully he folded the cloth back, revealing the small hand mirror cushioned within.
Did Acceptance really think Trepidation would be okay with him being the only one with a mirror? Did he think Trepidation would just trust him? If so, he is a fool. Trepidation trusted no one.
Slowly turning the mirror, Trepidation looked within, unsure what he would see and poised and ready to smash it to the floor should it prove dangerous.
His face stared back at him. But it wasn’t his face. He was missing an eye, dark bruises mottled his cheeks, and his teeth were shattered ruins. Acceptance.
No, he realized, Acceptance’s reflection; an important distinction.
Trepidation blinked at it in confusion. How can I see Acceptance’s reflection? Unless . . .
“You seek to betray him,” he said to the mirror. The reflection nodded. “Because he broke Konig’s mirror and you fear he’ll smash the one he has as soon as he’s won.” Again the reflection nodded. “He’ll kill us both, won’t he?” The reflection nodded.
Trepidation sat in silence, thinking. The reflection watched, waiting.
“You know I don’t trust you,” he told the mirror, and the reflection within laughed silently. “Good. So what is it you suggest I do?” he asked.
The reflection showed him and he watched in horror.
“It’s too dangerous,” he told the mirror.
The reflection stared at him, unblinking.
“What if it goes wrong?”
It just stared at him.
What choice do I have? Acceptance would never share power, not even the smallest fragment.
The reflection grinned, showing broken teeth.
Right. I did that to him. Acceptance would never forgive.
“And how will Konig react?”
The reflection showed him.
Trepidation folded the mirror back into its cloth and tucked it away under his robes.
CHAPTER 40
I think most people are too stupid to go truly mad.
—HOFFNUNGSLOS
Are you going to lie there all day?”
Stehlen looked up and saw Wichtig standing over her. Behind him the sky was a pale gray even though no clouds could be seen.
She needed to go east.
“I have something better to do?” she asked, just because agreeing with Wichtig set her teeth on edge.
“There’s always vengeance,” Wichtig suggested. “I would have thought revenge topped your list of reasons to get up even on a day you hadn’t been killed.”
Vengeance. Not long ago she would have happily sworn vengeance for the mildest slight, real or imagined. What was the point now? She grimaced up at Wichtig’s handsome face.
“I’ll just lie here awhile,” she said to the sky.
Another man moved forward to stand beside Wichtig. He looked vaguely familiar. “Who is this?” he asked, staring down at Stehlen with disgust.
“She’s my friend,” answered Wichtig. He offered a hand to pull her up. “We are still friends, right?”
Stehlen accepted the hand and Wichtig lifted her easily to her feet. “Death changes nothing,” she said. “I still can’t stand you.”
“Good. I’d hate to think it made you soft.”
Now standing, she saw hundreds of men and women gathered around them.
“If I’d known dying would get me an army, I might have done it ages ago.”
Wichtig’s eyes lit with glee. “You don’t get an army
, remember. At least not for long. Whoever killed you gets the army.”
She felt the life drain from her. I’ll have to see him again. I’ll have to serve him. After all he’d done to her. “I’ll kill him,” she swore.
Wichtig patted her reassuringly on the back and then retreated when she glanced up at him. “I’m guessing you have the need to go east, eh?”
Stehlen growled an affirmative.
Wichtig looked very pleased with himself indeed. “The little bastard got you too. I wouldn’t have though it possible.”
“Bedeckt. It was Bedeckt.”
The Swordsman’s face lost all humor. “Oh.”
“He killed me to protect the boy.”
“Oh.”
“You have nothing else to say?”
“I’m glad I’m not Bedeckt.”
“Gods-damned right,” snarled Stehlen.
“But you’re going east too.”
“Yes.”
“How strong is the pull?” Wichtig asked.
“Strong.”
“So Bedeckt is going to die soon.”
She stared at Wichtig until he fidgeted uncomfortably.
“So is the boy,” he said. “I have to go east too. He’s going to Ascend.”
“Not if I kill him first.”
“He’ll already be dead,” pointed out Wichtig, though he sounded none too sure of himself.
“There’s always more death,” said Vollk from behind Wichtig.
“I heard you last time,” said Wichtig. “Stehlen. This is it. Your chance at redemption. Tell Bedeckt how you feel.”
The bastard never gives up. She should kill him now and be done with it. No. Too easy. Better she beat him at his own game. Better he realize she could better him in all ways.
“Maybe,” she said, looking him over. She poked him in the chest with a filthy finger. “Where are your swords? Don’t tell me you lost them already.”
Wichtig gestured at a large woman standing nearby. “She took them.”
Stehlen recognized the woman. “And you just let her?”
“Well, there’s more of them than us,” Wichtig said defensively.
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