Beyond Redemption (29 page)

Morgen followed Wichtig through the foul and narrow streets. The Swordsman, long legs striding quickly, grumbled and cursed under his breath.

He must have lied to make me doubt Konig,
thought Morgen. Except he couldn't quite believe that. Wichtig had sounded more like he'd simply found Morgen's beliefs funny.
But belief defines reality
. If he and all of Selbsthass believed strongly enough that he'd been born of pure faith, would that make it true?

“I can't believe she ran!” Wichtig called over his shoulder. “What a waste of a day!”

Morgen had known the woman would flee. Should he have told Wichtig? Did Wichtig not understand?

Handsome, dashing, and heroic Wichtig might be, but Morgen suspected the Swordsman might not be particularly smart. He decided to explain, just in case.

“It was better you didn't kill her.”

“Oh, shut up,” snapped Wichtig.

“You just became the Greatest Swordsman in this turd bucket without a fight.” He thought about the three men Wichtig had so casually slain. “Without a
real
fight,” he corrected.

Wichtig ignored Morgen's attempt at humor and continued stalking, head down, through the street. Morgen tried again.

“Word will spread. You are so good even the great Lebendig Durchdachter is afraid to face you. This is better than an actual kill.” Wichtig continued to ignore him. “People enjoy seeing imperfection in others. They feel better about themselves. This explains why you love and hate Bedeckt. You see how vastly flawed he is and know you could do better.”

“Of course I do better.”

“
Could
do—”

“Which part of ‘shut up' didn't you understand?” Wichtig growled.

An emaciated black cat riddled with open sores and a recently torn ear dashed across the street in front of Wichtig, a blur of motion. Wichtig was faster. His foot connected dead center with the thin body and sent it spinning into a nearby wall. Morgen heard its spine snap with the kick and the
pock
of its skull cracking as it hit the brick wall. The cat dropped and lay motionless.

Wichtig continued down the winding filth-strewn street as if unaware of what he had done. As if it were a small violence beneath notice.

Morgen approached the cat and stared down at the forlorn body. Only the faintest spark of life remained in the broken creature.
Do cats have an Afterdeath?
If not, were there no cats in the Afterdeath? It seemed a strange and sad thought, to imagine
a place without the effortless companionship of animals. Did the Afterdeath require a belief in the Afterdeath, or was it just there? Did people who didn't believe still awaken in the beyond, or was this the end for them? Morgen thought about the cat's short and brutal life and pointless death at the whim of an annoyed . . . child.

And that's what Wichtig is,
Morgen realized: a bratty child enraged at having something he desired moved beyond his grasp. Wichtig wanted to kill the Swordswoman and sulked because he'd been denied the chance.

When Morgen was younger, Aufschlag had gently chided him for such behavior and he had long outgrown such childishness. Why hadn't Wichtig? Had no one thought to teach the Swordsman how grown-ups were supposed to act? Was this a fault of Wichtig's, or did the blame lay elsewhere, perhaps with his parents and friends?
Does no one care enough to teach him how a man should behave?

He nudged the cat's lifeless body with a toe. “Was your life as meaningless as your death?”

The cat's dwindling soul offered no reply other than its stubborn unwillingness to flee the shattered body.

How much pointless violence and death could a god witness before acting?

Morgen's world narrowed to a pinpoint of focus. Sounds dulled and the street became a mottled blur. The cat became his universe. Could he do this, could he bring this tenuous soul back from beyond? How much faith did the people of Selbsthass have in him? Did they believe him capable of returning the dead to life?

His limits had never been tested. Aufschlag forbade it. But why?

I need to know my limits.
If just to crush the growing doubts.

He forced his will upon the cat's cooling flesh. The bent little body twitched.
I knew it!
His followers' faith was a deep well he had barely tapped.

The cat yowled piteously as, spine still bent at an unnatural angle, it pulled itself to its feet. It staggered in a circle, blinking furiously in confusion. The cat collapsed to the ground and lay mewling.

Morgen turned to find a crowd gathered around him. Wichtig stood at the forefront of the mob with a look of both measured contemplation and fear.

“It worked,” said Morgen. “I brought the cat back. Let's go back to the men you killed in the Schwarze Beerdigung. I can bring them back too.”

Though Wichtig had eyes only for the boy, the rest of the crowd stared past Morgen at the yowling cat as it again dragged itself in tight circles.

The boy opened his mouth to speak and Wichtig panicked. He had to silence the child. With one step forward he clipped Morgen's chin with a fast punch. The boy collapsed to the filthy street.

Some people just aren't built to take a punch
. It was a damn good thing he didn't have Bedeckt's qualms about hitting children. The old goat would have stood watching Morgen shoot his mouth off until everyone in the crowd knew this was the kidnapped Geborene godling. The fact that Bedeckt never would have allowed this to happen—and had specifically told Wichtig to stay out of trouble—was irrelevant.

The crowd made angry and threatening noises at Wichtig's callous treatment of the child. He turned to face them.

“Oh, what? You've never hit someone before?” he asked the gathered people. Poor and dirty, they looked a motley assortment of unimportant souls.

A fat woman in a stained apron stepped forward and waved a rolling pin at him. “What kind of man hits a defenseless child?”

He saw a quick way to end this. Wichtig drew his sword and stabbed the fat woman through the heart. He flicked the blade free of blood and returned it to its sheath before she realized she was dead.

“I think I answered your question,” he mused. “Any other questions, or would you all like to piss off now?”

A moment later Wichtig stood alone in the street with an unconscious boy, the corpse of an old woman, and a mewling cat-corpse still staggering in circles.

“Gods damn it all!”

Do I have to do everything myself?
Wichtig stepped over the boy and stomped on the cat's head.

Scooping up the boy, he headed toward the Ruchlos Arms. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the cat, skull crushed, drag itself into an alley.

Bedeckt and Stehlen returned to find Wichtig sitting in the Ruchlos Arms' main room, staring into an empty pint mug with a rare look of thoughtful contemplation. Morgen was nowhere to be seen.

Not good
. Bedeckt waved at the barkeep to bring pints.

Stehlen took a seat on the bench across from the Swordsman so she could watch the door. He didn't seem to notice her. “Gods, look at him,” she said to Bedeckt. “He's had his first thought.” She poked Bedeckt hard in the ribs. “That or he's eaten some of your cat turd.”

Bedeckt, gingerly lowering himself to the bench beside Stehlen, didn't like it. Anything penetrating Wichtig's self-aggrandizing narcissism was worth worrying about. A thoughtful Wichtig could convince himself of any number of stupidities.

“Where's the boy?” Bedeckt asked.

Wichtig looked up, his eyes hooded. “Upstairs.”

Stehlen snorted. “The idiot is hiding something. Let me guess: the boy is dead.”

Wichtig shot her an angry look. “He's fine.”

Bedeckt lifted an eyebrow. “But . . .”

“I had to hit the little bastard.” Wichtig raised a hand to ward off further questions. “I had to—he was about to tell everyone who he was!”

“Everyone?” Stehlen glanced pointedly around the inn at the three other patrons, all deep into their cups. “How awful!”

“You took the boy out.” Bedeckt wasn't asking.

Wichtig shrugged. It wasn't a denial.

Bedeckt leaned forward and the bench groaned in protest. “You went out looking for Swordsmen and you took the boy.”

“Should I have left him here alone?” Wichtig asked sarcastically.

“You should have both stayed here!” Bedeckt roared into Wichtig's face. “I told you to stay out of trouble!”

“You aren't my father. Yours isn't the only game afoot, old man.”

“Your father?” Morgen had said Wichtig looked to him as a father figure. Could the boy have the right of it?
No, surely not
. The very idea served only to feed his anger. “Moron! I should kill you!”

Wichtig slid from the bench in one smooth motion and stood, looking down upon Bedeckt with flat gray eyes. “Try it, old man. I am the World's Greatest Swordsman. The boy knows it, and you know what that means.”

Bedeckt sat, looking up at the young Swordsman. Morgen had said Bedeckt would die alone, that Wichtig would not be there.

“You'll be dead before you draw those pretty swords,” said Stehlen from behind Wichtig. She sounded all too calm.

How the hells did she get there?
Bedeckt sighed tiredly.
I'm too old for this.

Perhaps Wichtig wouldn't be present at Bedeckt's death because
he himself was already dead. Was this fate, or could it be avoided?

“The boy is unhurt?” Bedeckt asked, trying for fatherly concern mixed with casual curiosity. “No real harm was done?”

The question and tone distracted Wichtig. “He's fine. It wasn't my fault.”

Nothing was ever Wichtig's fault. “Then it's no big deal,” Bedeckt said.

Stehlen spat in snarling frustration. “I'm going for a walk. If one of you kills the other, I'll kill whoever is still alive.” She marched from the room.

Wichtig, eyes wide and innocent, watched her leave before returning to his seat. “Gods help anyone who bumps into her on the street.”

Bedeckt nodded in nonchalant agreement but his chest felt tight. The boy had planted dangerous thoughts in Bedeckt's mind. What if he'd done the same for Wichtig? The Swordsman might be a minor Gefahrgeist, but he was easily swayed and manipulated himself. Did Morgen act with intent, or was he unaware of the consequence of his words?

Maybe stealing a would-be god hadn't been the best idea. Had he embroiled them in something deeper than planned? Swallowing his fear and doubt along with the last of his pint, he waved at the barkeep for more ale.

Finally, keeping his voice carefully disinterested, Bedeckt asked, “What did the boy say?”

“He told the crowd he could bring back the dead. Damned lucky I was there to stop him.”

“Damned lucky,” agreed Bedeckt, choking back the sarcasm.

The crowd?
Bedeckt took a long drink to buy time to think.

“You found the Swordsman you sought? Was it a good fight?”

Wichtig grimaced. “Swordswoman,” he corrected. “She ran away.”

So no flashy duel to gather a crowd—which meant people had gathered for the boy. No wonder Wichtig was in a foul mood: he didn't get to fight
and
his ego hadn't been stroked by the populace.

“What happened next?”

“Delusional little bastard thinks he can do anything.” Wichtig shook his head in disbelief. “It's like he doesn't understand there are consequences.”

This, coming from Wichtig, almost wrenched a laugh from Bedeckt and he had to carefully swallow his mouthful of beer to avoid coughing it all over the table. If anyone remained ignorant of the concept of consequences . . .

“What did he do?” Bedeckt asked.

“He brought a damned cat back to life! The damned thing made an awful racket. I crushed its head under my boot, but it wouldn't die.” Wichtig drank deeply and shuddered. “Too bad Stehlen wasn't there. She could have killed the entire crowd. No witnesses.”