“I’ll do the hunting,” said Bedeckt. “You’ll do the cooking.”
“I will? Why?”
“I figured—”
“Figured what?” No expression marred her features.
“Cooking is woman’s work.”
She tilted her head to one side, examining him like he was something unpleasant she’d stepped in. “Do you know how to build a house?”
“What? No.”
“But that’s man’s work.”
“I’m not that kind of man.”
“Well, I’m not that kind of woman.”
Bedeckt decided not to ask what kind she was. “So I’ll do the hunting and the gutting and the cooking?”
“Yep.”
“And you?”
“I’ll watch.” She smiled sweetly. “And critique your cooking. If it’s red meat, I prefer medium rare.”
“Do you know how to start a fire?”
Zukunft raised an arm, wrist bent at a dainty angle. “Ring the bell.” She pretended to shake a small bell.
“Huh?”
“And then when the servant arrives, instruct him to prepare a fire.”
Was she joking? Bedeckt had no idea. He knew nothing of her past. No reason she couldn’t have come from a family of wealth and means. It would certainly explain a lot.
The Geborene priests at the southern gate let them through without comment or question. If anything, they looked pleased to see them leave.
The road south led to Unbrauchbar, a shite-hole of a city on the Gottlos side of the Flussrand River. Bedeckt had been there once before. It was in Unbrauchbar he first decided he and his pitiful gang of thieves—if Stehlen and Wichtig could be called a gang—would steal the Geborene god-child. The plan was to ransom him back to the theocracy for exorbitant quantities of gold. Like most of Bedeckt’s plans, this one quickly went to shite. Though they kidnapped the boy, Bedeckt almost died during their escape. And that was just the beginning. Wichtig, the self-centred moron, thought to make use of Morgen to further his dreams of being the Greatest Swordsman in the World, and tried to manipulate him. Then, instead of trying to buy the boy back, the Geborene Theocrat sent assassins after them. This time Wichtig did die, though Morgen, making use of whatever delusions and insanities he possessed—and Bedeckt shuddered to think what neuroses polluted the boy’s mind—brought the Swordsman back from the Afterdeath. To say the plan went south after that was being kinder than Stehlen would ever be. But that moment, seeing Wichtig alive and once again entangled in his selfish Gefahrgeist schemes, planted an idea in Bedeckt’s mind.
Death, Bedeckt knew, was not far off. He died back in Neidrig, while they were trying to steal the god-child. Morgen brought him back from the dead. Seeing someone return—knowing it was possible—he began making plans for his return before he died again.
It all depended on this woman, this Mirrorist. No matter how sane she seemed, Bedeckt reminded himself she was not. She was broken, mad. Delusional. She believed the impossible, and her delusions manifested. She suffered several delusions, all pertaining to mirrors. He wondered if this meant she was Comorbidic—and likely already approaching the Pinnacle—or if all this neatly fit into the Mirrorist classification.
Finding a Mirrorist who believed mirrors were a gateway between life and the Afterdeath was the first step. He expected the search to take months, years even. He was dead less than a week when Zukunft found him.
‘I am who you’re looking for,’ she said. Thinking her a whore—and a pretty one at that—he made a rather unseemly offer. She laughed and explained that she knew the future and could lead him to the Mirrorist whose mirror led to the world of the living.
‘I can lead you to what you seek,’ she said. ‘I can show you how to undo the damage you have done.’
How had she known? He pressed her for details and she smiled that cryptic smile women wore when they knew more than you and wanted you to know it. He remembered watching her watching him.
Bedeckt had asked why she was still in the Afterdeath if she knew where this Mirrorist was, and again she refused to answer. Not having much choice, he dropped the subject. He still worried. What was in this for her? Why did she seek him out? Why did she offer her assistance? Motives mattered and she refused to share hers. Not that he was particularly forthcoming about his own. She didn’t seem interested, never asking, never pressing him as to his reasons. Did she already know them, or did she not care? He didn’t much like either possibility.
Since their first meeting, their relationship changed. Realizing how young she was left him plagued with doubt. She was a child, and people around him tended to end up dead. Tended? He couldn’t think of a single soul who’d survived his company. This time, his opponent being a god, he figured there was a lot more death in his future. He’d send her away if he didn’t need her so bad.
Damned list.
People like you shouldn’t have lists, shouldn’t have a code or ethics or morals. Life was too harsh, too dangerous for such delusions. If there were true gods—something above and beyond the Ascended delusions of humanity—they didn’t much seem to care what heinous crimes people perpetrated upon one another.
People like Bedeckt took advantage of the weak, stole from the wealthy and stupid, and left a trail of dead in their wake. Gods, how many had he slain without a thought. Guilt? He laughed at guilt. Guilt was a tool for manipulating morons, nothing more. He darted a glance at Zukunft, watched the easy roll of her hips as she rode, the curve of her breasts, the way her hair fell about her shoulders.
Damned list.
Poets and story tellers always went on about how terrible that first kill was, how it haunted people. Bedeckt laughed every time he heard that. Such utter shite. Murder was nothing. Sure, he’d always remember his first kill, but only because it was his father. The old bastard reached for that belt one too many times, not realizing how large his little boy had become.
Bedeckt snorted at the thought and Zukunft flashed him a smile of full lips and green eyes. He ignored her, pretended he hadn’t seen the smile.
Not once in all the decades since had he felt an ounce of guilt over his first kill. If anything, Bedeckt decided he should be grateful. That first kill taught him how easy it was. It taught him violence wasn’t the final refuge of the stupid, but rather the final refuge of a man unwilling to lose. People who backed down from fights lost. They were taken advantage of, beaten and robbed. They were weak, victims.
Bedeckt was never going to be a victim again. He proved it to his father. He proved it to himself.
She’s using your damned list to manipulate you. Doesn’t that make you a victim?
“What are you thinking?” Zukunft asked.
“I was wondering how long it would be before you asked what I was thinking.”
She laughed his words away and eased her horse closer. “Have you made a decision? Where are we going?”
“I need more information. Can you look into your mirror while you ride?”
Zukunft nodded.
“When do we meet with Wichtig and Stehlen?”
Pulling the mirror from its place in her saddlebags, she unwrapped it and stared into the surface. After an annoyingly long wait she said, “I don’t know.”
“In the Afterdeath, you told me you saw the future.”
“Not quite true, but close enough.”
“So?”
“I can’t see everything everywhere all the time,” she said. “I only see what she shows me.”
“She?” Bedeckt tried again.
Zukunft ignored the question. “And what she shows is changing. Becoming more focussed.” Her brow furrowed in frustration. “She used to show me more. She’d show almost anywhere I wanted. Now…” She glanced at him, eyes measuring. “She shows me you.”
He didn’t want to know what that meant. Damned Geisteskranken never made sense. She’d probably become infatuated with him as some kind of father figure and that infatuation manifested as a limit to her
Mirrorist powers. He shuddered at the thought of what that said of her real father.
“Can you see us meeting Wichtig and Stehlen?”
“No. I know if we go after the boy, they’ll get ahead of us.”
“And if we don’t?”
“They’ll be behind us.”
Bedeckt growled in frustration. Fine, he’d play along with her mad delusions. “If I rescue this boy, will she,” he nodded at the mirror in Zukunft’s hands, “show me what I need?”
Zukunft shrugged. “Eventually.”
He imagined Stehlen’s look of disgust. She’d spit and say, That plan didn’t take long to go to shite.
Bedeckt thought back to his brief time with Zukunft in the Afterdeath. Back then her visions of the future were detailed and exact. She showed him exactly what he needed to escape death. And now she was near useless. Weren’t Geisteskranken supposed to become more powerful as their delusions grew in strength? Did this lessening of her power mean her mind was somehow healing, and if so, why? Was it her time with him? Ridiculous. Being with me isn’t good for anyone’s mental health. Or was something subtler, more insidious, happening? Had his presence perhaps triggered some catastrophic collapse, a final mad rush toward the Pinnacle in some manner he didn’t understand?
Remembering Morgen saying he never saw his own future in his Reflections, Bedeckt asked, “Can you see yourself in there?”
“Never.”
Bedeckt sighed. Perhaps if he rescued this damned boy, whoever Zukunft thought was in the mirror would be more willing to help.
“What do you think we should do?” he asked, curious.
“We have to at least try.”
He didn’t bother to ask why. She’d have some platitude about how the attempt mattered more than the success. What utter shite. Any attempt ending in failure was nothing more than a failure. He imagined Stehlen’s mocking voice: Nice grumpy old man philosophy, old man.
Bedeckt grunted. Just give her what she wants and then we can get back to the plan. “Which way is the boy?”
She gave him a smile sadder than he expected. “East. We’ll find him tomorrow.”
“We’re going east, Arsehole,” said Bedeckt.
“Pardon?”
“Talking to my horse.”
Bedeckt wheeled Arsehole around. Zukunft followed, clucking and nudging her horse forward until she again rode alongside Bedeckt.
“I thought I might change my horse’s name,” she said.
“Too late,” said Bedeckt.
The sun fell and clouds scudded in from every direction. The temperature dropped as Bedeckt called a halt and announced they’d make camp.
“Fetch wood for the fire while I—”
“No no no,” Zukunft said, retreating as if threatened. “Wriggly things live in fallen trees,” she said, as if it explained everything.
Bedeckt shrugged and fetched wood. When he returned, he dumped the wood at Zukunft’s feet and massaged his lower back. “Can you ready this for a fire?”
“It’s dirty.” She showed him dainty hands, wiggling clean fingers at him as if he’d care.
“Can you lay out the camp as I light the fire?” he asked.
“Of course. How does one lay out a camp?”
“Look for rocks and hard lumpy things and move them from wherever the sleeping rolls will go.”
“Sleeping rolls?”
Bedeckt drew her sleeping roll from her saddle bag and dropped it at her feet.
“That looks awfully thin,” she said.
“It’s enough.”
“I get cold easily.”
Bedeckt grunted his apathy. “I’ll light the fire. If you can make sure it stays lit while I hunt—”
“Don’t bother. You won’t catch anything. Tonight we’re eating whatever food you purchased.”
“How do you know—”
Zukunft looked at him like he might be a little dull.
Grumbling, he set about lighting the fire. Once he had a decent blaze, he dug food from his saddlebags and shared it out.
They ate in silence, Bedeckt ignoring Zukunft as she watched him through the flames. She didn’t eat so much as nibble. Bedeckt, raining crumbs upon his gut, wondered if perhaps she shared a little of Morgen’s obsession.
When she finished, she belched happily and grinned at Bedeckt.
“It’s getting cold,” she said, huddling her arms about her and shivering dramatically.
“It is.”
“This sleeping roll looks pretty thin,” she repeated.
“It is.” It was all they could afford.
“We could share one,” Zukunft said. “For warmth.”
“I’m still hungry,” said Bedeckt, rising with the usual crackle of arthritic knees. “I’m going to see if I can find something to kill.” He stalked off into the night without looking back.
“Have fun,” he heard her say, voice soft, with a hint of what might have been mocking laughter.
Bedeckt didn’t find anything worth eating but killed something anyway. On the way back to camp he tripped and fell on the bow, snapping it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ancient kings and queens—those who ruled before the rise of the Menschheit Letzte Imperium—were buried in tombs lined with gold and piled deep with jewels. Their personal guard, favoured servants, dogs and horses were buried alongside them to serve and entertain in the Afterdeath.
Do they rule there still?
—Geschichts Verdreher - Historian/Philosopher
Morgen, the smug shite, leaned back in his chair and said, “Better grab your swords.”
Wichtig collected his matched blades from the table and Morgen was gone. Wichtig, unwilling to show his surprise, lifted an eyebrow, glancing about the tavern. The boy might be a god, but he couldn’t resist showing off, trying to impress the man who—
Is it a little brighter in here?
Blinking, Wichtig turned to the bar. A man he didn’t recognize worked behind the counter. Had they changed shifts without his noticing?
A barmaid approached his table, young and pretty, with a spattering of pale freckles beneath blue eyes. He wanted to write her eyes a poem. Her breasts too.
“Can I get you a pint?” she asked, eyes lingering and appraising.
Wichtig flashed his best smile, the one that melted women and made men want to smash his face. Of all his many smiles, this was by far his favourite. “Please. And your name is?”
“Reinigen,” she said, and spun away with a flip of golden brown hair.
She’s certainly friendlier than…Wichtig searched his memory and came up empty. Whatever her name was. Death really stole the life from some people.
Gold hair. Blue eyes.
Wichtig examined the other patrons in the tavern. They seemed happy, fat and prosperous.
Something…
Reinigen brought him a pint of amber ale with a frothing head and sat it upon the table before him. She smelled of fresh baked bread and beer and scented soap and he wanted to rut her more than he wanted to rut anything since…since he died.
Wichtig caught her hand in his, caressed the softness of her skin with his fingertips. Lifting it to his nose he breathed deep of her scents, eyes closing in pleasure. Her hand was warm and he felt the beat of her heart.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She made no effort to retrieve her hand.
“You’re alive,” said Wichtig in wonder. “So alive.”
She stared at him with those amazing blue eyes, watching as he grabbed the pint and downed it in one go.
“Flavour,” he said, slamming the empty mug to the table. “Actual flavour!” He licked his lips. “Food. More ale.”
She coughed politely and he realized he still held her hand.
He released her. “Sorry. What was your name?”
“Reinigen,” she answered.
“Of course.”
She left to fetch his order and Wichtig slid his fingers across the tabletop, feeling the grain of the wood. H
e breathed deep, enjoying the scents of a tavern common-room. Ale, sweat, cooking food, wood, and the stale breath of gods knew how many patrons past. It was beautiful, the most amazing smell. His nostrils flared at the thought of burying his face between the barmaid’s thighs and what he might scent there.
I had no idea it was so amazing to be alive! All of this, the scents and the colours, each and every sensation, he’d taken it all for granted. Never again! He would sample and enjoy every pleasure life had to offer. Gods only know when I might die again. And death was shite.
This time he wouldn’t squander his life chasing foolish goals.
When the barmaid returned with a plate of food and another pint, he stuffed as much into his belly as he could manage and savoured every sip of ale. After, stomach stretched and uncomfortable, he sat back and contemplated his future. There were important things he put off doing for far too long. He needed to find his wife. Would she still be in Traurig? Probably. And Fluch, his son. He needed to see his son again, to hold the precocious little brat in his arms and smell that baby smell.
He’s not a baby any more.
Right. Wichtig left them almost five years ago. Fluch would be a little boy, getting into little boy trouble. Wichtig grinned at the thought. I’ll make a wonderful father. No man who hadn’t died and returned to life could bring the perspective Wichtig had to fatherhood. No more chasing dreams, no more petty crime. Morgen could stick pigs. Bedeckt might have abandoned Wichtig—and that still stung—but it didn’t matter. He was wealthy. He’d return to his family a success. His wife would have to admit he’d been right all along.
Grinning in triumph, Wichtig reached for the pouch of coins.
It was gone.
“Shite,” he said. The little bastard tricked me somehow. But how, and why? He must have known Wichtig would notice the money was missing once returned to life. What then did the godling want? Did he think Wichtig would still pursue Bedeckt and kill the man? Why would he? He hadn’t been paid. It didn’t matter he’d already decided to betray the boy, that was irrelevant.
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