Wolf's-own: Koan (15 page)

Fen's eyebrows went up a little at that. “My f-father....” The hesitation was minute, but there. “My father used to tell of flesh-eating maijin. He called them
banpair
."

Malick almost smiled. He'd heard the epithet before—he'd used it once or twice—and it always amused him. “Not really. Metaphorically, maybe. Generally speaking,
banpair
are simply maijin who've fucked up, but not enough to be sent to the suns. They've been rejected by their god, but that doesn't preclude the possibility that another god will take them, or even that their own will take them back, if they somehow manage to impress. But they have to work at it."

He hesitated. He'd almost used Xari as an example of how
banpair
could earn themselves a place again, but decided that would be pushing things. Malick didn't think Fen held Xari in much esteem.

"Absorbing the energies from the emotions of others isn't really forbidden, merely frowned upon, and you can't really blame someone for surviving in the only way available to them. It's harmless, really. Someone who's doing it merely to survive and maintain the strength to do the work of the gods takes only what they need, and the person they're taking from doesn't even know it. They sort of... slurp up the overflow. The problems begin when they start to... I guess the best word for it would be to ‘steal’ those passions. Create them so that they can be absorbed.” Actually, the
real
problem was that the rush was more addictive than poppy, or so Malick had heard. “It's always been a danger, but the instances down the centuries have been few and isolated, because once you start crossing the line, your chances of finding a god who will take you are almost nothing."

Again, Fen's eyebrows went up a little. “You're arming yourself pretty heavily."

"Because it's not isolated this time. There are twenty-three
banpair
in the world. An even dozen of those are unaccounted for. They've somehow slipped even the sight of the gods. And no one can find the spirits of those they've killed, either. It's... worrying. And they're getting bolder and stronger."

"So you're killing them."

"Sending them to spirit,” Malick corrected. “If I can find them.” Once they were sent to spirit, the gods could lay hands on them. What happened after that was not Malick's concern. He waved a hand. “I'm thinking it's going to be more like wandering about the seedier places and nulling out any magic I can reach, hoping I can take away whatever they're using as a veil and find them that way. Kind of a blunt, blundering approach, but no other
Temshiel
or maijin thus far has been able to find them."

Which made the fact that Malick would be rather pissing off the other
Temshiel
and maijin who happened to be within his range when he was looking somewhat satisfying. Having one's power suddenly cut off, regardless of what one might be up to at the time, had to be a bit annoying, he had to admit. Their own fault, as far as he was concerned. If they'd managed to get this under control when they'd realized it was a problem, he could have been concentrating exclusively on Fen right now.

"Seedier places,” Fen said softly, thoughtful, his gaze wandering again to the key then darting away. “Is it... dangerous?"

Aw, baby, are you worried about me?

Malick didn't ask it. Nor did he take it lightly. Not from someone who'd had too much taken from him, and was so deathly afraid of losing what he had left. Fen spent more time talking to the dead than the living these days.

Maybe getting him out and onto a job would keep his mind from eating itself the way it had been doing. Too much damned room in there these days, and Fen just kept filling up the empty spaces with nonexistent ghosts who kept telling him he wasn't worth the effort when Malick wasn't poking and prodding at him. One way or another, getting Fen to come with him would accomplish
some
thing. Malick would figure out exactly what as he went along.

It's your job
, he reminded himself. And no one else could do this particular job like Malick could. No one else would have lasted this long without Fen putting a knife through them, at the very least. And certainly no one else could be as motivated.

"Not for me,” was all Malick said, which was mostly true.

"Hmm,” Fen replied then went silent.

Silent but not withdrawn, not shut down, so Malick didn't move yet. Malick didn't have the same need Joori or Shig had to try to pry Fen open and get him to vomit up his pain and misery so they could pick through it all, looking for... whatever. Hope, in Joori's case; Malick didn't think he wanted to know what Shig was looking for. Not that Fen would cooperate. That was what the shutting down was for. Malick had seen Fen do it in the middle of a sentence, just abruptly cut off whatever he was saying and swallow it, and then just not say anything more. Or maybe get up in the middle of a one-sided “conversation” and walk away before the other person was finished talking. Usually Joori or Shig. They took it as a further sign of Fen's fragility; Malick took it as Fen expressing his preferences.

"Samin's volunteered to come with me,” Malick put in, and then he dropped it.

A sideways invitation, and Fen would take it or he wouldn't. Probably wouldn't, but Malick had to try. Fen had found balance and purpose before through justice delivered at the ends of his knives; Malick saw no reason why Fen couldn't use it as a crutch now, a way to find the focus he needed so badly until he was ready to take on the purpose Wolf had handed him.

So Malick waited to see what Fen would do, hoping without much real hope. Fen was apparently deep inside himself again—who knew if Fen was even aware that Malick was still here?—and the night was moving on. Malick needed to collect Samin and get going. With a sigh, he pulled himself upright and snagged his boot knife from the top of the bag, the contents of which he'd been moving about while pretending to look for it, and started for the door.

"Don't wait up,” he said. Not that Fen would, but Malick liked to think he might at least think about it.

"Malick,” Fen said quietly.

Malick turned with his hand on the door and peered at Fen over his shoulder. Stilled.

Fen held the key between his fingers, watching the light shine and shift over it as he turned it. Idly, his fingertips traced the tiny braid that wove the hair back from his left temple as he stared at the key. Contemplative. Maybe even a little bit wistful.

His gaze lifted, held Malick's for a long, pregnant moment, unreadable, then abruptly dropped. He closed the key in a loose fist.

"Just you and Samin?"

It could mean anything, so Malick didn't allow it to trip up the rhythm of his heart yet. “Yeah. Shig was never very good with weapons.” And now that her magic was gone, she seemed to have no interest in changing that. Or maybe since Yori was gone.

Fen accepted this with a distracted nod. He was silent for another long moment, contemplating his closed fist. Malick merely waited. He could be patient, when he needed to be. When it was important. Fen seemed lost in his Fen-thoughts for a while longer, then:

"Could you... I mean, d'you think...?” Fen gave his head a sharp jerk then set his jaw. “Does it pay?"

You really had to stop and admire the sheer depth of the self-delusion sometimes.

Malick didn't smile. He didn't sigh in relief. He didn't jump at the offer and accept it before Fen could back out. He leaned into the doorjamb and peered at Fen closely.

"It pays.” He kept his tone even and direct. “You'll wear the ring. And you'll wear the mail. You're not to die on me. I think we're clear on the consequences of that.” He slipped the ring from his hand and held it between his fingers. “And I wouldn't take it well."

It's my job
, Malick told himself.
However this turns out, this is my job as Wolf's-own
.

Just... please, Fen, don't hate me.

Fen merely pushed out a derisive snort, rolled his eyes, and then shot a narrow glare up at Malick. When Malick tossed the ring to him, Fen caught it. “Give me ten minutes,” he said.

"Maybe I won't die on you,” Jacin muttered as he hunted around for his trousers then his shirt. “Maybe I'll just kill you instead."

Hated him.
Hated
him, with a burning, fiery passion. Hated him for more things than Jacin's scattered mind could fix on right now.

Hated himself for not dragging his brothers out of their room and just leaving, like he should've done... hell,
months
ago.

Hated himself for not really hating Malick. For his complete and profound inability to even consider being alone.

It wasn't the same with his brothers. They couldn't give him what Malick could. And only some of what Malick gave him had to do with the physical.

There was understanding, there was
knowing
; even when it wrung fear and cold sweats from him, it was still there. Malick actually sought it. Like Jacin was
worth
knowing. It was more than anyone else bothered with.

So. He's finally told you what you are.

Bloody
hell
.

Jacin clenched his teeth tight. “Shut up, Beishin."

I told you the
Temshiel
were treacherous creatures. Now you know why he wants you. When will you learn to listen to your Beishin?

"When I have one who doesn't pretend to love me while he's destroying my family.” He spat it, furious.

He got a soft chuckle in response. If Jacin shut his eyes, he'd be able to see the expression that went with it, so he didn't.

Love. My boy, you are too easily tricked by its glamour. Do you really think—?

"
No
.” Snarled this time. Because he didn't.
Didn't
.

Touch the Untouchable. Love the unlovable. No one but I, Jacin-rei. You think he sees but he doesn't, no one does. You do not exist but in
my
eyes. Only I know you. I made you, little Ghost, and only I can love what others can't even see.

"Except you didn't,” Jacin whispered, shaky now. “You don't. And you're
dead
."

With no thought, Jacin snapped a throwing knife from the sheath at his wrist and whipped it in the direction of the voice. Just to see. It hit the wall beside the brass plate over the press with a
hiss
and a
twang
, hilt vibrating. Jacin stared at it, then shifted his glance to the side and stared at the hollow-eyed creature that glared back at him.

Untouchable. Unlovable.

Not Beishin's voice this time. Jacin's own. He shook his head and looked away.

A token of his affection for you, little Ghost?

Jacin startled a little, only now noticing that he'd slipped Malick's ring onto his finger, twisting at it like a nervous old woman.

Or a pretty little tether to bind you with?
The voice took on sibilance, an almost impatience that drove a shudder through Jacin while at the same time twisting uneasiness through his gut.
One such as you could do great things with such a bauble. He thinks to bind you with it, but I, little Ghost... I can free you. Your beishin can show you—

"Shut the fuck
up
!” Growled so harshly this time that it actually burned Jacin's throat.

Because if he kept listening, he'd have to eventually admit that he could have been free of Malick a hundred times over already, he'd only ever had to just walk away and keep going. Malick's magic didn't work on him, he'd never find Jacin if Jacin just left and made it his business not to be found. Except he couldn't, not even if he did want to—there was still Joori and Morin.

And the sick neediness in him wouldn't let him anyway, so what was the point?

He wore the ring and he wore the mail. Because it was a paying job, and Malick was the one paying, and Malick had told him to. Because Malick “wouldn't take it well,” the heartless bastard, and Jacin had responsibilities. And he wasn't going to walk away. Apparently, not even if Malick pushed him even harder than he'd been doing before.

Why wasn't Jacin fighting it harder? Why wasn't he just...
going
?

"Because they... need you not to,” he assured himself, waiting for Beishin's mocking voice to negate him, but it was silent. For once. Bolder for it, Jacin sucked in a breath and stated further, “Because you can't just drag them out from under a
Temshiel
's protection with only a week's worth of koin in your pocket."

Morin and Joori had been prisoners all their lives; they didn't know how to do anything yet. And Jacin didn't know how to do anything else but kill. That didn't bother Jacin nearly as much as he knew it bothered Joori.

Jacin pushed it away and uncoiled belts and sheaths.

He hadn't been sure how he'd feel once he was armed again. He'd thought several times on the voyage here to ask for his knives back, just to see what would happen. He'd never really cared enough either way to actually pose the question. And now he knew. He didn't really feel much of anything as he buckled and strapped and tied down.

The long knives Malick had given him as a “present” in his room at the Girou, back when Jacin had actually seen the abyss at his feet for the first time and taken that first willing step into it. He wrapped the snakeskin belts around his hips, tied the tethers of the sheaths snug to his thighs and pulled on his gloves. Eyes closed, he slipped his fingers around the handles of the knives, drew them, and gave them an experimental twirl. He hadn't touched a weapon in... months now, hadn't practiced his forms, hadn't meditated, hadn't so much as exercised his fingers to keep them limber and dexterous. The lack of calluses on palms and fingertips felt very strange.

Still, the knives spun gracefully, body-memory taking over with the familiar heft, a tiny rush of adrenaline flowing up his backbone at the precision of the weapons. “Perfect,” Jacin whispered. Perfect balance, perfect weight, perfect grip.

Perfection for the imperfect. Scrabble for it ‘til your fingers bleed, little Ghost. You shall never reach it. Not without your beishin.

Jacin grimaced at the mocking disappointment in Asai's voice. “I know,” he said softly, setting his glance on the windowsill where Caidi had perched only this morning.