Swarm and Steel, page 19
Zerfall crawled from the tent, her right leg dragging behind her, and sat beside Abiega’s cooling corpse. She’d made a terrible mess opening the skull; it looked like a child had thrown a tantrum and dashed a pottery bowl to the floor.
The sight of her broken knee, fragments of white bone jutting through paper skin in odd directions, drew her eye. She was falling apart. She wouldn’t heal, her leg would never get better. It wasn’t even a case of it not healing correctly, it would never not be broken. Each indignity heaped upon her dead flesh would haunt her until she crumbled to dust, unable to move or interact with the world beyond witnessing the passage of time. The dark of night fell in on her like a suffocating blanket. She had but one future: decay.
Before entropy took her she would find Hölle and reduce their sick religion to ruin. She’d kill every last mad priest. She’d end the Täuschung and free the souls in Swarm. She’d kill the god she created.
Somehow.
She remembered the woman she had been, driven by the word of Wahrergott. She’d used people with no thought to the cost; when you thought you were saving someone, you could do anything to them, no matter how terrible.
I’m not that woman any more. I won’t use Jateko.
But she had to. She couldn’t bring down the Täuschung without help. She picked a flake of dead skin from her arm. She knew exactly what she was going to do. She’d feed Jateko brains and hearts and livers and whatever else he desired until he was unstoppably strong.
Maybe you haven’t changed that much.
She’d use the boy, but she’d make sure he got what he wanted too. She’d feed him brains and bodies until he was a man, clever and strong.
And if in becoming smarter he realizes he doesn’t want to help me, so be it.
But she knew who she had been. No one had ever resisted her Gefahrgeist power.
ELEVEN
Anywhere people gather to practice belief, a Gefahrgeist, wearing the false skin of faith, will be found standing at the pulpit.
—Traurige Tatsache, Philosopher
AAS WATCHED NIMMER’S APARTMENT with the patience of a scavenger awaiting its next meal. By nightfall he decided either the Täuschung priest had barricaded himself within, or there was an exit Aas didn’t know about. Both were possible, both were likely. Of course he was dealing with a deranged Geisteskranken here; there might be a far less reasonable answer. The man’s corpse might well be hanging from the rafters. Suicide amongst the delusional was common, and Getrennt were prone to choosing that route.
You couldn’t possibly be so lucky.
Pharisäer had seemed all too pleased with the thought of Aas hunting and killing the priest. He tried to remember what she said. The savage agony of having a serrated knife driven into his guts was more than a little distracting. Had she said it would be fun? That sounded ominous. Did she mean he’d have fun killing, or that she’d be entertained by his attempt?
He tried to force the memory of how perfectly she hurt him from his mind.
Why did she think it would be fun? Certainly not because Nimmer was unable to interact well with the reality around him and felt distanced from humanity.
Growling, Aas twisted back to his human form and crossed the street to Nimmer’s apartment. He reached a hand toward the door, but stopped short of making contact. His fingertips brushed the brass knob, hesitating.
With a sigh he gripped the knob and turned. The door swung open on well-greased hinges. Not even locked. Was the priest even home?
She told Nimmer I was coming to kill him.
Aas stopped, eyes narrowing as he thought this through. If the man was forewarned, he’d had time to prepare. Had he trapped the apartment hoping to kill Aas? Possibly, but something else niggled at the assassin’s thoughts.
Pharisäer said Nimmer was Getrennt and that she’d warned him. She put those two facts together, like they were related.
“Oh.”
Getrennt were typified by long periods of melancholy and depression, but the manifestation of their delusions changed when under stress. This was not uncommon among Geisteskranken, but Getrennt were a strange lot. Aas, who read about all manner of Geisteskranken, searched his memory. As with all delusional, Getrennt manifested in any number of ways.
Some Getrennt became lost in a mental fog which faded their surroundings, leaching life and colour from reality, until the world around them became porous and unreal. Those near the Pinnacle of their power, whose minds were close to crumbling, rendered reality so thin approaching them became dangerous. People disappeared into that fog. Occasionally they’d return, but as little more than hollow imitations of who they had been. Others, Aas had read, were so detached from themselves they were capable of leaving their bodies.
Standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the brass knob, Aas frowned. If he went inside and found Nimmer’s body, what would that mean? Even if he killed it, chopping it into pieces and burning the remains, would that kill someone who had fled their physical form?
Did Pharisäer think it would be fun for Aas to try and kill Nimmer because it was impossible? He thought not; more likely the Getrennt was dangerous. What if he believed so strongly that his surrounding were unreal that they actually became unreal? Could Nimmer cause Aas to wink out of existence by believing he didn’t exist? Could the man believe Aas never existed and wipe out everything he ever accomplished?
What is it you’ve accomplished? Without you, perhaps your father wouldn’t have died in a shite basement looking after his deranged son. Certainly you wouldn’t have eaten him. Aas shoved the dark thoughts aside. Sulk and moan about your unworthiness later.
“Focus.”
What else had he read about Getrennt? Much of it had been confusing. Getrennt and Unwirklichkeit shared many tendencies and were often Comorbidic, with the Geisteskranken suffering both delusions. It made discerning one from the other problematic. What if Pharisäer made that common mistake? What if Aas wasn’t stalking a Getrennt, but a Unwirklichkeit instead?
Aas blinked. What if he’d confused them? Come to think of it, all that stuff about being lost in the fog of delusion might have been Unwirklichkeit rather than Getrennt.
He stood, hand resting on the brass knob, hesitating. Should he leave, research Nimmer and come back better armed for the situation?
Pharisäer knew him too well, knew he’d find such a puzzle irresistible and that the lack of a clear-cut answer would drive him to distraction.
She’s dangerous, and you’re playing right into her hands. What if she told him it would be fun and that she warned Nimmer just so he’d stand, like an idiot, in a doorway trying to figure everything out when there was nothing to figure out? She might be watching, laughing, right now.
What if she lied about Nimmer being a Getrennt and he’s something more dangerous? The man could be a Hassebrand or, gods forbid, a slaver-type Gefahrgeist.
Aas glanced down at where his hand rested on the door knob. “To hells with Pharisäer and all her machinations, imagined and otherwise.”
Squaring his shoulders, Aas stepped into Nimmer’s home, closing the door behind him. He stood in a foyer, the walls hung with an assortment of coats and sweaters and hats. Something was wrong, out of place, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The coats weren’t crowded on a single hook or ugly or filthy. The hats didn’t stink and the sweaters wouldn’t have looked out of place on anyone he’d seen out in the streets. Sure, maybe it was a bit warm for sweaters right now, but then they were here in the foyer where they’d be needed when the temperature dropped.
It’s too normal. Nothing said, “insanity lives here.”
Aas had read of people who were so crushingly sure of their sanity they nullified the reality altering effects of the deluded.
You’re doing it again.
He drew his long-knife from its place within his robes. No more thinking, he’d find Nimmer and kill the man. He moved a few paces forward and stopped, catching the faintest hint of something sour. Nostrils flared, he tested the air. Stale body odour.
Aas advanced, knife held ready, tensed for combat. The scent grew stronger, fresher. Ahead he saw the foyer opened into a kitchen tiled with slabs of green granite veined in orange. A hideous colour, but one which had been fashionable thirty years ago. Come to think of it the sweaters, coats, and hats, while all well-maintained, were all of a dated style as well.
Approaching the kitchen, Aas leaned forward to glance inside. A man sat at the kitchen table, dressed in heavy sweaters too thick for the weather, his back turned to Aas.
Aas tensed, ready to close the distance. “Nimmer.” The man didn’t react, not even the slightest hunching of shoulders to show he heard. “Nimmer!”
Nothing.
Aas stepped into the kitchen, ready to slash and stab.
“Nimmer, I’m here to kill you.”
Nothing.
Silent as death Aas slid behind Nimmer, knife ready. If the man so much as twitched Aas would drive the blade deep into his brain.
“Speak or I’ll lobotomise you.”
Nothing.
Aas stared at the Getrennt’s back. Is he dead? Is that Pharisäer’s joke? No. Not funny enough.
Clutching his knife and poised for sudden violence, Aas circled the man. Nimmer sat with his legs pulled up so his feet rested on the seat of his chair. Scrawny arms wrapped about those legs, pulling them tight. Eyes wide, lips pulled back in a frozen and silent scream of terror, he stared at the far wall.
It looks like someone scared him to death.
Except Aas felt sure the man wasn’t dead.
Aas watched for fifty heart beats and Nimmer neither blinked nor moved in the slightest.
Interesting. Feeling confident the man wouldn’t explode into action and tackle him, Aas took a moment to examine the kitchen which looked to have been decorated a few hundred years ago. Much of what he saw looked antique. The windows were all boarded closed and hung with heavy blankets. Not a scrap of light made it past. An oil lantern sitting in the middle of the table lit the room. So, he’s a shut-in, trying to distance himself from humanity. Here, in the kitchen, the body odour smelled no more than a few days old. Somehow Nimmer managed to smell like sweaty old clothes without a hint of recent sweat.
“Nimmer.”
Nothing.
Aas listened.
Silence, not even the soft intake of breath. He might as well have been alone in the room.
Kill him and be done with it.
No. This mystery was too interesting. He wanted to understand. Had to understand.
“He’s catatonic,” Aas said to the kitchen, dragging out a chair and sitting across from Nimmer. At least killing him would be easy enough.
Or did Pharisäer know this would happen? Had she foreseen all of this, planned it, even?
Sighing, Aas took a long moment to examine Nimmer. The man was thin, but not malnourished. Slim and weak rather than lean and wiry. The clothes fit poorly, like they were tailored for someone much broader and taller. Like the coats in the hall, they were of a style long fallen from favour amongst the wealthy of Geld. And like the coats they were well-maintained, as if rarely worn.
Such a delicious mystery.
“How long will this catatonia last?” Aas asked.
Nimmer, of course, said nothing.
“If you’ll talk to me, I could be convinced not to kill you.” Aas raised the palms of his hands in a shrug. “If I wanted you dead I’d have killed you already.”
Nothing.
Aas sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. What was so fun about this? He didn’t get it. Why did Pharisäer make a point of telling Aas she warned Nimmer he was coming, and why did she think this would be fun? Was the man dangerous? He didn’t look dangerous.
Far from being fun, this looked like the easiest kill Aas would ever make. He scratched at a tuft of thick hairs sticking out of his neck and without thinking tugged them free to add to the collection in his pocket. There was a mystery here, but he was missing it.
Kill him and go home.
“And when Pharisäer asks if I had fun, what then? Do I admit I couldn’t figure it out? The only way she’ll respect me is if I beat her at her own game.” He’d solve the mystery of why killing Nimmer would be fun, kill the man, and escape unharmed. Pharisäer tested him and he knew it.
She’s a little like Zerfall and a little like Hölle. She’s smarter than you are.
“True. Maybe.”
What if the mystery didn’t lay with Nimmer at all? What if it was his surroundings?
This building, the clothes, the way it was decorated. Everything spoke of the past. Though Aas was hardly a collector of antiques, he’d read enough on the topic to have a rough guess as to how old most of this stuff was.
He leaned in to examine the workmanship of the table, the twisted wrought-iron legs. The table was near flawless, the iron showing no signs of rust or wear even though it must have been decades old at the least. The elite of Geld always preferred building materials to be made out of the rarest and most expensive materials. Gold never faded from favour, but these days, with the nearest source of old-growth trees being weeks away, wood was once again popular. How long ago had this kind of iron work been in style?
Aas’ eyes widened as he remembered reading of the iron shortages occurring when the miners in the Kälte Mountains went on strike demanding improved working conditions. That was over two hundred years ago. Though the miners had refused to work many times since then, it was never for long enough to drive fashion.
Was it possible for an iron table to look so perfect after two hundred years? Aas scowled, regretting his lack of reading in the arts of iron lore. He glanced again at Nimmer to make sure the man hadn’t moved. When he was sure the Getrennt remained catatonic, Aas ducked down to check the bottom of the table. There he saw the iron-worker’s mark alongside a date stamped into the metal. It was a local smithy. Hopefully that meant they used the dating system most commonly accepted in Geld, taking the formation of the Verzweiflung Banking Conglomerate as year zero. With many city-states using their own dating systems, translating between the different systems was chaos. All counted year zero from different points in time, and many had different numbers of months, seemingly random lengths of month and year. A week, depending on which city-state you were in, could be anywhere between five and ten days.
If this table wasn’t an excellent forgery—and why bother?—it was two hundred and thirteen years old and in perfect condition.
Aas sat straight and frowned at Nimmer. Why is your furniture so old and so well maintained? Why are your clothes all out of style?
Not expecting much, Aas decided to try one last threat and held raised knife. “See this? I’m going to drive it through your foot.”
Nothing.
“I’ve made a study of nerves and muscles. This will hurt more than you can imagine.”
Still nothing.
With a philosophical shrug Aas leaned forward to follow through with his threat and stopped when he became aware of a deep hum so low he felt it in his chest more than heard it. What was that sound? All thought of stabbing the Getrennt forgotten, he leaned back and the humming disappeared. When he leaned in once again, the low hum returned. This time he leaned closer and the hum grew in volume and pitch, but remained near the lower register of what he could hear.
Very strange.
Wisdom demanded he retreat and contemplate this mystery before again approaching the Getrennt. It remained possible the man might be dangerous.
Aas sighed. “Okay Pharisäer, you win. This is a good mystery. I’m having fun.”
Spotting a crumb of food sitting atop the table Aas flicked it away, watching as it arced across the kitchen. The crumb gathered speed, becoming a streak of fire like a falling star glowing ember red, and then came apart like wind-blown ash.
He blinked away the streaked after-image burned into his vision. Odd.
Aas remembered something he once read on the underlying laws of reality: The power of a Geisteskranken is inversely proportionate to the distance. The further one got from the deranged, the less effect their delusions had. There were rare exceptions, he’d read, where the delusions of the Geisteskranken related to something distant, but on the whole most Geisteskranken couldn’t change things more than a stride or two distant. There were confounding factors to measuring such things; as their minds crumbled under the weight of their delusions, the deranged became more powerful and their range increased. Likewise, the presence of sane minds or competing beliefs limited a Geisteskranken’s range.
Aas stared the floor where the crumb should have landed. Only a dusting of ash remained. He had flicked it away, and it accelerated as it got further from the table where he and Nimmer sat. It had been leaving their sphere of influence.
Assuming he himself wasn’t the cause of the crumb’s odd behaviour, why would leaving Nimmer’s presence cause it to accelerate and burn up?
Is the man a very rare breed of Hassebrand?
Unlikely, but not impossible.
Aas rose and backed away from Nimmer, hesitant lest he suddenly accelerate or burst into flames. Nothing happened.
Returning to the table and retaking his chair, he found another crumb. This time he flicked it toward the Getrennt. The crumb slowed as it neared the man until it sat motionless, hanging in the air, a hand-span from his chin.
Aas blinked. “Interesting.”
HÖLLE STOOD BEFORE THE floor to ceiling mirror turning to examine herself from different angles. She looked bonier, more angular than she remembered. I’m real. She’d dreamed she’d become immaterial, that people saw through her. I look awful. Her hair had lost its lustre and her skin looked corpse grey. Dark rings circled puffy eyes. Zerfall’s hand has a better complexion than I do.
Her shoulders bore a rounded slump she’d never before noticed.
Zerfall always stood so straight, so sure of herself. It was strange, Hölle had never before given much thought to her body. Most described her as perfect. Sure, having to focus her time and energies on the day to day running of the Täuschung, she never had her sister’s lithe muscularity, but she’d always been slim and curvy. For hundreds of years neither aged. Now she looked older, bent, and if not broken, perhaps breaking.
