“Move them out of the city,” said Morgen. “Camp them beyond the wall.”
“And in the Afterdeath?” asked Konig.
In the world of the living, Erdbehüter, a young Geborene priestess originally from the GrasMeer tribes, used her Wahnist delusions, commanding earth and stone, to build the walls of Selbsthass. In the Afterdeath the work lagged far behind, in part due to the time difference between the two realities, and in part due to the lack of Erdbehüter’s abilities. I should have her killed. She could build a matching wall around the Selbsthass of the Afterdeath. It bothered him that his two cities didn’t match.
Though still in her early twenties, in forcing her to embrace her delusions to build the wall, Morgen caused grievous damage to her mind. Already she neared the Pinnacle.
“Send Erdbehüter away on some make-work mission,” he commanded Konig. “I don’t want her cracking anywhere near my perfect city and making a mess.” He shuddered at the thought of the damage she could do.
The Theocrat bowed.
The thought reminded him of other Geisteskranken he wanted distanced from his city. “Send Ungeist and Drache away as well.”
“What shall I tell them?”
“Figure it out.”
“Of course.”
“Station the troops beyond the city limits in both realities,” said Morgen.
Konig nodded agreement. “Another five thousand will arrive in the next week.”
“It’s supposed to be ten thousand.”
“People are slow to leave their farms. It’s autumn, the harvest—”
“I don’t care,” snapped Morgen. “I said I wanted every man and woman of fighting age to be armed and armoured. At this rate, the snow will arrive before we’re ready to march. I want Gottlos taken before the year is out.” He’d played the war over and over with his toy soldiers, hunting for the cleanest win. He knew exactly how everything must happen. Already his perfect plan crumbled.
Konig nodded again, calm and subservient as the real Konig had never been. “Twenty thousand men and women camped outside the city will put a serious drain on resources.”
“I’ve planned for everything.” Morgen glanced at the hand mirror Konig propped on a table during every meeting with his god. Failure watched from within, eyes sharp, measuring. This was the real Konig. While his Reflection might have won its battle with the original, trapping him in the mirror and taking his place, it was the man in the mirror that Morgen feared. This man—or Reflection, or whatever he was now—had essentially created Morgen, shaping the beliefs of an entire city-state to make their new god. Sometimes Morgen wondered who the populace of Selbsthass believed in more: Konig, or himself.
Failure might be imprisoned in a mirror, but Morgen knew the man was incapable of surrender. No doubt he still plotted to use and control the god he created.
“We have company,” said Failure.
Morgen turned, knowing what he’d see. A blond boy, as filthy as Morgen was clean, watched from within the tall brass-mounted mirror in the corner. Nacht, one of Morgen’s many Ascended Reflections, grinned stained teeth. His Reflections had plotted against him, used his ignorance, and played their part in his death. They—as much as Bedeckt and his friends—were to blame for his demise.
“Where are the others?” asked Morgen. Most of his Reflections vanished after Ascending. Only Nacht remained, torturing Morgen with his corruption.
Nacht grinned. “I, too, learned from our friends.”
“They aren’t friends. And what does that mean?”
“The other Reflections, they were competitors.”
“So?” demanded Morgen.
“I killed them all.” Nacht shrugged slim shoulders and wrinkled his nose. “Got something on your hands.” The Reflection’s hands were oddly clean.
Morgen resisted the urge to check his fingernails. He knew what he’d find. “Go away. We’re busy.”
Nacht was everything Morgen wasn’t. He wore his carefree grin like armour. Nothing touched him.
“Bedeckt is gone,” said the Reflection. “He escaped the Afterdeath.”
Morgen knew it to be true. Gone were the shackles of servitude enforced by the Warrior’s Credo. It must have happened moments ago or he would have noticed.
“I know,” lied Morgen. “Now go away.”
“I could leave,” said Nacht, flashing that annoying cocky grin which reminded Morgen of Wichtig, “but you’re going to need me in a moment.”
“I don’t—” Morgen didn’t finish. His Reflection saw glimpses of possible futures. Nacht wouldn’t be here to bother me unless he knows something important. He feigned calm. I, too, learned from Wichtig. “Bedeckt is gone, he’s alive. Our bond snapped when he returned to life.”
The dirty boy in the mirror licked his lips in anticipation, clearly enjoying whatever he thought he held over Morgen. “Bedeckt is an old man.”
“So?”
“What happens when he dies?”
“He’ll no doubt return to the Afterdeath.”
“And your bond, the Warrior’s Credo. What of that?”
“What of it? It broke when he returned to life.”
“Will it remain broken?”
Morgen blinked at his Reflection. He had no idea. Would Morgen once again be forced to serve the old axe man? Even if Bedeckt hadn’t made use of his power over Morgen there was no reason to think he wouldn’t someday abuse that power. In fact, there was every reason to think he would.
“I think not,” said Morgen. “The bond is broken.”
“But you don’t know,” said Nacht. “Can you take that chance?”
“That’s a nice try, but I know all about lying.”
“Yes, Bedeckt taught you. He made you what you are.”
Not quite true. Stehlen, Wichtig, and Erbrechen, the Slaver, all played parts in shaping him. But Bedeckt was at the heart of everything. It had been the old man’s idea to steal Morgen away from the Geborene and ransom him back like some prize pig.
“I don’t need you,” said Morgen.
“Even Ascended, I’m your Reflection. I see the future.”
The mirror ever lies. If only he’d known that before. If only someone thought to warn him of the danger of listening to his Reflections. Everything would have been different. He wanted to torture Konig for keeping him blinded in ignorance. He wanted to crush the bug to the floor and watch him squirm, to hear the creak of his ribs and the groan of his bones. But this Konig, the one who stood waiting, was not the Konig Morgen wanted to hurt. That Konig, Failure, was safe in his mirror. If Morgen broke that mirror, the Reflection would appear in another.
“And what do you see?” Morgen asked. He listened for lies, ready to dig the nugget of truth from the shite Nacht was no doubt about to spill.
“Bedeckt brought a Mirrorist from the Afterdeath. She’s powerful.”
“Why? How do her delusions manifest?”
Nacht shrugged. “People will pursue our old friend, planning to kill him.”
They believe killing Bedeckt will give them power over me. “And why tell me?” he asked, suspecting he knew the answer. Does Nacht want me to chase after Bedeckt for some reason?
Konig, eyes wide, stepped forward. “You shouldn’t listen to—”
Morgen crushed him to the stone with a thought. Even if this wasn’t the Konig he wanted to hurt, it felt damned good. “Don’t interrupt.”
Konig whimpered from the floor, a pitiful wheeze.
“Even if you don’t take that threat seriously, there’s more.”
“More?”
“Bedeckt plans on stopping you somehow.”
Morgen laughed. “That’s ridiculous. If he wanted to stop me he should have done so here in the Afterdeath where he has some hold on me.”
“The Mirrorist showed him something.” Nacht smirked and Morgen resisted the urge to punch the mirror. “That’s why he left the Afterdeath.”
“What did she show him?”
Again th
e Reflection showed that smug look.
“You don’t know,” said Morgen.
“As I said,” continued Nacht, “I might be Ascended, but I am still your Reflection.”
Morgen understood. As a Reflection, Nacht still owed his existence to Morgen. “If Bedeckt finds some way of ending me, you’ll fall too.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” said the Reflection, eyes narrowing.
Of course you wouldn’t. Morgen gave Nacht his own cocky Wichtig grin. “You think I don’t have plans of my own?” He reached a hand into the pocket of his spotless robes and felt the warm wood of the figurines, toy soldiers of his three friends, carved by a witch-woman of the Faulig Forest tribes to the north. Caressing each one in turn, he knew exactly where the person they represented was. Were he to examine them he would see each in perfect detail, know their moods and physical states. The figurines changed as those they depicted changed. Wichtig and Stehlen were both in the Afterdeath, travelling toward Selbsthass, though not together. Interesting, Bedeckt left them behind. Why would Bedeckt do that? Why abandon his friends? They’re dirty and insane. Reason enough, he supposed. When Morgen touched the last carving he knew Nacht spoke the truth. Bedeckt was alive and somewhere in Selbsthass.
“Bedeckt is in Selbsthass,” said Morgen.
“How can you be sure?” Nacht asked.
So you can’t see everything! “I’ll kill him now.”
There was something in Nacht’s eyes, like Morgen was close to catching him at something. Had his Reflection already made a play against Bedeckt and failed? It would make sense. Why else tell Morgen unless Nacht already missed his chance at killing the old man?
“He uses his Mirrorist to see the future,” said Nacht. “He’ll stay a step ahead of you.”
“I’m a god,” said Morgen.
“Who can’t see the future.”
“But you can.”
“True. But…”
“But you won’t help me.”
“I will tell you that you do go after him. Just not yet.”
Not yet? “Why not?”
“Your army is not yet ready to march and you don’t want to venture south without the united faith of your troops to support you.” Nacht shrugged his I-don’t-give-a-shite shrug. “Or maybe you have a better plan. I can’t see reasons.”
Morgen understood. Reasons should matter. It was a failing that, no matter how powerful he became, he could never see the reasons underlying people’s choices. It was good to know his Reflection shared the weakness.
Konig and Failure would try to kill Bedeckt just on the off chance it would give them control of the god they created. They were trapped here in Selbsthass, couldn’t leave without Morgen’s permission. Nacht had more freedom of movement, could flit from mirror to mirror, but was a Reflection and trapped within those mirrors. His ability to interact with reality was limited to manipulating people to do his bidding. They’ll all send people to kill the old man. They had few other options.
Could Bedeckt’s Mirrorist truly keep him ahead of Morgen? That they escaped Nacht—and Morgen had no doubt his Reflection made an attempt on Bedeckt—suggested the Mirrorist was powerful indeed. If I’m drawn from the city on a prolonged chase, Failure and Konig will have a free hand here. He dared not leave them alone, at least not until he was prepared. I’ll have to send people of my own—people I can trust—to kill Bedeckt.
“You’ve missed something,” said Nacht, grinning as if he knew Morgen’s thoughts.
“What?”
“Some of your people are actually my people.”
“Ridiculous. Why would anyone follow you?”
“Not everyone is comfortable with your ideals as to what is acceptable. And like you, I am a god.”
“Lies.”
“Some of your Geisteskranken are my Geisteskranken.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Nacht looked surprised, eyes wide with shock. “Does it not make sense that the polluted and broken of our religion might turn to me?
“My religion.”
Nacht’s pursed lips and hooded eyes bled smug.
The bastard was right. Of course some of Morgen’s Geisteskranken, terrified of what Morgen’s perfect world might mean for them, would be drawn to Nacht. Who could he trust?
No one. Stehlen, Wichtig, and Bedeckt taught him that lesson well.
An idea sparked to life and Morgen bit the inside of his bottom lip to stifle his grin. The taste of blood reminded him of being kicked in the face by the Slaver’s followers and his chest tightened. Once again he felt Bedeckt’s knife slip between his ribs. The old warrior abandoned Wichtig and Stehlen in the Afterdeath. Stehlen would want to kill Bedeckt for sure. And Wichtig, as self-centred an arse as Morgen ever met, could no doubt be bought.
Those two would be more than enough to deal with whatever Nacht, Konig, and Failure sent, and Morgen—with the help of the figurines—knew where they were at all times. They’d be easy to track, easy to kill later.
I’ll send Bedeckt’s friends to kill him.
CHAPTER THREE
The mirror shows me as fat and ugly and hairy. No matter how little I eat, no matter how much time I spend in the sun, my Reflection displays a chubby and pallid face, eyes drooping with misery. My friends say I’m wasting away to nothing, but I see their disappointment and disgust. This week I shall eat less and shave closer, scraping my face bloody and raw if need be. This week I shall stay in the sun longer.
—Spiegel Lügen, Mirrorist
Morgen left to walk the city in search of uncleanliness and disorder, and his Reflection, Nacht, faded away moments after.
“That went well,” said Failure, grinning down at the prostrate Konig.
Still wheezing, Konig rolled onto his back. “I thought Nacht was going to tell him everything. When he said people would pursue Bedeckt, planning to kill him—”
“A distraction,” said Failure, hiding his hatred of the new Konig. The escaped Reflection used Failure’s Doppels—back when Failure was Konig—to replace him. But those Doppels were gone now, those weaknesses hewn from his soul.
Konig rose to his feet with a grimace, keeping an arm tight to his ribs and breathing in shallow sips.
Failure understood how his Reflections outsmarted his Doppels—catching glimpses of possible futures must give one something of an edge in all interactions—but was still appalled at his own failure to survive the plot against him.
His vengeance would be total. But first he must set all the pieces in play, and for that he needed his Reflection. No. I am the reflection. He is real. He is Konig.
The Warrior’s Credo: Those whom you slay must serve in the Afterdeath. If you slew a man who in turn killed ten others, those ten would also serve. Much of the Afterdeath was populated by roving armies of killers bound by the Credo. It would be Failure’s salvation. Bedeckt killed Morgen and, when dead, could have commanded the godling even though the warrior never had. Why, Failure couldn’t begin to comprehend. But with Bedeckt once again alive, it meant the old man could once again be slain. Of course killing him didn’t guarantee Morgen would once again serve as the Credo dictated. Everything depended on what the masses believed, and while the people of the other city-states were beyond Failure’s reach, the populace of Selbsthass was not. And they are well-primed for faith.
“I need to talk with all the highest ranking priests still in the city.”
“Why?” demanded Konig.
“Because we have to make sure everyone in Selbsthass knows the man who killed their god and helped him Ascend has fled the Afterdeath.”
“I don’t see why—”
“The priests will spread the word that whoever kills him will have power over their god.”
“You don’t really believe—”
Idiot. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. When everyone in Selbsthass—the centre of Morgen’s power—believes what I want, it will become truth.”
“I don’t think this
will work,” said Konig, rubbing his chin.
It matters even less what you believe. “It will. Please fetch the priests for me.”
Konig smirked a very unKonig smirk. “I suppose I might humour you in this.”
Failure bowed low. “Thank you.” He watched Konig puff up with his small victory. Imaginary though it was.
They think me trapped and helpless. And in many ways he was. But not for long.
Soon, Failure would conscript three of Morgen’s most powerful Geisteskranken, expropriate their will with his Gefahrgeist power. He’d own them. Erdbehüter and Ungeist were Wahnists, though manifesting very different delusions. Erdbehüter hated humanity, saw people as cockroaches infesting a perfect world. She thought she spoke for the earth, believed she could bring stone to life so it might crush its infestation. Ungeist was the self-proclaimed Geborene Exorcist and believed that within each person lay a core of evil, a demonic spirit. His delusions freed that demon, called them forth that they might claw their way from their fleshy prisons. It was a bloody process. Drache, a Therianthrope, was pure madness, cold and reptilian.
Konig paced the room, right hand on his chin, the other cupping the elbow of his right arm. The fool pretends to think and plan. Failure knew it was an act. His Reflection, escaped from its mirror, was helpless. He’d laugh were it not living his life while he remained stuck in his mirror like the shallowest Reflection. It was torture, being so close to life and yet unable to touch it.
I will be free.
Failure pressed his hands against the glass of the mirror, staring out at the massive world beyond his prison. His Reflection and his wayward godling would be brought to heel. Selbsthass and the Geborene Damonen would once again be his.
The ghost of a smile touched his lips and died a shrivelling death.
With Gehirn sent away to Geldangelegenheiten to consecrate Morgen’s new church, the three most powerful Geisteskranken in all Selbsthass would soon belong to Failure. He’d use them to kill this Bedeckt character. Morgen and Nacht might harbour doubts as to whether killing Bedeckt would gain someone control over the godling, but Failure had none. And his beliefs defined reality. Being imprisoned in a mirror did nothing for his sanity. His delusions manifest.
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