The Mirror's Truth: A Novel of Manifest Delusions

by Michael R. Fletcher

  The ears of three horses perked.

  “They heard something,” Stehlen said.

  The beasts veered right, their pace remaining lazy.

  Lebendig stood in her stirrups to get a better look. “I don’t see…oh—”

  “What?”

  “There’s something…” Lebendig glanced at Stehlen, saw the hand reaching for a weapon and shook her head. “Not like that.” She flashed a quick smile. “Can you have an oasis outside of the desert?”

  An oasis? What the hells was Lebendig talking about?

  The horses followed a winding gully sinking between two large hills of mud and rock, their hooves squelching with every step. As they rounded another bend, Stehlen saw what Lebendig meant. There, a few hundred strides deeper into the valley, lay a lake surrounded by a copse of perhaps a score of healthy trees. It was the first green Stehlen saw since leaving Selbsthass.

  “We can get out of the rain,” said Lebendig, gesturing toward the trees. “Shelter until it lets up.”

  “This isn’t going to stop any time soon.”

  “Be nice to be dry,” said Lebendig. “If only for a while. We in a rush?”

  Stehlen glanced south, thinking about Wichtig. He still had only half a day on them. He’s moving slow too. Returning her attention to the Swordswoman she said, “No rush.”

  Lebendig did that smile with her eyes thing and pushed her horse into the lead. Stehlen followed, watching the easy sway of her lover’s hips. It would be nice to be dry. Maybe they could find enough wood to have a fire. More than anything, she wanted to sit at Lebendig’s side, say nothing and hold hands. She wanted to escape herself, forget her fears and doubts. Forget the hideous figurine carved in her likeness. Her fingers itched with the need to examine it again.

  Throw it in the fire. The thought left her shaking with fear.

  “Gods,” said Lebendig, glancing over he shoulder. “You’re shivering!” Dismounting, she led her horse under the nearest tree, a towering oak.

  Stehlen followed, grinding her teeth to still the shivers. “I’m fine,” she said, sliding from the saddle. No rain fell beneath the tree. Soft grass flowed around her ankles in hypnotic waves, moving to a breeze she couldn’t feel.

  Lebendig ignored her words, drawing a towel from deep in a pack and bustling about Stehlen like a doting mother. The Swordswoman set about drying Stehlen’s hair with the same efficient energy she brought to a sword fight, buffeting the much slighter Kleptic.

  “Does towelling dry usually leave bruises for you?” asked Stehlen.

  “Shut up,” said Lebendig, working on the tangled mat of hair. Finally, she stepped back, examining her handiwork with furrowed brows. “Shite.”

  “What?”

  “I accidentally made a clean spot on your face.”

  “Oh, ha—”

  Lebendig ducked her head, dropping a quick and warm kiss on Stehlen’s lips, silencing the Kleptic. “Now strip.”

  Stehlen raised an eyebrow. “Really? Again? Here?”

  “You’re soaked through.”

  “So are you.”

  “The cold doesn’t bother me.” The Swordswoman slapped a muscled shoulder. “More meat. You…” She nodded at Stehlen’s thin frame. “Bone and leather.”

  “You make me sound so appealing,” grouched Stehlen.

  “You know I like it. Now strip.”

  While Stehlen peeled her sodden clothes off, leaving only the oldest most faded scarves wrapping her wrists, Lebendig collected wood and lit a fire.

  The Swordswoman took Stehlen’s clothes and nodded at the crackling flames. “Sit.” Without waiting to see if the Kleptic obeyed, she set about hanging the damp and threadbare clothes on the nearest low-hanging branches.

  Stehlen grimaced at the stained state of her clothes. Gods, how old were those leather pants and that shirt? What colour was it when I first stole it? Purple? She remembered thinking it might distract people from the sallow yellow of her complexion. Now the shirt was a uniform grey, darkening to something almost green near the armpits. It was long past time to steal another shirt.

  After Lebendig stripped away her own wet clothes, she sat at Stehlen’s side. She held her hands to the fire, thick fingers spread wide. Her swords lay sheathed on the ground at her feet, within easy reach. “It’s warm here.”

  It was. Warmer than Stehlen expected. “The trees must shelter us from the wind.”

  Lebendig nodded, watching Stehlen awkwardly try and ring the water from the many scarves hanging from her wrists. “That’d be easier if you removed them.”

  Stehlen folded her arms, trying to hide the scarves from sight. “No.”

  “Sorry,” Lebendig said, attention once again locked on the fire.

  Shite. I hurt her. Lebendig had seen the scarves a thousand times and never commented on them. Stehlen licked her lips, trying to figure out what to say and struggling to ignore the part of her screaming, they’re mine they’re mine!

  “They’re just scarves,” she said, knowing how pathetic the lie must sound.

  “Some look new,” said Lebendig, eyes sliding closed as she lay back in the grass, enjoying the warmth of the fire.

  Stehlen no longer felt quite so warm. The comfort of this little oasis faded and once again she felt the damp wind of the world beyond. She shivered, huddling her arms tighter even though Lebendig was no longer looking. How can she be so comfortable?

  “You took some from the garrison at the border?” the Swordswoman asked.

  Stehlen stared at Lebendig. Don’t ask me this. You can’t ask. You know not to ask. Why now?

  A content smile lit Lebendig’s strong features as if she basked in the sun. “Did you take them from men or women or both? What do they mean to you?”

  The bright edge of the knife in Stehlen’s hand caught the Kleptic’s attention. She focussed past the blade on her naked lover. She’s helpless. It would be nothing to kill her, so easy. She’ll be mine again. Truly mine, bound by the Warrior’s Credo. Lebendig would never hear her coming. Stehlen knew how to kill painlessly, just as she knew how to cause grievous wounds that took days to kill. She’ll feel nothing.

  “I notice,” said Lebendig, eyes still closed, “that new scarves come and go. But there’s one, faded and falling apart, which pre-dates them all.”

  Bedeckt would never ask about the scarves. In all the years they travelled together, he never once acknowledged their existence. Wichtig might mock her about them, but even he knew not to push it. Teeth pulled back in a rabid snarl, Stehlen stood over her lover. Ask about that scarf. Ask. The knife felt hot in her hand. I need this. She needed to steal, to take what wasn’t hers and possess it. Completely. She needed blood. She’s picking at your past, at your deepest wounds. We could have been happy together but she doesn’t want that. She’s stealing it from you.

  “No one steals from me,” whispered Stehlen.

  “Hmm?”

  Stehlen blinked at the knife in her hand, the edge a hair from Lebendig’s throat. She was crouched at Lebendig’s side. The hairs on Stehlen’s arms stood straight, her sallow flesh puckered by goosebumps. Blissfully ignorant of how close to death she was, Lebendig breathed slow and deep like she enjoyed scents Stehlen couldn’t smell. How can she be so comfortable?

  Though she felt the cold wet breeze against her skin, the grass beneath the tree didn’t move. It all leaned in her direction. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the grass there also leaned toward her. Removing the knife from her lover’s throat she held the edge against her arm. The grass pulsed, straining toward her. That’s not enough. Cutting yourself is no escape. You’ve done it enough to know. She stared at the arm, so laced with scars she couldn’t remember which ones she’d caused. It wasn’t enough. Cutting was only a temporary relief. She gave it up long ago. It was better to cut others.

  Your throat. Do it right. Do it here and you’ll be free of everything. Forever.

  Do it here. The grass pulsed again, straining in her direction like i
t might pull itself free of its roots. Here.

  It has to be here.

  Standing, Stehlen slashed the knife across her forearm, opening a long gash.

  She blinked, glancing again around the clearing. “Where are the horses?” Blood ran from her arm and the grass beneath her writhed as if fighting over the falling droplets.

  Lebendig shrugged. “They probably went to the lake to drink.”

  Rage drove a cold spike into the back of Stehlen’s skull. Stupid whore! Instead of gutting Lebendig she cut herself again, another long slash. “You didn’t hobble them?”

  “They won’t leave.”

  The Swordswoman was right. Shelter, water, and grass. The horses wouldn’t leave. Looking down at Lebendig, she saw the grass near the Swordswoman bent toward her. The nearest stalks caressed her skin. Where they touched, Stehlen saw thin lines of blood.

  Blood. She pinched the wound in her arm, spilling more of her own blood to the ground. The grass there went berserk. She tried to step back but something held her foot. With a snarl she yanked it free leaving a bloody footprint in the grass. Checking the bottom of her bare foot she found it spotted with hundreds of pinprick wounds. But there was nothing below her foot other than…the grass. Tearing her other foot free she ran for her boots. She left a trail of bloody footprints. Balancing on one foot at a time she yanked her boots on. “Get up!” she snapped at Lebendig.

  “It’s nice here,” said the Swordswoman reclining in the grass. “I can’t remember the last time I was warm and dry.” Lebendig grinned, eyes still closed. “You didn’t tell me about the scarves. Was it your mother’s?”

  Boots on, Stehlen kicked her in the ribs. Hard. Lebendig grunted in startled pain but didn’t roll away.

  Eyes open, she stared up at Stehlen, blinking in confusion. “What the hells—?”

  Stehlen kicked her again. “Get the hells up!”

  “Thieving cunt!” Lebendig reached for her sword and discovered it lay beyond her fingertips.

  Stehlen kicked the sword farther away as Lebendig struggled to lever her torso off the ground and failed. Grabbing the Swordswoman’s ankles, she dragged the woman from where she lay and flipped her onto her stomach. As she feared, her lover’s back was a bloody mess of thousands of tiny pinprick holes. Lebendig screamed as the pain hit and Stehlen released her, backing away.

  The Swordswoman touched her back and stared at her bloody hand. “What the hells?”

  “Stand up now or I’ll kick you again.”

  Lebendig pushed to her feet, pale and unsteady. “Why am I bleeding?” Her eyes focussed on Stehlen. “You kicked me!”

  Stehlen, naked except for her boots and scarves said, “You asked about my scarves.”

  “I did? I… I wouldn’t…”

  “Put your boots on. Fast. They’ll get your feet.”

  “They?” Lebendig asked, hobbling to her boots and stepping into them. She collected her swords, tossing the scabbards to the ground and looking for an enemy.

  “The grass,” said Stehlen, gesturing at the Lebendig-shaped bloody stain. “There’s something here.”

  The Swordswoman shivered, only now feeling the cold. Blood ran from her back, sheathing her torso in a slick sheen of sanguine. “I feel weak. Tired. I need to lie down. Need to get warm again.”

  “Lie down and I’ll gut you myself.”

  Lebendig glared at her but nodded. “It’s like…I know I shouldn’t but every time I get distracted I just want to lie down.”

  Stehlen understood. Her knife felt heavy in her fist. She should put it down, lie in the grass. Rest. She cut herself, bringing the world into sharp clarity.

  “Collect our clothes,” said Stehlen. “I’ll find the horses.” Lebendig nodded, her eyes slipping closed in a languid blink. “If you’re lying down when I get back, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Lebendig focussed on her. “You’d like that, having me serve again. It’s what you want.” Her swords rose in challenge. “Try and—”

  Stehlen killed the flash of rage and hurt by cutting herself again. She took Lebendig’s swords away and handed them back sheathed. The big woman blinked at the scabbards in muddled confusion.

  “It’s this place,” said Stehlen, spitting at the grass. She showed Lebendig her bloody arm. “I’ll cut myself to nothing before I hurt you.” Then she turned away, stalking to the lake, careful not to let the grass touch flesh.

  She found the horses, drained and empty husks of dry flesh stretched over bone, by the shore. Grass entwined them, burrowed into eyes and flesh, knitting them to the soil. In another hour, they’d look like small hills. Stehlen saw the ground surrounding the lake was misshapen and lumpy. Countless thousands of grass mounds dotted the shoreline.

  “What are you?” she asked, neither expecting nor receiving an answer. Was this the burial site of some long dead god, or perhaps a numen, an Ascended spirit bound to this place by the worship of man. Whatever it was knew enough to work Stehlen’s emotions. “Were you human once?” She tried to imagine an eternity tied to a copse of trees because the humans in the area worshipped you as a local spirit. Or had this been a regular pond at some point in the past? Had the ignorant fears of humanity manifest something evil here after some poor moron drowned in the shallow waters?

  The pond looked warm and inviting, long, tickling tendrils of grass waving below the surface. Naked except for her boots, she could step in, wash away a life of pain and misery. There was no need to go on. Why follow Wichtig and Bedeckt? They never led her to happiness in the past, why would this time end differently?

  Stehlen cut herself again, hissing as the knife parted flesh. “Because I have Lebendig,” she told the still waters. This time it would end differently.

  Shivering, Stehlen cut the saddlebags from the horses. Throwing them over her shoulders, she returned to find Lebendig beyond the oasis of trees. The Swordswoman, now dressed in her sodden clothes, was pulling on her chain hauberk. Blood soaked through her shirt and she looked weak and pale with exhaustion. She weaved drunkenly like she might collapse at any time.

  “We should burn that place to the ground,” said Lebendig.

  “No.” Stehlen couldn’t explain the sadness she felt. She understood this oasis of helplessness. She lived her whole life—ever since she took her mother’s scarf—at its edge. Someday it would have her. Someday she’d lay down in the grass and be nothing.

  But not today.

  She hadn’t earned forgiveness. Never would, in all likelihood. Until she was punished for her crimes, there would be no rest, no respite.

  Lebendig gave her a searching look and dropped it.

  Stehlen dressed, ignoring the pain of her slashed arm. Blood fell in an endless patter from her fingertips. Pulling her shirt on, she tucked the scarves up the sleeve and out of sight.

  The Swordswoman pretended not to notice, checking the hang of her scabbards. “This will slow us down,” she said, shrugging the hauberk into place. She sagged under its weight like it was too much to bear.

  I’ve never before seen weakness in her. The thought of losing Lebendig left Stehlen sick and empty. No one steals from me. Nothing and no one would take Lebendig from her.

  Lebendig glanced at her, face etched hard with pain. “Wichtig has a head start on us.”

  Stehlen hefted her saddlebag, settling it on her shoulder. Wichtig still wasn’t much more than half a day ahead of them. “He’s not moving very fast.”

  Lebendig lifted her own saddlebag with a grimace. “How do you know?”

  “He’s wounded.” Stehlen shrugged, unsure why she was so sure. “And he’s an idiot.”

  “He must know we’re following him.”

  “He should, but this is Wichtig we’re talking about. Something shiny or pretty probably distracted him.”

  With a weary sigh Lebendig set off south and Stehlen fell in, walking at her side.

  She looks awful. Weak.

  “Thank you for kicking me,” said the Swordswoman.

/>   “My pleasure,” said Stehlen.

  “I’m sorry I asked about the—”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “I never would have—”

  “I said don’t mention it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Hundreds of thousands of years from now, all the world shall be an endless desert, the sands stained red by the blood of gods and humanity. Those few survivors shall huddle in the last bastion, a city of circular walls. The remaining gods will see humanity for the danger it is and shall weed out insanity the way we breed chickens for docility and stupidity.

  —SieSieht DasEnde, Mirrorist

  Wichtig rode south, Blöd, the sway-backed mare, hating him every step of the way.

  What the hells is the point of naming these things? He didn’t remember past horses bearing such grudges. He never gave the damned beasts a second thought. Somehow, this was all Bedeckt’s fault.

  His left hand pulsed hot agony up the length of his arm. Lifting the stained brown bandage to his nose, Wichtig caught the sickly sweet perfume of infection. The foot with the missing toe felt just as bad. He didn’t want think about the mess Schnitter made of his ear. Was infection even now creeping into his brain? He shuddered at the thought.

  Adjusting his bare feet in the stirrups, he felt the warm drip of blood where they were chafed raw.

  Stehlen must have killed the garrison troops. Who else would do that? The clothes in the midden pit. His horse gone. A single sword left to match his single functioning hand.

  Damned Kleptic.

  Now he knew it was her, it was easier to remember. Though sometimes the thought still slipped away.

  Horrid bitch could have left me some sticking boots.

  But why didn’t she kill him? She must have a reason. Was it so she could torture him further? That made too much sense. The only reason she hadn’t killed him was because she wasn’t yet finished with him.

  Well, that was her mistake.

  Wichtig glanced nervously about and cursed. What was the point? She was a damned Kleptic and a powerful one at that. He’d never see her if she didn’t want to be seen.