Beyond Redemption by Michael R. Fletcher Page B

stopped when she noticed the wood piled at the ready.
    â€œA fire?” Gehirn grinned maniacally at the three Krieger, who had all frozen in their various tasks upon her disembarking from the carriage. “I love a good fire. Camaraderie. People drawn together to share in its light and heat.” She gestured at the wood and it burst into flames. In the brief moment her hand was exposed to the moonlight it reddened as if sunburned. Gehirn giggled. “Play with fire and you’ll get burned. That’s what Daddy always said.”
    Yeah, and Daddy burned just fine.
    The Krieger, hardened warriors all, ignored her, continuing in their tasks. Gehirn watched. Insanity, she supposed, in those with power wasn’t a comfortable conversational topic; it was a simple fact. If a single sane person ever shaped the world in any meaningful way, Gehirn hadn’t heard of them.
    The Krieger, she knew, suffered their own delusions of grandeur. To have volunteered for this position, they must. Theyknew the Geborene would create their god and they knew the Krieger would play a critical role in his Ascension. These were the last words Konig spoke to them before they were ritually deafened to prevent another Gefahrgeist from infecting their faith. The force of Konig’s faith defined their reality.
    Gehirn Schlechtes felt drawn to the fire and stood before it, rapt and lost in the flickering tongues. Flame spoke to her, loved her, and made her whole. The three Krieger sat around the fire, legs crossed, weapons laid out and lovingly polished. A pot of thick soup simmered on an iron tripod over the fire.
    â€œThe first gods were born of man as he sat shivering and terrified in the dark.” The Krieger did not pause in the care of their weapons and armor. Gehirn continued, knowing they couldn’t hear and not caring. “The Wahnvor Stellung would have us believe the gods gave us fire, that the gods lifted us from savagery. This is laughable. We hardly need the gods to gift us with that which we can so easily create for ourselves. And what of this lift from savagery?”
    The Krieger prided themselves on their fierce will to do violence, their intense and overwhelming ferocity. Someone open to atrocity is far more dangerous than someone afraid of it. This was the core of their training, the center of their lives, and the bloody meat of their souls. No doubt they’d agree there has been no lift from savagery.
    Gehirn flashed teeth in a canine leer. “I see such lovely savagery right here before me. The Wahnvor gods are the result of the delusions of prehistoric mankind. Is there power without insanity? No. Are the elder gods powerful? Yes. Are they delusional? Obviously. No doubt they believe they created us, but their delusions will wither in the fires of our faith. Ah! And we come full circle back to fire.”
    The Krieger, ignoring Gehirn, carefully stowed their weapons and spooned soup into sturdy wood bowls.
    Gehirn stared into the fire; she felt distant and lost. “Do you know what we love about fire?” she asked the silent Krieger. “It’s not the heat. It’s not the light, though both those things are useful in their time and place. We love the unpredictable nature of flame. Look.” She gestured at the fire. “You can’t guess where the next licking tongue of flame will rise. And the larger the fire, the more unpredictable it is, and the more beautiful it becomes.” She stared into the fire until it consumed her vision. “We are, each and every one of us, addicted to chaos. Gorgeous, devouring, chaos. Every visceral pleasure comes from the moment when we truly lose control. That moment when our minds white out and thought vanishes, when the fire within us devours all rationality. Sex. Fire. It’s all the same.”
    One of the Krieger held a bowl up to Gehirn in offering.
    â€œNo, thank you. I believe someone is trying to kill me.” The Hassebrand