Swarm and Steel, page 26
You don’t know that.
Zerfall looked east toward the desert, turned, and gazed west toward the city-states and Geldangelegenheiten. Her shoulders sagged. “I want to close my eyes. You should bury me.”
“Never.”
Something in his voice brought her head up and she stared at him.
“Zerfall. I’ll never …” He couldn’t say it. She’d laugh. She’d call him a fool and she’d be right.
“Yes?”
“You have a purpose,” he said. “Your purpose is my purpose.”
“Why?” she asked.
He couldn’t answer. Was it that he loved her or that she needed him? Did he love her need? All he knew for sure was that he couldn’t leave her.
“What do you know of my purpose?”
“I know the Täuschung are evil,” he said. “Their god is evil. Such a god …”
What? Demanded Abiega. What are the gods of the city-states to us? This is a lie you are telling yourself.
She watched him, unmoving, that empty regard unreadable as ever. “You should return to the desert.”
“You don’t really want me to.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“I’m going to find the people who killed you, took your hand.”
“Then what?”
“I’m going to kill them,” Jateko promised. “And eat them,” he admitted, cringing at how juvenile he sounded.
She looked away, staring west, shoulders hunched. “Eat that first,” she said, gesturing at the head, eyes wide and staring, where Jateko dropped it.
“Good. I’m starving.”
Jateko discovered splitting a skull was far easier with a sword and his new-found strength.
LATER, AS ZERFALL SLID the second sword into her empty scabbard and scowled at the poor fit and Jateko licked clean his bloody fingers, he heard a new voice gibbering What the hells is happening to me? somewhere deep in his thoughts. Both he and Abiega told it to shut up.
The Swordsman is weak, said Abiega.
“True,” said Jateko aloud, “but watch this.”
“Watch what?” Zerfall asked, the last of her breath whistling from torn lungs.
Jateko winked, and danced flawlessly through a complicated practice pattern, the sword spinning, slashing and stabbing at imaginary opponents. It was effortless. He and the sword were one. He knew its weight and balance like he spent a lifetime practising with it; like he’d been born with it. He knew if he took the second sword from Zerfall he’d be even deadlier. When he stopped, he wasn’t even breathing hard.
“I could kill Abiega now,” he said to Zerfall, bragging a little. “With my eyes open.”
The Etsaiaren warrior said nothing.
I thought you said he was weak. Jateko thought.
Mentally, Abiega answered grudgingly. Emotionally. The man was a coward in so many ways. He fears obscurity more than death.
And you? Jateko asked.
I cared nothing for fame.
Liar.
“You arguing in there?” Zerfall asked.
Jateko shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
“That happens a lot, doesn’t it.”
“Yes. I didn’t know it would be like this.” Which wasn’t quite true. He remembered wanting to not be alone.
Zerfall drew breath to speak and immediately air whistled out the many tears in her lungs.
“Wait,” interrupted Jateko. “I have an idea.” He flashed a fast grin and dug into what remained of the supplies he’d scavenged from Abiega’s camp. “Here,” he said, brandishing the bone needle and spool of gut thread.
Zerfall raised an eyebrow.
“I’m going to close that lung for you.”
“Do you know how to do that?”
“I’ve fixed torn karpan and oihal thousands of times; I was always better at it than mom. How hard can it be?”
Zerfall looked like she was about to chew her bottom lip in contemplation and then thought better of it. “Okay,” she said. “How do we do this?”
“Take off your shirt.”
Zerfall stared at him, that eyebrow once again creeping upward, and Jateko’s face flushed hot. “I mean … maybe I can … without …”
Zerfall pulled the top of her shirt open and glanced within. Her face scrunched with distaste she said, “I’ll keep this on.”
“Right. I wasn’t trying to—Never mind.” Tying the gut thread around the hooked end of the bone needle, Jateko held it up for inspection. “Ready.”
Zerfall pulled apart the hole in her shirt where the knife had stabbed into her, and exposed the decaying flesh beneath.
Licking his lips nervously, Jateko crouched at her side. “Don’t move.” He leaned in close to inspect the bloodless wound. “I can’t see much inside. Thought the hole would be bigger.”
“Do what you have to,” said Zerfall, tilting her head back to stare into the sky.
Tod ignored them both.
“Just going to look inside.” When Jateko poked a finger into the wound, trying to catch sight of the torn lung within, Zerfall squealed and twitched away.
“Sorry! Did I hurt you?”
“Your face!” Zerfall laughed, a deep belly guffaw fading to dusty sputter. “I’m dead,” she whispered, not bothering to draw breath. “Can’t feel a thing.”
Jateko shook his head in mock disgust and waited until she stopped shaking with laughter. “Hold still.”
After poking about inside her wound, Jateko realized he’d have to further open the flesh to get to the damaged lung.
“Do it,” said Zerfall. “I’m a mess anyway. If I can’t talk to you …” Air hissed from her lungs and she turned her head away as if watching something distant. Jateko knew there was nothing there. “This rotting meat. Already a prison. Need to communicate.”
Jateko peeled away decayed flesh in hanging strips, exposing yellow ribs and the torn lung beneath. Hopefully he’d be able to sew those strips back into place after. She might not feel pain, but he didn’t want to damage her any more than necessary.
“To do a really good job on the lung, I’d have to break a rib or two to get at it.” He waved her to silence. “Forget it. I’m not doing that. I can make do.” He poked at the lung with a fingertip. “Breath in for me.” When she did, he scowled and nodded. “Not much slack to work with.” He glanced at Tod. “I have an idea. Do you think he’ll mind?”
“No.”
“Me either. He doesn’t say much anyway.”
Jateko approached Tod, making quiet noises as if calming a baby. “Tod?” The horse stared at the ground between his fractured front hooves. “I need some of your flesh. I’m going to cut away some lung.” he reached up to stroke the horse’s cold neck and his hand came away matted in horse hair.
Jateko ducked low and crawled under the horse. It didn’t seem as disgusting as it should. His stomach rumbled its discontent. Somewhere deep inside himself he heard the pitiful mewling of the Swordsman. There was no quenching this hunger. He needed to be stronger and faster. He needed to be more skilful with weapons. He needed to be smarter. He needed knowledge. Just a few more lives.
You will never have enough.
Ignoring Abiega, Jateko stared up into Tod’s hollowed torso. “We made a mess in here. I wish I’d thought of this sooner, we could have left a little more intact.”
Fumbling about in Tod’s shadowed belly he found hanging shreds of what he assumed was lung tissue. It didn’t matter what it was, he supposed, as long as he could use it to patch Zerfall. He cut away several strips and crawled out, displaying his grizzly prize.
Zerfall looked doubtful, eyebrows doing that crinkly thing they did when she thought maybe he was crazy.
Hey, maybe I don’t need to see her eyes to know what she’s thinking. Maybe I can read her eyebrows.
You’re just figuring that out now?
Zerfall stood motionless, holding her shirt up, as he pushed his fingers between her ribs, feeling about for the torn edges of her lungs. She looked everywhere but at him. Was she squeamish about her decaying body, or did she not care?
“I can’t sew this to the old lung,” he said. “I don’t think I can work around your ribs.” Leaning in he examined a segment of exposed rib where the flesh had been torn away and sand ground into the exposed muscle. When did that happen? She hadn’t mentioned it. “Maybe I can attach the lung directly to the ribs.”
“Lungs have to move. Inflate. Deflate. To draw breath.”
“Right. Damn.”
“Pull lung out between ribs. Attach new material. Stuff it back in.”
“Good idea. You’ll have a great lung capacity. You’ll be able to hold your breath for a really long time.”
One eyebrow crept up.
“I was joking,” he said. “But you will be able to talk for a long time between breaths.” She stared at him. “Not that you talk too much.” Not a hint of movement. The eyebrows told him nothing. “Or even a lot,” he added.
Ducking away from that empty gaze he got to work. Jateko sewed quickly, his fingers defter and more sure than he remembered. As he worked he discovered more damage, slashed skin, bones broken and protruding through flesh. He had no idea she’d taken so many wounds.
“If you weren’t dead already,” he said, leaning in to brush his fingers across a hole in her belly, “you would be now.” Jateko stared at Tod for several heart beats before nodding. “He won’t miss it.” After searching the horse for the least damaged skin, he cut away several rough squares and used them to patch the holes in Zerfall. “Try not to get stabbed again. More of this, and you’ll be more horse than woman.”
She might not feel anything, but he was gentle nonetheless. This time he was aware of her gaze on him. Her attention never wandered. When he finished and prodded the mended lung back into her chest cavity, he stepped back with an appreciative nod. “Good as new.” And then cringed. Why do I always say the stupidest things?
You really want an answer? asked Abiega.
Leaning against Tod, the empty pits of her eyes locked on Jateko, Zerfall dropped her tattered shirt back into place, drew a deep breath, and held it while he listened.
“I’m not hearing anything,” he said.
Next Jateko lashed her shattered right ankle tight with sticks and bits of broken rib he snapped from Tod’s open torso. It wouldn’t give her much in the way of agility, but at least she could hobble around.
“We’ll find you a crutch,” he said.
She watched as he stood, looking like she wanted to gnaw on her lower lip and fighting the desire.
“You’re alive,” said Zerfall.
“Um … yes.”
“I’m not.”
“True.”
“Last chance,” she said.
“For what?”
“Return to the desert. Find a girl, have children.”
Jateko looked east, toward the desert. No part of him wanted to go there. “No.”
“You’ll die because of me.”
“You’re all I have.” The words escaped before he thought to stop them. Rather than stop now, he continued: “I’ll never leave you. I’ve lost everything except you and now I have more than I’ve ever had in all my life.”
“I’m a rotting corpse; ghastly, even.”
“I had noticed.”
“We can’t—”
“We can’t be friends? Why not?”
Zerfall reached out a skeletal hand but stopped shy of touching his arm. When she started to turn away, her shoulders hunching, her hand dropping, he caught the hand. Her skin felt dry, like brittle leather.
“I was a powerful Gefahrgeist,” said Zerfall. “Back before this.” She reached a hand to touch the back of her head.
“So?”
“Gefahrgeist use people. Manipulate them. Twist their desires. Make them want to serve.”
“So?”
Her eyebrows did that scrunchy thing they did when she was annoyed. “What if I still am? What if that’s why you stay with me?”
“So?”
She growled something Jateko didn’t hear and said, “But then it’s not a choice.”
“Command me to go away,” he challenged. “Command me to return to the desert. Let’s see if I obey.”
“But I don’t want to. I don’t want you to leave. I can command you, but I won’t really mean it.”
“You don’t want me to leave and I don’t want to leave.” Jateko laughed and released her hand. Grabbing her before she could argue, he lifted her onto Tod’s sway back. “I don’t see how this is a problem.”
“Someday you might.”
He shrugged and offered a crooked grin. “I can’t let fear make my decisions.” He squared broad shoulders, feeling the muscle ripple. Gods he felt good.
Gods? asked Abiega. Not Harea? I think this Swordsman’s thoughts are infecting you.
Jateko ignored him.
The fingers of Zerfall’s right hand clench into a skeletal fist. “Go back to the desert,” she said. “I command you. Go home.”
“Maybe later,” he said.
SIXTEEN
Religion was our first attempt at understanding the world, carving meaning from the insanity. Who stops after their first attempt?
—Versklaver Denker, Gefahrgeist Philosopher
AAS FLEW ABOVE PHARISÄER as she walked, hips swinging in that familiar strut, straight to his quarters. Opening the door she slipped within, closing it behind her.
Spreading his wings wide, he coasted in to land a dozen paces away. He twisted back to his human shape the moment his talons touched soil. Drawing a long-knife he held it behind his back, reached for the door, and paused.
Would she congratulate him on besting her trap, or kill him for escaping too soon?
{One way to find out.} Hopefully, he’d be able to discern something of her intent based on how she greeted him. {If she’s naked, it’s seduction and she wants to use me for something. If she’s clothed, she’s probably planning to murder me.}
{What if she’s planning murder but waiting naked to distract me?} That would be a good plan. Of course, if she turned out to possess Zerfall’s Gefahrgeist power, it wouldn’t matter either way as he’d be begging to lick her toes—he shivered with pleasure at the thought—and kill whoever recently annoyed her. {Unless I kill her the instant I see her.} If he didn’t give her a chance to speak, she couldn’t attempt to manipulate him.
Aas licked thin lips, staring at the door handle. {Yes. Kill her.} His hand refused to move. {But what if she wants to seduce me, to use me?} He hated himself for admitting it, but he wanted that. {I’d give anything to touch her.}
“Then get in here and touch me,” Pharisäer called from within his room.
{She can hear my thoughts.}
“Yes. Now get in here. My toes need attention.”
She sounded like she was at the far end of the room. How far was that? A dozen strides? More? That was bad; it meant his mental state was decaying and at an increasing rate. How much time did he spend thinking about spreading his wings wide, catching the perfect updraught, and searching the ground for dead things? His heart skipped every time he spotted birds circling in the distance, knowing beneath them lay something dead or dying.
“You’re killing the mood,” called Pharisäer.
Aas swung the door open and strode in, long-knife held behind his back. {Does she know about the knife?}
“Yes,” she said, lying in his bed, sheets demurely hiding everything interesting from sight. Her hair looked perfectly tousled, which was weird because it looked perfectly perfect when she was out walking.
“Oh.” He saw the crumpled pile of her clothes and his breath caught. Partially buried beneath the clothes was her scabbard. Empty. The sheet slipped a little, exposing a slim shoulder, distracting him. “Oh?” {Naked?}
“Yes. Are you planning on using that knife?”
“I haven’t decided.” Letting the knife hang at his side, he approached his bed and stood at the foot, staring down at Pharisäer. He made no attempt to disguise his lust. {No point in hiding the truth, is there?}
“None.”
“So you know what I want.” {And you know I’m ready to kill you.}
She shrugged, unconcerned, and sat up, allowing the sheet to fall away. Aas’ breath caught in his throat.
“If I wanted you dead,” she said, “you’d be dead.”
“Maybe.”
“Hölle is weak. She always was.”
“She hallucinated Swarm, her delusions gave birth to an entire hell.”
“Maybe.” Pharisäer took a deep breath, watched his eyes follow the rise and fall of her breasts with a sly smile. “I’m going to replace her soon. She’s ready to crack.” She waved a hand in an uncaring arc. “Want the truth?”
“Truth?” {What the hells is she talking about?}
“I believe Zerfall was the original.” Pharisäer arched her back as if stretching and grinned at Aas’ quiet whimper. “Hölle is manifestation of Zerfall’s insanity.” She cupped a breast, rolling the nipple between slim fingers. “Are you going to join me in here?”
{Zerfall Mehrere? Hölle a Fragment?} That was ridiculous, impossible. {What is she playing at, trying to convince me of such madness?}
If his doubt bothered her she showed nothing.
He stepped forward until his knees bumped the bed’s foot-board. He hesitated. “If we rut you’ll know you can trust me?”
“Afterwards, you will understand. Afterwards, you will do anything I ask.”
{I already want to.} “You show none of Zerfall’s Gefahrgeist talent.”
Pharisäer brought her fist down on the bed, showing bright teeth in a snarl. “I told you. I am not Zerfall.”
“No, you’re not.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What does that—”
He spoke fast to cover his thoughts. “It’s a mistake I keep making, equating the two of you.”
Aas crawled on the bed, long-knife clenched in his fist. Her legs spread as he neared, the sheets falling to her waist, and he pushed himself between her thighs. Her lips opened in a soft intake of breath.
“You’re nothing alike.” {Nothing.}
Pharisäer reached out, caressed his face, and then slapped him hard. His eyes stung. “Do you want to hit me back? You can.”
