Wolf's-own: Koan (11 page)

Bloody hell, he'd been in a good mood only a little while ago, and all it took to turn it sour was—

His head came up, eyes narrowed. There it was again. Not a scent, but a... stir. A shift. Something. Something that put Goyo in mind of the uneasy wakeful slumber of an infant child in its cradle, trying to decide if it was hungry enough to wake fully, open its mouth and bleat its discomfort; a tiny peck of a beak from the inside of a shell. Goyo stood there for hours, meditating, reaching, stretching, but never grasping hold. Still, it was out there. He knew it. Felt it. He just couldn't touch it.

Something
.

Nothing he could pin. Nothing he could identify. Something worth his attention, though. Something not boring.

Something waiting to be born.

With a narrow look up at the moons, and then a searching one at the inns and taverns that lined the piers, Goyo decided that perhaps it was time to find out if there had been any recent arrivals of interest in Mitsu.

"Incendiary.” Jacin whispered it slowly, testing it out, saying it out loud to see if the shape of the word matched the dread in his chest when Malick had spoken it. It had taken him a night and a day to even attempt to try to repeat it, and now that he had....

He just didn't know. And spending nearly two days huddled in this bed and determinedly
not thinking
had given him nothing but a blank spot where some kind of erudition should be. He supposed he must have slept somewhere in there, eaten, taken care of necessities. He knew he'd smoked quite a lot, because the room reeked of it, and his lungs felt gritty. Maybe he'd been drinking too. He couldn't remember. He remembered clinging to Malick, though. And Malick letting him. He remembered letting Malick fuck him only a little while ago. No, not letting him—begging him for it. But it hadn't made it all go away this time.

"It isn't that different, you know."

Malick's voice was quiet, almost gentle, his breath a warm spangle at the nape of Jacin's neck. It didn't lend the comfort Jacin knew Malick intended, though; in a haze of self-imposed nonexistence or not, Jacin still knew that Malick had simply been biding his time, waiting for something from Jacin before he pounced. And now Jacin had given it to him. Because Malick never let up.

"Incendiary were the paradigm for the Catalysts. It was what the Ancestors intended when they made the Untouchables. Except they kinda... y'know—fucked it up a little.” Malick paused, then said more softly, “Fen... this doesn't have to be as appalling as I know you're thinking it is."

Was Jacin thinking it appalling? Maybe. He couldn't tell. He still didn't seem to be thinking much of anything. There was a white roar just at the edges of his consciousness, and it was yawning wide and deep, deeper than the past two days of pretending he didn't exist had been. He wasn't sure yet if it was comforting or terrifying.

"Voices?” he rasped.

Malick's grip on him tightened. “
No
, Fen. Your chosen god may choose to speak through you, but it's a rare thing, or was, back when the Incendiary were... well, not such a rare thing."

Right. Back before they'd proven too dangerous for even their own gods and had been stamped out.

"But it wouldn't be like the Ancestors,” Malick went on, his tone still gentle, a touch wary, and his hold on Jacin a little too firm to be merely for Jacin's own preference of comfort. “Not dozens of voices crying insanity at you, Fen. You have to believe this. Like that day at the Girou, remember?"

Oh, yeah. He remembered. A shudder rippled through him, and Malick soothed it with a firm stroke up and down Jacin's arm.

"It's dangerous.” Jacin let it hang there, not bothering to tag the tone with a question, because there was no point. Malick wouldn't have been so careful about it all otherwise. Probably because he didn't know what answer Jacin was hoping for. Then again, neither did Jacin.

"It's... complicated,” Malick answered. “King-maker and god-slayer, world-changer and world-destroyer. No magic, no tricks, only the power of will. An Incendiary wants something badly enough, they find a way to make it happen. It makes you... valuable."

Valuable
. Jacin would've snorted, but all his breath seemed to be locked somewhere between his chest and his throat. “How long have you known this?” A paper-thin whisper, not even laced with accusation, because Jacin hadn't that right—he'd been doing everything possible to make Malick keep it to himself, hadn't he?

"Since you stepped in front of my sword. Since you spoke it as you lay bleeding."

Jacin buried his face in the pillow. Right. Just one more way his own mouth had betrayed him, even if the words hadn't been his, just more insane babble forced on his mind then his tongue by the Ancestors’ madness. Bloody hell, would he never get away from them?

"I couldn't tell you then,” Malick went on, “you weren't ready. But there are others who know, and I couldn't not tell you anymore."

Jacin could shut it all down now—just let the hysteria burble out his mouth in cackling laughter, or just start sobbing out the hitching breaths and curses that were gathering in a hard knot in his chest. Except he couldn't, not really. His blood still wasn't his to spill. It never would be.

"Others?"

"Like me, Fen.
Temshiel
, maijin. Word spreads quickly among my kind. No one's exactly on the hunt, because only a few know you're here, and the ones who do are scrambling for a clue from their gods for an idea on what to do about you. There hasn't been an Incendiary for over a century, and they were rare even before that. The last one—” A low-level growl was creeping into Malick's voice, a weird muffled resentment that Jacin couldn't pin. Malick cleared it away with a firm kiss to Jacin's hair and another tightening of his grip. “But rumors spread quickly, and there were others there, they heard you, and some will come looking for you."

"Why?"

"Because, like I said, you're valuable. But you're dangerous too. There's too much of an Incendiary's own will tied into their power, and their will is tied to their chosen god's. The last one thwarted Raven quite soundly and was punished horribly for it. There hasn't been one since. Not until you."

Not precisely what Jacin had meant. More like, “Why
me
?” but what difference did it make, really?

"I don't care about any of it.” Tears were too close behind the statement, burning behind Jacin's brow, and fuck, he couldn't ever seem to help it anymore, crying like a little girl every time some new betrayal came along, and he'd even been
expecting
this one, damn it, shouldn't he be able to control this by now? “Was... was I...?"

Your sister did not have to die, Jacin-rei. That was not my doing, but yours. You have refused to be what you are....

It had stirred fury and resentment before; now the ring of it sounded too much like truth. Jacin swallowed, several times, but it wasn't helping to get breath past the chunk of old-grief-made-new lodged in his throat. “Is this what I've always been?"

Malick stilled. Which pretty much answered the question. “Fen, you have to listen to me, all right? You can't make this—"

"Oh,
fuck
!” Jacin curled in, dug his fingers into his scalp. The abyss opened up, vast and razor-splined, but it wasn't white and buzzing like it had been before—it was dark, blank-black, and filled with the screams of the dead. “
Ohfuckohfuckohfuck
—"

"Fen,
no
, you have to listen to—"

"I could've saved... I wanted
so badly
for... for—"

"I
know
, Fen, but even if it had been what you're thinking, it wouldn't have worked that way. You're Fate's creature, and Fate can be fucking cruel. There always has to be Balance, and the price is always bloody.
You
didn't do any of it, Fen. You were both then, Incendiary inside Untouchable, but as Untouchable you couldn't—"

"You just said
my will
is what—"

"Not
then
, Fen, damn it, you have to
listen
to me. Caidi and too many others like her were always going to be the price of saving the Jin, the other end of the Balance that Fate demanded. You couldn't have saved her. That's why you have to know now, that's why you're dangerous, because you always have to be three steps ahead of Fate to know if the price will be worth what—"

"
Worth
...?” Jacin almost gagged. “I didn't fucking
care
about the Jin, I wanted to save
her
!” Oh, no. “Oh... Mother. Oh,
fuck
, my—"

"
No
, Fen, damn it, that's not how it works.” There was so much inside Malick's voice, too much of it Jacin didn't want to hear—sympathy, understanding Malick couldn't possibly have, tenderness and genuine compassion that made Jacin want to scream. “As Incendiary, you will have a chance to work your will on Fate, but never forget that Fate answers in its own ways. Even the gods are tempered by it, Fen. It's what makes you dangerous and valuable. Balance.
Always
. Even if you'd known, even had you the power then, Fate's price might
still
have been Caidi. This is why I can't let you not know anymore. I'm so fucking sorry, I'd take it from you if I could, but I can't."

It didn't stop the ache, or the sick knowledge that had birthed it—it only made everything that much more excruciating. Jacin could almost see Caidi, sitting on the windowsill as she did almost every morning, only this time, she was shaking her head and looking at him with a sad look of betrayal. Could almost hear Beishin, laughing at him, telling him,
You did this, little Ghost
. And Jacin couldn't argue, not even the feeble defenses he used to justify the gutless inertia that kept him from finding the will and energy to put an end to it.

"I killed her.” It came out like a wounded animal's whine, and no wonder, the way it slipped out from between too-quick and too-shallow breaths. And why was he just now feeling the weight and serration of the knowledge, when he'd
known
even as he'd watched her fall?

You did this, little Ghost.

"
Bullshit
,” Malick snapped. “Fate—"

"That's what Asai meant. He knew, he
had
to have known, I... I didn't want it hard enough, I didn't—"

He choked it off when Malick twisted, flipped Jacin roughly onto his back, and pushed him down into the sheets. Held him still.

"See,
this
is why I kept waiting to tell you. I knew you'd—"

"How can they do it? How can they ask it? She didn't deserve it, none of them did, it isn't
fair
, they're supposed to be
better
than us—
you're
supposed to be better than us! What the fuck could they possibly need me for, and why should I even bother to pretend to give a shit what they want when ‘fair’ means nothing to
any
of them? They made me weak and then took my mother and my sister away because I wasn't strong enough, and now they expect me to start all over again? For them? For Fate?
Fuck
Fate, and fuck
them
."

He wouldn't. That was it. Incendiary? Fuck it. What did he care? “Start again"? No. He wouldn't. Perhaps gutless inertia had been a problem up ‘til now, but Jacin didn't think it would be a problem after this. Lack of knives would not be as much of a hindrance as Joori probably thought it would. All Jacin had to do was wait until Malick wasn't watching and—

"Bloody damn,” Malick breathed, a sharp, cynical smile curving at his mouth that made Jacin want to kill him. “I used to think it was Joori who was innocent, but you, Fen....” He shook his head, eyes hard for all his voice was still soft and laced through with gentle consolation. “How have you lived through what you've lived through and still managed to keep hold of that gullibility with both hands? You think anything's
fair
? There
is
no fair—there's
Balance
, and that's
all
there is.
Fair
is how you've ended up—” He cut himself off, clenched his teeth. “Fate's a callous bitch, and there's nothing fair about it."

"You think I don't know that?” Jacin snarled.

Malick paused, peering down at him with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, I guess you do at that. But I'm not going to let you turn this into what I already see blooming in your eyes.” He shook his head when Jacin glared up at him, because Jacin had no idea what was “blooming in his eyes,” but Malick sure seemed to think he did, and it pissed Jacin off. “You don't want choices?” Malick said evenly. “You don't know what to do with them?—well, that's good, because you haven't got any when it comes to it. Telling yourself you killed your little sister because you didn't want her to live hard enough, and all so that you can add one more tick in favor of suicide, won't bloody
fix
it. You'll be gone and it'll
still
be un-fucking-fair, except it'll be even more un-fucking-fair for the brothers you leave behind you."

Jacin sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, blurry eyes narrowing when Malick merely tilted his head and tipped a little nod.

"Yeah, love, it means exactly what you think it means. You thought I was a cold bastard before? You haven't seen what a motherfucker I can be.” He leaned down, eyes sliding half-lidded, almost scary seduction, right in Jacin's face. “You kill yourself, Fen, you allow yourself to be killed, and my oath is once again my own. You understand what I'm telling you? I know you do, but just so we're very clear—as soon as the first flame touches your pyre, I will walk away from your brothers. They're nothing to me but tools to please you with, and if you're not here, I've no reason to keep them around. Wolf wants you alive, so alive you'll stay. Everything's a fucking trade, right? Here's mine—you're gone, I'm gone. Got it?"

Malick's mouth was doing that flat thing it did when he was trying too hard to be a prick, when he wanted you to think he was a stone-cold asshole who didn't care if he crushed you or killed you, but none of it was making Jacin's anger and fear any easier to suss right now. Because there was also the fact that Jacin's cock seemed to think it was all somehow incredibly sexy, twitching a little throb to make sure he got the point, and there had to be something terribly sick and wrong about that, right?