‘I am ready,’ I said with false bravado.
‘You've been happier of late,’ said the Captain, turning to once again face me. ‘Careful it doesn't weaken you.’
What a world I have created for myself where confidence, security, and happiness are weaknesses. ‘Not to worry,’ I said. ‘If I am called forward to face the Delusionist, it means the Dysmorphics and Therianthropes have failed. It means Asena has...’ I steeled myself with a shaky breath. ‘Fallen.’
The Captain studied me for a moment. ‘Losing her will hurt,’ he said softly.
‘The pain will make me strong.’ I said this as if it were a reason to fall in love. It was terrifying to even admit the possibility of love.
But for Asena, I would burn the world.
‘The Theocrat, is he worth it?’ the Captain asked.
I thought no but said, ‘Does it matter?’
‘We all have choices,’ said the Captain. ‘You could take the woman away from here. You might find some brief happiness.’
His words trod dangerous ground, far too close to my own treasonous thoughts.
‘You could come with us,’ I said, meeting his flat grey eyes with my own.
‘I stay.’ He lifted his gloved left hand. ‘I'm rotting. Death will be a release.’
‘If you stay, so do I.’ I would not abandon my friend.
That night Asena and I didn't talk after returning to my tent. She curled up in the protective bulk of my body and slept as I stroked her hair. If I cried there were no witnesses. When I awoke she was gone. Once again I had slept dreamless and untroubled. There was a scrawled note on my side-table.
You and I, we are a pack of two.
* * *
When I found Asena she was already out on the field beyond my reach. The Dysmorphics, armed with blades too heavy and bows too thick for normal men, faced the wall. Heavy iron shields hung upon their broad backs. They marched forward, followed by Asena and her Tiergeist, stopping well beyond the range of the Sinnlos archers.
As if in anticipation of the coming battle the wind died to nothing. The air hung still and stifling. The corpses of the fallen littered the field but were piled highest at the foot of the gargantuan, stone-and-iron gate set into the Sinnlos wall. Too large to have been made by men, that gate could only be the result of focused delusion. The Empress shaped the very fabric of reality with her self-deception.
A dusting of rust-hued sand covered the bodies. There were thousands. Tens of thousands. And we had yet to breach the wall. They were certainly almost all our dead.
‘Gods,’ I whispered in shock. All those lives, spent for nothing. I could stop this pointless death, but only at the cost of more death. I squinted at Sinnlos' bloody wall, trying to make out the tiny figures poised upon its crenellations.
My attention returned to the Dysmorphics as they bent their massive bows to string them. Even at this range I could make out obscene muscles straining with effort. Bows strung, they nocked arrows and took aim. I looked back to the wall and the miniature figures there. Too far. Far too far.
As one the Dysmorphics released. Long arrows hung forever in the sky before falling upon the wall. I watched in awe as bodies toppled and fell in eerie silence. I counted to five before the first corpse reached the base of the wall, landing in a cloud of blood-red dust. Calmly, as if they had all the time in the world, the Dysmorphics nocked their second arrows and took aim. Again they loosed and I watched the graceful arc of the arrows as they rose to kiss the sky before falling to rain death upon the wall. Fewer bodies fell this time as the defenders took cover. A third volley resulted in no more than three tumbling bodies and the wall looked deserted.
At a signal I neither heard nor saw, Asena and her Therianthropes dashed toward the gate. The Dysmorphics unleashed another volley. Asena was almost to the gate before the cowering archers on the wall realized what was happening. Though the Dysmorphics kept up a steady barrage, the Sinnlos archers, leaving themselves exposed, loosed volley after volley at the charging shape-shifters.
What could three men and one strong woman possibly do? This made no sense! They were being thrown away, discarded. This was suicide.
Without breaking stride Bär and Asena twisted. Their bodies contorted and bent at impossible angles. Bär grew as he ran, shaggy grey-shot brown hair exploding to cover his body; within two paces he was a colossal grizzly bear racing on all fours. Stich and Masse remained human and ran at Bär's side, sheltered by his mass from the Sinnlos archers. Asena fell forward and I thought she'd stumbled. My heart lurched, and then I saw her as a loping grey northern wolf.
A fire of rage grew within me. What the hells was the Theocrat thinking sending these four in alone? My pulse pounded hot and loud in my ears.
Arrows fell upon the Therianthropes. Bär was hit several times but didn't flinch. Stich and Masse were unhurt and Asena easily dodged everything that came near her. I held my breath as they reached the gates. Asena and Bär slid to a halt and stood poised and motionless at the foot of the gate. What could they do now? They were easy targets.
Then Stich and Masse twisted. Stich's skin turned glistening black as he crumbled and fell apart like a house of cards. A mound of wriggling scorpions took shelter under Asena. Masse shredded like someone peeled long strips of flesh from his body and collapsed into a writhing mass of snakes. He took shelter under Bär.
Asena staggered as arrow after arrow slammed into her unmoving body. Even Bär sagged under the weight of the onslaught, his shaggy pelt thick with shafts. Then, as Stich and Masse dwindled and disappeared, I understood. The two found cracks and holes in the gate through which to enter Sinnlos. Asena and Bär had merely been there to provide cover while they worked. I could only imagine the chaos happening on the other side of the gate as the defenders found themselves swarmed by deadly snakes and scorpions. Would they panic and flee, or stand strong?
When Asena buckled and fell, a sob wrenched from deep within me. Bär moved to shelter her with his body. There were so many arrows in him he looked like a massive porcupine. I could see long streamers of thick, ropey blood leaking into the red sand below him. I stood paralysed as Bär shuddered and collapsed beside Asena. I watched the dying bear struggle to protect the wolf before being racked with one last convulsion. As I blinked away dusty tears the two bodies again twisted back into their human forms. She looked so small against the backdrop of Sinnlos. So fragile. So broken.
I hadn't even realized I'd started to move forward until a firm hand on my shoulder held me back. I spun with a snarl, ready to burn whoever dared touch me. The look on the Captain's face stopped me.
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Don't rob her death of all meaning. Don't take that from her.’
The Captain wrapped me in a tight hug and crushed the anger from me. I could never hurt him. I don't know how long we stood in that embrace, him giving me the comfort I hadn't managed to offer in return. When he finally released me we turned to face the wall. The distant screams of men reached our ears and, at that very instant, the Dysmorphics dropped their bows. Half drew sharp climbing pitons while the others slung heavy shields. As one they charged. Misshapen muscled legs drove them at such speeds the Sinnlos archers were unable to score more than a few hits. When they reached the gate half leapt to climb, pulling themselves hand over fist, while the rest took shelter under their shields. In seconds the gate had been scaled and the Dysmorphics dropped out of sight on the far side. A moment later the gate cracked open and the Dysmorphics waiting outside surrendered their shields, ignored the arrows raining down upon them, and bent their backs, pulling wide the massive stone-and-iron gates.
With a roar the mass of the Theocrat's troops charged.
The Captain and I watched as men swarmed the gate, were briefly repulsed by the rallying defenders, and then pushed forward to disappear within.
‘She gave us the city,’ the Captain said.
I nodded dumbly as tears blurred my vision. Was I to
o late? Had the Theocrat already won?
The Captain patted me on the back, prodding me into motion. ‘Let's go and see for ourselves this grand city of Sinnlos.’
‘We have orders?’ I asked.
He paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. Maybe even ashamed. ‘That,’ he gestured towards the gate with a gloved hand, ‘is where you will be needed.’ He wanted to say more I but didn't care enough to press him. Asena was dead.
We walked together, picking our way between the scattered bodies. Even through the thick blanket of crimson sand I saw the Theocrat's colours on the dead soldiers' uniforms. As we approached the open gates we heard the echoing screams of death within. Asena's body was hidden beneath the corpses of the Dysmorphics who died opening the gate. Even massive Bär was buried beyond sight. A glint of golden motion on the wall caught my attention. I craned my neck staring upwards, shadowing sun-stung eyes with shaking hands.
There, atop the crenellations above us, stood the Delusionist Empress, lithe and sleek, sheathed in liquid gilt. The dress, woven of strands of fine gold, clung seductively to her every curve. Only when she turned to look down at us did I see the abject terror on her face. Her wide eyes stared straight through us and I realized she saw only the piled corpses.
I remembered then the Captain's words. We know nothing of her. Nothing of what she believes. Nothing of what she fears. I thought I understood something of what the Empress feared most. She was a Comorbidic, and suffered from multiple disorders. Not only could she build a city worthy of the Theocrat's jealous hatred from nought but dust and delusion, but she was also a Phobic. I understood why we had not seen the Delusionist Empress before this moment.
She feared change.
Eternal Sinnlos. It made sense now. She'd built this impregnable city in an attempt to make something unchanging. Undying.
Of course the Theocrat had to bring it down.
A battleground is a bad place for a Metathesiophobic. The Empress' keening scream grew from an inaudible whine to a deafening wail as she watched the destruction of her city. Lost within that terrible scream I could almost make out her words. She gestured at the empty fields beyond her mighty wall, imploring, begging, ‘Please no,’ but there was no one out here except the Captain and I.
And the dead.
Once they had lived, but we changed that.
She changed it back. But insanity allows no finely tuned control and the more powerful we are, the less control we have. It is the curse of the delusional.
One moment we were certain of victory and the next men streamed from the gate, fleeing something terrible within. The Captain and I stood directly in their path. Neither of us moved and we would surely have been trampled had the retreating men not seen the rising dead.
‘Gods,’ the Captain mouthed silently.
We watched as thousands of corpses pushed themselves from the bloody dust to stare about in mute, dawning comprehension. They looked even more terrified than the living, but that didn't stop them. The dead launched themselves at the Theocrat's troops with no thought of self-preservation or defence. I don't know what drove them: the Empress' delusions or the realization of their own plight and the death of all they had dreamt and planned. They dragged men down, ignoring the vicious wounds they suffered as they did so. The slain rose once again to join the fight. The wind picked up, spinning the sharp sand and obliterating sight and sound alike. It was impossible to tell friend from foe, the living from the dead. Red grit covered everyone and everything.
This was not the Delusionist Empress launching her counter-attack. This was the apex of insanity, the tottering pinnacle of power, that moment when delusions take a life of their own and run wild, beyond all control.
Numb with shock and loss I watched the massacre as if from a safe distance. Why had the Captain brought me here? My thoughts were interrupted by the shattering roar of a grizzly bear. Those closest to Bär's corpse were sent spinning away like scattered toys as the bear swung paws the size of a man's chest to devastating effect. Through the chaos I saw him, already ragged and trampled, his shaggy fur, matted with blood and dust, hanging in shredded knots. Too many arrows to count protruded from his mangled pelt.
If Bär once again stood...I choked down the surge of hope. This wasn't Bär, at least not in any way that mattered. If anything remained of the shape-shifter its mind was damaged beyond recognition.
‘Asena,’ I said.
The Captain stared at me with dawning comprehension.
He said something, screamed it into the wind. I didn't hear it.
‘I'm sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I can't see her like this.’ It was both denial and prayer. It didn't matter that Asena was already dead, if I saw her I wasn't sure I could do what had to be done. This was it, the moment where I could turn the tide against the Theocrat's troops and save the Empress.
I saw two ice-blue eyes in the blowing sand. The deafening clamour of battle faded to nothing, drowned by the roaring beat of my heart pounding in my ears. The hot wind and scorching sun were nothing compared to the heat building in my veins. I boiled from within. A sudden gust occluded the blue eyes in a maelstrom of crimson dust.
The flames of my silent scream engulfed the pain, bright and sharp. I let loose my guilt. I loosed my hatred of the Theocrat for bringing me to this hellish place and I loosed my anger at myself for so desperately wanting to please him. My guilt for lying to the Captain, my love of Asena and self-loathing for thinking I could ever be happy. The desperately clenched grip I kept on my emotions—all that stood between me and raging insanity—crumbled and fell apart.
I let loose the fire.
The blowing sand turned to molten glass and rained blood-red upon the field of war. Bodies ignited and blew away like so much papery ash in the gusting winds. The gate and wall ran like thick blood, sagging and then collapsing under their own weight.
Still I burned.
I had no thought of stopping. I would burn until there was nothing left of myself or the world around me.
He must have been standing safely behind me, for the Captain saved my life at that moment. And damned himself to a hell of decay and corruption.
* * *
When I awoke my skull throbbed and my thin fringe of hair was crusted with blood. The Captain stood over me, looking down with a sad, apologetic smile. I felt cold. Empty.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
I stared past him into the clear blue sky. It was so nice to see something other than gods-damned red. ‘Help me up,’ I said. ‘Take me back to my tent.’
‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘The tents are gone.’ He looked away, scanning the horizon. ‘It is all gone.’
I lifted a hand and with a grunt of effort he pulled me to my feet. We were surrounded as far as the eye could see by a rolling sea of red glass.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why did you stop me? I want to die. I know you want...’ I trailed off unable to say the words. Surely he must crave an end even more than I.
This time only his eyes spoke the apology. ‘The Theocrat asked me to stay with you. He asked me to stop you if you were going to...burn yourself out. Those were my orders. The Theocrat says he is not ready to lose you yet. He said he has further use for us both.’ The Captain paused to take a ragged breath. ‘He said he needs us.’
Emotions battled for supremacy. I hated the Captain for stopping me but loved him for saving my life. I loathed the Theocrat for sending me here but had never been so happy as the moment the Captain told me I was still needed. Was it better to be needed and used than not to be needed at all? Probably not, but such is the power of the Theocrat. His need crushes all other desire. His selfishness makes us selfless.
‘I was supposed to kill you if you turned treasonous,’ I admitted to the Captain.
‘I know.’
‘The Delusionist?’ I asked.
‘Dead.’
No one remained to challenge the Theocrat's supremacy. He'd won, and the
cost meant nothing to him. I looked at the endless sea of red glass. How many dead lay buried under there? Did some live on undead, trapped and struggling?
‘The Theocrat,’ I said, ‘this can't be allowed to go on.’
The Captain held up his rotting arm, flesh peeling from bone. ‘I suppose a goal might give me something to live for,’ he said with a crooked smile. ‘Shall we pay him a visit?’
I nodded.
Side by side the Captain and I walked across the sheet of crimson glass toward Grauschloss and the manipulative bastard who was our Theocrat. Sweat pooled in the folds of my fat and I watched the Captain from the corner of my eye. Had Asena been part of the Theocrat's plan? Why had the Captain sent me to greet the Therianthropes? Had he pushed me at her, all the while knowing she was to be sacrificed? It wasn't beyond the Theocrat to use her simply to drive me to a point where I would lose all control. Had he known of my plan to betray him?
The one question I dared not ask myself: Did Asena know?
I shoved the thought away and walked alongside my only friend.
I think I have one last fire building within me.[GdM]
Michael R. Fletcher’s first novel, 88, a cyberpunk tale about harvesting children for their brains, was published by Five Rivers Publishing in 2013.
Mike’s second novel, Beyond Redemption, a work of dark fantasy and rampant delusion, was released by Harper Voyager in June of 2015.
The next two Manifest Delusions novels, have been written and are currently in editing.
Mike is represented by Cameron McClure of the Donald Maass Literary Agency.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9945214-1-5
Grimdark Magazine Issue #6 ePub Page 9
