Wolf's-own: Koan (24 page)

He saw nothing, just the door on the other side of the inn's tearoom into which he'd just blundered, the light through its window like a beacon, so he aimed straight for it. There were bodies in his way, hazy enough in his periphery that he didn't bother trying to put faces to them, and as long as they got out of his way, it didn't much matter.

The gods would use you still, little Ghost
, Beishin told him.
Even now they send their thugs to trick you and control you
.

"Get the fuck away from me,” Jacin snarled. He rammed into some big, blocky slab of muscle and bone but merely staggered back a pace and adjusted his angle.

The door. He needed to get to the door.

Perfection, little Ghost. I can show you how to achieve it.

"I'm not perfect,
Beishin
.” Half sneer, half shout. “I'll never
be
perfect, isn't that what you said?"

Just another trick, another setup to failure, because that was all Beishin had ever meant for “his Ghost,” and Jacin wasn't falling for it again. And now, with “Incendiary” hanging over his head, it seemed there was no limit to the catastrophic possibilities.

Another indeterminate barrier placed itself between Jacin and the door, so he merely lashed out with a hard fist and removed it.

"
Fen Jacin
,” someone said, but it was fuzzy, muffled, and there was no one he wanted to talk to anyway, so he just kept moving.

Light. Freedom. The noise of a city street to block out the whispers of Beishin in his head. And yet another obstruction in his path.

"Fen Jacin, you must—"

"Stop him, before he—"

"Step away, he belongs to Kamen."

Jacin whirled at that one, because he knew that voice, and she had no fucking right to say that, no fucking right to even
be
here, not when Malick.... It wasn't
fair
, she didn't know, she didn't
see
, she didn't—

"You don't understand,” he growled at Imara. “You don't understand a fucking thing, you don't know anything about me, so stop—"

"You're right, I don't—"

"—pretending you give a shit, just get away from me, I don't want—"

Imara took hold of Jacin's wrists in a grip surprisingly strong, snapped his hands up between them and held them fast. Had he been going for a knife? He couldn't remember.

"What you
want
,” Imara said, low and even, her gleaming eyes intense, “is about to matter very little, if you won't calm down and pretend for a moment to be reasonable.” Her gaze roved over Jacin's left shoulder; he followed it, noted a big man in the surcoat of the city's Patrol, eyeing him with distrust and no small amount of anger. “Goyo apparently sent an escort,” Imara went on, “which I've no doubt could turn very quickly to your escort to the city's dungeons.” Her mouth turned down, weirdly sympathetic, for all her grip was almost cruel. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Or to the towers of the sickhouse, Fen Jacin. Do you understand?"

Jacin clenched his teeth, peered at the man over his shoulder again, then noted the man's female companion just to the right. She was bleeding from lip and nose, one hand holding a short sword, and the other pressing a cloth to her face to blot and staunch. Jacin frowned and turned back to Imara.

"You have assaulted a guest of the inn, Kamen's solicitor, and an officer of the Patrol."

"I....” Jacin blinked. He had? He flexed his hand, still held fast in Imara's. Knuckles tight, fingers throbbing just a little. Yeah, it seemed he had. When had he done that? Shouldn't he remember something like that?

Worried now, not quite horrified but getting there, Jacin shot his glance around, noted he was quite thoroughly penned into a corner of the tearoom and nowhere near as close to the door as he wanted to be.

"This is Kamen's Untouchable?” A man of striking good looks stepped up behind Imara, black hair strung through with startling bolts of purest white, his eyes sea-blue and clear as glass. His left cheek was going red and slightly puffy, his eye watering as he regarded Jacin with a half smile that was somehow critical and forgiving at the same time.

"Don't call me—” Jacin stopped in mid-snarl. Because he had no idea against which epithet he was reflexively rebelling—"Kamen's” or “Untouchable."

"I'm going to let you go,” Imara said, her voice low and strangely gentle. “The Patrol is probably going to want to disarm you, but I'll see what I can do.” She leaned in close. “This convinces me more than ever that the safest place for you right now is Wolf's house. Give me a moment to get rid of the Patrol. Can you control yourself that long?"

Jacin shut his eyes, teeth set tight against the swell of indecipherable emotions trying to wind up his throat. He didn't want to go to this Goyo person, but he didn't want to go to any temple, either. Except he seemed to be nicely cornered, and he'd
let
it happen.

Ah, Jacin-rei, poor little Ghost. You just can't help but fail, can you?

"Fen Jacin."

Jacin snapped his eyes back open and hung onto the gold gaze looking back at him.

"He's here with you now, isn't he?” Imara asked softly.

Jacin tried not to flinch, but his body just wasn't doing what he wanted it to right now.

"I know you can see and hear him. I believe you."

Did she think that was what he wanted to hear? Did she think that would make it
better
?

Helpless, adrift and getting farther from shore every second, Jacin only shook his head. “It doesn't
matter
."

Because mad or not wasn't really the point. Merely one among... hundreds.

Imara sighed. With a weary shake of her head, she relaxed her grip, tipping a small nod to the solicitor. It wasn't until he stepped in, shifting himself between Jacin and the door, that Imara let go altogether and angled away to speak quietly with the Patrol.

Jacin blinked and looked around, noting for the first time all of the eyes peering warily back at him. It appeared he'd disturbed breakfast in the tearoom. The patrons were only now beginning to resume whatever they'd been doing when the crazy Ghost invaded their quiet little lives, though they all spared chary looks before doing so. Jacin decided to pretend he didn't notice them as he let the solicitor steer him a little farther into the corner that was still too far away from the door.

"I am Naro-yi of Owl,” the man said with a low dip of his head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Kamen Jacin."

The name startled Jacin, enough so that he couldn't think of anything to say for a full thirty seconds. And when he finally did, “That isn't my name,” was all he could think of.

Naro-yi's eyebrows went up a bit. “Ah? Well.” He shrugged and waved a hand. “It is not meant in offense, I assure you. It is merely how our kind... differentiate.” Jacin must have been blinking stupidly at him, because Naro-yi was compelled to go on, “Kamen has placed a hand of protection upon you, marked you as his, so that all might know and respect his claim."

And why did that roil in Jacin's gut in a hard little ball of anger mixed with relief and gratification?

Claimed.

Touch the Untouchable.

"His claim extends, of course, to all those he has brought here to Tambalon,” Naro-yi went on. “I'm told that means a great deal to you."

It had. Before. Jacin just hadn't realized how much until it was gone. “Kamen is dead.” It came out a little thin and high, laced through with anger, because damn it, Jacin had let himself depend on Malick, and Malick had let his guard down. Jacin looked away toward Imara so that Naro-yi wouldn't see how speaking the words had stung.

Naro-yi whiffed a snort that was an inelegant contrast to the overall elegance of his manner and appearance. “So many would like to think so,” was all he said. His smile tilted expectantly as Imara stepped back over. “All settled, then?"

"What the hell is going on here?” Joori's voice was strained, louder than usual, and attracted all of the attention that had just receded from Jacin himself. Joori didn't seem to care, stalking across the room, thunder at his brow, with Samin lumbering behind him. Joori glared at Imara, and then down at Naro-yi's hand where it was, unnoticed by Jacin until just this second, locked to Jacin's elbow. “What happened
now
?” Joori wanted to know. And by his tone, he wanted to know right this second.

Jacin was sure the derisive twist to Joori's question wasn't meant for him, because it never was—always to those around him—but that didn't stop the knowledge that it was always
because
of him, and it never failed to bring the shame with it. Jacin set his teeth against it and just looked away.

"Your brother is... stressed,” Imara answered, her voice soft and sympathetic, which only made Jacin's cheeks flare up with warmth, so he shut his eyes. “The Patrol—"

They have come for the Incendiary, Jacin-rei.
Asai's voice was hardly more than a whisper, but it nonetheless drowned out everything else around Jacin, set the periphery buzzing with white again, his head throbbing in time to his too-rapid pulse.
If you allow them to take you, you will never walk freely again.

"Shut up.” Weak and watery.

They know what you are, all of them. Every
Temshiel
and maijin felt Kamen's spirit wrenched from the world last night—

"Did you do that?” Jacin barked. “Was it you?” Because that would be just like Asai—find out what Jacin needed and then take it away, just because he could.

"Jacin?” Joori's voice. “Do what? Was it who?” Worried. And then Joori's grip landed on the arm that Naro-yi wasn't holding. “Jacin, what's wrong?"

Let me help you little Ghost
, Asai said, which wasn't an answer to Jacin's question, but struck echoes in his head to swirl and tangle with Malick's voice, speaking those same words to him, but Malick wasn't
here
, he'd left, and Jacin was alone inside this crowd of people who stared with fear and sympathy in their eyes, even Joori.
You cannot allow them to take you. If you allow them to make the Incendiary helpless to them, you shall never see the suns again, you shall never see your brothers again. I know of a safe place where none of them will find you. Come with me, little Ghost.

"I have to go,” Jacin breathed. He tried to wrench himself from the hands holding onto him, and only succeeded in shoving off Joori's. Naro-yi wasn't letting go.

"Fen,” Imara said, her tone too calm, too blatantly friendly, like Jacin was some rabid dog she was trying to coax out of its safe den so she could cut it down. “Perhaps we can—"

"I have to
go
!” Jacin yanked again on his arm, and again, Naro-yi merely held on.

You have to get away, Jacin-rei. They all know, they all want the power of the Incendiary for themselves. They will use your brothers against you, unless you leave them behind. For their own good, Jacin-rei. If you would protect them, you must leave them.

"And we will, Fen,” Imara soothed. She reached out, hand stopping to hover just over the hilt of the knife jutting from its sheath on Jacin's left thigh. “Just let us—"

"No!” Jacin backed up as far as he could, shoulder blades pressing into the wall, heart racing. Bodies were all around him, blocking off air, blocking off light, blocking off a way out.

"Jacin, please, just calm down.” Joori's voice was taking on notes of entreaty and fear. “Damn it, will you just
back off
and let me talk to him?"

"Here, you've got him cornered, for the love of the gods, you think that's going to calm him down?” Samin's voice was like a firm handhold on the side of a faltering cliff. “Let Joori through."

It was like magic. One second there were blockades and obstructions pressing Jacin into the wall, and the next, it all eased back a pace. Joori stepped through the barrier, and as he shoved his way around Imara, he knocked sideways into Naro-yi.

Now, Jacin-rei.

It was enough. Naro-yi's grip slipped just a little, and Jacin shoved to the side until it fell away completely. His arm came up, forearm coming out straight to level a solid blow to... someone. He couldn't tell. Could barely see. That light from the door was like a beacon, blinding him.

Yes, Jacin-rei, get away, now, before they slap the irons on your wrists and all is lost.

Irons. Bars. Cells. All alone and unable to run from the voices.

An uppercut to someone's chin as all the hands reached for him, but Jacin was fast when he wanted to be. He spun, slammed into a solid wall of muscle and spun again.

Instinctively, his hands reached for his knives, even as he was plowing through anything that got between him and the door, hardly hearing Joori's voice back there, calling him, and Samin's voice, grinding out curses. Jacin didn't draw a weapon. He didn't dare. Just met the next obstacle with a driving run, leading with his shoulder, and rammed it with all his weight. Something broke, a shattering noise, and cool air hit his face, flooded his lungs. Shards of glass rained down on his head, sharp pain drilling into his palm. It cleared his mind enough that he realized he'd reached the door, so he wrenched it open and hurled himself through it.

He ran.

Spikes shot up the muscles of his calf, even the parts of the muscles that weren't there anymore. It hurt, but it was good, a good pain, a welcome pain. It drowned out all the other pain—the anger, the fear, the grief, the hopelessness. They'd been with him for so long, he'd been afraid of what might happen if he didn't have them anymore.

Now he knew. Jagged splines of physicality that countermanded all the emotion he didn't know how to decode. And it felt really fucking
good
.

Footsteps pounded behind him, and voices rose into shouts then several sharp whistles.

Run, little Ghost
, Asai told him, and he did. Poured on speed and slithered between passersby, shoving aside the ones he couldn't get through, lashing out at the ones that wouldn't move, until he reached the street.

"Jacin,
please
!” Joori's voice, distant, almost hysterical.

It almost slowed Jacin down, but the sound of running feet behind him was louder, so he kept going. Ran into one man then another; the second tried to grab him, so Jacin leveled him with a left hook, shaking his hand out a little as he regained equilibrium and took off again, more shouts rising behind him, closing in.