Beyond Redemption (12 page)

“Schlammstamm,” Regen answered wetly.

“Right, whatever.” Erbrechen shot an annoyed look at the girl still concentrating on his crotch and snorted disgustedly at her. “Regen, call us a rain to wash the ash off. Something light and warm, not cold.” He shivered dramatically, sending ripples across his corpulent body.

This was greeted with cheers by the gathered crowd, none of whom looked like they'd bathed in months.

Regen began a slow stomping dance around one of the campfires, his eyes clenched closed, his few teeth bared in a painful rictus snarl. Clawed fingers with torn fingernails dug at recently scabbed wounds on his arms and coaxed forth a thin trickle of blood. He sucked greedily at his arms and spat the blood into the fire. The sky darkened like a lurid gangrenous bruise. When fat, warm drops fell to the upraised arms of Erbrechen's friends, Regen returned to stand before the tent. The shaman staggered with exhaustion but looked pleased with his results. He bowed proudly and shot Gehirn a challenging look.

Emaciated bodies cavorted in the resulting mud and became no cleaner for all the rain. In moments Gehirn witnessed a chaotic orgy of filthy and malnourished bodies writhing with abandon against whoever happened to be closest. If there was any pairing off or sexual preference to be seen, Gehirn could not detect it.

Streaks of ash ran off Erbrechen's bloated body in rivers, following every fold and crevice. The fat man watched the orgy with intense interest, sausagelike fingers clenching sporadically into soft, chubby fists, reminding Gehirn of watching a baby at its mother's tit. Erbrechen groaned, and the girl, still elbow-deep, glowed with self-satisfaction. She withdrew her arm and greedily sucked clean her fingers. Erbrechen patted her absent-mindedly on the head and then waved her away. She slunk off, stripping away what little clothing she had, to join in the mud orgy.

Erbrechen squinted at Gehirn. “You are still swaddled in robes. You may join the fun, if you wish.”

The malnourished bodies writhed seductively, but more than anything, she didn't want to be rude to her friend. “The sun burns me, and the moon is naught but reflected sunlight. I don't burn as badly at night, but it is still extremely painful.”

Erbrechen gestured skyward. “Even with such thick cloud cover?”

“I'd be safe enough,” admitted Gehirn, “but as soon as the clouds pass, I'll be vulnerable.”

“Well, we can't have that. Regen, you can keep the sky cloudy and protect our new friend, correct?”

Regen paled. “But the cost,” he whispered. “I would bleed myself dry.” His eyes begged when he looked at Erbrechen and seethed hatred when he flashed glances at Gehirn.

“You don't want our friend burned before our very eyes, do you?” It was obvious from Regen's face he didn't think this such a bad option, but Erbrechen gave him no time to answer. “It would please me greatly if you could do this for me.”

Regen bowed low and stifled a sob. “I would bleed myself dry for you.”

“Fantastic!” Erbrechen waved the squat shaman away, dismissing him much as he had dismissed the girl moments earlier. “Now that we have your comfort seen to, tell me, where were you going in such an unseemly rush?”

Gehirn told Erbrechen of High Priest Konig Furimmer, the Geborene Damonen, their plan to design and build a god, and her pursuit of the suspected Wahnvor Stellung agents. She told her new friend everything.

Erbrechen sat in silence for several minutes when Gehirn finished. The rain dwindled and finally tapered off, yet the thick cloud cover remained. Regen looked ill as he sat dejectedly in the mud, staring at the ash-hole remains of the camp's fire pit. The orgy too had lost its urgency and devolved into tired, halfhearted
copulating and distracted groping. A few of the bodies lay facedown in the muck. Gehirn suspected they had, unnoticed by the others, drowned during the games.

As Erbrechen carefully questioned Gehirn, clarifying aspects of Konig's plans and seeking greater detail, the mob dug motionless people from the mud. One of the bodies, a young man barely in his teens, suddenly began struggling and pushing weakly. Those who had been digging him out were suddenly forcing his head back into the muck. Thin and malnourished, he was no match for the four equally starved people who pinned him to the ground. They looked to Erbrechen for guidance. When the fat man noticed the disturbance, he licked his lips thoughtfully.

“How many?” Erbrechen asked.

“Two, excluding this one,” answered one of the men holding the struggling youth.

“We have a special guest”—Erbrechen waved a chubby hand toward Gehirn—“and two will not do.”

The four men happily kicked the youth until he stopped moving.

Gehirn watched distractedly as they added the body to the pile. Her interest increased as two of the burlier, more well-fed men hacked the three corpses into manageable-sized chunks with rusty machetes, splitting skulls and digging the brains free. A gang of small children, who didn't seem to belong to any particular parents, fought over the intestines and some of the internal organs and devoured them raw. The hearts, livers, and kidneys were gathered and set aside.

As one group rebuilt and relit the fire pit, another prepared the savaged corpses, stripping away the flesh and chopping the meat into smaller chunks. Three men dragged a huge pot from somewhere and mounted it over the fire on a rickety tripod. They added the butchered meat and a few mangy-looking roots to the
pot along with several buckets of muddy water. The organs they placed in a smaller pot with some vegetables and a bucket of what might have been either red wine or blood.

Gehirn, realizing what she was seeing, felt a moment of nausea. Still, her stomach rumbled in hunger.

Erbrechen waved a corpulent hand as if trying to pat Gehirn on the back. “You can share in the organ stew with me. My teeth can't handle the tougher meat.” He gave Gehirn a conspirational wink. “And it's the best parts anyway.”

Gehirn's uncertainty washed away in a flood of gratitude. “Thank you.”
Sharing food. Does that mean he loves me?
Lovers often shared meals together in the few romance plays she'd seen, feeding each other tasty treats with their fingers. Would Erbrechen try to do this for her? It seemed unlikely. He could barely reach his own mouth.

Erbrechen's face became baby serious, like he'd just seen something questionable and was considering putting it in his mouth. “They say when we die our souls pass on to the Afterdeath, where we live again. A chance at redemption, for those who require such things. For those who aren't born redeemed. But what I have learned, what few others understand, is that the soul lives not in the brain—as so many believe—but nestled in the heart and organs.” Erbrechen licked his lips hungrily. “Devour a man's organs and you devour his soul. With each soul I eat, I grow in strength, and I have eaten hundreds of souls.” Erbrechen waved Gehirn closer and whispered, eyes gleaming. “I'm not stupid. I know the ancient axiom: as a Geisteskranken reaches his peak in power, his delusions destroy him. But imagine if this did not have to be true. Imagine we could grow in power and keep our delusions at bay. This is what I will share with you. Eat a sane man's soul and you gain his strength of spirit. You ingest a small measure of his sanity to balance your own lack.” Erbrechen watched the mob as they set about cooking the
human stew. “Even the worst of these wretches is more sane than you and I.” He laughed, jiggling his entire body. “Your power is immense and your delusions will burn you before long. You'll never eat a soul less stable than your own, my fiery friend.”

Gehirn's mind reeled with possibilities. Every Geisteskranken knew that someday their delusions would be their death. She'd heard rumors that Geisteskranken could be cured, but always at the cost of their power. Who would willingly give up the one thing making them special just to live a few extra years of dull normality?

Erbrechen offered her a reprieve. Gehirn struggled to imagine growing in power without the threat of an agonizing death shadowing her every moment.

“I've never heard this before,” said Gehirn. “Is it really true? I—I can't believe it.”

A smile teased the corners of Erbrechen's damp lips. “It's enough
I
believe it. You know this to be true.”

And Gehirn did. The strength of Erbrechen's belief crushed any possibility of denial. The fat man's delusions defined the world around him.

Gehirn, eyes wide with wonder, had no choice but to agree. It was the most amazing gift she had ever been given.
He does love me! He can't bear the thought of being without me.
“I would be honored to share your stew. I will repay this gift, though I know not how.”

“You already have. You brought me two gifts. I've never had a Hassebrand friend before, and I am grateful for this. But you also brought me the most precious gift ever: you've given me the future.”

“The future?” asked Gehirn.

“This Konig Furimmer is making a god, but this child has not yet Ascended. We will take this child and he will love and worship me as all must. Then we will help him Ascend. Imagine,
being loved and worshiped by a god!” exclaimed Erbrechen. “Surely, if a god worships a man, that man will become a god.”

She saw it immediately. Erbrechen was right. But the old gods would challenge him. That thought didn't bother her, though. If he was a god, she was a god's friend. Maybe more. And she'd burn all who would offer her love harm.

I will burn gods.

Erbrechen loved her. He showed none of Konig's poorly concealed revulsion. When she talked, he listened with rapt attention. He asked questions and listened to her answers, and Gehirn thought her heart would burst for joy.

Gehirn and Erbrechen sat talking as they devoured their stew, Erbrechen wearing as much of his as he managed to eat. The camp around them bustled with activity as Erbrechen's friends prepared to follow the same trio Gehirn had chased to Selbsthass. If they caught the Wahnvor agents, Erbrechen felt sure they'd join his little party of friends.

Erbrechen, Gehirn learned, had avoided large cities and towns for years out of fear the combined beliefs of the massed sane would overwhelm his Gefahrgeist power. The Hassebrand wasn't sure what changed Erbrechen's mind. Perhaps the Gefahrgeist knew some deep desperation he chose not to share. Gehirn could well enough understand; her own fears grew alongside her strength. Though Erbrechen's strength was more obvious, worn like a bright cloak, Gehirn knew Konig was not to be underestimated. The Geborene High Priest was subtle and dangerous like a concealed viper.

“Getting the child out of Selbsthass will be difficult,” suggested Gehirn, unsure how to broach what might be a touchy subject.

Erbrechen shrugged, sending ripples undulating the length of his body that took minutes to dissipate. “I think not. The three Wahnvor agents are already planning on grabbing the child. If we catch them first, they'll happily bring him to me once they
understand my need. If not, we'll take the child from them after.” He picked at his teeth and spat at the nearest gaunt person—a middle-aged woman who, beaming with gratitude, babbled her thanks and went to display her thick wet prize to the others. Gehirn wanted to burn her and watch everything she was, skin and bones, hopes and dreams, waft away on the breeze.

The tales are only as dark as the teller.

—H
ALBER
T
OD
, C
OTARDIST
P
OET

E
very step Launisch took sent pulses of dull pain through Bedeckt's skull and joints. His back ached like he'd been bearing a heavy load for weeks on end. His elbows and shoulders felt like he'd been lifting massive fieldstones over his head all day. He didn't think he'd ever straighten his knees again. Bedeckt felt a sneeze building and turned so he wouldn't spray Launisch with snot.
Better to hit Wichtig
. The sneeze died. His head throbbed with built-up pressure.

Aging is shite.
He remembered Wütend Alten, a grizzled warrior he'd fought alongside during the battle of Sinnlos between the Auseinander and the Seiger hill clans. Wütend had been fond of saying, “If you can help it, don't get old.” At the time Bedeckt thought the man joked about staying young, but now he saw it in a different light. Wütend should have said, “Die before you get old.”

Bedeckt wondered whether the warrior had followed his own
advice. They'd been separated when the Seiger Geisteskranken cracked and her delusions brought down the city's walls.

Seeing another settlement ahead, Bedeckt shoved his thoughts of the past aside. Each village looked more prosperous than the last, and with each village Bedeckt's unease grew. Though he knew he'd been here before, he couldn't equate this lush and wealthy land with the poverty-stricken Selbsthass of his memories. Could the beliefs of mankind really reshape the world to such a scale? The possibilities terrified him. If the Geborene Damonen had such a strong grip on the minds and faith of its common citizenry, Bedeckt wasn't sure he wanted to be at the very heart of their power. Wasn't sure? No, he
knew
he didn't want to be here. But the prize was too tempting. The Geborene would pay anything to get their god back.

The land flattened as they neared Selbsthass City and became what Bedeckt could only assume was perfect farmland. The sprawling scene before them looked like a massive quilt, each square a different color depending on what grew there. Even the small plots of forest looked planned and manicured, the lines of trees a little too neat. He doubted anything more dangerous than a rabbit lived within a hundred miles of the Geborene capital.

“Well, the wolves are here now,” Bedeckt muttered to himself.

Wichtig howled at the sky.

Stehlen glared at Wichtig. “Shush. We don't want to scare the sheep.”

Wichtig immediately took on an innocent puppy-dog look.
The idiot's face is as flexible as his loyalties.
Was that unfair? Bedeckt thought not.

“Us?” asked Wichtig. “Dangerous? No, no. We're simply . . . What are we?” he asked, turning to Bedeckt.

“Passing through. We'll stay a few nights in a decent tavern and move along.” He wanted to fall into a soft bed and never rise.

“Right. Passing through. Good plan.” Wichtig rolled his eyes
at Stehlen, who grinned back. Bedeckt ignored them both. “Brilliant. How we going to pay for an inn? I seem to have spent what coin I had.”

“Stehlen has money,” Bedeckt answered.

“I have a little set aside,” she snapped. “I don't see why I have to keep paying for—” She stopped when she saw the look Bedeckt gave her. The Swordsman seemed oblivious to the unspoken exchange.

“Do you ever think about death?” Wichtig suddenly asked.

“No,” answered Bedeckt, hoping to end the conversation.

“You ever think about all the people you've killed?” asked Wichtig, as if Bedeckt hadn't answered.

Bedeckt thought about his father. There were more than a few people he wasn't looking forward to seeing in the Afterdeath. “No.”

Wichtig ran fingers through his perfect hair, leaving it looking, if anything, even more perfect. “Do you really believe when you die everyone you've ever killed will be there waiting for you?”

“I hope so,” said Stehlen.

Wichtig glanced at her. “Really? Why?”

“Some of them I want to kill again.”

Wichtig nodded as if this made perfect sense. “Bedeckt, what do you believe?”

“People believe all manner of crazy things. Maybe there isn't even an Afterdeath. There's a tribe in the far north called the Verschlinger. They believe they gain strength and wisdom by eating vanquished foes. They don't believe in an Afterdeath at all. The only way to live on is to be eaten, and that leads to servitude. They burn their dead so they can't be eaten.”

Wichtig watched him for several heartbeats, brows furrowed like he was trying to figure out some challenging riddle. “Sure, but what do
you
believe?”

“I believe my beliefs don't matter. I believe if I die surrounded by idiots worshiping the Warrior's Credo who believe in an Afterdeath, then that's what will probably happen.”

Stehlen cocked an eyebrow and spat. “You believe it matters where you die and who is with you?”

Was that a hint of desperation or hope he detected in her voice?
She knows who she wants to die with.
Bedeckt quashed the thought, afraid to examine it further.

“As I said: I believe my beliefs don't matter.”

“I think it's punishment,” mused Wichtig. “That's the only thing that makes sense.”

Stehlen turned a jaundiced eye in his direction. “How so?”

“Think about it. When you die you'll be surrounded by the people you killed. Who the hells goes around killing people they like? In the Afterdeath we'll be surrounded by our enemies.”

Bedeckt kept his mouth closed. Empty and vapid as Wichtig was, he made too much sense at the moment.

“But the Warrior's Credo says those you slay must serve,” Stehlen said.

“Gods, I hope so,” said Wichtig with feeling. “Gods, I hope so.”

With the exception of Bedeckt's wheezing and sporadic bouts of coughing, they rode on in silence. Over the last day, Selbsthass City had gone from being a hazy smudge on the horizon to
being
the horizon. Hardly the largest or most impressive city they'd seen, but a massive and ancient castle with towering battlements hunkered at its center. The castle was the only aspect of Selbsthass Bedeckt recognized; it preceded the Geborene by hundreds or even thousands of years. Last time he'd been here, however, it had looked more like abandoned ruins and far less intimidating. Bedeckt prayed—though not to any specific gods—the tower would not be the center of the Geborene religion. But in the heart of a Theocracy, who else would have such a citadel?

THE GEBORENE CHURCH
troubled Bedeckt. What if he was right, what if the delusions of a single powerful Gefahrgeist—and he did not doubt a Gefahrgeist lurked at the center of this religion—had caused the sweeping changes he'd witnessed in Selbsthass? This Theocrat might not manifest as a Slaver type, but there was no telling what he might be capable of. Gods, he did not want to catch the attention of a powerful Gefahrgeist. He glanced at his companions.

“We have to stay out of trouble,” said Bedeckt, annoyed at having to say something so obvious—but he was talking to Wichtig and Stehlen. “Anything calling attention to us could ruin everything.” He examined his two traveling companions, giving them a dark look full of promised violence he doubted he could fulfill. They ignored it.

“Of course,” said Wichtig reasonably. “You hear that, Stehlen? None of your Kleptic shite. You can't be lifting every shiny trinket that catches your attention.”

“And you can't be searching out this city's Swordsmen and killing them,” added Bedeckt.

“What? Why the hells not?”

“Because it will draw attention to us,” answered Stehlen. “Moron.”

Wichtig took a deep breath and Bedeckt knew what would come next. The Swordsman struggled to build an argument to convince them he
had
to find and kill these men, that it would be best for everyone.

“I know this child will be worth a fair amount,” said Wichtig carefully.

Bedeckt snorted derisively. “Enough to retire on.” He hadn't meant to mention his plans, but neither Stehlen nor Wichtig seemed to notice.

Wichtig sat straight in the saddle and the breeze caught his perfect hair. He glowed sincerity. “I think you underestimate how
valuable it will be having the World's Greatest Swordsman at your side. Once word spreads, the title will be its own meal ticket.”

“It's the panty ticket you're interested in,” growled Stehlen, flashing yellowy teeth at Bedeckt.

Wichtig's ability to strike the right pose, catch the right light, and say the right things was all part of his Gefahrgeist powers. Bedeckt, keeping this in mind, looked away and focused on the reality of the situation. The would-be god-child was his way out of this life. He'd had enough skulking around, living one job to the next.

“You're a fine Swordsman,” said Bedeckt.

“I'm the b—”

“But you aren't
that
good. I've seen men who would slaughter you in a heartbeat. True masters.”

Wichtig chuckled, undaunted. “Ah, but they don't have my Gefahrgeist—”

“You're not that powerful a Gefahrgeist. If you were, I'd be agreeing with you.”

Wichtig's mouth snapped shut. He looked hurt, but Bedeckt ignored this; it was all part of the act.

“Your attempts to undermine my confidence will always fail,” said Wichtig through clenched teeth. “Your doubt in me makes me stronger.” Wichtig, Bedeckt realized, was talking more to himself than to Bedeckt. “The men you speak of aren't trying to be the Greatest Swordsman in the World. They're content with their local fame. They lack my vision. And, as always, you forget: it's not you I have to convince, it's the common people. They love me. You know this.” He spread his arms as if embracing the adulation of a large crowd. “I become a better Swordsman with each person who believes in me.” He growled angrily at Bedeckt. “And a lot of people believe in me. Belief defines reality. Your lack of faith changes nothing.”

Stehlen watched with interest but remained quiet.

“Fine,” said Bedeckt. None of Wichtig's mind shite mattered. “Someday you'll be the Greatest Swordsman. But if you start trouble in Selbsthass City, I'll cut you down myself.”

“We're all reasonable people here,” said Wichtig agreeably. “Except Stehlen. Relax. We go in, we get the child, we get out. All very quiet.”

Bedeckt knew better than to believe a word of this. He'd have to keep a close eye on Wichtig. When had his life become one of babysitting dangerous children? He looked to Stehlen. Would she back him on this?

“If he causes trouble I'll cut his throat,” she said.

Wichtig's puppy-dog expression returned and he looked misty-eyed and emotional. “I love you guys. Who could ask for better friends?”

THE CITY AND
castle grew in detail as they neared Selbsthass. They could make out individual spires stabbing into the sky, marvels of architecture Bedeckt suspected were supported more by the faith of the populace than by any careful planning. At this range the keep showed itself to be as much battle-ready fortress as it was church. Though it had been impressive last time Bedeckt saw the ancient castle, much had changed. The walls seemed taller and the towers higher. Everything spoke of permanence.

People passed them on the road, well dressed and comfortable, giving them a wide berth. It was no great feat to see they stood out as foreigners. There was no helping it. A change of clothes wouldn't hide their accents, Bedeckt's scarred visage, Stehlen's vicious temper, or Wichtig's deadly grace.

Wichtig knew opportunity when he saw it, and the fates rarely offered up one as ripe and beautiful as this. A vast city, wealthy and prosperous, primed by a priesthood for manipulation. None
of the people who passed them even carried swords! If Wichtig could capture the attention of this populace, it would forever tip the scales in his favor. Being backed by the faith of the poor and downtrodden, the scared, short-lived peasantry, was all fine and good. But if the people of Selbsthass came to understand he was the Greatest Swordsman in the World, he would be buoyed by the faith of those confident in their beliefs and sure of their place in the world. Though he couldn't remember anyone ever talking about the
quality
of faith, he knew—bone-deep—it mattered. The faith of happy and wealthy people had to be worth more than the faith of a beggar with one foot in the Afterdeath.

Bedeckt had threatened to kill Wichtig so many times the young Swordsman had long ago lost count. It was damned near daily now. He could almost remember when he'd taken the gruff old bastard seriously, back before they'd really become friends. Friends. The word gave Wichtig strange feelings. Never in his life had he had friends. Now he had two. Sure, they bickered, but bickering was part of all relationships. His parents had fought all the time. Hells, Wichtig fought more viciously with his wife than he'd ever argued with Bedeckt or Stehlen, and he'd loved her. Bedeckt could threaten and posture all he liked, but he had once saved Stehlen and Wichtig when he could have abandoned them. It had been a sobering moment for Wichtig.