“My thing?”
“Delusion. What kind of Geisteskranken are you?”
Bedeckt shot her another dark scowl and once again she ignored it. “I’m sane.”
“Right. Your friends, Wichtig and Stehlen—”
“They’re not my friends.”
“—were both Geisteskranken. You surround yourself with the delusional. Sane people don’t do that.”
“Horse shite. I know how to make use of them, that’s all.”
“Sane people avoid Gefahrgeist for fear of being manipulated.”
“Wichtig is a minor Gefahrgeist at best,” said Bedeckt, increasing his pace.
Zukunft kept up. “And Stehlen? Minor Kleptic?” she asked, knowing the answer. “How did you ever keep money?”
“I didn’t.”
Realizing Zukunft had no trouble matching his pace, and that he’d tire long before she, Bedeckt slowed.
“I don’t believe you’re sane either,” she said. Bedeckt saw her examining him from the corner of his eye. “And then there’s me.”
“You’re useful. Part of the plan.”
“And that’s it?” she asked. “Just part of the plan. No other reason to bring me along?”
“None.”
She grunted doubt. “And your choices—”
“What about my choices?”
“People don’t escape the Afterdeath.”
“I have to stop Morgen. I…I killed him. My choices made him what he is.”
She ignored this, shrugging it away like it was irrelevant. “Sane people don’t plan to have their friends chase them, intent on murder.”
“Them chasing me isn’t part of the plan. Knowing Morgen might send them is. Wichtig I can handle, but Stehlen will kill me for leaving her.”
“You abandoned her.” She said it like the word meant something special, something he didn’t understand.
Is she angry I left Stehlen behind? Why would she care? “Whatever you want to call it. You’ll keep me ahead of them.” Thinking he could avoid Stehlen forever was purest madness and if Bedeckt was one thing, it was sane. “With you seeing the future, I can decide when and where we meet.” He hoped it would be enough. And maybe the boy-god wouldn’t send Wichtig and Stehlen to kill him. Maybe Morgen had no idea Bedeckt fled the Afterdeath intent on stopping his insane plan to cleanse the world of imperfection. And maybe Wichtig will learn wisdom and Stehlen will forgive herself for whatever the hells she did.
“Still,” said Zukunft, “your choices are insane.”
“Don’t mistake stupid for insane,” said Bedeckt.
CHAPTER TWO
From each defeated foe, keep one small fetish. A finger or toe will suffice. Kill at least one fine horse and two dogs and keep those fetishes on your body at all times. GrasGott demands proof of your victories. Only those whose fetishes you bear will serve in the Afterdeath.
—Warrior’s Credo (GrasMeer Tribes Version)
Morgen, Ascended god of the Geborene Damonen, watched Konig bow and scrape. He loathed the domed perfection of the man’s bald head. The subservience was an act, fuelled by fear. This wasn’t even the real Konig but rather a Reflection who toppled the man from his mind and trapped him in the mirror from which it escaped. Morgen hated Reflections. They were liars, each and every one.
Failure, once the original Konig, watched from a hand mirror. Acceptance—one of the original Konig’s Doppels—had carried that mirror, thinking he could use the Reflection trapped within for his own purposes. The Doppels were dead and gone, Konig nothing more than a Reflection, and what had been a Reflection now manifest in the flesh.
Morgen wasn’t sure whether it was sad or funny that the new Konig often conferred with the failure imprisoned within the mirror.
People don’t learn. They don’t change. Was it that they couldn’t, or did it never occur to them to try?
Morgen glanced about the chambers. Once the Theocrat’s, they were now his. The deep and gaudy rugs had been removed and burned, leaving barren stone; thick carpets hid dirt and dust. The majestic tapestries had been torn down and dumped in some deep basement. The unadorned stone walls were so clean they glistened. He scowled at the top corner where wall met ceiling. Were those cobwebs hidden in the shadows? If the cleaning crews were slacking on keeping his chambers clean, what must the rest of the city look like? He must walk the streets soon. Filth and complacency were one and the same. A perfect world would take effort, but it was worth it.
He checked himself in the tall brass-mounted mirror standing in one corner. His robes were pristine, white like only a god can achieve.
Konig said something about the troops Morgen didn’t hear.
“Stand,” said Morgen. He didn’t really want the man upright—Konig was a tall bastard—but was curious if the Theocrat’s robes would show signs of dust from the floor.
Konig rose and stood waiting, staring down his nose at the boy god. His robes were clean.