15 Chapter 13

The Sophists talk about how we are all united, all part of the whole that is everything. They touch upon the truth. There is only one being in all reality. Me. You—each and every one of you—are nothing more than some annoying and unlikable aspect of my fractured personality. You disagree? Of course you do! So do I!

—ZWEIFELSSCHICKSAL, MEHRERE PHILOSOPHER

Huddled in her robes, bleeding smoke and the stench of burned flesh, Gehirn Schlechtes crossed the bridge into Selbsthass half an hour after the horizon swallowed the last rays of sun. She paid no heed to the change in scenery. That bridge represented home. Though she knew she still had two days of hard riding ahead, she already felt her heart lifting. If she could catch the three Wahnvor Stellung agents before they lost themselves in the thronging populace of Selbsthass City, she might return a hero. It would be nice to rub her victory in the bulbous and broken-veined nose of Aufschlag Hoher.

Though Gehirn understood Konig's reasons for not letting her near the boy-god Morgen anymore, it still rankled that the Chief Scientist had unlimited, unfettered access. She'd always liked the boy and done her best, on those few times she was allowed near, to be friendly and not too scary. Somehow she just knew she could trust Morgen. Aufschlag, however, could not be trusted. Something about the Chief Scientist just rubbed Gehirn the wrong way, mostly because it was clear the man thought all too highly of himself and his silly little experiments. If delusion shaped reality, what was the point of testing that reality? The man was a fool for not seeing that his own expectations would taint the results of every experiment.

Gehirn's lack of social skills left her unable even to broach the topic of her distrust with Konig without sounding like a petulant child. She had long since given up trying to take part in the baffling political maneuvering within the Geborene priesthood, but it still weighed on her mind, as did her seeming inability to do anything about it.

The fact was, although she wore the burgundy robes of a Geborene Bishop, she held no real rank. Konig had always intimated that Gehirn stood above and beyond the other ranking priests, but these same priests acted as if Gehirn was, at best, a tolerated guest. Konig, Gehirn assumed, must have very good reasons for keeping her true status secret. From Gehirn's viewpoint outside the inner circle, she saw the rank and social standing of these priests depended solely on their usefulness to High Priest Konig. She'd show those priests, the ones who mocked her behind her back: she deserved her rank, and not just because of the power of her delusions. She'd earn it.

For even as Gehirn sneered at them for being so manipulated, she longed to belong to their numbers.

Two guards stood atop the border garrison wall and watched the hunched and smoking figure disappear into the distance. They shared a look and went back to their argument. Large breasts or huge breasts? Blond or brunette? They agreed redheads were too damned temperamental and enjoyed a moment of mutual respect when they discovered a shared love of slim ankles. Yet another slow night where nothing happened and no one crossed the Selbsthass–Gottlos border.

Gehirn pushed the horses hard, deciding to travel well into the night. Exhausted and dreaming of the Kleptic's lithe body, she didn't notice the campfires blocking the road until she was among them. She reined in the horses, confident she could deal with whatever this was. If highway thieves, they were in for the shock of their lives.

Clucking at the stumbling horses, she moved toward the center of the makeshift camp at a slow walk. A mob of people gathered around a large tent in the middle of the road. Probably not thieves, then. Most likely a band of gypsies or religious zealots. She would question them. Either the gypsies would have seen the Wahnvor agents on the road, or, if she was really lucky, the agents would be here sharing the camp.

As she neared the camp she smelled the overpowering stench of unwashed bodies. This band must have fallen on hard times indeed. It would be easy to put some fear into them and get the information she wanted without all the haggling gypsies so loved. A few of the braver souls staggered to meet her, waving their welcome. Their malnourished bodies reminded Gehirn of sticks and dry tinder and she resisted the urge to burn them where they stood. A few slightly healthier-looking people waited at the tent—which Gehirn now saw was mounted atop a litter—trying to awaken whoever was within. This, she decided, was a fine thing.

Never talk to underlings when you can scare the shite out of those in charge and get things done much faster.

Gehirn felt a growing warmth in her belly. She'd burn a few of these wretched twigs to make her point and ensure events moved quickly. These gypsies stank to the high hells and she didn't want to spend more time here than necessary. But no point in burning anything until whatever passed for a leader could witness the destruction. The seeing eye believes, Gehirn had learned, and while the smell of burned friends was a wonderful motivator, the sight of charred bodies really drove the point home. She showed her most friendly grin and dismounted. The dry sticks bowed, formed an honor guard, and led her to the litter.

The smell got worse. Gehirn wrinkled her nose and covered her face with a hand, drawing up the fabric of a sleeve to breathe through. Burning this whole caravan to ash grew more enticing than ever; a cleansing fire, to rid the world of this ungodly stench.

Tattered and stained silk curtains were drawn aside as Gehirn approached, and she found herself staring at the most disgustingly obese . . . man? . . . woman? . . . she'd ever seen. Limbs little more than sausagelike stumps protruded from greasy rolls of fat. Something sludgy and foul leaked from under copious breasts. Everything jiggled like rotten aspic. A scrawny young woman, all ribs and bone, was up to her elbow in its crotch and working suggestively at whatever was in there. Her face was beatific in rapt worship, a tongue protruding and clenched in brown teeth with concentration. Lost in her task, she seemed unaware of Gehirn or the fact she was now exposed to the crowd. Gehirn felt her stomach rebel. The bilious slug ignored the woman's efforts, the glint of intelligence in its eyes all but lost in fat cheeks.

Fire, Gehirn decided, would get this shite heap's attention. She burned half a dozen people to ash before she could bite down on the sheer sexual joy of ravaging flame and bring it under control. Always best to start with violence and attempt communication second. People reacted more favorably when they knew you would snuff a few lives to get what you wanted . . . or for no reason whatsoever. She hated the entire you're-bluffing-no-I'm-not process. She returned her attention to the slug.

"I am Gehirn Schlechtes, Hassebrand to High Priest Konig Fur—" She stopped, mouth suddenly dry. "Konig Furimmer. I seek—" Konig seemed a distant memory, a faded image, a small man with small, unimportant goals. "I seek—"

"Me." The voice sounded too small to emanate from such a large body but somehow fit the round baby face. "You seek me."

Gehirn tried to shake the tangled cobwebs from her mind. "I am following . . ." She lost the thought, uncertain of what she had been looking for.

A fat hand flailed in an attempt to scratch at an armpit, couldn't reach, and fell heavily back. "I like you," said the small voice.

The words were so ridiculously out of place Gehirn could only ask, "You do?"

"Yes. I like you. A lot."

Startling sea-green eyes stared at Gehirn expectantly. She'd never seen such gorgeous eyes. She blinked and felt a tear leak down her cheek. No one ever liked her before, not really. Sure, Konig said he did, but she saw the disgust in his eyes. There was no doubting this—she was beginning to think of it as a man—person truly liked her for who she was. The idea of having a friend intoxicated Gehirn. Even so, some small part of her mind screamed to burn the camp and all the stinking gypsies to so much ash while she still could.

In a moment, she thought. In a moment.

"Your kind are very, very rare; I've never had a Hassebrand friend before," said the obese slug. "What did you say your name was?"

"Gehirn Schlechtes, my . . ." She wanted to add an honorarium but didn't know what would be acceptable. "Lord" somehow seemed too small a title for this man. "Friend," she finished.

"Gehirn, welcome to my wandering tribe of friends." The fat man waved at the gathered crowd. "I am Erbrechen Gedanke."

Gehirn bowed low. "I love you, Erbrechen Gedanke." She had never said these words before and was amazed at how easily they came. She spoke utter truth. Erbrechen was the bright spark in a world of darkness and corruption, a glowing spirit one could believe in with no fear of betrayal. Tears streamed freely down Gehirn's cheeks as she rose and realized for the first time just how beautiful her new friend was. Erbrechen's other friends remained as wretched and filthy as they had always been, but the joy of being near Erbrechen made the cost of tolerating their stench well worth it. Gehirn felt a stab of jealousy; the young woman got to be so close while Gehirn still stood several feet away. She desperately longed for some chance to show Erbrechen her true worth.

"You shaved your eyebrows?" Erbrechen asked.

"No. Lost to fire."

"Of course. You have nice eyes. Lovely blue. Very cold. Funny, for a Hassebrand."

Gehirn opened and closed her mouth, uncertain what to say. No one ever complimented her appearance.

"And your hair?"

"Burned."

"I like fire," said Erbrechen, eyes gleaming within greasy rolls of fat.

Gehirn laughed happily. Of course Erbrechen likes fire! He was perfection personified, with none of the pitifully desperate flaws and faults Konig always sought to hide. Talking to Erbrechen was like having your father tell you you'd finally made him proud after years of neglect and abuse. For the first time in her life Gehirn knew what home felt like.

It was beautiful beyond words.

She simply bowed.

Erbrechen clapped happily, sending ripples undulating down his body. "I want to see the fire again." He scanned his crowd of friends. "Who wants to make me happy?" The clamoring answer was instantaneous as hands shot up and people jostled and jockeyed for position. "Quiet, quiet," cooed Erbrechen. The crowd settled immediately. "You six . . ." He pointed out six men seemingly at random. "Step forward so our new friend can show us her fire." They stepped forward, glorious in their chance to please Erbrechen and prove their love. The young woman, still hard at work and arm-deep in Erbrechen's crotch, ignored all of this.

"Fast or slow, My Lord?" Gehirn eyed the six men hungrily.

Erbrechen, looking pleased, asked, "How fast can you?"

Gehirn's already unstable sanity shuddered and crumbled. A concussive blast knocked several of the thinner onlookers off their feet and six vaguely man-shaped pillars of ash stood where there had once been men. She'd never let it out so fast before and had to struggle to bring it back under control. Only fear she might hurt Erbrechen kept her from dissolving into a chaotic hurricane of flame and destruction.

"Oh!" said Erbrechen with surprised pleasure. "That was fast."

A gust of wind sent the ash swirling into the air and toppled the mounds. Tiny glowing cinders of bone danced like fairies in the breeze. In seconds the crowd scattered, coughing and choking and clawing at stinging eyes, except Erbrechen, who coughed and clapped joyfully like a child with a new toy.

When the hacking coughs had passed, Erbrechen waved over a squat and ugly man with thin, greasy black hair, bulbous eyes, and fewer teeth than fingers. "This is Regen Anrufer." Regen, dressed in filth-matted animal skins, reeked of long-dead skunk and sour dog shite. "Regen is one of my favorites." The ugly man beamed a gap-toothed grin leaking brown drool between browner teeth. "He was shaman to some tribe of shite-collecting, mud-worshiping horse stickers—what were they called?"

"Schlammstamm," Regen answered wetly.

"Right, whatever." Erbrechen shot an annoyed look at the girl still concentrating on his crotch and snorted disgustedly at her. "Regen, call us a rain to wash the ash off. Something light and warm, not cold." He shivered dramatically, sending ripples across his corpulent body.

This was greeted with cheers by the gathered crowd, none of whom looked like they'd bathed in months.

Regen began a slow stomping dance around one of the campfires, his eyes clenched closed, his few teeth bared in a painful rictus snarl. Clawed fingers with torn fingernails dug at recently scabbed wounds on his arms and coaxed forth a thin trickle of blood. He sucked greedily at his arms and spat the blood into the fire. The sky darkened like a lurid gangrenous bruise. When fat, warm drops fell to the upraised arms of Erbrechen's friends, Regen returned to stand before the tent. The shaman staggered with exhaustion but looked pleased with his results. He bowed proudly and shot Gehirn a challenging look.

Emaciated bodies cavorted in the resulting mud and became no cleaner for all the rain. In moments Gehirn witnessed a chaotic orgy of filthy and malnourished bodies writhing with abandon against whoever happened to be closest. If there was any pairing off or sexual preference to be seen, Gehirn could not detect it.

Streaks of ash ran off Erbrechen's bloated body in rivers, following every fold and crevice. The fat man watched the orgy with intense interest, sausagelike fingers clenching sporadically into soft, chubby fists, reminding Gehirn of watching a baby at its mother's tit. Erbrechen groaned, and the girl, still elbow-deep, glowed with self-satisfaction. She withdrew her arm and greedily sucked clean her fingers. Erbrechen patted her absent-mindedly on the head and then waved her away. She slunk off, stripping away what little clothing she had, to join in the mud orgy.

Erbrechen squinted at Gehirn. "You are still swaddled in robes. You may join the fun, if you wish."

The malnourished bodies writhed seductively, but more than anything, she didn't want to be rude to her friend. "The sun burns me, and the moon is naught but reflected sunlight. I don't burn as badly at night, but it is still extremely painful."

Erbrechen gestured skyward. "Even with such thick cloud cover?"

"I'd be safe enough," admitted Gehirn, "but as soon as the clouds pass, I'll be vulnerable."

"Well, we can't have that. Regen, you can keep the sky cloudy and protect our new friend, correct?"

Regen paled. "But the cost," he whispered. "I would bleed myself dry." His eyes begged when he looked at Erbrechen and seethed hatred when he flashed glances at Gehirn.

"You don't want our friend burned before our very eyes, do you?" It was obvious from Regen's face he didn't think this such a bad option, but Erbrechen gave him no time to answer. "It would please me greatly if you could do this for me."

Regen bowed low and stifled a sob. "I would bleed myself dry for you."

"Fantastic!" Erbrechen waved the squat shaman away, dismissing him much as he had dismissed the girl moments earlier. "Now that we have your comfort seen to, tell me, where were you going in such an unseemly rush?"

Gehirn told Erbrechen of High Priest Konig Furimmer, the Geborene Damonen, their plan to design and build a god, and her pursuit of the suspected Wahnvor Stellung agents. She told her new friend everything.

Erbrechen sat in silence for several minutes when Gehirn finished. The rain dwindled and finally tapered off, yet the thick cloud cover remained. Regen looked ill as he sat dejectedly in the mud, staring at the ash-hole remains of the camp's fire pit. The orgy too had lost its urgency and devolved into tired, halfhearted copulating and distracted groping. A few of the bodies lay facedown in the muck. Gehirn suspected they had, unnoticed by the others, drowned during the games.

As Erbrechen carefully questioned Gehirn, clarifying aspects of Konig's plans and seeking greater detail, the mob dug motionless people from the mud. One of the bodies, a young man barely in his teens, suddenly began struggling and pushing weakly. Those who had been digging him out were suddenly forcing his head back into the muck. Thin and malnourished, he was no match for the four equally starved people who pinned him to the ground. They looked to Erbrechen for guidance. When the fat man noticed the disturbance, he licked his lips thoughtfully.

"How many?" Erbrechen asked.

"Two, excluding this one," answered one of the men holding the struggling youth.

"We have a special guest"—Erbrechen waved a chubby hand toward Gehirn—"and two will not do."

The four men happily kicked the youth until he stopped moving.

Gehirn watched distractedly as they added the body to the pile. Her interest increased as two of the burlier, more well-fed men hacked the three corpses into manageable-sized chunks with rusty machetes, splitting skulls and digging the brains free. A gang of small children, who didn't seem to belong to any particular parents, fought over the intestines and some of the internal organs and devoured them raw. The hearts, livers, and kidneys were gathered and set aside.

As one group rebuilt and relit the fire pit, another prepared the savaged corpses, stripping away the flesh and chopping the meat into smaller chunks. Three men dragged a huge pot from somewhere and mounted it over the fire on a rickety tripod. They added the butchered meat and a few mangy-looking roots to the pot along with several buckets of muddy water. The organs they placed in a smaller pot with some vegetables and a bucket of what might have been either red wine or blood.

Gehirn, realizing what she was seeing, felt a moment of nausea. Still, her stomach rumbled in hunger.

Erbrechen waved a corpulent hand as if trying to pat Gehirn on the back. "You can share in the organ stew with me. My teeth can't handle the tougher meat." He gave Gehirn a conspirational wink. "And it's the best parts anyway."

Gehirn's uncertainty washed away in a flood of gratitude. "Thank you." Sharing food. Does that mean he loves me? Lovers often shared meals together in the few romance plays she'd seen, feeding each other tasty treats with their fingers. Would Erbrechen try to do this for her? It seemed unlikely. He could barely reach his own mouth.

Erbrechen's face became baby serious, like he'd just seen something questionable and was considering putting it in his mouth. "They say when we die our souls pass on to the Afterdeath, where we live again. A chance at redemption, for those who require such things. For those who aren't born redeemed. But what I have learned, what few others understand, is that the soul lives not in the brain—as so many believe—but nestled in the heart and organs." Erbrechen licked his lips hungrily. "Devour a man's organs and you devour his soul. With each soul I eat, I grow in strength, and I have eaten hundreds of souls." Erbrechen waved Gehirn closer and whispered, eyes gleaming. "I'm not stupid. I know the ancient axiom: as a Geisteskranken reaches his peak in power, his delusions destroy him. But imagine if this did not have to be true. Imagine we could grow in power and keep our delusions at bay. This is what I will share with you. Eat a sane man's soul and you gain his strength of spirit. You ingest a small measure of his sanity to balance your own lack." Erbrechen watched the mob as they set about cooking the human stew. "Even the worst of these wretches is more sane than you and I." He laughed, jiggling his entire body. "Your power is immense and your delusions will burn you before long. You'll never eat a soul less stable than your own, my fiery friend."

Gehirn's mind reeled with possibilities. Every Geisteskranken knew that someday their delusions would be their death. She'd heard rumors that Geisteskranken could be cured, but always at the cost of their power. Who would willingly give up the one thing making them special just to live a few extra years of dull normality?

Erbrechen offered her a reprieve. Gehirn struggled to imagine growing in power without the threat of an agonizing death shadowing her every moment.

"I've never heard this before," said Gehirn. "Is it really true? I—I can't believe it."

A smile teased the corners of Erbrechen's damp lips. "It's enough I believe it. You know this to be true."

And Gehirn did. The strength of Erbrechen's belief crushed any possibility of denial. The fat man's delusions defined the world around him.

Gehirn, eyes wide with wonder, had no choice but to agree. It was the most amazing gift she had ever been given. He does love me! He can't bear the thought of being without me. "I would be honored to share your stew. I will repay this gift, though I know not how."

"You already have. You brought me two gifts. I've never had a Hassebrand friend before, and I am grateful for this. But you also brought me the most precious gift ever: you've given me the future."

"The future?" asked Gehirn.

"This Konig Furimmer is making a god, but this child has not yet Ascended. We will take this child and he will love and worship me as all must. Then we will help him Ascend. Imagine, being loved and worshiped by a god!" exclaimed Erbrechen. "Surely, if a god worships a man, that man will become a god."

She saw it immediately. Erbrechen was right. But the old gods would challenge him. That thought didn't bother her, though. If he was a god, she was a god's friend. Maybe more. And she'd burn all who would offer her love harm.

I will burn gods.

Erbrechen loved her. He showed none of Konig's poorly concealed revulsion. When she talked, he listened with rapt attention. He asked questions and listened to her answers, and Gehirn thought her heart would burst for joy.

Gehirn and Erbrechen sat talking as they devoured their stew, Erbrechen wearing as much of his as he managed to eat. The camp around them bustled with activity as Erbrechen's friends prepared to follow the same trio Gehirn had chased to Selbsthass. If they caught the Wahnvor agents, Erbrechen felt sure they'd join his little party of friends.

Erbrechen, Gehirn learned, had avoided large cities and towns for years out of fear the combined beliefs of the massed sane would overwhelm his Gefahrgeist power. The Hassebrand wasn't sure what changed Erbrechen's mind. Perhaps the Gefahrgeist knew some deep desperation he chose not to share. Gehirn could well enough understand; her own fears grew alongside her strength. Though Erbrechen's strength was more obvious, worn like a bright cloak, Gehirn knew Konig was not to be underestimated. The Geborene High Priest was subtle and dangerous like a concealed viper.

"Getting the child out of Selbsthass will be difficult," suggested Gehirn, unsure how to broach what might be a touchy subject.

Erbrechen shrugged, sending ripples undulating the length of his body that took minutes to dissipate. "I think not. The three Wahnvor agents are already planning on grabbing the child. If we catch them first, they'll happily bring him to me once they understand my need. If not, we'll take the child from them after." He picked at his teeth and spat at the nearest gaunt person—a middle-aged woman who, beaming with gratitude, babbled her thanks and went to display her thick wet prize to the others. Gehirn wanted to burn her and watch everything she was, skin and bones, hopes and dreams, waft away on the breeze.