The Mirror's Truth: A Novel of Manifest Delusions

by Michael R. Fletcher

  Why did you write your best poetry after your shrew of a wife kicked you out?

  Wichtig shoved the thought aside. The past was useless, an anchor drowning you in an ocean of self-doubt and recrimination. If it couldn’t be changed, what was the point in remembering it?

  Damn it. What was it Bedeckt always said about the past?

  Those who live in the past are content to defeat it? No. That made no sense. Of course much of what the old goat said was meaningless shite disguised as wisdom.

  Gods I’m bored. He needed something to do, something to be. Was he still the Greatest Swordsman in the World if he was here in the Afterdeath? How long before the living forgot him? The thought sent a shiver of fear dancing cold fingers down his spine. Could there be anything worse than being unknown?

  A plate of meat that might have been chicken, if chickens looked more like cats, and a haphazard scattering of vegetable matter arrived with a pint of grey ale. Wichtig swilled the ale and scowled at the flavour. How the hells does something taste grey?

  Shoving the vegetables to the side of the plate—plant matter was what food ate—he wolfed down the chicken, spitting out the whiskers and claws.

  Those who regret the past are inept and defeated. Closer, but not quite. And it sounded a little too intelligent for something Bedeckt would say. Those who invent the past… Hmm. That had potential.

  Where the hells was Bedeckt?

  What if he arrived with Stehlen and that huge Swordswoman, Lebendig, in tow? And what was Lebendig to Stehlen? Were they lovers? Wichtig tried to imagine a soft moment between the Kleptic and the muscled Swordswoman and failed. He shuddered at the resulting mental image, all tongues and grubby fingers.

  Stehlen killed the Swordswoman back in Neidrig when they were still alive. Here in the Afterdeath, Lebendig was bound to the person who slay her. Imagine, being bound to serve a murderous bitch like Stehlen. Did Lebendig pretend to like Stehlen—trying to make the best of a bad situation—or did she see something in the Kleptic she genuinely appreciated? They seemed happy. Well, as happy as Stehlen ever seemed.

  He’d pity the Swordswoman but that, like any emotion involving other people’s well-being, was pointless.

  Thinking of Lebendig and how she was forced to serve Stehlen, Wichtig decided waiting in this boring city for the old man wasn’t so bad. At least he was free, unbound by the Warrior’s Credo. Why Morgen freed him Wichtig couldn’t guess. Not that it mattered. He had no intention of thanking the little shite who killed him.

  Gratitude. Another useless emotion.

  Come to think of it, there weren’t a lot of useful emotions, unless it was other people feeling them.

  The barmaid brought another pint of ale, dropping it before Wichtig without a word.

  “Wait,” he said, when she turned to leave. “You died in this inn.”

  She stood still, only the set of her shoulders showing tension. She pointed at the bar. “Right there. She cut my throat, called me a whore.” She shook her head. “I never even saw who it was. She left me there, bleeding all over the floor.” The barmaid stared at her hands. “I tried to stop the blood.”

  That sounded like Stehlen, but why the whore comment? Was she really that jealous? Wichtig made a note to tease her about it later. In front of Lebendig. “Why are you still here? I’d be anywhere but here.”

  She shrugged, the slightest lift of shoulders. “It’s a job. Still need money.”

  The barmaid left. Wichtig again watched the swing of her arse, and again failed to summon any real interest. Still need money. She was right, of course. Why else would the Warrior’s Credo insist you bring wealth and weapons? Wichtig chuckled a humourless grunt. He died a pauper, Stehlen having stolen everything. He owed her for that.

  Yes, a day of reckoning, that’s exactly what I need.

  He gave Stehlen so much over the years, gifting her with his friendship and insightful advice. He couldn’t remember how many times he bought her drinks. He’d have his payback, but it would be foolish to rush into such an endeavour. The Kleptic, for all her faults and weaknesses, was dangerous. Simply killing her was the boring kind of vengeance a small mind like Stehlen’s would dream up. Wichtig knew his was no small and boring mind. He’d bide his time.

  ‘No one steals from me.’ Stehlen said that like it was the worst crime imaginable. Funny, considering how much time she spent thieving from her closest friends. What could he steal that would hurt her the most?

  Wichtig grinned and downed his ale.

  Lebendig.

  He laughed aloud and waved at the barmaid for another pint. No woman could resist his Gefahrgeist charms. I’ll bed the big Swordswoman, steal her away from the thieving bitch.

  The inn door swung open and a young man entered, dressed in white like one of those moronic Geborene priests, blond hair falling to his shoulders. Wichtig’s good mood soured. Morgen. Even though he somehow aged ten years, Wichtig recognized the lad.

  The godling strode directly to Wichtig’s table and sat across from the Swordsman. Was this part of Bedeckt’s plan?

  “Wichtig,” said Morgen.

  “Pig sticker,” said Wichtig.

  “We need to talk.”

  “More you than I,” said Wichtig. Careful, he reminded himself. This little shite is a god.

  “It’s Bedeckt,” said Morgen.

  Wichtig waved the boy’s words away as if they stank. Sure he was curious, but showing interest was a weakness. No one understood manipulation like Wichtig.

  “I see godhood has aged you,” he said.

  Morgen tilted his head to one side, examining Wichtig who in turn pretended not to notice the attention. “It’s all about expectations, isn’t it,” said the god, eyes hinting at the howling madness within.

  Ascending done little for your sanity, eh? The boy had been horribly tortured by a Slaver-type Gefahrgeist just before he died. Not that he was terribly sane before that. “The Geborene not so eager to follow a child?”

  Morgen shrugged. “I am their god. They made me. Their beliefs define me.”

  “Neat little trap,” said Wichtig. “A god and yet a slave.” He glanced at Morgen, pretending to spot something. “Got some dirt on your robes.”

  Morgen twitched, face twisting in disgust as he searched for the blaspheming smudge. Finding nothing, he scowled at Wichtig’s happy grin.

  “A slave in more ways than one,” said the Swordsman.

  Morgen took a calming breath. He examined Wichtig with eyes of impossible blue, the first real colour Wichtig saw since his death. The kid’s gaze jumped away like he saw things Wichtig could not. He never focussed on anything for more than a heartbeat.

  “A trick,” said Morgen. “Nothing more.”

  “Why do you look older than you are? You want your priests to respect you. Looking older is a trick to gain that respect. But their lack of respect is also a trick. Bend yourself to the expectations of others, and you will always be a pawn.” Wichtig grinned perfect teeth. “That is why I am free.”

  Morgen gave him a pitying look and Wichtig ignored it. You can’t manipulate me.

  “I’m sorry I killed you,” said the Geborene god.

  Wichtig kept his calm façade. Inside he felt the growing need to do violence. If I stab him here, will he die? “I think we finally learned what kind of person you are.”

  The young man’s shoulders slumped and he stared at the table top, picking at a small imperfection in the wood with manicured fingernails. “They were lying to me,” he whispered.

  “Well then, as long as it wasn’t your fault, I guess it’s all fine.” Arsehole.

  “Bedeckt is gone,” said Morgen, still entranced by the table. He found another imperfection to worry at.

  Wichtig watched. The godling’s need for perfection was a weakness. Such flaws were the pivot upon which Wichtig would tilt the boy. It was too easy.

  Then he finally heard what Morgen said. “Gone?” What did gone mean in the Afterdeath?

&
nbsp; Morgen shook his head, blond hair clean and straight, barely moving. Wichtig wanted to bury the little shite in a lifetime of hurt and blood.

  “He’s alive,” said Morgen.

  Wichtig blinked. “Alive?” What the hells?

  “He’s not here. Not in the Afterdeath. He is alive.”

  The old goat sticker left me here. He abandoned me. Wichtig understood immediately. His trip to Selbsthass was a distraction, nothing more. “I…” He couldn’t find the words. How could Bedeckt abandon me after all I’ve done for him? I’ll kill the bastard.

  “He abandoned you,” said Morgen. “Just like when the Therianthropes attacked you in Neidrig. He ran away, left you here. But that’s not all.”

  “Not all?”

  “He took a great deal of wealth with him. He robbed the Geborene.”

  Wichtig’s fists clenched tight. He’s rich and alive and I’m dead and poor. “How?”

  “He killed me,” said Morgen. “I had to obey.” The boy showed perfect teeth in a silent snarl of rage. “I trusted him and he betrayed me.”

  “Idiot.”

  Morgen’s lips cut a hard line, but he didn’t argue. “I want you to go after him.”

  Wichtig’s chest tightened but he maintained his calm and bored demeanour. “Why would I help you?”

  “Because you aren’t finished yet.”

  “Not finished?”

  “A dead man can’t be the Greatest Swordsman in the World.”

  “I’m the Greatest Swordsman in the Afterdeath,” said Wichtig. The words rang hollow.

  “Not the same, is it,” said Morgen. “Want to repay Bedeckt for abandoning you?”

  Wichtig shrugged this away like it was nothing. “I’m sure he had his reasons.” And I don’t give a shite what they are.

  Morgen leaned forward, staring into Wichtig’s eyes. It was disconcerting. People usually avoided eye contact with Gefahrgeist.

  “Still want to be The Greatest Swordsman in the World?” the godling asked.

  “I thought I might take up poetry,” said Wichtig.

  “I’m going to unite the city-states. One holy empire. Want to be the First Sword of the Geborene Damonen? Want to be loved and respected by the entire world?” Morgen locked eyes with the Swordsman. “Want to be worshipped? At my side, you will Ascend to be the God of Swordsmen.”

  God of Swordsmen. Wichtig breathed deep and let the air hiss out between his teeth. Of course he wanted all of that. And he knew Morgen knew he wanted it all. “You want Bedeckt pretty bad, don’t you?”

  “You have no idea,” said Morgen.

  “I have two conditions.”

  Morgen raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “Wealth.”

  “As First Sword of the Geborene you will never pay for anything. Ever. And you will be paid more than you could spend in a lifetime.”

  “And I never die again. I don’t ever want to see this,” he waved as if encompassing all the Afterdeath, “again. Ever.” He sat tall, straightening his shirt. “I’m an artist, a poet. Grey is depressing.”

  “Agreed,” said Morgen.

  “I’ll need better clothes,” said Wichtig.

  Morgen dropped a pouch of coins on the table, conjuring it from nothing.

  “One last thing,” said the Swordsman, pocketing the coins, hearing the satisfying clunk of gold. “Stehlen.”

  “What about her?” asked Morgen.

  “She’ll be angry. And Bedeckt abandoned her as much as he…” Just like he abandoned me. He couldn’t say it. “She’ll be angry,” he finished.

  “You’re afraid of her.”

  “Of course not,” Wichtig lied, “but she might cause trouble for you here in the Afterdeath.”

  “I’m a god,” said Morgen. “She’s just a Kleptic.”

  Just a Kleptic? The boy was an idiot, but that was hardly Wichtig’s problem. She’d be stuck here in the Afterdeath and he’d be alive. It stung to give up on his plan to steal Lebendig from her, but this seemed a fair enough trade.

  “You’ll make sure the hideous bitch doesn’t come after me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Wichtig. “You can really do it? You can return me to life?”

  “I’m a god.”

  “Aren’t there rules about that?”

  “Everyone believes a few special souls return from the Afterdeath to complete unfinished business.”

  Well, obviously Wichtig was a special soul and he had yet to achieve his destiny and become the World’s Greatest Swordsman. The boy-god made sense.

  “Bedeckt has a head start on you,” said Morgen.

  Wichtig snorted at the boy’s concern. “He won’t be hard to find. I’ll look in the first whorehouse and there he’ll be. Failing that, I’ll listen for the crackle pop of his knees.”

  “I still can’t see the reasons,” said Morgen.

  What the hells does that mean? “I know,” Wichtig said.

  “Reasons matter. Or they should. Especially for a god.”

  “Right,” agreed Wichtig, confused but playing along.

  “With every decision I might snuff someone’s chance at happiness or a better life. Or redemption.”

  “Such things are myths,” said Wichtig, thinking he finally caught a useful thread of the conversation. “Happiness is the kiss of a pretty girl, gone before you enjoy it.” He noted the boy’s blush. Unlike every other grey soul here, the god painted the world with his emotions. “Redemption is the honeyed bait or the switch lashing your back bloody. It all depends whose hands it’s in and what they want from you. As a god, you’d best be comfortable with both.”

  Flush fading, Morgen examined him with nervous eyes. The boy looked like maybe Wichtig brushed against an uncomfortable truth. Wichtig tried to remember what he said, but he hadn’t been listening to himself. He shrugged the thought away. No surprise the boy finds wisdom in my words.

  “I think the reasons people do things should matter,” said Morgen. “Maybe, if I knew those reasons, I might make different choices of my own.”

  “Basing your own choices on the whims and needs of others is foolish.”

  “I still believe in redemption.”

  Wichtig laughed. “You might be a god, but you’re still a naïve little boy.”

  Morgen leaned back in his chair. “Kill Bedeckt. I’ll give you everything you deserve.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rotting heart, cut from chest

  Taste the cold of love’s last breath

  Stealing love but never rest

  No escape from living death

  —Halber Tod - Cotardist Poet

  Stehlen rode toward Selbsthass City, Lebendig Durchdachter at her side. A lifetime of murder and thievery and unrequited longing and she had to die to find love. She stole a glance at the Swordswoman, her gaze following the rolling play of muscles even the chain hauberk couldn’t hide. Lebendig was everything Bedeckt could have been, were he decades younger, not fat, smarter, better looking, more willing to show affection, and female. In a fair fight between Stehlen and Lebendig, the Swordswoman would win every time. Not that Stehlen ever fought fair. Fair was for idiots and Swordsmen. But not Swordswomen. Lebendig was different.

  Noticing Stehlen’s attention, Lebendig flashed a smile—something having far more to do with her pale eyes than her lips. Moving her horse closer, she reached out to lay a hand upon Stehlen’s.

  Stehlen caught a glimpse of Lebendig’s blanched strawberry hair and remembered the way it smelled of steel and sweat. Hewn short above the Swordswoman’s brow, her hair hung to her waist when not braided and tucked into the plain iron helm.

  “Never been to Selbsthass,” said Lebendig. “Got the impression our kind weren’t welcome.” She did the smile with the eyes thing again. “Even in the Afterdeath.”

  Our kind. We are one and the same. The thought glowed warm in Stehlen’s chest. “We aren’t,” she said. She turned her attention to the city ahead and the guards a
t the gate. “Bedeckt says he wants to meet at the Leichtes Haus.”

  Lebendig waited, knowing Stehlen wasn’t finished.

  She knows me so well, understands me. “We stayed there last time we were here. But in the living world.”

  Lebendig waited.

  “When we left I killed everyone. Every drunk. Every whore barmaid.”

  Lebendig’s eyebrow twitched at the word whore and her hand slid from Stehlen’s.

  “I had to,” said Stehlen. “Bedeckt was wounded, dying. I had to be sure no one would follow us.”

  Lebendig nodded once, accepting. Stehlen loved her for it.

  “Why does he want to meet there?” Stehlen asked. “Is it some kind of subtle message?”

  “If it were Wichtig,” said Lebendig, hesitating a moment before pronouncing the Swordsman’s name, “I would agree. But Bedeckt… He’d tell you what he wants you to know. It’s probably the only inn he remembers.”

  She was right. The old man might love planning jobs in infinite detail, but he was as subtle as a kick in the plums. Stehlen’s throat tightened at the memory of trying to suck breath past a crushed trachea. She still owed him that kick. And plenty more.

  They rode on in comfortable silence, approaching the western gate. Stehlen examined the guards out of habit. They were alert and ready, looking like they expected trouble, hands resting on sword pommels. These were no bored slouches.

  I could still kill them.

  They wouldn’t stand a chance. Men in such armour moved far too slow. They’d be dead before they knew they were in a fight. Really, was there a better way? Only idiots and Swordsmen warned their opponents they were about to be attacked.

  She stole another glance at Lebendig.

  Is she really different, or is that what I want to see? The woman had pursued the title of Greatest Swordsman…woman…person in the World. That doesn’t mean she shares other traits with Wichtig, does it? She hated the thought.

  Stehlen adjusted her sleeve, tucking a stray scarf, faded and pale with age, out of sight. She wore fewer than when alive and, somehow, that had something to do with the burly Swordswoman. Maybe someday I’ll throw away the oldest scarf, the one I took from mother. No. Not until she was punished. But being with Lebendig made it seem possible, not that she might finally be punished for her crimes, but that she might not have to be.