Wolf's-own: Koan (19 page)

"For pity's sake.” Morin sighed this time, then rolled his eyes. “This is Jacin we're talking about, Joori. If he truly wanted to kill himself, do you really think he couldn't have made a weapon out of a cake of soap by now? Hung himself with a set of bedsheets?"

Shig jolted a little. It was so close to what Malick had snarled at her earlier.

Morin shook his head, something in his face very close to pity when he looked at Joori. “Maybe he's not right in the head, but he's not a moron."

Joori didn't seem to have anything to say to that. Which apparently only pissed him off more. A little snarl curled at his mouth, and he jerked away from the table and started for the door.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you,” Shig told him mildly, just as Joori's hand landed on the doorknob.

To his credit, Joori paused and peered at Shig over his shoulder with a scowl. “I'm going across the hall to check on my brother. Who is in bed,
sleeping
, and
not
out killing people.” He hesitated, some of the anger draining out of his expression and turning a bit soft. “He probably won't take this well. I should be there."

"And break it to him gently?” Shig lifted her eyebrows. “You really think he'll believe you?” Joori opened his mouth, but Shig waved off whatever he was going to say. “You don't fool me, and you won't fool him. You're not sorry Malick's out of your way, if only for a little while, and I doubt you can even see all the reasons why you should be, let alone admit it. If you're a smart little rabbit, you won't let your brother see any of it."

She'd been expecting more snarls, an angry outburst. So she was a little surprised when Joori's expression turned hurt, genuinely taken aback.

"You really think I'm that cold?” he asked, like he honestly wanted to know, though Shig wouldn't even dream of actually answering. “I don't hate Malick, I never did. But I know what we are to him, I know what Jacin is to him. And someone has to be there to put Jacin back together once Malick's through with him."

Shig thought about that very carefully, because again, it was all too close to what she'd snarled at Malick only hours ago. “And what makes you so sure that someone should be you?” she finally ventured. Because she really wanted to know.

Joori snorted, hollow and humorless. “You know, sometimes I really feel bad for you, because I think you miss your spirits so much that you try to pretend you still have them.” He shook his head. “And sometimes I think you're just a clueless bitch."

He threw the door open then slammed it shut behind him. Shig only stared after him for a few seconds, stung. That one had hurt. And she wasn't even sure which part.

"He was out with Malick,” Morin said into the silence. “Wasn't he?"

Shig sighed, slouched down in her chair and shut her eyes. “Yeah,” she said.

The silence stretched out, so quiet they could hear Joori rapping softly on the door across the hall. Shig couldn't tell if she was relieved or not when Morin finally broke it.

"Is Jacin all right?"

"All right” was such an inclusive phrase. Shig didn't waste breath on all of the ways that Fen was profoundly
not
“all right."

"Even if I still had the spirits, I wouldn't be able to tell. You can't find Fen with magic. I only know about Malick because I think he found a way to tell me.” Shig opened her eyes, let Morin see the apology in her gaze and shrugged. “For all I know, Fen's the one who killed him."

There was no shock at the speculation, no swift denial, like there would've been with Joori. Morin's mouth twisted a little, and he slumped, but that was all. He thought about it for a while, turned and looked at the door when Joori's knocking grew in both insistence and volume, then shook his head at Shig.

"No. Not unless he's lost himself completely.” Morin sighed, rubbed at his eyes. “In which case, the only one who'll be coming back is Samin. Unless he got in Jacin's way."

A little shudder rippled through Shig at the truth of it. Leave it to Morin to say the things that no one wanted to acknowledge but everyone needed to hear.

Just like you used to, little niijun. Have your colors dulled so much beneath the weight of your corporeal bondage?

Corporeal bondage. It sounded so... melodramatic, but it felt pretty much exactly right. Maybe that was why Joori's parting shot had stung as it had. She did miss the spirits, crazy bastards that they were. She missed Yori. She missed Umeia. She missed the life she'd had before she'd ever heard the name “Fen.” And now she missed Malick and every bit of Fen's equilibrium that he'd no doubt taken with him.

She missed being
little niijun
.

Perhaps it was time to start figuring out who she was now. Perhaps a visit to the temple would do her some good.

Shig toyed with the ends of her hair, mouth turned down in a bit of a grimace. Perhaps it was time for some new dye.

"We should get out more,” she said, picking at the corners of the cards on the table with her fingernail. “See the city, visit the temples.” They were, after all, in the very birthplace of the gods. She'd been within walking distance of answers and direction for almost two weeks now, and hadn't been able to make herself do a damned thing about it, not even when Malick cajoled her, sweet and imposing all at once, as only Malick could be. And now that Malick was gone.... Well. She did at least need some dye.

Shig wiped at her eyes, though they weren't wet, so that was something. With a sigh, she peered up, noted Morin staring at her with a half-amused glint in his hazel eyes and a tiny curl to his lip. Shig raised her eyebrows in question.

Morin only shook his head and chuffed a tiny snort. “Sometimes you're so weird."

Damn it, he had no idea how to pick a lock. Joori growled, pounded on Jacin's door some more, but refrained from shouting through it. It was the middle of the night, and the inn was full. He didn't need some angry foreigner shouting at him in words he couldn't understand, and he didn't need that dour innkeeper throwing them out. Though, now that Malick was apparently... not dead, but whatever it was
Temshiel
were when their mortal bodies died—now that Malick wasn't here, Joori couldn't help wondering how the hell they were going to pay for their rooms. Cold, yes, like Shig had accused, but someone had to think of these things.

He pounded again, clamped his eyes shut tight, and laid his brow to Jacin's door. Jacin was in there. He had to be. He just didn't want to answer, that was all. He hadn't been out with Malick, because Jacin didn't kill people just because. He only killed the ones who'd destroyed their family, and that was only because he'd had no choice, but they were all gone now. He wasn't the assassin Asai had made him, he wasn't anything Asai had made him, because if he kept being what Asai had made him, that would mean Asai still had some kind of hold on him, and....

And Joori couldn't even stand to think it, let alone tolerate it. He might disapprove of the hold Malick had on Jacin, he might worry over it and try to weaken it a little, but it was nowhere near as destructive as the hold Asai still had. For pity's sake, Jacin still talked to the slimy bastard like Asai was standing in the room with him. At least Malick actually cared about Jacin. Even if he didn't know how to do it right. And if Malick had somehow managed to get Jacin kil—

No. He wouldn't think it.
Couldn't
. Not after everything they'd already lost. And Jacin wouldn't dare risk himself like that. He
knew
what it would do to Joori to lose him too. Sometimes Joori thought it was the only thing keeping Jacin alive.

"Jacin,” Joori whispered, face pressed into the wood, hand flat against it. “Please. Open the door. Please be in there."

"Is everyone here all right?” Samin's voice. Thank the gods.

Joori spun, heart hammering and breath coming in truncated little gasps. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been wound, but when he saw Samin standing in the hallway, Jacin halfway behind him, both of them eyeing Joori a little warily, his knees almost gave. The blood registered a half a second later, and some odd little part of Joori's mind wondered if any of it was Malick's, but he wouldn't dare voice it. Nor would he dare voice the things ramming around in his head and his chest right now—the accusations, the rebuke, the
how could you?
—because Jacin had that dazed, blank-eyed look to him, and Joori needed to get rid of it, quick, before it set in and stayed. As much as Joori hated to admit it, Malick did keep Jacin in the present most of the time, chased away the “ghosts” Jacin spoke to more than he spoke to even Joori, and now that Malick was... gone, the job would fall to Joori.

"Yeah, we're fine,” Joori answered. He looked both Jacin and Samin over thoroughly, noted the blood and the slash marks on Samin, but chose not to mention it right now. Jacin looked bloody, too, but unhurt, and cold or not, that was what mattered to Joori. He liked Samin, but Samin could and did take care of himself. He liked Malick well enough, too, but Malick had thought he could take care of Jacin and he'd just been proven incontrovertibly wrong.

It was better this way, though Joori wouldn't say it out loud. Joori could give Malick credit for caring and for trying, but Malick didn't know everything he thought he knew. For some things, Jacin needed Joori. Joori wouldn't go so far as to agree with any of the bullshit Shig had spouted, but yeah, it might be better all around if Joori could have Jacin to himself for a little while. And if Malick never came back, best to get used to the idea now. The last thing Jacin needed was to let himself become dependent on a grand anticipated homecoming that never came. Or another immortal with intentions of which no one could ever
really
be sure.

"There's, um....” Samin cleared his throat, stared at Joori with a strange hesitancy that didn't look right on him, then looked down. “Malick—"

"We know,” Joori said, softly, and mostly to spare Samin the chore of having to say it. “Shig knew. She said he told her."

Samin nodded, no surprise on his face, just a slump to his shoulders and a fatigue in his blue eyes that made him look older. “His wards are gone. They were
banpair
, and we think they were after—"

He broke off abruptly when Jacin jostled into his side, like he was trying to shove Samin out of the way to get by. Samin stared at him, but Jacin merely sidled between Samin and the wall and turned to stand beside Joori with his back to the door of his room. Blinked.

Samin cleared his throat again. “I don't know how safe it is here.” He paused and stared at Jacin; strangely, it looked as if he was looking for guidance. When Jacin didn't say anything, Samin went on, “I want us all in the same room. Yours and Morin's is the biggest, so it should be there. I'll keep the watch."

Banpair
and blood and keeping watch—
danger!
shrieked beneath every word spoken in Samin's calm voice, but Joori only nodded. “Sure, yeah, that sounds—"

"I want to be alone."

Joori didn't think he'd ever get used to Jacin's raspy voice, but even through the strain, Joori had no trouble at all hearing the inflexibility in the tone. He stared at Jacin—the hollow nothing in his eyes, the spatters of blood going to brown on his face, his hands, the knives strapped all over him like prickly armor. Joori looked back at Samin and silently shook his head.

Apparently, Samin hadn't needed the hint. He set his jaw. “No.” Clear and flat. “No one's alone right now, Fen, and especially not—” He cut himself off, shot a glance to Joori then back at Jacin, gaze softening, but his tone was unmoved when he went on, “They'll want to know what happened. Would you like to tell them, or shall I?"

And why was Joori detecting the tiniest hint of threat in the even question? He narrowed his eyes between them, watching the silent argument fly back and forth across the plush hallway. Something was going on, something Samin had almost said and Jacin wanted to make damned sure he didn't.

"They were after you,” Joori said, throat tight, because he knew Jacin, and knowing Jacin, it wasn't hard to figure out what he didn't want Samin to say. Joori set his jaw, looked at Jacin straight, but Jacin was still staring at Samin. “
Weren't
they, Jacin?” Still, Jacin remained silent, the gaze that had sharpened momentarily on Samin now going dull again, withdrawn. It was almost a physical pulling away, and Joori had to restrain himself from laying hands on Jacin to prevent it. “Why would
banpair
be after you?"

He stood there, waiting, because Jacin could be stubborn, but so could Joori. Joori had been letting Jacin get away with not saying things lately, because he found out more when he eavesdropped on Jacin and his “ghosts” than from anything Jacin might actually tell him, but Joori wasn't letting it go this time. He knew what the stories said about
banpair
, and though he didn't think he believed in them wholly, every myth and legend he'd ever heard had started somewhere in truth. And he'd had enough experience now with
Temshiel
and maijin to know you couldn't trust magical beings for even a second, let alone the ones who were said to actually eat people. At least that blood all over Samin and Jacin meant that, whatever these
banpair
really were, they could be hurt.

"Jacin,” Joori said, through his teeth and as harsh as he could make it, “I want to know what—"

It lodged in his throat when Samin all at once turned into a blur of brown and flashing blade, spinning to his left, sword raised and teeth bared. Bloody hell, he looked scary like that. Jacin, too, with his dead eyes and vicious snarl, blooded knives in his fists and body tense. They were like a pair of pissed-off jackals.

Apparently, the newcomer who'd been approaching from the stairway agreed. The woman stopped, just cresting the top step. She held out her hands, palms out, and put on a calm smile.

"Your pardon,” she said, voice somewhat lilting, gold eyes placid in her striking face, the light-brown tone of her skin almost making them flash out through the dim light of the hallway.

Temshiel
—Joori knew it just by the almost unreal perfection of the features. Or maijin, maybe. Joori couldn't tell the difference between them with just a look—they all hid behind beautiful faces. Arrogant lot, they were.