Wolf's-own: Koan (27 page)

All of it too tangible. Breath and warmth.

It made it all shockingly real. And absolutely bloody terrifying.

With a hard set to his mouth, Asai turned back to Jacin. “You cannot stay here, Jacin-rei. They won't take long to find you."

"Who are ‘they'?” Jacin heard himself ask, as though from miles away.

"
They
do not matter,” Asai told him, his tone gentler, his eyes kinder. “Only you matter, little Ghost. You are all I have ever needed. Let me guide you. Let me
help
you."

The words, so close to those Malick had spoken, cut Jacin down to the core. Slowly, somewhat dazed, he began the process of hauling himself upright, wincing a bit as he set his weight on his hand. Spikes shot up his arm, and then his leg as he got it beneath him, two different focal points of head-clearing pain.

"Shit.” Jacin wobbled to his feet and settled his weight on his right leg, letting the sharp throb lance into him, riding it, until it resolved into more of an ache.

"Such a good little Ghost,” Asai said smoothly, his hand reaching for Jacin's, eyes on the ring on Jacin's finger. “See? You
can
obey your beishin when you try. And do you know how to use your pretty bauble, Jacin-rei?"

Jacin snatched his hand away and staggered back a pace.

He'd drawn a knife. One of the ones Malick had given him. One of the ones he'd used to crack Beishin's ribcage and pull his heart out through it. When had he taken it from its sheath? He didn't remember, but there was the knife, in his hand, the blade already blooded, the tip resting right against Beishin's sternum. Jacin remembered the feel of it as it had sunk through skin and bone and cartilage, remembered the thick-moist expulsion of air as he'd hit a lung, and the rip of gristle. Remembered the hot, unexpectedly firm feel of his beishin's heart in his hand, remembered how he'd wept and raged and
stomp-stomp-stomped
because if only Asai had given it to him willingly.

"Think very carefully, little Ghost,” Asai whispered to him, hot against Jacin's ear, warm lips sliding down over Jacin's cheek, his jaw. “I can forgive you one betrayal. Only one."

Jacin stared down at the knife in his hand where it rested just below Beishin's heart. Stared down at his fist wrapped around the hilt, white-knuckled, and wondered why his hand wasn't shaking. Stared down and wondered what the fuck he was doing, what it would matter if he did. Would Asai stop haunting him? Did Jacin really want him to? If this was all in his head, wouldn't that mean something in him
wanted
Asai here? Needed him?

And for
what
?

What would happen if Jacin just dropped to his knees and... gave up? Wept, whined, howled and begged?

What would happen if he knew what to beg
for
?

The pain in his palm was a duller twinge beneath the leg and the head and the chasm-deep ache in his chest; Jacin cast a murky glance to the wound—jagged and messy, but already clotted, and the rain had washed it mostly clean. Memories crowded, of a weedy dooryard and his brother's angry tears and a useless little knife delivering that first spark of promise with its bite, and, “
How very... interesting
."

Inexplicable guilt rose, and with the guilt came thoughts of Joori, because guilt and Joori had become too intertwined in Jacin's head for it not to.

No gloves. He'd forgotten them. It was... disturbing. He'd dressed as though for battle, arming himself with nearly every weapon he owned, mostly to piss Imara off while she waited impatiently, because she'd refused to leave him alone to dress in privacy, so he'd decided to give her as much of a show as he was capable. And yet he'd forgotten to slip the gloves over his too-tender hands where the calluses had all faded away and left the skin... his mind shied from “vulnerable” but failed to find another word he could live with.

"How are you here?” he croaked. “Why are you... why can't you just...?” It was too much; there were too many pleas clogging in his throat, and he couldn't get any of them out. “Beishin... please."

"Ah, my boy,” Asai said softly. “Did you think I would leave you to the whims of treacherous
Temshiel
forever? They've come for you once, Jacin-rei. Do you think they'll stop, now that they've caught your scent?"

"Come for....” Jacin's thumb slid over the stone of Malick's ring.

Malick... help.

Asai settled his hand over Jacin's torn palm with a gentleness that made Jacin quiver and made mortifying tears burn behind the bridge of his nose. That same look as in his father's dooryard all those years ago, but Jacin had thought the dark gaze kind then, full of promise.

"You don't remember any of it, do you?” Asai asked softly. “You don't even remember this morning."

Jacin shut his eyes.

Ghosts, too damned many of them, and Beishin and no Malick to chase him away, and fuck, Asai had been
right there
, mocking and leaving invisible welts on Jacin's skin beneath his scornful, demanding not-love,
touching
and promising, hands like chains, weighing Jacin down, choking him, and barriers between him and
away
, and deep topaz eyes that saw but didn't see at all, and, “Now, Jacin-rei."

Guiding him. Giving him direction in his directionless existence.

Because Jacin
needed
. And Malick wasn't
here
, damn him.

"I... I want...."

"I know,” Asai soothed. “I know, Jacin-rei. I've always known."

Soft fingertips swept over Jacin's temple. Jacin couldn't help the flinch.

"Love the unlovable,” Asai whispered. “I can give that to you, little Ghost. You have had your
Temshiel
, but we both know what you really wanted, no? And now your
Temshiel
is gone, just like you knew he would be. Just like they'll all leave you, in the end. Your kind were not meant for the love of another. Only I can give you what you need. Only I want to. You're
mine
, little Ghost. I've come back—for
you
."

Jacin's mind was screaming, refusing, digging in its heels. His body was leaning toward Asai, and he couldn't stop it.

So fucked, so fucked, so fucked.

There was anger in Jacin's chest, in his gut, roiling, seething, but Jacin didn't know where to point it. It muddled into itself, congealed, strung through with confusion and fear and resentment, and something that tasted like hope, bitter and biting, but he didn't know where to put that, either.

Asai had killed Caidi. Malick had left.

Jacin had allowed every moment of it all.

Weak.

Failed.

Except... Asai had failed too. From the moment he'd stolen a gutless Untouchable from a prison camp, he'd stepped into Jacin's trajectory of failure.

Malick was strong. Malick didn't fail. Except Malick wasn't here, and even if he was, he wouldn't tell Jacin what to do, never, just,
I want you to live, but I'm not going to tell you how
, and
I love you, but you used to love him and I'll never let you forget it
.

"I want to forget it.” A thin skirl of breath that gained absolutely no power in the speaking. “Why can't I...? I... I want...."

I don't want to love you, I don't want to have ever loved you, I hate you, I don't want you here, I want Malick, but Malick left, and all I have is you or nothing, and I can't have nothing, I can't, I've tried, but I can't stand the emptiness, and I'm afraid and I don't know what to do.

"You don't know what you want, Jacin-rei,” Asai crooned. “You need me to show you. Come with me, lad. There is nothing for you with them anymore. You're a killer, Jacin-rei, a murdering Ghost—how long, do you think, before your beloved twin stops making excuses for what you've become? How long before he sees?"

It... hurt. Which was strange, because Jacin knew Joori didn't really see him, but he hadn't necessarily thought before about what Joori
seeing
him would actually mean.

Jacin gripped the knife in his hand more firmly.

"The gods have nothing for you but more betrayal.
I
am your maker, little Ghost. By my breath do you live, by my love do you go on. You do not exist but in my eyes."

Love
.

Love the unlovable.

I fucking love you. Deal with it.

A sob leaked out from Jacin's throat.

I can't. I don't know how. Damn it, how could you leave me here like this?

Beishin could eat him up, swallow him, breathe him in and smother him in his own delusions. Hadn't he done it before?

The idea was... not as horrifying as it probably should have been.

You don't want choices? You don't know what to do with them?

Blatant challenge in Malick's remembered voice, but Jacin couldn't answer to it like any man with a backbone should.

"No,” he whispered instead, “I really don't."

Blindly, Jacin leaned forward, eyes still shut tight. He held out the knife in an open palm. Testing, maybe, he didn't know, but waiting, wanting, mind and heart and soul all flailing and
reaching
for something—sanity, the ability to tell right from wrong, good from bad, an
answer
—while his body stood still and just... waited.

An offer—retribution. Or maybe it was a request—execution. Finally.

It would be fitting irony to have Beishin dig out Jacin's heart as Jacin had dug out Beishin's, and with the knife Malick had handed Jacin as a present in that room at the Girou, trying to woo him. Maybe this was Jacin's way of wooing. Knives had always been foreplay to him; no reason why they couldn't be completion too. No reason Jacin should escape the fate he'd handed Asai. Wasn't he doomed already anyway?

The scent of rain overwhelmed the cocktail of pine and sage, the smell of moist earth and ashes sitting heavy in Jacin's nostrils, tightening his chest.

Why didn't Beishin smell of jasmine?

Jacin didn't know if the warm mouth that settled over his own was what he'd expected. He didn't know if the firm hands that pulled him close were the ones he should be allowing the liberty—if any of this even existed outside his own head. He didn't know if the gentle kiss from the man he used to love—the man he'd killed—was right or sane or maybe even somehow erotically profane.

He knew it was warm. He knew he
felt
it, and he wasn't sure if he cared if it wasn't real.

He knew it was an answer. Even if it wasn't the right one.

"You're mine, Jacin-rei.” Breathed right into his mouth, tendriling down his throat, into his lungs, stoppering any deteriorating reason he might have had left.

It pulled mind and soul loose from unsound moorings, mangled and twisted them, then crammed them back down his throat ‘til he almost choked.

Jacin sucked in a shaky breath and pulled away, took his hand from Asai's and clenched his fist but not enough to break the skin that had reknit itself while he'd been passed out in the rain. The heat of his own blood called to him with the promise of clarity and control, but he couldn't listen. He opened his eyes and looked at Asai. He resheathed his knife.

"Where am I supposed to go?"

Fuck
, he needed a smoke.

"You... lost the Incendiary.” Dakimo watched Imara's mouth pinch down, watched the anger flare in her gaze, and shook his head. “And...?” he asked calmly.

Because by the reluctant purpose all over Imara's face, Dakimo could tell there was more.

Imara sucked in a breath. “And he was wearing Kamen's ring when he fled."

Dakimo's teabowl almost flew out of his hands. He managed to hang onto it. “I'm sorry, what?"

"I don't think it's as bad as it sounds,” Imara hastened to add. “He was bleeding. I smelled it. And then it was just gone. I think he used Kamen's ring to hide.” She held up her hand when Dakimo rubbed at his brow. “I don't think he knows all of what he could do with it. And I have to believe Kamen would not be so stupid as to give all of its power over to....” She trailed off with an uncomfortable shrug.

Dakimo's heart sank. “The Incendiary is as unstable as all that?” He kept his tone mild, even though his gut had dropped all the way down to the floor. The power of the Incendiary running about loose was bad enough, but to add Kamen's powers to it, undirected.... It didn't bear thinking about. And yet Dakimo had no choice.

How was he going to explain all of this to Emika? To
Wolf
?

Imara paced the small receiving room before sighing and allowing herself to fall elegantly onto a plump cushion in the corner. “Yes,” she said simply. “But it's more than that. He thinks he's being haunted by Asai's spirit. His sister's, as well."

Dakimo paused to take that in.

"That cannot be.” He narrowed his eyes. “Can it?"

This Fen Jacin-rei was Incendiary—impossible to find through magic, and impossible for the spirits to see, let alone haunt. Even the gods couldn't always see him.

Imara looked like she wanted to cry. “I don't
know
."

"You looked?"

"Well, of
course
I looked. I found nothing.” She paused. “Although... not
nothing
. Something, but...."

Dakimo set his teabowl down on the nearest table so he wouldn't end up throwing it at Imara's head. “But
what
?"

"Nothing. I don't know.” Imara ground out a sigh of annoyance. “It should not be possible to haunt Incendiary, but he was hidden inside the bondage of Untouchable for years, and that should not have been possible, either. And what were the voices of the Ancestors but haunting?” She shook her head. “For that matter, what do we know about the laws of Incendiary but that they are changeable? Isn't that the point of Incendiary in the first place?"

"Answerable to none but Fate and their chosen god,” Dakimo conceded. The conflict of which being the very thing that had doomed Hitsuke. This was getting out of control far too quickly. Dakimo waved a hand, impatient. “Find Asai's spirit and you'll have your answer. At least to that.” He pondered for a moment. “Set Xari to it."

"Xari should not have to undertake such a thing. I thought I would—"