She left without a word, closing the door behind her.
Alone in the hall, still dressed in her sodden clothes, Stehlen shoved her fists in her pockets to keep them from shaking. Her right hand struck something warm and wood. Startled, she withdrew what she found there: Three toy soldiers—the tallest about half the length of her longest finger—carved from dark mahogany. She examined the first soldier, a scarred old man, still muscled, but with a paunch. Her breath caught. This was no toy soldier. It was Bedeckt, carved in such detail he seemed to stare at her as she held him before her eyes. Glancing at the other two, she recognized them immediately. Wichtig and herself, carved in equal detail.
Holding Bedeckt closer, she examined the toy. It perfectly captured the warrior, not only physically—down to missing fingers and hewn ears—but also the man within that tub of scar tissue. His doubts and fears were writ plain in his eyes, his iron sanity and fluid morals.
Swallowing uncomfortably, Stehlen returned the toy to the pocket she drew it from and lifted the next, Wichtig, for inspection. Like Bedeckt, this carving was a flawless realization of the Swordsman. She saw Wichtig’s impeccable good looks and utter confidence in his physicality. And it was all undermined by eyes bleeding self-doubt, self-loathing, and the knowledge he was unworthy of all he possessed. The toy leaked fear. Fear of consequences, fear of responsibility.
Where are you? she wondered, and knew he was here, somewhere in this very tower.
Stehlen slid it into the pocket alongside Bedeckt. They can keep each other company.
Hesitating, she held the last carving clutched in her fist. Don’t look. Put it back in the pocket.
No, that was exactly the kind of cowardice she expected from Wichtig.
She examined the carved statue, repulsed by its pinched and jaundiced features. A perpetual sneer of disgust and loathing stretched thin lips. The eyes, narrowed shards of yellow hate, cast harsh judgement and found the world wanting. The toy looked like it contemplated violence, ready to tear at anything daring offend it in the least.
Stehlen sneered at the toy and realized her own expression must perfectly mimic its. She held it at arm’s length, wanting to throw it away, wanting to smash it to the ground and stomp its insults to dust, wanting to burn it to ash and then piss on the ashes. She was too scared to dare any of that.
Who could love this?
No one. No one could love such a vile person.
The toy looked frightened and alone, desperate for love and knowing itself to be unworthy.
And ugly. So gut twistingly horrid.
I can’t be that ugly. She thought back to the superb accuracy of the Bedeckt and Wichtig carvings, how they captured every aspect of the two men, internal and external. Could only mine be a flawed representation?
She remembered all the times men—even those she considered friends—blanched and turned away from her smile.
Burn the sticking things. Burn them all.
She wouldn’t. She knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. For all the skill evinced in these carvings, there was something deeply wrong with them; not in the artistry, but in their very existence.
The toy Stehlen sat warm in her hand.
It’s not a toy. She took them from Morgen. The godling shite these made for a reason, and not to play with. She thought of the boy he had been. Or maybe they are to play with. Maybe he doesn’t know the difference, thinks we’re all pieces to be moved.
One thing scared Stehlen more than the idea of Morgen having them made to begin with: The thought of someone other than herself possessing them.
Stehlen grinned malice at the toy and it hated her right back. Morgen wanted the men dead and spoiling the bastard’s plans was worth more than anything he could offer in return. That didn’t mean the two idiots wouldn’t die—they abandoned her in the Afterdeath, after all—but they wouldn’t die until their deaths were of no use to the Geborene god.
Stehlen slid the carving into her pocket alongside the others. She’d keep them safe.
At least for now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Self-loathing is the natural state for humanity. We know there is something wrong with us. We are at war with ourselves, and it’s a war we are doomed to lose.
—Unknown Gefahrgeist