Wolf's-own: Koan (33 page)

It had to be better than the last one, didn't it?

"It isn't Yori,” Shig repeated. “It
wasn't
Yori. And I was watching Fen, you know? I kept seeing him hearing, but he
couldn't
be hearing, because the spirits can't find him, they never could, only the Ancestors, so he couldn't be haunted, right? It had to be inside his head, didn't it? Just like it was all inside mine.” She shouldn't be taking such solace from Samin's nod of agreement, because Samin didn't know the same things Shig did, but she needed
someone
to tell her it was all right that she'd been just as blind as Malick had been. “Fen had his ‘ghosts’ and I had mine, but I knew... I mean, I
thought
I knew where they both came from. And then I kept pushing Mal to tell Fen what he is—I mean
really pushing
—and he kept saying he couldn't tell Fen yet, Fen wasn't ready, and now I think maybe he was right, but not in the
way
he thought he was right, and now Fen's gone, and maybe his ‘ghosts’ weren't really ghosts, either, but how could he know that, how can he—?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa,
wait
.” Samin's hands were a gentle, grounding weight on Shig's shoulders, keeping her from flying out in every direction, now that she knew what she meant but couldn't make it come out so that he would too. “You've been hearing someone pretending to be Yori, and now you think maybe someone was pretending to be Asai too? And Caidi, and whoever else Fen's been talking to?"

Shig could've cried, though with relief or worry, she wasn't sure. “I thought it had to be the same for Fen,” she said earnestly. “I mean, I thought he was kind of hearing... echoes, maybe, inventing ghosts where they weren't, like I was. And I
really thought
that was what I was doing, Samin, I swear. But now... well, the
banpair
had this strange magic Malick couldn't do anything with, right? And everyone keeps saying they can't find them with magic, like you can't find Fen with magic. But then Malick was gone, and all his wards and spells, and it got so much worse for Fen—really, really fast—and I thought it was just that he was... you know, being Fen about it, but maybe it was something else, because it's starting to get worse for me, too, since Fen took off."

"I....” Poor Samin. He was trying so hard. He let go of Shig and scrubbed both hands through his hair this time. Not quite frustration; maybe more like dawning anxiety. “All right,” he said slowly. “What do you mean by ‘worse'? You mean because now you're seeing her, too, instead of just hearing her?"

"Well, yeah, I guess.” Shig shrugged. “But I'm wondering
why
it's suddenly gotten worse.” All right, that look on Samin's face was too easy to interpret:
Because you've suddenly lost the little sanity you had?
Shig shook her head. “It was only the voices, Samin. Get it? When Malick was here it was only whispers and tiny little voices sometimes. Like maybe they couldn't get through his magic all the way. Or maybe when they were going after Fen, they were only nagging at me a little. And now it's worse. Like it's trying to make me think I'm crazy.” She didn't say—because why confuse the issue?—crazi
er
; she merely stood calmly and waited for a look of emerging comprehension from Samin. It didn't come. Frustrated herself now, Shig took hold of Samin's coat and gave him a tiny shake. “Samin, I think whatever it was, it was real. I think you were right, and those
banpair
were after Fen. I think they've
been
after Fen almost since we docked. And once they got him away from us, they decided it was my turn.
That's
why it's worse. That's why I'm seeing Yori now. She said she missed me and wanted me....” She had to pause for a moment to swallow the abrupt lump in her throat. “She wanted me to come with her."

She let go of Samin and smacked herself in the head. Pretty hard too. Ow. “I should've known,” she muttered, annoyed at herself, because she used to be really good at this kind of thing. “I mean, it was so quiet when we were sailing, I couldn't even remember the last time it was so quiet in my head, and it was kinda nice, but kinda not, because I do actually miss them sometimes, but....” She growled, because they were Joori's words, and they galled her just a little—not because they weren't true, but because he hadn't meant them kindly. “But it was quiet, and then we got here and it wasn't quiet anymore, and I should've seen it was the same for Fen, but it
couldn't
be the same for Fen because he can't be haunted, so I didn't think it really was. And if it
was
the same for Fen, that would mean I was going just as batshit as he was, except maybe slower, and I... well, I didn't—"

Samin shut her up by the simple but effective tactic of yanking her into his chest and squeezing her tight. “All right,” he said, a soothing rumble beneath Shig's cheek where it was rather mashed into Samin's breastbone. “I think I get it. And I think you might have something."

"I think they followed Fen, Samin. I think they were trying to drive him crazy, and we were all so sure he was, and he's
always
been sure of it, and now they've—"

"I know, lovie."

"No, you
don't
!” Shig couldn't help how it came out shrill and too strident.

"All right, I don't,” Samin conceded. “But I know what you're saying, and I know why it's got you in such a tizzy. So, let's calm down and decide what we need to do about it, yeah?"

Shig sniffled. When had she started crying?

It couldn't be this easy to sneak up on them. They were assassins, for pity's sake. And yet, there they stood, talking about things that directly involved Jacin, and quite obviously leaving Jacin's family out of it. For their own good, no doubt. Joori couldn't help the sour sneer that curled his lip, nor could he help the narrow glare he aimed at Naro-yi, reclining on one of the high, fat cushions in the corner, apparently staring off at nothing, but Joori had no doubt he could hear what was going on out in that courtyard much better than Joori could.

He peered over at Morin. Morin only looked back at Joori calmly, attentive.

"... so quiet when we were sailing,” Shig was saying. “I couldn't even remember the last time it was so quiet in my head, and it was kinda nice, but kinda not, because I do actually miss them sometimes, but...."

Joori felt a little stab of remorse for that. He'd been angry—he was angry a lot these days—and he'd said things without even thinking she might be listening, that anything he might say or do could really hurt her. That she might actually care.

"But it was quiet,” Shig went on, almost babbling, “and then we got here and it wasn't quiet anymore, and I should've seen it was the same for Fen, but it
couldn't
be the same for Fen, he
can't
be haunted, so I didn't think it really was. And if it
was
the same for Fen, that would mean I was going just as batshit as he was, except maybe slower, and I... well, I didn't—"

Joori didn't think Morin's wince came from sympathy at how apparently tightly Samin was squeezing Shig. Joori thought maybe “batshit” was rearing up to bite Morin on the ass. Well, at least Joori wasn't the only one who said things he regretted.

"I think they followed Fen, Samin,” Shig said next, and that was about when Joori started losing the thread of their conversation and his mind started running around in panicked circles. Because he'd known all of this was bad—really bad—but if what he'd just heard of this conversation was even close to how the situation actually stood, things had just taken a hop and a jump from “bad” and leapt headfirst right into “cataclysmic.” And not without a whole lot of help from Joori.

"Oh,” he heard himself whisper, breathless and full of raw dismay, “
shit
."

"Joori,” Morin said quietly and set a hand to Joori's arm—whether in restraint or comfort, Joori didn't know. Neither did he care. “You can't—"

Joori shook him off and stalked out into the courtyard. He knew Samin knew he was coming, because his head cocked the side and Joori could see the wide shoulders tense. Joori didn't care. Joori cared about very little right now except dragging every bit of information out of them both and then using it to find his brother.

"All right, so Jacin's not as crazy as everyone thinks,” Joori said, before Samin or Shig could even open their mouths. Shig jolted back from Samin, wiping at her eyes; Joori spared a moment for sympathy, but a moment was probably all they had. “It's not your fault,” he told Shig. He didn't acknowledge her look of surprise. He didn't even acknowledge that he was kind of surprised at himself. He merely peered at them both as calmly as he could. “Now, what exactly is going on here?"

"Um,” Morin put in from just behind Joori. He tapped him on the shoulder and pointed back toward the house, where Naro-yi stood framed in the doorway, smiling patiently. “It seems to me we can maybe find out what
everyone
knows,” Morin said, a weird note of reasonable command in his tone that almost made Joori twitch, but it was
reasonable
, when so many other things right now weren't. “Maybe you can tell us along the way to wherever we should be going first,” Morin continued, looking at Samin expectantly, and then at Naro-yi, who'd appropriated one of Samin's broadswords from somewhere and was making a great show out of inspecting its blade. Morin looked back at Samin. “Where are we supposed to start looking?"

Samin seemed to be caught between a frown and a grin; they fought for dominance on his face for several long moments, but a long, heavy sigh eventually won out. Samin shook his head, ran a hand through his short brown hair and let it rest at the nape, like he was trying to stave off a headache.

"The Gates of Rapture,” he said eventually, peering at Shig with a small smile and a shrug. He brushed her damp hair out of her face, then caught Naro-yi's eye and held it. “How much of Malick's money have you got on you?"

So, fine—if Jacin was delusional, he might as well just go with it. It wasn't like it was going to get any better, and fighting it had only gotten him stuck with an Asai who seemed just as solid as the rest of the world, so what was the point? Go with it. Fall and fall and fall, because there had to be a great, messy
splat
eventually. He kind of wondered why he wasn't hastening it—perfect opportunity, and all—but remembered he was gutless, and then remembered he was crazy, too, so it made indirect, ironic sense. In a demented sort of way.

He snorted.

It took a lot more time and energy to climb down than Jacin remembered it taking to climb up. Then again, he didn't really remember climbing up all that clearly, but whatever handholds he'd used had apparently since morphed into slippery, age-smoothed wood and rotting window frames. Figured.

Jacin took his time. He was tired. He was cold. The way was wet and slick, he had no gloves, and the soles of his boots were meant more for stealth than they were for this. And he certainly couldn't fly.

A small chuckle whiffed out of him this time, only halfway mirthful; the other half was a mix of disgust and anger and maybe even a little bit of hatred. He hadn't decided where that last was directed yet. There were so many directions from which to choose.

"Time is short, little Ghost. You
must
hurry."

Speaking of which.

Jacin set his jaw, took hold of the crumbling bottom corner of a storm drain bracket and set a foot more securely atop the outer sill of a third-floor window, going as quickly and quietly as he could. The rain was loud, and he hadn't yet accidentally kicked in any glass, but he could hear movement and voices inside wherever he was, and it would probably really suck if someone looked out now.

"You know,” he told the side of the building, working his way past the window and down to the next, “if you insist on haunting me, you're going to have to stop calling me that.” He paused to peer downward to where Asai stood in the alley, impatiently watching Jacin descend. “I don't like it. I never liked it. And I hated you a little more every time you said it. Because you knew I didn't like it."

He hadn't expected the rage to flare so abruptly or so strongly, but there it was, fizzing through his chest and threatening to fist his hands if he wasn't careful. It curled somewhat into satisfaction when Asai's mouth pinched down, but it didn't lessen it. Jacin let it sit there, right behind his breastbone. It was one thing he understood completely—so much better than kindness or apparent love—and he could certainly do with a few things he understood. The general confusion was starting to weary him. The gash on his palm was tempting, but he was already hurting and it wasn't clearing his head any. It was so much easier to give in to the madness. Because once he accepted the insanity of Asai's presence, everything else just sort of stopped mattering so much. He couldn't even tell if any of this was real. For all Jacin knew, he'd imagined the whole Incendiary thing. Really, when it came to the bizarre paths his mind sometimes took, who was to say he wasn't right now imagining that he was in Mitsu, that his brothers were safe and his sister and parents were dead, that the Jin were no longer slaves, that Malick—

He cut that one off, gripped his handholds with clawlike fingers and shut his eyes, waiting for the burning behind them to cool.

"And what shall I call you, then?” Asai asked, his tone something Jacin had never heard from Asai before and couldn't fathom now. It could've been mockery, or it could've been sincere inquiry—Jacin couldn't tell between the two, not with this Asai, and it annoyed him, because the new variations could mean anything.

Had to be Jacin's imagination, all of it, he was talking to his own guilty conscience, even if he was pretty sure the guilt had never been for Asai. Or maybe Asai was an actual ghost, come back to torment the one who'd given him an entirely different sort of immortality. Maybe Asai was real—flesh, blood and bone—and Jacin hadn't killed him at all, just imagined he had, and everything else was just....

Bloody hell, this could go on forever.

"You may call me Fen,” Jacin said and turned his attention back to handholds and cracks and niches in which to cram the toes of his boots. Trying to do it all without reopening the cut on his palm was getting to be a real pain in the ass, but the way was already slippery enough and he didn't need blood in with the mix. “Any name you have ever given me, I have since discarded."