Swarm and Steel, page 39
“So Swarm defines a larger and yet still localized reality around Blutblüte because there are millions of souls trapped in one place.”
Yes, answered Aas, sounding like a patient teacher. Correct.
“I’m going to Swarm,” said Jateko, with more confidence than he felt. Had he thought everything through? It seemed damned unlikely.
What will that achieve? demanded Abiega, butting in.
“Once there, I am going to kill and devour every single person.”
Impossible, said Aas. There are millions— He stuttered unintelligible thought for a moment before saying, You’ll never succeed.
“Once I’ve killed and eaten everyone,” explained Jateko, “I’ll define that reality.”
There are huge and rather obvious flaws in your plan, said Aas.
“What did I miss?” asked Jateko, eyeing the fresh corpse at his feet. His stomach rumbled in ravenous complaint. He was so hungry it was becoming difficult to think.
The Täuschung are still sending souls to Swarm, said Aas. And if I’m correct in my theory that Blutblüte’s proximity is sending souls to Swarm as well, the hell is growing faster than you could kill and eat people.
Aas was right. It was impossible. He’d never keep up with Swarm’s rate of growth.
Aas is wrong, said Abiega. The assassin’s arguments work for you as much as against you.
“Explain,” demanded Jateko.
Proximity matters, said Abiega. We take the sword far out into the Basamortuan and bury it where it will be close to no one.
I suppose that solves part of the problem, Aas grudgingly admitted. But there’s still the Täuschung.
And then we hunt down and kill every single living member of the Täuschung, said Abiega.
You’d have to eat them too, said Aas as the idea sparked his imagination and he explored its merits. Otherwise they’ll go to Swarm and you’d have to kill and eat them later.
Right, agreed Abiega. Once the Täuschung are dead and devoured and Blutblüte is too far away to send people to Swarm, the hell will stop growing. Then, and only then, can you go.
“How many Täuschung priests are there?” Jateko asked Aas.
Only a few hundred Geisteskranken in the inner core—
“That’s not too bad—”
And a few thousand relatively sane priests leading the public face, the assassin answered. He hesitated and then said, Damn.
“What?”
She’d know.
“She? Pharisäer?”
No. That one over there, Hölle.
Jateko glanced at the other corpse. He’d ignored it as unimportant. Now that he looked closer, he realized the woman bore a familial resemblance to Zerfall. “If I eat her …”
You’ll know where most of the priests are located. You’ll know any secrets she knew.
“I’m eating her,” said Jateko, stalking to the body. Leaning down he touched the flawless skin of her face. She was warm. Good. Fresher is better. His stomach burbled in happy anticipation.
More problems, said Aas.
“Really? Killing and devouring thousands of Täuschung priests—after hiding a magical sword in the middle of the desert—wasn’t problem enough?”
How strong and smart will you be after killing and eating thousands? And remember, hundreds of them are Geisteskranken. How sane will you be?
Jateko, who had just survived having his skull crushed by a morningstar, stood lost in thought. Aas’ was a dangerous and frightening question. Though the assassin was, as far as Jateko knew, the only Geisteskranken he’d eaten, already he felt like he strode a slippery slope. He broadcast his every thought, unable to control what those around him heard. Over a dozen voices babbled within him, sometimes vying for attention, sometimes holding conversations amongst themselves. Some worm of self-loathing gnawed at his guts, begged to shake off his humanity and become a glorious condor. Memories that weren’t his bubbled to the surface at odd times; had he really eaten his father? He had no hope for sanity. What would he be after devouring hundreds of Geisteskranken priests bent on worshipping a god of suffering? Their thoughts would taint his, become his.
None of it changed anything.
He made Zerfall a promise. He’d end this mad religion and end Swarm. He’d set her free.
There’s more, said Aas. How will you get to Swarm?
“I’ll kill myself.”
You survived having your head smashed in, pointed out Aas. How will you kill yourself when you have the health and healing ability of thousands?
“I’ll find a way.” He thought for a moment. “Blutblüte.”
Okay, said Aas. Let’s say you kill all the Täuschung priests and end the religion. Let’s say you manage to kill yourself and get to Swarm. Let’s say you manage to kill and devour the millions of people there—a task that will take centuries. Let’s say you do all of this. You will have devoured millions of souls. You’ll be a god. Now what?
“I leave Swarm,” stated Jateko as if it were the simplest thing in all the world.
How? demanded Aas.
“I will define its reality. I will free myself. And then, with millions of souls residing within me and Swarm being empty, I will shatter Blutblüte.”
You’re insane, repeated Aas.
“That’s why it will work.”
Jateko saw Zerfall’s hand, palm up, on a desk. The tattooed eye was closed. He retrieved it. Though grey, it showed no sign of rot. He remembered Zerfall saying she’d seen Hölle through that eye, overheard conversations with Zerfall.
“I’ll bring the hand. If the eye opens I can tell her what I’m doing, give her hope.”
Hunger dragged him back to Hölle’s corpse, he could wait no longer. Kneeling, he looked one last time at that flawless skin. So beautiful on the outside, but what had been within was something dark and ugly. Self-loathing killed this woman and now he would devour all she was. Would it end him too?
Opening her shirt, Jateko placed a hand between her breasts, feeling the soft perfection of her flesh. He had to eat. The hunger left him no choice. Next he’d devour Pharisäer and then the corpses of the Täuschung priests he’d slain. He’d take on their delusions, yet more insanity. Would he someday be a god?
He remembered Halber Tod’s poem.
“What kind of god does this?”
He split her ribs with his bare hands, exposing the feast within.
TWENTY-FOUR
I don’t understand why we need so many hells and Afterdeaths when it’s all right here.
— Einsam Geschichtenerzähler
ZERFALL STOOD NAKED, PRESSED on all side by a seething crush of sweating, breathing, screaming humanity, all as naked as she. Hands and mouths sought her, groping, pinching and biting. She barely noticed them. Millions of voices lifted in cresting waves of torment, driven to insanity by the eternal emptiness of this hell. She ignored the symphony of torment.
She thought back to the book of poems Aas gave her. She remembered becoming increasingly aware of the decaying state of her church. The rot she ignored for hundreds of years seemed to infuse her skin, taint her thoughts. She remembered the poem. What kind of god—
Memories returned in a crushing tidal wave, memories she found so painful, so steeped in self-loathing, her mind had hidden them from her.
She remembered everything.
She remembered being a little girl, lying feverish in a sweat sodden cot, surrounded by the rotting corpses of her parents and siblings. With dawning horror, she remembered her sister, Hölle, lying beside her.
She remembered how Hölle grew, slowly, over decades, stepping out from under the shadow of her sister. At first Zerfall was proud of her sister’s accomplishments. But the self-centred Gefahrgeist in her grew to see Hölle as a threat. Zerfall, never one for planning, needed Hölle more than Hölle needed her. Over the course of years Zerfall’s jealousy at Hölle’s many successes ate at her.
The Täuschung had been hers, but now Hölle didn’t need her at all, hadn’t needed her in decades. Zerfall’s sister made all of the church’s decisions. She felt as if she was being pushed into the background and no Gefahrgeist could stand that. One hundred years after waking on that cot she looked back at that blurred past, each passing decade making that day less real. Had a god really talked to them?
That blurring gave her an idea. Hölle thought Zerfall couldn’t plan, but she’d prove her wrong. Zerfall remembered making the decision to retake her church, to put her sister back in her place. As a powerful Gefahrgeist she knew that to convince others she must first convince herself. She spent decades telling herself she never had a sister, pretending Hölle was nothing but a Fragment, knowing that after centuries she would forget the decision. Once the idea took root, she played with it every day, tasting it, pretending it was real. She spent weeks and then months pretending Hölle was a Fragment
And then years.
Another century passed and that decision blurred. One hundred years after that she forgot it completely. Another century later and she forgot the entire plan. Hölle was right, Zerfall wasn’t good at long term plans. But the damage had been done, and the idea lurked deep within.
Zerfall remembered that last day, the way her sister paced the room with such utter confidence, explaining her plans for the church and how, in the next decade, she’d make the Täuschung the most successful religion in all the city-states. She remembered how her every suggestion was waved away, how her sister always had a reason why things should be done her way.
That day in the cot, blurred by centuries, came back to her. She remembered being alone, that her sister had died. She knew then, beyond any doubt, that Hölle was a Fragment.
And Zerfall was a powerful Geisteskranken. Her fear and madness defined reality.
Hölle was real. She wasn’t a Fragment, not in the beginning. I stole her life, I made my sister a manifestation. She loathed herself, hated what her selfish need did to her sister. To Jateko.
Zerfall would have laughed at the sick futility of it all, but her mind shuddered and quaked under the strain of understanding and the absolute wretched grief that gripped her heart in its crushing fist.
“What have I done?”
The crush of humanity about her heaved and writhed. Hands clutched and fingers probed and she ignored it all. She sent them here. Humanity with no distraction but more humanity. She’d done this.
“I didn’t understand,” she said into the stretched and silent scream of the man before her, his face so close to hers she felt his lashes when he blinked. He made small heaving noises, fighting to draw breath in the press of the crowd. No hint of comprehension showed in his wide eyes. Madness. She turned her head, trying to look elsewhere. Madness. Madness in every face. Insanity choked every breath and sound. Some of these souls had been here four hundred years.
Swarm surged and heaved and Zerfall saw her sister pushing through the mob, coming ever closer.
She’s dead. We’re both dead.
She remembered everything.
She remembered the god speaking to them—remembered for the first time in four centuries—the message, writ into their brains like a herder’s brand driven against a cow’s flesh.
This responsive reality should be your heaven and yet you make it a hell. I enforce the laws of this reality. What humanity believes defines what is. You can save them. You can make this the utopia it should be. For I too am bound by rules. I serve you, humanity. You shape your own reality. You
She remembered waking beside her sister. Each retained only fragments of the message. As they lay huddled on their cot, surrounded by death, breathing the stench of their dead family, recovering from the plague that decimated their village, they pieced it together.
That scene no doubt tainted their translation.
This responsive reality is a hell. I am The One True God and Enforcer of the laws. To save humanity you must unite all in suffering. Penance for your crimes. Convince the world. This is your prison. Make your hell. Beyond this, is paradise. You will be free, as gods.
They made their hell—this childish and poorly imagined reality of suffering—hallucinated it as they huddled together on that rank and rotting cot, terrified and alone.
Four hundred years they spread their doctrine of suffering and now countless millions were trapped here in Swarm, robbed of whatever Afterdeath should have been theirs. Täuschung was a plague, had been built that way on purpose.
Zerfall watched Hölle push through the crowd, fighting to get closer to her twin sister.
Will she hug me or try and kill me?
Zerfall had never been capable of forgiveness, but that wasn’t Hölle’s way.
When she reaches me, I’ll tell her everything. I’ll tell her how sorry I am. She wanted to laugh at the thought. The old Zerfall would never apologize, was incapable of even considering it.
She blinked, lost and confused. Hölle was gone. Not lost in the crowd, she winked out of existence
The press of humanity heaved and turned like fish in the ocean, like a flock of birds dancing to some unheard tune. Zerfall moved and turned with it, trapped.
“Where …” This time Zerfall did laugh. “Jateko.” He must have eaten the woman’s corpse, devouring her soul.
Lost and alone, trapped in a hell of her own devising. She rode the swarm, unresisting.
Swarm had no time; the rising and setting of a sun would have been a distraction from the suffering. Nothing broke the eternal monotony.
Days passed. Weeks.
Years.
Sometimes the eye tattooed on her left hand opened and she saw Jateko. He talked to her, telling her of his plans to rescue her. Telling her not to lose hope. He changed, was different each time. The souls he ate took their toll and she saw it in his eyes. Madness. He got stronger, smarter. He developed new Geisteskranken powers.
It was killing him. Or at least killing the youth she loved.
She’d plead with Jateko, begging him to leave her, to save himself.
He couldn’t hear her.
Sometimes Zerfall died, raped and murdered, or beaten to death by someone who recognized her. Sometimes people killed her for no reason other than a moment’s diversion.
Each time she awoke, once again riding the sea of Swarm.
She never got hungry and she never needed sleep.
Swarm went on forever.
TWENTY-FIVE
Condone the torture of the powerless.
What kind of god does this?
Preaching pain and emptiness.
What kind of god does this?
—excerpt from the poem, “The Täuschung”, by Halber Tod, Cotardist Poet
NORTH, IN THE FARTHEST-MOST reaches of the boreal forests separating the Verschlinger tribes from the civilized city-states, Jateko crouched over the gutted remains of his last victim, licking his fingers clean. One more small voice joined the cacophony bubbling about his thoughts. There were so many now—thousands—that conversations with individual souls rarely took place. Still, Abiega, Gogoko, and Aas sometimes managed to make themselves heard. He wasn’t sure why. Was it because they were among the first, or was it more a matter of their strong personalities? Or maybe he turned to them because they were familiar.
A colossal bear, winter coat moulting and hanging grey and tattered in knotted curtains, shambled from the forest. Rearing onto its hind legs, it watched Jateko, nostrils flaring. The beast towered over eleven-feet-tall and must have weighed over two thousand pounds.
“What’s left is yours,” Jateko called to the bear as he sauntered away; such a creature was no danger to him. “I’ve taken what I need.”
He walked through the trees, enjoying the crunch of snow and the dry snap of pine needles beneath his feet. He breathed deep the sharp and commingled scents of hot blood and white spruce.
“That’s the last of the Täuschung, is it not?” he asked aloud.
It is, answered Hölle, knowing the question was addressed to her.
Thousands of strange desires niggled at his thoughts. Many of those he devoured were Geisteskranken; the mad and delusional of the world. He had their strengths and their weaknesses.
Jateko knew thousands of delusions. All within a thousand strides heard his thoughts. He sparked raging infernos with a thought, twisted into a myriad of animals and monsters, swelled impossible muscles, or caused his flesh to rot and peel.
Much as Zerfall’s flesh rotted and peeled, pointed out Aas.
“Ah, the assassin of my conscience speaks,” said Jateko.
You’re trying not to think of her.
Jateko ignored Aas’ words. “It’s time to return to the desert. I must retrieve Blutblüte.” Jateko buried the sword in the desert thousands of miles east of where even the hardiest Basamortuan tribes dared venture.
He twisted, his body crumbling apart and reforming as a monstrous condor with a thirty-foot wingspan. He pushed himself into the air, the powerful beat of his wings toppling trees beneath him as he rose.
He flew east and south. Not a god, but not a man either. Eight hours later he watched the last of the Kälte Mountains pass beneath him. Aas babbled on about how he grew up south of here, living in his father’s basement, terrified of the world. Jateko, long accustomed to hearing voices in his head, ignored him. To the east stretched the endless wastes of the Basamortuan Desert. And beyond that …
“Someday I want to cross the Basamortuan,” said Jateko. “I want to see what is west of the Gezackt Mountains, north of the Verschlinger tribes, and south of the Salzwasser Ocean.”
There is no someday, said Aas. You made Zerfall a promise.
Jateko flew on, beyond the lands of the desert tribes and into the unknown heart of the Basamortuan. Far below the dunes faded to a soft pink and then darkened to the deep sanguine of rotting blood. Nothing lived out here, no life moved beneath him. His belly grumbled in complaint. Soon, he told it. Soon you’ll have your fill. Swarm’s millions. Would that satisfy his insatiable hunger?
