Beyond Redemption (40 page)

My sword! Bring me my sword, you cretinous wretches!

—K
ING
V
ERBLASSEN
'
S LAST WORDS

M
orgen feigned sleep and soon Wichtig and Stehlen broke off their futile argument. It was as if without an audience there was no point. He didn't have to wait long before Stehlen began fidgeting with nervous tension. Sitting quietly at a fire didn't suit her. Wichtig didn't do much better. With no one to impress or manipulate, he sank into a dark depression. Morgen understood: for people like Wichtig and Stehlen, moments of quiet contemplation were anathema.

Through slitted eyes he watched the two, waiting for the moment he knew would come.

Stehlen glared at Wichtig—who ignored her—and spat into the fire. “Where's your sparkling wit now?”

“Probably out searching for your personal hygiene.” Wichtig didn't look up from the fire.

Nostrils flared, she seemed to take a moment to consider this.
“You are poor company,” she stated as if just discovering she'd invited a boor to a fine social event.

Wichtig finally glanced up, flashing her a sweet smile. “Stop pretending you want to fight with me and go find Bedeckt.”

“I doubt he wants company.”

Wichtig turned his face back to the fire and Morgen watched the sweet smile transform into a mischievous grin. “Why do you think he hasn't returned? You think he wants to freeze his arse off alone in those woods?” He snorted with mock disgust. “No. He's
waiting
for you.”

Stehlen scowled uncertainly. “Liar.”

“Suit yourself,” said Wichtig, pretending he cared not one whit whether Stehlen believed him.

Morgen watched the Kleptic's innate paranoia wrestle with her desire. Even knowing the outcome, he found it interesting to watch her convince herself she was not doing exactly what she would soon do, and that the doing was all her own idea.

An important lesson,
he thought.
Trust your fears. When a quiet voice whispers,
You are being used,
listen. Ignore your baser desires.

Thinking back, he saw that the two most important men in his life, Aufschlag and Konig, never gave in to their more vulgar appetites. Apparently some lessons went unspoken. How many other subtle teachings had he missed?

“I'm going for a walk,” announced Stehlen to the night sky. “You bore me.”

“Only boring people get bored,” said Wichtig to the fire. “Enjoy your
walk
.”

“I'm just walking.”

“Of course. Enjoy it”

“Arsehole.” Stehlen disappeared into the trees without a sound.

Wichtig sat in silence for several minutes, occasionally poking
at the fire with the charred tip of a long stick. “I know you're watching me,” he said without looking up, and for a moment Morgen thought he'd been caught. “Stehlen, you're a minor Kleptic at best.”

No answer came from the forest. Wichtig seemed not to care. Half an hour later the Swordsman tossed the stick into the dwindling fire with a petulant sigh.

“Gods, I am bored,” he muttered so quietly Morgen barely heard.

Stehlen, hidden in the woods, slunk away with a victorious smirk. Though he could neither hear nor see her, Morgen knew she was there and sensed her emotion. She would go in search of Bedeckt. Though he hoped they would enjoy the short time left to them, he knew they wouldn't. They were as incapable of taking comfort in each other's company as they were incapable of honesty.
Happiness,
he thought,
is beyond reach for some
. Fate didn't stand in the way. Rather, they themselves were their own worst enemies.

Morgen watched Wichtig grow increasingly restless. The Swordsman briefly entertained himself by having one-sided arguments with imaginary Bedeckts and Stehlens in which he was devastatingly witty (sometimes on the third attempt) and his opponents were stunned by his intellect. After a petulant argument with himself that he somehow managed to lose, though, the Swordsman once again grew despondent and quiet. With a grumbled curse at Bedeckt and Stehlen for leaving him here alone, he finally lay down, curling up in his sleeping roll. Seconds later the man was snoring gently, sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
Or at least of those incapable of feeling guilt,
thought Morgen

When Wichtig's breathing slowed, Morgen crawled from his sleeping roll and slid quietly to Stehlen's pack. He knew what he needed would be there; the dancing flames had shown him.
Wichtig's deep breathing never changed. It took Morgen only seconds to find what he sought. The oiled knife slid free of its sheath with less noise than breath from a snake. Everything about it epitomized Stehlen. A narrow blade, razor sharp and dangerous. The knife glinted in flawless perfection. No tarnish showed anywhere. It felt light in his hand, agile. He'd expected more weight, some heft to something so final.

For several minutes Morgen watched Wichtig breath. Was this really what had to happen? Was he sure?

He wasn't even sure there was a
supposed
. Those glimpses of the future, were they written in stone? It certainly seemed so. He wished Aufschlag had taught him more of the various Geisteskranken powers he would develop. Did the Geborene scientist seek to somehow shield him in ignorance? Or had Aufschlag simply not known . . . or had there been darker reasons?

Always looking for the concealed truth now, aren't you?
But it made too much sense. He couldn't deny he'd been kept ignorant of things he should likely have known. How different would things have turned out had he known to question? Had he learned distrust sooner, perhaps he wouldn't be here now. He might still be back in Selbsthass with Aufschlag and Konig.

Waiting to die.

Morgen's breath caught.
How blind have I been?
To Ascend, he'd have to die. But no one had ever told him how his death would be achieved.

Konig wants what's best for the Geborene and for all Selbsthass
. He would have figured out the best, safest way for Morgen to die. Konig would have planned everything to the last detail. Except even that somehow rang false. Aufschlag was the planner, Konig . . . what did Konig actually do?

He glanced again at Wichtig. Questions leading to more questions, and no answers to be found. Morgen craved assurance
he made the right choices, but couldn't even be sure there were right choices to be made anymore. What if the reflections merely showed possibilities and the future was chaos? He shuddered at the thought of disorganization on such a colossal scale. Reality should be neat, tidy. It should follow rules.

Unable as he was to see his own future, certainty remained something he could never achieve. Still, some things can never be undone. Murder definitely counted among those things.

Morgen glanced at the dwindling fire.
Are you sure?
he asked. His anger hadn't faded—far from it—but contemplating violence wasn't the same as actually doing it.

Again the flames showed Wichtig's endless manipulations.
He thinks you're an idiot,
the fire seemed to hiss.
He uses you. Everyone uses you.
The fire replayed dimly remembered conversations Morgen had shared with Konig.
He
also
doesn't love you. He doesn't know how
. Morgen saw Konig awkwardly tussle his hair and the concealed look of distaste as he hugged the boy.

Morgen's heart broke. His breath came in short gasps and he felt strangely dizzy. What was this emotion gripping his heart, strangling every thought, collapsing his vision to a dark tunnel with but a single red ember throbbing at the far end?

He was nothing to Konig and he was nothing to Wichtig. These men thought him little more than a means to an end. Morgen stared at the sleeping Swordsman, tears smearing his vision.

Wichtig. The selfish bastard betrayed his trust, twisted his innocence to his own purpose.
He cares nothing for me
.

Did anyone?

His chest constricted like it was trying to throttle his heart, suffocating rational thought. He'd never felt anything like this before, had nothing to compare it to.

What was this maelstrom of emotion?

Sadness?

No, that wasn't quite right, though there were echoes of despair.

They're using me, all of them.
He tasted the words in his mind and his teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached.
I feel . . .

Rage.

The fire sputtered, throwing sparks into the air like spattered blood. The knife felt hot in his hand. Hungry.

Morgen knelt beside Wichtig.

Did this really have to happen the way the fire showed?

It didn't matter.

I
want this.

Stehlen found Bedeckt with ease. The old man had made no effort to disguise his tracks, and besides, it was damned difficult to hide something from a Kleptic when she wanted it badly enough. He'd lit his own fire and made himself comfortable. Clearly he had no intention of returning to their camp.
Was Wichtig correct, does Bedeckt wait for me to join him?

She stayed in the dark, watching. Much like Wichtig, Bedeckt poked at the fire with a stick. She wondered if the need to poke things was some kind of stupid
man
thing. Unlike Wichtig, however, Bedeckt seemed at peace with the solitude and quiet. Stehlen envied his comfort.

“You might as well join me,” Bedeckt said without looking up from the fire.

Stehlen stepped from the dark. “How many times have you said that tonight?”

“Dozens.”

She snorted. “Why does everyone think I have nothing better to do than spy on them?”

“Maybe we know you.”

She squatted by the fire, feet flat, elbows resting comfortably
on knees. She could sit like this for hours and knew just watching her made Bedeckt's knees ache. She chose a spot not quite across the fire from Bedeckt. She wanted to see his face.

“It's going to get cold tonight,” she said.

Bedeckt grunted.

“We've got a good-sized fire back at the camp.” She twitched something between a sneer and a smile. “If the moron hasn't let it go out. Though after the last time he—”

“I'd like to be alone.”

“Me too.”

Bedeckt gave her a strange look.

“What?” she asked. “I thought we could do it together.”

His brows furrowed but he said nothing.

“Be alone, I meant. Not what you . . . unless . . . you wanted to . . .”

“With you and no one else,” said Bedeckt, “I think we could be together and alone.”

Stehlen felt a rare glow of warmth in her chest. “That's what I thought.”

He let out something between and groan and a sigh.
What did
that
mean?

“We can sit quietly, right?” he asked.

“Of course. As long as Wichtig isn't here. I tell you, he—”

Bedeckt scowled, his scarred face all scrunched up with the effort.

“Sorry,” she said.

They sat in silence for a handful of minutes before Stehlen stood and muttered something about getting more wood. When she returned with an armload of twigs and branches, she sat closer to Bedeckt. When he didn't comment she shuffled closer, saying something about her butt being uncomfortable. When he remained quiet she moved closer until their elbows touched.

Bedeckt finally glanced at her. “I have to piss,” he said.

Stehlen watched him disappear into the trees and gave a philosophical shrug. Perhaps he wanted to relieve himself before . . . She smiled wistfully. It'd be nicer here than in some dark, puke-filled alley.

An hour later Bedeckt still hadn't returned.

“Gods damn it!”

Morgen crouched over Wichtig, knife clenched in both hands. Where should he stab the bastard? He had no idea. Wichtig and Stehlen made it look so easy. He thought about the throat. How long did someone take to die from a throat wound? The heart? There seemed like an awful lot of bone in the way. The softness of the guts seemed like an easy target. Lots of important organs, and no bone to get in the way. Morgen raised the knife, focusing on a spot just under the sternum. Surely a central strike would be best.