Wolf's-own: Koan (18 page)

"Malick?” Fen croaked, too thin, too reedy. He crouched down, took hold of Malick's shoulder and tried to turn him over. “
Malick
?"

Samin crouched too. Not exactly a good defensive position, but at least he was a slightly smaller target. Gaze caroming everywhere at once and still seeing nothing, Samin tried again: “
Fen
, we have to get back to the— Bloody
hell
!” He lurched back when the first of the flames ignited, engulfing Malick's body in seconds, so hot and fast they almost singed Samin's eyebrows. He didn't have time to dwell on it; it looked like containing Fen was going to be all he could handle.

"No!” Fen shouted. “Malick!
Malick
!” He tried beating at the flames, eyes wild in the flicker and flare, face pulled into an expression of shock-grief-pain-betrayal that Samin had no doubt Fen wasn't actually letting himself know he felt.

Samin took hold of Fen and dragged him off and back, glad Fen had no knives in his hands at the moment, but not doubting for a second they were coming if Samin couldn't get him calmed down. “It's a spell, Fen,” he said. “He did it on purpose. So he couldn't be bound to the earth."

Because as satisfied as Malick had been with the fate Fen had handed Asai, he'd also been rather horrified at the prospect of experiencing it personally. He'd told Samin he'd made sure it couldn't happen, but Samin hadn't really thought about how until now.

Fen was twisting in Samin's grip, still trying to throw himself at the flames. Samin wasn't so sure now if it was to put the fire out or dive into it. “He promised,” Fen wheezed. “He... he... no, not...."

Stilling abruptly with a harsh, gasping breath, Fen snapped his glance around, and slammed it into Samin's. Samin had to bite back an actual groan at what he saw in Fen's eyes—dark, blank nothing, just like they'd been when Caidi and Yori had died.

"To spirit, Fen,” Samin tried to assure him. “Not forever, he'll come back, it's just for—
hey
!” He scrabbled as Fen slithered out of his hold, but Fen could be slippery when he wanted to be, and Samin had let himself be maneuvered off his guard by that
look
in Fen's eyes. “Fen, wait!"

But Fen wouldn't. Knives drawn and gripped in both fists, he shot to his feet and took off, his limp only noticeable because Samin knew to look for it. Too bad it wasn't going to slow him down any. Samin didn't see any of the
banpair
lurking about, but as had been proven too clearly, that meant shit. Fighting them had been like fighting the air, and that dart had come out of bloody nowhere. Fen didn't seem to care. Whether he was after vengeance or suicide, Samin didn't know, but it was looking like they would be one and the same if Samin didn't do something.

Samin lurched to his feet, scanning the perimeter again, but there was only darkness and silence but for Fen's bootheels on the cobbles. Samin would never catch up to Fen. There was only one way to stop him.

"
Fen
! Malick's wards will have gone with him.” Fen kept running, so Samin notched up his shout, went for the low blow: “Your brothers, Fen! There's nothing protecting them now! You have to protect your brothers!"

It worked. Fen stopped, just as he was reaching the end of the street and Samin would've lost him in the shadows. He just stood there for several long moments, body rigid, knives two low glimmers at his sides in the dark. Samin watched him, the heat of Malick's self-inflicted makeshift pyre crawling up his backbone with something that didn't feel at all like warmth. With a hard shudder Samin could see even at a distance, Fen cocked his head up at the moons, let loose a wavering cry that sounded too close to an animal trapped in the bottom of a deep, dark well, then spun back around and headed toward the inn.

Xari jolted from her seat on the fountain's wall, snapping herself up with a small cry that nonetheless wrenched in her chest with a sharp jag of....

It was gone. Leaving her wondering what the hell had just happened.

Pain. Grief, perhaps. Very definitely anger, but... she couldn't tell, and the feel of it was fleeting past her like a fine mist of someone else's memory. It had nearly choked her only a second ago, and now she couldn't even remember what it had been.

And yet nonetheless, she knew.

"Foolish, foolish,
foolish
,” she hissed. “
Warned
you, I did."

Teeth set, Xari stalked across the sward and through the garden, angling past the incense altars and up the steps to the temple. Imara met her halfway up them, on her way down in somewhat of a hurry, which didn't surprise Xari in the least. Even the worry on Imara's face couldn't stop the snarl from blooming on Xari's.

"Told you, I did!” Xari snapped. “Lessons to teach, and children to chide, but Kamen will not be the one to suffer for this. Unfathomable damage you do to the Incendiary, and who will achieve Wolf's goals for him now?"

"Let me be, Xari,” said Imara, not quite as calm and sure of herself as she'd been the last time they'd talked. “I'm going now to—"

"Yes, go,
go
, try to mend that which you've just allowed to be broken. Perfect he is not, but only the Sorcerer can take Zero and make One of him, and you have just allowed the Fool's shelter to perish.
Go
! Hie you now to the Incendiary, before the break in his heart shatters his mind!"

There was no satisfaction as Xari took in Imara's stunned gaze, the anxiety on her face, nor was there any in her silence as she dissolved into shadow and was gone. Xari just stood there a moment, seething at the spot where Imara had been, fists balled tight and breath coming faster than it should be.

"Now we see,” she muttered, and she slanted an angry glare up at Wolf. “Now we see what
your
Incendiary is made of.” She shook her head, not even a little bit repentant of her blasphemy. She was Wolf's-own now and she had to obey; she didn't have to approve. She shifted her glance to Raven. “I pray he proves more than even you guessed.” And then she found the hint of jade in the sky where Owl lurked. “The time approaches when all must make a stand. Pray you watch your brother's back."

She shook her head and went back to her cards.

Shig knew what it was. She'd been cut off from the spirits, perhaps, but she didn't suppose there could be such a thing as a complete severance, not when they'd been so deep inside her, and she in them, for so long. Like a phantom limb that could still ache.

She recognized the thick, fleeting pulse that swamped her. She only jolted a little, but otherwise stayed still, listening, reaching out and grasping for more. Blind and deaf, groping, but she caught the thin film of awareness and let her cards fall to the table, shut her eyes. It was a shit hand, anyway.

It was late and she was tired, and didn't much feel like keeping Joori and Morin distracted so they wouldn't twig to what their brother was up to, and so that she could at least try to protect them if there was trouble. Though if someone managed to get through Malick's wards and came after them, she had no idea what Malick expected her to do about it. Her questionable “skill” with a blade wasn't going to amount to much in the face of magic. Especially not any magic strong enough to get past Malick.

So, what now, bright little niijun?

Shig reflexively brushed at her hair, reminding herself to freshen the colors sometime soon. She kept meaning to go out and explore the city some more, and she kept not doing it.

What will you do, now that your pack's Alpha has lost his fangs?

Not a spirit-voice, her own voice, she knew that. Filling in the blank spaces where once she'd had to be very careful to control the flow, not allow too many in at once, pick through the comprehension that poured into her and decide which parts of it to use. Merely her own thoughts now, disguising themselves, a strange comfort-anguish, because she couldn't tell anymore how much of it came from actual
knowing
. For all she knew, she might be fooling herself just as determinedly as Fen was, because Shig had her own ghost at her edges, and talking to her dead sister didn't make Shig much saner than Fen.

"What?” Joori's tone was mildly concerned. “Something wrong?"

Oh, yeah. Something was most definitely very wrong.

Damn you, Malick. Not
now

Shig ignored Joori, let the sentient rustle ripple through her, and refused the rise of tears. Not tears of mourning—she knew better than that. More like fear. Loss of direction that had been perhaps uncertain anyway, but it had at least been something in this directionless new existence. Fen was so sure Shig had no idea what twisty things went through his head, but she'd latched on to Malick's coattails almost as desperately as Fen had, because she was just as disoriented. And now that guidance was gone, dubious and almost unwilling though it had been. Temporarily gone, sure, but gone, and anything could happen in the in-between.

Temporary? Are you sure?

Not her voice this time, not a spirit-voice, either, at least not the kind she knew. Alien. Invasive. Almost like Yori's but not quite hitting all the right nuances. Too... thick, too something. Like someone was trying to be Yori, and couldn't get it exactly right, missing inflections and tones by
that much
, and in ways only Shig would know, because no one had known Yori better than Shig.

It gave her a weird, unnerving hope. Because if she could hear this voice, regardless of its almost-malice, almost-consolation, perhaps the spirits weren't entirely lost to her, after all.

Yes
, she told it, a bit of an inner snarl.
I'm sure
.

Malick would be back. Not for her, and not for Samin, but it wouldn't matter. He'd be back for Fen, and probably sooner than whoever had killed his body expected, because this was Malick, and he wasn't finished with Fen yet. Shig didn't think Malick would ever be finished with Fen.

"Shig.” Joori again, and a soft rustle accompanied by a quiet ruffle of cards told Shig his abrupt anxiety had stirred Morin. “Is something wrong?"

Tell him, little niijun, child of light and color.

Shig almost smiled.
Niijun
.
Rainbow
. Because she'd appeared to the “eyes” of the spirits as a band of colors, given them something they saw as corporeal and longed-for when she walked with them, and they'd rewarded her with... well, pretty much everything she asked them for.

The guide-star lost tonight did not shine only for you. The Void will need all sources now, else lose the light entirely and collapse in on itself.

Now the tears almost came.
The Void
. Because they couldn't see Fen, but sometimes they could sense him, and sometimes the disjointed, tortured cries of his own spirit were louder and more incoherent than the Ancestors'. It made even the spirits reject him, in their strange, ephemeral way.

Poor Fen.

Shig opened her eyes, thought about putting on a reassuring smile, but what was the point? Joori wouldn't care that something happened to Malick—in fact, he'd probably be not-so-secretly pleased—and Morin neither needed nor wanted that kind of fake comfort. Joori might deceive himself into living on bread and hope, just like Fen deceived himself into living for everyone but himself, but Morin wouldn't be fooled—not by himself or anyone else.

"Malick's gone to spirit,” Shig said calmly. She waited through the confused frowns, the delayed realization, the bit of calculation in Joori's gaze and the narrowing of Morin's. “He went out to hunt, and he won't be coming back tonight."

They were both silent for several long moments, just staring, stunned, before Morin narrowed his eyes. “What about Jacin?” he asked, like he didn't really want to, but someone had to.

Joori's eyes snapped over to his brother. “What about him?” He shot a panicked glare at Shig. “Jacin wouldn't have gone. He doesn't do that anymore, and he can't even.... He's across the hall, sleeping.” His jaw set as he stood. “
Right
?"

Shig only sighed. Sometimes, knowing what drove him wasn't enough, when it came to dealing with Joori. He was good, Shig had never doubted it, he had a good heart, he meant well, but he stumbled and flailed worse than Malick did when it came to Fen. It never mattered that he only ever wanted to make things better for his brother, because he always managed to somehow make it all worse.

It was the anger that got in the way of it all. The betrayal. Joori would never forgive his brother for stepping in front of Malick's sword,
making
Joori see how little Fen really thought of his own life, of his own self, making Joori see how much Fen really cared for Malick, even if he couldn't admit it to himself. Nor would Joori ever forgive Malick for being the one who'd been holding the sword.

And Joori would never,
ever
admit any of it. Especially not to himself.

Yori would've been so good for him. Yori would've kept him in line.

Shig swallowed away the lump in her throat. “You should probably sit back down,” she told Joori softly, evenly. “It might not be safe anymore."

Joori's brow creased down, and his lips thinned. “Is he still out there? Did Malick drag him out to kill people?” He leaned in, teeth set tight. “Did he give my brother a weapon?"

Shig saw no reason to answer any of that, so she didn't. All of the answers would come soon enough, and Joori could bash himself against someone else once he got them. Samin, probably, because Samin had developed a weird tendency to step between Fen and Joori when Joori pushed Fen too hard, and anyway, he was built to take it better than Shig was. Joori could whack himself against Mount Samin for years and never even make a dent.

"He's not a child, y'know,” Morin put in. “You can't keep him in some kind of bubble forever.” Not snarky, and not derisive. Matter-of-fact and calm, because Morin watched, Morin listened—a lot more than he talked—and Shig suspected he saw just as much as she did. Maybe more. He was male, after all—he'd understand how the testosterone-addled mind worked better than she would.

Joori rounded on Morin. “
You
want to give him a knife and see what happens?"