Beyond Redemption

by Michael R. Fletcher

  “It lacks the class, style, and size of my previous ride,” announced Erbrechen, “but I am well enough pleased.”

  With help from several of the town’s larger men, he clambered to the sofa and collapsed into it with a contented sigh. Gehirn joined him on the litter and sat at his feet.

  The Slaver waved at two young girls, a pair of blond sisters, to join him. Their parents beamed with pride at the honor. Only Gehirn averted her gaze, though she couldn’t quite manage the disgust she strove for. All emotion had drained from her soul. She felt nothing Erbrechen did not first ask her to feel.

  “Oh, come now,” chided Erbrechen as a dozen strong men hoisted the new litter into the air. “Don’t look so glum, my friend. There will be plenty to burn soon enough.”

  In an attempt to inspire his followers to set a hard pace, Erbrechen declared the last few people to make it into camp each night would be fodder for his stew. Not only would this keep him well fed, he confided to Gehirn, but also force his flock to stay close.

  Gehirn understood: The closer they were, the stronger Erbrechen’s grip on their minds. The stronger his grip, the more they believed in him and the stronger he became.

  Late in the evening Erbrechen’s new friends dragged down an elderly couple who lagged behind and butchered them for the Slaver’s stew.

  “I should have done this years ago,” Erbrechen joked to Gehirn. “I could have been a god already. It’s good we found the mayor, he’s very good at planning. I doubt you could have got an entire town packed and moving so efficiently.” He tutted happily. “It’s good to have useful friends.”

  Is he trying to make me jealous? Sadly, it worked. She longed to go in search of the mayor and raze him to ash. It would have been nothing. A flicker of will, and hot dusty embers scattering in the wind like dancing fireflies. But Erbrechen wouldn’t let her stray from the litter.

  The Slaver pushed a hard pace. Unwilling as he was to stop for longer than was required for Gehirn to start a fire and cook a few sad souls, the caravan traveled through the night. When the sun rose, Gehirn crawled onto the rear of the litter and hid under heaped blankets. It was intolerably hot, and even so concealed from the sun, her flesh smoked. After the sun fell she arose, raw and sunburned red, and Erbrechen joked about how tasty she smelled, cooking under the blankets.

  Each night she crawled forth, pink and raw, to once again sit at the front of the litter.

  The caravan pushed toward Neidrig.

  Each night the fire came a little easier and she found it more difficult to stem the torrent of self-hatred and disgust fueling the spark.

  No one noticed that she refused to partake of the offered foods. Instead she gathered trampled seeds and bits of root each time the caravan stopped. Someone, she suspected, sought to poison her. Since Erbrechen loved—or at least needed—her, the mayor became her prime suspect. She watched the self-important fool with growing distrust.

  On the night Neidrig came into view, the mayor approached Gehirn with a bowl of stew.

  “You haven’t been eating,” he said, holding the bowl forward in offering. “I told Erbrechen and he told me to feed you.”

  Gehirn glanced up at the Slaver sleeping atop his litter. One of his two pet girls had gone missing yesterday and the remaining sister slept curled under a heavy arm.

  She turned to face the mayor. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  The man smiled.

  Is he mocking me? I’ll burn—

  “You should eat. Erbrechen says so.”

  “Erbrechen sleeps.”

  “Still.” The mayor held the bowl higher, waving its meaty smell under her nose.

  Gehirn looked again to Erbrechen. The Slaver snored with his labored breathing. If he gets any fatter he’ll simply die in his sleep. The thought gave Gehirn some small sliver of pleasure. She returned her attention to the mayor.

  “You show your hand too soon. You cannot replace me.” Gehirn gestured to Erbrechen. “He needs me. You?” She hissed like oil dancing across a hot skillet. “Merely useful.”

  “He loves all of us,” said the mayor.

  The Hassebrand incinerated the pompous mayor and watched soft ashes dance on the breeze.

  If Erbrechen noticed the mayor’s absence when he awoke, he made no mention of it.

  Neidrig loomed close and the Slaver was vibrating like aspic in an earthquake. Small eyes peered greedily with the rapt concentration of a hungry baby seeing food almost within reach of its fat, grasping fingers.

  Erbrechen scowled at Gehirn. “We should have been approaching this city with an army of ten thousand. You’ve really put me in a difficult and dangerous position.”

  “The Cotardists—”

  “Do not let me down again. I need you to be strong. I need you to be in control.”

  But strength and control were mutually exclusive. Gehirn’s power came from her very lack of control. Every gods-damned fool in all the world knows this!

  She opened her mouth to argue but instead nodded mutely. Erbrechen was right, Gehirn had let him down. Good intentions meant nothing.

  Erbrechen watched the Hassebrand mumbling quietly to herself. Though the sun had not yet risen, smoke oozed from the neck and sleeves of the woman’s robes. Erbrechen salivated at the smell of cooking human flesh while dreading the moment she finally cracked.

  Only Erbrechen’s need held the crumbling woman together. He desperately hoped he would find the child before Gehirn’s fragile mind burned itself in a massive and all-consuming conflagration.

  She’d lied to him. How could she, after all he’d done for her? He’d shared his stew, let her ride on his litter. He’d offered her love, given her the chance to be part of something truly astounding, and she repaid him with lies!

  His chest hurt with the pain of betrayal. His heart felt like it was being clawed apart.

  And yet he couldn’t let go.

  Erbrechen rubbed at his face and stared at chubby fingers when they came away damp.

  She only loves me because she has to.

  She’d burn him in an instant; he’d seen it in those cold blue eyes.

  She’s dangerous, so very, very dangerous.

  Perhaps that was the appeal.

  He watched the Hassebrand through slitted eyes, desperately wanting her love and disgusted with his need. He should send her away but knew he wouldn’t. She hated him in a way none of his other friends were even capable of, and that he could not abide.

  She will love me. All must love me!

  CHAPTER 29

  I did what I had to do. I did what any man would do. The real crime here is not to be found in my actions, but rather in your inability to understand their necessity. These aren’t rationalizations, they are the new truth.

  —THE TRIAL OF VERSKLAVEN SCHWACHE, GEFAHRGEIST PHILOSOPHER (SHORTLY BEFORE HIS ACQUITTAL)

  The inn was an assault on Asena’s sense of smell. Beer, urine, blood, and sweat waged all-out war for dominance. The wood floorboards were still damp from spilled blood. Masse stood behind her, tasting the air with his sharp tongue. Bär and Stich stood nearby, waiting for her to take the lead. She could tell from Bär’s flared nostrils and Stich’s excited shiver that they too smelled blood. The innkeeper watched from behind the bar, making no attempt to welcome them to his establishment. Asena chose the table farthest from the stain. She didn’t want Masse causing a scene, crawling around on the floor and flicking at the blood with his tongue. She sat and then waved four fingers at the innkeeper.

  The man brought four ales with the boredom of someone who delivers drinks to groups of odd strangers as part of his daily existence. It was an act; Asena smelled fear.

  When the drinks arrived, Asena gestured at Bär with a flick of a slim finger and he caught the innkeeper’s wrist in his massive hand.

  “We are looking for a boy,” she said. The innkeeper stood frozen in Bär’s iron grip. “He has been here.” She sniffed at the air by way of explanation. “You would remember th
is boy.”

  The innkeeper licked cracked lips, his gaze darting to the bloodstained floor. He squeaked as Bär tightened his fist about the man’s thin arm. “A boy was here yesterday with a man claiming to be the Greatest Swordsman in the World.”

  Asena snorted. “Another one of those.”

  “Lebendig Durchdachter, the best blade this area has seen in a dozen generations, fled rather than face this man.”

  “So?”

  “The boy said the man is the Greatest Swordsman in the World,” said the innkeeper as if it explained everything.

  Interesting. Morgen travels with the Greatest Swordsman in the World. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she planned to have a sword fight with the man.

  “I heard a boy brought a dead cat back to life,” said the innkeeper, desperate to gain some respite from Bär’s crushing grip. “Must be the same boy.”

  “You know where this happened?”

  Again the innkeeper nodded.

  “Tell me.”

  WHEN ASENA LED her Tiergeist from the Schwarze Beerdigung, they left behind a corpse swollen with poison. When the body was found it would be assumed the unfortunate innkeeper had somehow somehow stumbled across one of the rare poisonous snakes in this area. Closer examination, of which there would likely be none, would have suggested the man fell into an entire pit of vipers.

  They followed Asena’s nose. Every few yards she stopped, dropping to all fours to sniff at the ground before leading them onward. She found the dead cat, spine and skull crushed, still twitching and dragging itself through a narrow alley. A trail of beggars followed the cat, proclaiming its divinity and protecting it from all who attempted to approach. In the short time she stood watching, a dozen more joined the crowd of worshipers. The cat smelled of Morgen. She found a few drops of the boy’s blood nearby and swore vengeance upon all who had done him harm. They left the cat and its followers in the alley and followed the boy’s trail. It became difficult, as someone had carried the child for a time, but Asena recognized the scent from the Schwarze Beerdigung: it could only be the World’s Greatest Swordsman.

  She stopped at the corner of two unnamed streets and turned to Bär, who followed close at her heels. “What would the World’s Greatest Swordsman want with Morgen?”

  “The boy is power,” Bär grunted. “Much as Konig—” He stopped in midsentence, staring past Asena. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest.

  With an ear-shattering roar, Bär twisted.

  CHAPTER 30

  Solitude is indeed dangerous for a working intelligence. We need to have around us people who think and speak. When we are alone for a long time we people the void with phantoms.

  —GUY DE MAUPASSANT

  Bedeckt limped past Stehlen as she settled their account with the Ruchlos Arms.

  “Don’t kill anyone,” he whispered, and she shot him an annoyed look.

  Wichtig followed close behind, guiding Morgen with a firm hand on the young lad’s shoulder. The boy sported a bruised chin and a look of hurt betrayal. Wichtig, lost in his own doubtlessly shallow and self-centered thoughts, was oblivious.

  “Are you sorry you hit me?” Morgen asked.

  Wichtig grunted a laugh. “Apologies are for people who don’t know they are doing what must be done.” He gave Morgen’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.

  “Then I’m sorry,” said Morgen.

  “We can’t all be me,” said Wichtig.

  Bedeckt, focused on his many small pains, was only peripherally aware of their conversation. The street greeted him with the familiar stench of dysentery and poverty. The same wretched air he’d breathed in a dozen city-states. The scent of hopelessness. Watching the soiled earth, he sidestepped a heap of horse droppings swarming with dark flies, fat and wet. Bedeckt heard Wichtig swear as he narrowly avoided the same steaming pile.

  Stehlen, having paid the innkeeper, followed Wichtig and the boy. Later, she promised, she would return, take back her hard-earned money, and kill the innkeeper, ensuring he didn’t talk about his odd guests. Bedeckt still walked about with that cat-turd face like something bothered him and he couldn’t let go of it. Thinking too much never gets you anywhere and Bedeckt can overthink taking a shite. The old man was growing soft and sloppy, but she would take care of him. Then, once they sold the boy and collected their loot, perhaps she would kill him for making her worry.

  As they stopped at the tavern’s entrance, Stehlen’s nostrils flared as she took in the street’s many scents. Her Kleptic-tuned senses muttered of danger and the need to hide. She looked past Bedeckt as he limped across the street directly toward a group of four people huddled in conversation. She could warn him, but not without giving herself away. She watched as the largest of the four looked up and saw Morgen. When the thunderous roar split the air, she’d already disappeared into the shadows.

  “The boy is mine,” commanded Asena. “Kill the other two.” Wasn’t there a third? She couldn’t remember.

  Torn between her need to obey Konig and her desire to talk to Morgen, she hesitated to twist. Bär, Stich, and Masse suffered no such hesitation, the latter two collapsing as reality succumbed to their delusions. Bär moved fastest, and a colossal grizzly bear charged the ugly scarred man who was stopped in the center of the street. Stich, a swarm of glistening black scorpions, and Masse, a writhing knot of vipers, followed. Asena stood rooted, staring at Morgen, unable to decide. Obedience, loyalty, and love vied for dominance.

  Bedeckt stopped dead in the middle of the street, startled by the deafening bellow. An enormous bear, towering easily three feet over his own considerable height, charged from across the street.

  A bear? What the hells?

  He swung the ax from its place on his back. It hung surprisingly heavy in his hand.

  Behind the bear swarmed a throng of snakes and glistening black insects. He checked over his shoulder; Stehlen was nowhere in sight. Was she still inside? He had no idea. He saw Wichtig draw his swords and step in front of the boy. Bedeckt didn’t have time to question what went on in the Swordsman’s head. Wichtig’s actions would no doubt be self-serving.

  The earth shook as the bear charged. How do you fight snakes and insects? It didn’t matter. One thing at a time.

  Bedeckt forgot the weight of the ax.

  Asena watched, astounded, as Bär crashed to the ground, his skull split by a thrown ax. He hadn’t made it halfway to the man. Such a towering icon of vitality and strength dropped dead in a fraction of a second. It occurred to her they might have underestimated their opponents.

  She saw the man with the matching blades—this must be the Greatest Swordsman in the World—step forward to protect Morgen from the charging Tiergeist assassins. Never for a moment had she thought they might fail at their task, that she might not have to face the choice of killing Morgen or obeying Konig.

  Asena stepped forward and then stopped as she caught the scent of sour body odor.

  The snakes and insects—scorpions, Bedeckt could now discern—swarmed unhindered over the still-twitching corpse of the grizzly bear. His ax protruded from the monster’s skull, tantalizingly near but far from reach. He found himself thinking back to when they had been attacked by albtraum, to the day he had not abandoned his companions. He’d saved both Stehlen and Wichtig’s lives. He thought about Wichtig’s endless attempts to manipulate him since.

  To hells with them.

  Bedeckt turned and fled.

  Wichtig saw Bedeckt sprint away as fast as his ancient knees would carry him.

  “You goat sticker!” he screamed.

  Every nerve and sinew in his body begged to follow. Bedeckt was no fool, and if the bastard fled, there’d be a damned good reason for running.

  Morgen stood behind him. They boy would never keep up. Shite on it, leave him. Run, gods damn it, run!

  No.

  This wasn’t it. His destiny was not to die in this filthy piss-bucket city. Morgen said Wichtig would be the World’s Greatest Swordsman. Hadn’t he?
Wichtig snarled a curse and charged. All he had to do was trust in his destiny.

  Morgen watched Wichtig draw his blades and charge forward to confront the approaching snakes and scorpions. He watched the Swordsman go down as hundreds of vipers coiled about his legs and dragged him, screaming and thrashing, to the ground.

  What had Wichtig been thinking? Had he meant to protect Morgen? Had he given his life in a selfless act just to buy Morgen time to flee?

  Run. He should run. He should run now.

  Why wasn’t he running?

  Because he knew these scorpions and snakes. This was Masse, and Stich! They would never hurt him.

  Would they?

  Stich, twisted into thousands of deadly scorpions, scuttled over the struggling figure and the mass of writhing, biting snakes, and continued toward Morgen.

  I help god-child Ascend. Konig make Stich new leader of Tiergeist. Scorpions are the ultimate killers. Cold and black.

  Stich was a thousand deaths.

  Stehlen stood frozen, not even breathing, behind the young woman who had stopped to sniff at the air. Does she know I’m here? The girl must be Geisteskranken. But what kind? A Therianthrope like her companions? It made sense.

  Bedeckt’s sudden and unexpected flight left Stehlen wondering if, perhaps, she too had best flee. Did Bedeckt know something she didn’t? The old warrior hadn’t reached his decrepit age by being stupid. She saw Wichtig charge forward—only to be dragged down by a mass of snakes—and shuddered. His swords would be of little use. She could run now. Leave Wichtig to his fate. It would be just her and Bedeckt. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Wichtig’s cries choked off in a strangled gurgle.

  The woman, scanning the street and seeing no threat, moved toward Morgen, and Stehlen followed, quiet as death, hidden knives sliding silently from their sheaths. Only one person gets to kill Wichtig, and that’s me.