Swarm and Steel, page 38
I’m going to kill Pharisäer. I’m going to send her to Swarm. I’m going to—
Wait.
He watched, helpless, as Zerfall stabbed Pharisäer and the Fragment retreated, wounded, but very much alive. And angry. Pharisäer grinned deranged rage, left a trail of blood as she circled Zerfall, Blutblüte swinging in slow threat.
No no no no.
Slowly straightening his leg Jateko felt the bones of his knee click into place as he healed. Tentatively he bent the leg. The pain was incredible, but the leg moved. Hold on Zerfall, stall a little longer. Did Zerfall know he was alive? He glanced in her direction, saw Pharisäer lift the sword menacingly.
Jateko ground his teeth in helpless rage. Aas, if she kills Zerfall, I’m going to kill you.
Too late.
Straightening his other leg, Jateko felt bones pop into place and couldn’t believe the two women didn’t turn in his direction at the sound. Hey, she can’t hear our thoughts. Am I cured?
No, answered Aas. We’re too far away.
Jateko rolled onto his stomach, getting both hands beneath him. The pain was excruciating. Muscles and tendons in his arms and legs writhed around healing bones and he felt stronger with each breath.
When you try and kill her, said Aas, she’ll hear us coming. Focus your thoughts on your base desires. Focus on how beautiful she is, on how much you want her. She’ll make promises. You’ll want to believe them, but don’t. Instead, think about how much you want to believe.
That sounds impossible.
It’s your only hope
“All I need to do is end you,” snarled Pharisäer, menacing Zerfall with the sword.
As Jateko pushed himself into a kneeling position he heard Zerfall’s mocking laughter. Zerfall’s not stalling, she’s antagonizing her.
With a grunt of effort, he rose to his feet and stood, knees wobbling, as Pharisäer screamed, “Why are you laughing!” and lunged toward Zerfall with Blutblüte.
Zerfall tried to parry the attack with her own thin arm. Even dead she moved fast, catching the flat of the blade in exactly the right place. Brittle bone betrayed her and her arm snapped.
Pharisäer drove Blutblüte into her chest.
Zerfall, dead since the day Jateko met her, sagged lifeless to the floor, a dry sack of shattered bones.
PHARISÄER STOOD OVER THE limp corpse, eyes and mouth wide in disbelief. She drew Blutblüte from Zerfall’s chest and stared, blinking, at the blade. No blood stained its surface. Of course not, she thought numbly. She’s been dead for ages.
She nudged the body with a foot; it was surprisingly light.
“I did it,” she whispered. “I killed Zerfall.”
Tentatively, almost reverently, she pushed the sword again into Zerfall’s torso and withdrew it. Was she faking? Was this a trick? Pharisäer snarled and stomped on the near-fleshless skull, shattering the jaw and cracking the occipital bone. She tittered, madness scraping at the sharp edges of her laughter, and again brought her foot down. Bones snapped like twigs.
“I did it. I am Zerfall.” It felt wrong. It wasn’t true.
It is true! I made my new reality. I won!
But it wasn’t.
How was this possible? It made no sense! She killed Hölle, Zerfall’s Fragment and became Hölle. Now she’d ended Zerfall. Had she missed something? Had Zerfall’s imaginary god somehow intervened?
“I am Zerfall. Head of the Täuschung. Founder of this shite religion.”
No, you aren’t.
She wanted to dance on this corpse, defile it. She wanted to peel what skin it had and make for herself a scarf or … something! Did it matter that she wasn’t Zerfall? “One True God be damned, I’m going to rape this place for everything.”
Zerfall may have given most of the Täuschung wealth to that damned desert savage, but there was a lot she could pawn off and sell. Hells, even this compound—run down and decrepit as it was—had to be worth something. Maybe she’d even convince the Verzweiflung bankers that the accounts were rightfully hers. Anything was possible. She was real.
“I am Zerfall!” she screamed.
[I am going to kill her.]
“What?” Pharisäer turned to see the Basamortuan shuffling unsteadily toward her. “You’re … you’re alive?” Or was he dead, like Zerfall had been. It didn’t matter; she had Blutblüte.
As he passed the desk he glanced at the hand still resting there, unchanged. [I lost her.]
{You’re not focussing,} said a familiar voice.
Pharisäer glanced about her chambers. “Aas? Is that you? You can serve me. Kill this fool and I’ll—”
{Remember what I told you,} said Aas, ignoring her promises.
The Basamortuan limped closer, standing taller, baring bloody teeth in a savage snarl. His head looked bent, crushed on one side.
[She killed Zerfall. I’m going to kill her,] the first voice said again.
He must be dead. She raised Blutblüte, threatening. Where were Aas’ thoughts coming from? Why could she hear the Basamortuan’s thoughts?
“I am Zerfall,” she said with all the feigned certainty she could muster.
The Basamortuan stopped, blinked stupidly at her. “You are?”
The beautiful sound of doubt. Doubt and need. With a groan he straightened his back and she was surprised at how strong and tall the lad was. She would use him. If he was Zerfall’s, he will be mine.
“Of course,” she lied. “The moment I killed that,” she gestured at the haggard corpse with Blutblüte, “I became Zerfall.” She took her time examining him, knowing her eyes were dark and smoky, full of promise. “Aas, tell him I speak truth.”
[Is this true? Is she Zerfall now?]
Was that desperate hope she heard?
{Yes,} said Aas. {She was Pharisäer, but if she’s killed both Zerfall and Hölle, she is real now. She is Zerfall.}
The Basamortuan shuffled forward, putting himself between her and the door. “She’s not lying?” he asked aloud.
{No.}
The Basamortuan limped closer, and she saw hunger in his eyes. He wanted this. Had always wanted this. Just a man, she thought. The boy probably spent every night dreaming of a whole and living Zerfall, warm, and soft to the touch. She took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in her side, swelling her chest, and let a slim finger trace the curve of her hip.
[Gods, look at her. She’s perfect. So beautiful. I need her. If she’s the real Zerfall …] Longing tainted the boy’s confused thoughts. [Then maybe I haven’t lost her.]
Pharisäer licked her full lips and let her gaze crawl across the youth’s strong body like a caress. Soon, he’d beg to serve. “I’m better,” she promised, moving toward the bed. He followed like a dog. I have him. “Aas knows this. I’ll give you what she,” she nodded at the corpse, “never could.”
The Basamortuan stopped, turned sad eyes on the skeletal remains at her feet, his thoughts a chaotic maelstrom of lust, and need, and loss. He took another tentative step toward her.
Was he limping less than he had been?
“She’s nothing now,” purred Pharisäer. She touched one of her breasts, cupping it. “This is what you want. Warm flesh. Not that rot. This is what you love.”
[What I love.] The Basamortuan reached a hand toward her and stepped closer.
Pharisäer let a warm whimper dancing the thin line between fear and excitement escape her lips. That’s right, this is what you want.
[It wasn’t the body I loved.]
“Come now,” said Pharisäer. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this.”
[Gods I do.] He moved another step toward her. [A little closer. Then she dies.]
PHARISÄER SQUEAKED IN SURPRISE and danced lithely beyond Jateko’s reach. “You’re a fool. You’re both fools. I would have been everything for you but you’ll throw it all away for a damned rotting corpse.” She raised Blutblüte. “Come then. You love her so much; I’ll send you to meet her.”
[Damn.] Had he been able to keep himself distracted a moment longer, she’d have been cornered between the wall and the bed. Jateko slowed his advance. [I knew I couldn’t kill her without thinking about it.]
He moved to keep himself between her and the door. He was healing quickly, but if she got past him he’d never catch her. With the desk on one side of the room and the bed on the other, he could cut off her escape, but she had plenty of room to wield a sword.
{It takes a lot of practice to control such thoughts,} said Aas. {The trick is having something else to think about, something that really worries you.}
[Well this worries me,] answered Jateko. [She has Blutblüte, and we don’t even have a sharpened stick.]
“That’s right,” hissed Pharisäer, stabbing with Blutblüte to keep him back. “Now you’ll die.”
{I know a secret,} said Aas in a bouncy sing-song.
Jateko darted forward and Pharisäer sliced the air before his eyes, forcing him to retreat.
“And what is that?” she asked. “Is it something pathetic? Something sad? Will you tell this fool he wants to die, that if I kill him he’ll get to spend eternity with his love, and that in Swarm she’ll be whole and beautiful?”
[Is that true?]
{Yes, but—}
“Don’t you want to see her again? I can make that happen. Just stand still.”
[What the hells am I fighting for? She’s gone. I want to see her.]
{There’s more at stake here—}
Pharisäer lunged at Jateko and he hurled himself away, narrowly avoiding being impaled as she thrust the sword at his belly.
“Aas is a fool,” said Pharisäer, following. “A dreamer. He’s wandered the world, reading and studying, and understands nothing.” She laughed again, forcing Jateko back, thrusting Blutblüte at his face.
[What was the secret?] Jateko asked Aas.
{She has no idea how to use a sword.}
Jateko stepped toward Pharisäer and this time when she stabbed at him he ducked under the clumsy thrust and grabbed her slim wrist. It was easy. She was small and lithe, but she had none of Zerfall’s strength, none of her skill. He twisted until he heard the bones pop. When Blutblüte dropped he caught it with his free hand and drove it into her soft belly.
For a dozen dying heartbeats Jateko stood motionless. Pharisäer—everything he ever wanted Zerfall to be—hung limp, dangling from his fist, Blutblüte jutting from her gut. She blinked once and all reason faded from her eyes.
He lowered her to the floor, sliding the sword free of her flesh. Tears ran, falling like pattering rain on Pharisäer’s beautiful face. “I needed her.”
She wasn’t the Zerfall you loved.
“That’s not what I mean,” sobbed Jateko. “I needed her body. I was going to find a way to move Zerfall’s soul into this body, and we killed it.”
It would never have worked. Zerfall’s soul is in Swarm. It’s beyond our reach. She’s gone. Forever.
“Are you sure?” Jateko blinked, confused.
Blutblüte’s proximity guarantees she is in Swarm.
“Blutblüte?”
Zerfall told me the sword’s secret once, years ago: Blutblüte is Swarm, explained Aas. The hell is within the blade. That’s how they started this religion, how they sent the first souls. It was only much later, once they convinced enough fools to believe, that they were able to send souls to Swarm without Blutblüte’s direct use. As the number of souls in Swarm grew—as the number of souls trapped within the blade increased—proximity to the blade guaranteed the destination of those who died.
Jateko listened, too numb with loss to interrupt.
The sword is an epicentre of faith, continued Aas. Millions of souls believe in Swarm and they’re all right there in your hand. There are perhaps one hundred thousand people living in the city of Geld and maybe another fifty thousand in outlying dependencies. The population in that sword dwarfs the entire population of the Geldangelegenheiten city-state. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone who dies in or near Geld goes to Swarm.
“She’s in the sword,” said Jateko, lifting it to stare at its brutal simplicity. Hope surged through him, kicked his heart like an angry goat kicking an annoying child. “We break the sword. Her soul will be—”
It’s unbreakable, said Aas.
Jateko searched Zerfall’s chambers for something to lean the sword against. He’d stomp on it near the hilt, typically where swords were weakest. “I can break it. I have the strength of a dozen men.”
Millions believe they will be trapped in there until they’re freed as gods. Can you break that?
Jateko found a stack of musty books looking like they hadn’t been touched in centuries and leaned Blutblüte against them. Leaping into the air, he brought his feet down on the blade side of the guard. The sword ignored him, didn’t so much as bend. He might as well have been stomping on a mountain. With a scream of rage he jumped on the sword again and again.
Jateko, it won’t work, Aas said.
“I have to be stronger. I’ll eat more people until—”
It won’t work. You will never be strong enough to break the belief of millions. In fact—and I found this quite clever—Zerfall once told me that the first few hundred souls she sent to Swarm were her own priests. They were the vanguard, there to preach to the souls that followed. They were there to convince all who entered Swarm that they would remain trapped until humanity Ascended.
Jateko collected Blutblüte from the ground and glared at the cursed sword. “I used to dream of coming to the city-states and finding a magical sword.” He laughed, a mirthless bark of anger.
There is no such thing as magic swords, said Aas.
“Then what the hells is this?” demanded Jateko, shaking Blutblüte.
It’s the embodiment of the manifestation of the delusion of a powerful Geisteskranken. One, I believe, backed by the will of a god.
“A god? You don’t believe that One True God garbage, do you?” asked Jateko, incredulous.
I didn’t. And then I doubted. Now … Jateko sensed the assassin’s difficulty in expressing his thoughts. I once read about a rather systematic means of asking questions and finding answers. Or possible answers. Look at the evidence.
“What the hells are you talking about?”
The Pinnacle. It’s more than an idea or a theory; it’s a law. Geisteskranken grow in power as their minds fall apart. They are at their most powerful at that moment when they lose control of their delusions. That law is why the city-states aren’t dominated by Geisteskranken.
Jateko glanced about the room, wanting to destroy something and yet wanting to understand the assassin’s strange words. “I thought they were.”
Well, kind of. But the Gefahrgeist running every government or church are minor in comparison to one nearing the Pinnacle. You’ve never met a truly powerful Gefahrgeist. You’ve never been in the presence of a Slaver.
“I don’t see—”
How did Zerfall and Hölle last four hundred years without reaching the Pinnacle?
Jateko snarled in frustration and swung Blutblüte against the wall with all his strength. Mortar and flakes of shattered stone exploded into the air. The sword’s edge wasn’t even nicked.
There’s one obvious answer, and we’d be fools to ignore it.
Again Jateko attacked the wall, screaming and hacking with mad abandon.
Aas prattled on in the background: She had help. It is the simplest explanation.
Jateko stopped and stood scowling at the sword clutched in his trembling fist. “Help.”
Yes. The One True God.
Begrudgingly, Jateko’s mind began to focus on Aas’ words. “A god who wanted all humanity to suffer?”
Yes. And if she was backed by a god, what else is true? What if this reality is a prison? What if Swarm is the way out?
Jateko contemplated Aas’ words. Could Swarm and the Täuschung really be the work of some distant god? The idea was madness and yet made as much sense as anything he learned since leaving the desert. Could Blutblüte be humanity’s salvation?
The Täuschung worshipped the One True God, a distant and uncommunicative deity. Their religion seemed insane to Jateko.
“I promised Zerfall I’d end the Täuschung and Swarm. I’m going to crush this religion, end their hell. I will save Zerfall. Gods be damned.”
TWENTY-THREE
The burial shroud has pockets for a reason.
—Basamortuan Proverb
HOW? ASKED AAS. SHE’S gone.
Jateko felt a surge of hope. “You came back when I ate you.”
You ate my brain, my heart and whatever else you managed to stuff into that insatiable face-hole. Look at her.
Jateko stared at Zerfall’s desiccated corpse.
That’s right, said Aas. No heart. No liver. No internal organs. What will you eat, her bones? That won’t work and you know it.
“I’m going to get Zerfall back. I promised her I’d end Swarm. I’m going to do that too.”
Impossible.
“Where belief defines reality, nothing is impossible.”
What’s your brilliant plan.
“You died in close proximity to Blutblüte.”
You ran me through with it.
“You went to Swarm, after I stomped your disgusting puppet?”
Yes.
“When you were there, could you see and interact with the other souls?” Jateko asked Aas.
He felt the assassin shudder at the memory. Yes. It was another reality. Like this, but very different. Empty, and yet crowded.
“Everyone there has a body?” asked Jateko, struggling to picture what Aas described.
Yes. Millions of people crammed onto an endless plain of nothing.
“Good.” Jateko took a long slow breath and marshalled his thoughts, trying to fit the chaotic mix of disparate ideas into a unified plan. “I define a very small local reality around me because I am over a dozen people and the number of people who believe something matters. Correct?”
Correct, answered Aas. Weight of numbers also affects the range; one person believing something has a smaller sphere of influence than a thousand believing the same thing.
