Beyond Redemption (39 page)

Not until Wichtig finally stopped talking did Morgen realize he hadn't seen the Swordsman in the flames. For all his promises of protection, Wichtig was nowhere to be found.

The flames flickered as if in response to his thoughts, building a scene he recognized.
That's this camp
. Wichtig lay sleeping, wrapped in a thin blanket.
No, he's not sleeping,
Morgen realized, seeing the Swordsman's wide, staring eyes.
He's dead
.

How could this happen? A falling-out with Stehlen?
Should I warn him? Wait, why does his death matter if I can just bring him back?

The answer was obvious:
Because I don't bring him back
.

But why wouldn't he?

Because I want him dead.

He stared into the fire, watched as the dancing flames replayed every conversation, every word he'd ever shared with the Swordsman. Everything Wichtig had said contained undercurrents—now, looking back, not even particularly subtle—of manipulation. If Wichtig ever spoke a word of truth, it was an accident.

Morgen's jaw clenched; his fist tightened until the muscles in his thin arms felt like they would pop.

Wichtig thinks he can use me. Is there anyone in all the world I can trust?

The flames reached toward him, offering warmth and love. Just like the reflections, they showed the future, told him the truth when no one else would. The fire and reflections, they were one and the same. And they never lied.

Were Aufschlag here, Morgen felt sure the Geborene scientist would have been a source both of comfort and of wisdom. He missed the old man. At times like this he could almost hear what Aufschlag would have said.

Aufschlag's face stared at him from the flames. The scientist's lips moved, and though Morgen heard nothing, he understood.

Think this through
.

Something Wichtig said bothered him:
Konig wants you dead. He's afraid you'll learn something that will turn you against him.
Was this the only explanation?

In the fire Aufschlag shook his head and then faded from view.

No,
thought Morgen,
there is another explanation
. He watched Wichtig and Stehlen bicker. Though the Swordsman was relatively clean, at least in a physical sense, Morgen could feel something of the filth lurking in the man's soul. For all Wichtig spoke of trust, he trusted no one. For all he spoke of wisdom, he learned nothing. Every word he uttered was done
so with an eye toward manipulation. Wichtig's tongue dripped poison.
He infects me with his lies
.

Stehlen was worse. She was disgusting from head to toe. Her clothes reeked of back-alley garbage, her yellow eyes burned with hatred for everything and everyone—herself included. She'd kill Morgen without hesitation. At least it was something he could trust. She was a thieving murderer and never pretended otherwise. Morgen would have felt a spot of warmth for the Kleptic had he not been terrified of her. Stehlen was easily the most dangerous of his three companions.

Again Morgen came back to the question:
Why would Konig send the Tiergeist to kill me?
Wichtig's assertion that Konig feared Morgen would learn something wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't completely wrong either. Morgen scowled at the filthy ground beyond his sleeping roll. No matter what he did, no matter how careful he was, he always managed to get dirty again.
There is no escaping contamination.

The thought stopped him.

Infection. Contamination.

Did Konig fear he would somehow be contaminated by the people he traveled with? But then why would Konig send them to . . .

A rush of fear raced cold fingers tickling down Morgen's spine. He thought back to the many bodies of Viele Sindein, his Mehrere bodyguard. Had the woman died protecting him, not trying to kill him, as Wichtig claimed?

What are the odds Wichtig told the truth about this and lied about everything else?

He'd been a fool. Morgen's sheltered life within the confines of the Geborene Damonen church left him ill prepared for dealing with the grime of reality.
Why did no one teach me to ask questions?
Prior to his time with Bedeckt, Wichtig, and Stehlen, he'd had no experience with lies. Now, though, he'd seen enough
to know the three continually lied to themselves and each other. Subtext and alternate meanings lurked in everything they said. Few words weren't attempts at obfuscation and distraction. And Morgen was learning from them. He couldn't help it. He listened to their talk. Watched them steal and kill. They soaked through his skin like poison.

Is it too late?
Was he already infected with their distrust, polluted by their greed, corrupted by the death following them?

Morgen thought back to Konig and life with the Geborene. The High Priest had been a stern taskmaster, but—as far as Morgen knew—he had never lied. And Morgen
never
lied to Konig. Was this part of what Konig sought to create, an honest god?

Morgen felt ill to his stomach. He'd lied when Wichtig had asked if he'd read much history. At the time he'd just wanted Wichtig to leave him alone. The small lie slipped out before he'd even thought about it. It had been easy.

“It's too late,” Morgen said aloud. “I've been—”

“What?” interrupted Wichtig. “What's too late?”

“It's too late for me to be still awake,” he lied. “I've been tired for ages. I'm going to sleep now.”

Morgen crawled into his sleeping roll as Wichtig watched with a contemplative frown. Did the Swordsman suspect? Morgen doubted it; Wichtig was far too self-absorbed to notice someone else's discomfort.

“Sweet dreams,” said Wichtig, patting him on the shoulder with an ash-stained hand. If he noticed Morgen's distaste at the contact, he made no mention of it.

Morgen lay curled with his eyes closed, anger twisting his stomach until he thought he would retch. He listened as Wichtig and Stehlen returned to arguing. He'd seen something in the fire as he once again lied to Wichtig. Bedeckt wouldn't return tonight, and Stehlen would slink away to find him. Wichtig would be the only one watching over him.

Morgen understood now why he never saw Wichtig in the future.

Contaminated. Corrupted. Lies.

And soon violence.

Morgen understood.
I must never Ascend
.

The Geborene experiment was a failure.

As long as I can remember who I am, I'll be fine.

—E
INSAM
G
ESCHICHTENERZÄHLER

K
onig stood at the entrance to his personal chambers, examining the thickly carpeted floor, which sparkled with mirror dust. Within, the two Doppels stood shoulder to shoulder, facing him. Only Acceptance's wounds differentiated him from the other.

“You lie,” said Konig, the threat unspoken.

Acceptance, head bowed low, shivered.

“No,” said Trepidation. “We do not. We . . . I wouldn't dare.”

“What
exactly
did you see in the mirror?” Konig demanded.

“They were escaping,” said Trepidation, licking his lips nervously. “They would have replaced us.”

Acceptance merely made a small whimpering sound and kept his face lowered.

Konig watched the two carefully.
Was
this a lie? Had something
else happened? Nothing but dust remained of the mirror's reflective surface. Could this have been true, could his Mirrorist tendencies have suddenly grown in power? He knew he couldn't trust Acceptance, but surely Trepidation would be too terrified to lie. In the end, he just couldn't chance yet more delusions running amok.

“You.” Konig pointed at Trepidation. “Have all the mirrors in the church destroyed.
All
of them. Cover anything reflective. I want no shining brass, no bright knives. Curtain all windows.” Konig paced into the room, ignoring the gritty crunch of broken glass beneath his shoes. He stopped before Acceptance. “You,” he said to the top of the Doppel's bald head. “Explain to me how my reflections became so powerful, while my Doppels, a much older delusion, seem to have dwindled. Seems unlikely, does it not?”

Acceptance looked up to meet Konig's eyes with his own single bloodshot eye. The Doppel looked beaten and dejected beyond his physical injuries. His clothes hung badly, wrinkled. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in days.

“We are broken,” Acceptance said. “When you turned Abandonment and Trepidation against me, you weakened us all. Then, when Abandonment faded away, we were further diminished. We are but a shadow of what we could have been.” A little anger crept into the Doppel's voice with the last sentence.

Konig scowled and turned his back contemptuously on the Doppel. “You made your play for power. You failed.”

“There was division among your reflections,” Acceptance whispered just loud enough to be heard.

Stopping, with his back still turned to the Doppel, Konig asked, “And?”

“They had a message.”

“And?”

“Asena and her Tiergeist have the boy.”

“Alive?”

“Yes,” answered Acceptance. “Asena means to bring the boy home.”

“She disobeyed me?”

“As Abandonment would have said, everyone betrays us in the end.”

“Me,” corrected Konig, distracted. “Everyone betrays
me
in the end.” He stood, lost in thought. “If she brings him here, it must be for a reason. Either she fears the boy is not ready to Ascend, or she fears . . .”

He left the thought unfinished. He couldn't say it aloud. If Morgen was sufficiently corrupted by his contact with the outside world, all Konig had worked for was ash. His delusions were growing in number and power. Morgen
had
to Ascend before Konig lost control and was consumed.

Konig's remaining Doppels gathered behind him. He felt their gaze like a weight on his shoulders. Killing Morgen had always been the plan, but he'd intended the boy to die willingly. If Morgen loved or worshiped Konig enough, if he'd believed everything about serving the people of Selbsthass he'd been told, he'd willingly sacrifice himself. A naïve god, desperate to please, had been Konig's goal. Why build a new god to worship when Konig could build a god who'd worship
him
? Love and worship, what differentiated the two? He felt like he should know, but saw no distinction, and as everyone else acted as if there was a difference, it worried him.

It doesn't matter.

If the boy had been corrupted, the plan would have to change. He'd still have to die, but afterward he'd serve as a slave and not as a . . . what? Friend?

You always meant to enslave the god
.

True, but it would be different if the boy was willing.

Really? How so?

Konig forced himself to relax, unclenching fists he hadn't noticed making.
I will kill the boy the moment he returns
. He had little choice; hiding from his reflections was at best a temporary measure. Konig remembered the feel of Meineigener's knife sliding into Aufschlag's chest, the gasp of air escaping a torn lung, the slow glazing of his friend's eyes. He swallowed doubt and revulsion.

Can I do it again?

The god must serve.

He's just a boy
.

Konig straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. He must not show weakness before his Doppels. “We move forward. When Asena returns with the boy we will see to his Ascension.” He left the room before his Doppels could answer.

Acceptance watched Konig leave, noticing the exaggerated set of the shoulders.

“
We
will see to his Ascension,” Konig had said. Not I. A small slip, but an important one.
He shies from what he must do. He needs me
.

The man's will wore thin. Little by little the failure of Konig's plans were breaking him.
Soon I will step forward and replace him.

“A good idea?” asked Trepidation.

“A gamble. He'll wait for Asena to return. He trusts her far more than he trusts us,” he muttered vehemently.

“Not entirely unwise,” said Trepidation with what almost sounded like humor.

Acceptance studied the Doppel for a moment. “True. By the time he realizes she isn't returning, he will have waited too long. We will make our move.”

“We?” Trepidation asked with obvious doubt.

“We. I am no fool—I cannot do this without you.”

“And we shall be equals, once we have taken Konig?”

“Don't be foolish.”

Trepidation bowed slightly, accepting the admonition without comment. “Konig commanded me to destroy all mirrors.”

“And?” asked Acceptance, mirroring Konig's earlier tone.

Trepidation gestured to where Acceptance's mirror remained tucked within his robes. “
All
mirrors.”

“I think I shall keep this one,” said Acceptance with a tight smile.

Trepidation looked doubtful. “Seeking to use Konig's reflections is unwise. They cannot be trusted.”

“We too are Konig—or at least aspects of him. Who is to say we cannot develop our own Mirrorist talents?”

Acceptance saw dawning comprehension on Trepidation's face. How he hated that untouched, unbroken countenance.
Someday I will have my revenge. Someday soon.

“Your reflections, they told you something.” Trepidation, the least socially skilled of the Doppels, made no attempt at hiding his curiosity. “What did you see?”

Acceptance grinned evilly, though he hid the broken teeth and ruined lips behind a shielding hand, his insecurity spoiling the intended effect. “All in good time, my cowardly co-conspirator. All in good time.”