Wolf's-own: Koan (4 page)

Jacin's hurts didn't seem to be scarring over, or even scabbing. Jacin still seemed... raw.

He wore a braid now. Only a small one, plaited neatly back from his left temple. Joori kept wanting to ask him why, but he was afraid of the answer he might get, so he didn't. He never offered to braid it for him, either.

"They keep the traditions of the shrines here, Jacin, did you know that?” Joori didn't wait for an answer, because he knew he wouldn't get one. “Tougei's right across the bay, where it's said the
Temshiel
got the marble to build them. There's a temple in the city's center for each god, and then a whole great shrine for the ashes of—"

He stopped himself. He probably didn't need to be going on about the dead right now.

"Malick asked Morin yesterday if he'd want to go see Tougei. He said there are ferries just for people to go across and explore, but no one's allowed to actually live there but the priests. Sacred, and all."

Joori might not have even been there, for all the reaction he got. Jacin just kept staring, that blank-empty thing that made the hairs at Joori's nape prickle and his stomach curl just a little. Joori looked down at his hand, at the scar across his palm that matched the one across Jacin's.

"Please,” Joori whispered as he crouched down by Jacin's hip and set a hand to his knee. “Come back, Jacin. I want my brother back."

Not a word, not a twitch, but Jacin's eyes slid shut, a suspicious glimmer catching the light at his lashes. It was abruptly difficult for Joori to swallow.

It had seemed like Jacin had turned some kind of corner on the voyage here, come to a somewhat tranquil equilibrium, or at least calm acceptance. He'd still had his bleak days, but the lighter ones had outnumbered them, and Joori had hoped. And then they'd reached Mitsu, Tambalon's teeming capital, and the nightmares had hit and Jacin's “ghosts” had come back, his mind rebelling against contentment with vicious force, punishing him for things over which he'd never believe he didn't merit punishment. Now the days Joori was coming to think of as Jacin's Good Days were like heartbreaking teases, reminders of possibility that seemed to drift further and further from realistic hopes for the future with every spate of Jacin's Dark Days that stretched too long between them.

Joori dragged in a long breath, followed the blank gaze out the window, and moved his hand to Jacin's shoulder. Jacin didn't flinch away, but that might have just been because he didn't even know Joori was there, so Joori didn't let it bolster the agony of hope. “It'll be all right, Jacin."

Joori said that a lot. He couldn't think of anything better to say.

This, Dakimo thought with a tight set to his mouth, was going to be interesting. Entertaining, perhaps. Irritating, most probably. But definitely interesting.

He cleared his throat politely, waiting until Emika lifted her frown from the scrolls and missives littering her table, and tilted a slight bow. “Madame Governor. Kamen awaits you in the receiving room."

"Kamen?” Emika lifted her eyebrows. “The summons was for Kamen and his....” She paused, glanced down at something on the table and then back up to Dakimo. “He has come alone?"

Not only come alone, but nearly spitting and snarling about it too. He hadn't been happy that Dakimo chose not to disclose how he'd managed to find them. Even less happy when Dakimo had dryly inquired if perhaps Kamen shouldn't be a bit more circumspect about throwing his power around inside the Statehouse itself. Of course, it had been rather strained and lost some of its acerbity, what with Dakimo pinned to the peak of the vaulted ceiling as he'd been. But still. As if Dakimo didn't have his own tricks and contacts. As if he didn't have too many years on Kamen that he would be so put off by a little Null magic. And Kamen had let him down eventually.

"He has, Madame,” was all Dakimo said.

Emika scowled. “And should I take this to mean that he is everything I've been led to believe he would be?"

Insubordinate? Arrogant? Disrespectful, rebellious and uncooperative? If Dakimo's past experiences with Kamen were any indication—"I'm afraid so, Madame."

"Brilliant."

Emika shut her eyes, running a hand through silver-shot mahogany before pausing to rub at her temples. Dakimo traced the scrolling patterns of the henna wards on the backs of her fine-boned hands as she did so, noting their depth and detail, checking his work. Just a touch faded, but these were precarious times. He'd have to be sure to clear her schedule for a few hours to renew the spells before the week was out.

He usually tried very hard not to get attached to mortals. But he liked this one very much. Perhaps even loved her a little. As Wolf's emissary here in Tambalon's capital, Dakimo had worked with Emika since her installation as governor, and more closely, once Wolf entered his Cycle. Beautiful, in the way of mortals, with a brilliant mind and a sincere desire to do well by her people and her office. She would make a fine
Temshiel
, should Wolf ever decide he had a use for her. Perhaps Dakimo would test those waters before it became too late, before that silver in Emika's artfully arranged dark hair turned to brittle white, and the fine lines at her mouth melted into folds and furrows. She certainly had the sort of heart Wolf sought.

"Fine,” Emika muttered. “
Fine
, damn it. What's one more arrogant immortal in a city full of them?” She peered up with a wry twist of her lips at Dakimo's delicate cough and subsequent smirk. “Present company excepted, of course."

"Of course."

They shared a small grin before Emika slumped back on her cushions. “He'll be able to help."

Spoken evenly, a statement, but Dakimo had known Emika for quite a long while, and had no trouble recognizing the underlying plea. He sighed. “Madame, he is our best hope."

It would have been better, though, if Kamen had brought the Incendiary, as he'd been ordered to do. Dangerous though they were, the Incendiary's arrival in Mitsu two weeks ago had sent futures-possible into a murky state of flux that Dakimo had seen only once before, and it would be wise to gauge intentions and opportunities before moving ahead with any of the myriad proposals and risks now before them. What he'd heard of the Incendiary's state of mind did not fill him with confidence, and he would have preferred to see the man for himself.

Incendiary were dangerous enough, but this particular Incendiary.... Dakimo could only trust in his god, he supposed. He'd been entrusted with the knowledge of what this Incendiary was—
who
this Incendiary was—and whether or not Kamen was informed was up to Dakimo's discretion. Today was to have been a test of the Incendiary, more than of Kamen, but the way things were working out... well. So far, Dakimo wasn't finding himself tempted to relay the information. Powerful though he was, Kamen was not known for his even temperament and careful consideration.

"Kamen is the only Null in existence,” Dakimo went on, “and he is in his own Cycle. If he cannot root out the
banpair
and put an end to them....” He trailed off then shrugged.

"Right,” said Emika. She stood. “Let us meet this Null, then."

"I was
busy
,” Malick snapped, heedless of his insolent tone. It was annoying enough to be summoned—by a bloody mortal
governor
—but to be summoned
now
was just... infuriating. And considering Fen's state since they'd arrived here, possibly unwise. “In case you hadn't heard, things got a little messy for a while there, and I was a bit occupied with trying to follow my own orders. I
don't
appreciate the implication that I'm responsible for
you
letting
your
problems get out of control."

Dakimo merely lifted an eyebrow, at which Malick's teeth set a bit too tightly, but Emika held up a hand, placating. “Tambalon's problems are the problems of all
Temshiel
and maijin, and of the gods. As Dakimo said, we have been asking for Wolf's blessing since his Cycle began. You are, perhaps, late in bringing it, but Tambalon is grateful for your presence now."

Malick almost snorted. He was pretty sure he'd just been very diplomatically spanked. He wished he knew how to diplomatically pummel.

"Kamen,” Emika sighed, “we need help. Dakimo has been keeping a very close watch on the potential outcomes to what's happening, and every day the possibilities grow more worrying. Their numbers are growing, and so is the roster of the missing. And now the dead. What's worse, no
Temshiel
or maijin has thus far been able to find either the
banpair
themselves, or the spirits of the missing.
Or
those of the dead.” Her mouth twisted in mild revulsion.

Malick narrowed his eyes and stood a little straighter from his deliberately impudent slouch against the wall. “Are you telling me that these
banpair
are somehow managing to steal the souls of the victims too?” He hadn't heard that one before.

"We can't tell,” Dakimo put in. He shrugged when Malick gave him a glare. “No one can speak to the spirits as well as Goyo of Snake. He has worked doggedly with the Patrol for months, and yet he must have a direction to look to locate just one of the countless souls that walk the world. We have yet to find that direction."

"And how long has that been going on?” Malick had only been told there were
banpair
operating in some kind of coven and managing to hide themselves from even the eyes of the gods—he hadn't been told they were stealing souls, as well. And considering what Yakuli had been able to do, kidnapping countless Jin and using their own magic against them to imprison their spirits, this was a lot more alarming than Malick had thought. It was a damned good thing he
hadn't
brought Fen.

"Possibly since the beginning,” Dakimo put in. He opened a hand when Malick scowled at him in disbelief. “We have had dozens of disappearances over the past several—"

"Four hundred and three,” Emika interjected. Her hazel glance moved from Dakimo over to Malick. “That we know of. We can't be sure exactly when they began, nor can we know which were victims of these
banpair
, and which met other fates. Nor do we know if that count is optimistic. Mitsu is a large city, and our ports are swarming at even the thinnest of times. People come and go."

"Of those discovered dead,” Dakimo went on, “we believe more than half of them were victims of these creatures.” He paused and fixed his dark-blue gaze on Malick. “The method has become quite obvious. We believe they keep their victims alive for as long as possible, to prolong the torture and enhance the... taste.” He looked like he wanted to hit something.

"And you looked—"

"I assure you, every
Temshiel
and maijin with a talent for employing the spirits has looked within their realm. Goyo, as I said, is the best there is, but even he has been stymied. Those who have been lost remain so."

And not even the gods could find them. This was... really bad. And not at all what Malick had been expecting.

"Tell him all of it, Dakimo.” The tone was almost gentle, but the look in Emika's eyes was limned in steel.

Dakimo met it for a moment, but not with challenge; more like resignation. “I had no intention of withholding any of it,” he answered her, then he turned to Malick. “Of all the
banpair
now roaming the world, only twelve are unaccounted for. The oldest. Maijin turned to The Six before The One was thrown down."

Meaning the last remaining maijin from when the world was still called Daichi, and before the moons had come.

Malick frowned. There should be some kind of conjecture to go along with the way his stomach had just plunged, but there was nothing there, just the knowledge that this was a lot bigger than he'd been led to believe. Than anyone but a very small circle of those involved had been led to believe.

"And what do you suppose this all means?” he asked slowly.

Dakimo's teeth clenched. “We don't
know
."

"You don't suppose....” Malick hated to even think it, but this was old magic they were talking about. “I imagine you've thought to speak to Rihansei?"

"Well, of
course
.” It was too obvious that Dakimo was holding on to his temper with both hands. “He has been as helpful as he possibly can be, and as cooperative as always. More so. He says he knows even less than we do, and I believe him."

Yes, but the magic of the gods didn't work on Rihansei, so there was no way to
know
. Rihansei had only ever given away exactly as much as he had to and no more. He held the Gate between the old world and the new, and so enjoyed a sort of cooperative status with the gods’ servants here in Mitsu; but he was a practitioner of the old magic, powerful in his own right, and as manipulative as any
Temshiel
. Malick trusted him as far as it went, but Malick trusted very little he couldn't get his hands on and squeeze for truth. And Rihansei and his monks had made it a mission to coax initiates away from the temples since... well, since forever, as far as Malick knew.

"All right,” Malick said, thinking. “I'll have a look myself and see if I can find anything that doesn't feel right.” He noted Dakimo's mouth flatten down and almost snorted, but he kept it back. “Not the spirits. I'll leave that to Goyo and those who can be bothered to do it ‘properly'. I was talking about actually going out and looking—you know, with my eyes. Like people do. Hunting."

"Alone?"

Dakimo asked the question with so little query in the tone that Malick almost missed the too-casual slide to it. He managed to keep his expression bland. “No, I think I'll bring a companion along. Samin is a good man to have about. And it's always wise to have backup.” And Samin could do with a little mayhem.

Emika shook her head, impatient. “The Incendiary?"

Malick hoped the reflexive closing down and tightening of his shields wasn't visible on his face. “Incendiary?” Threat and warning, all in one.

Dakimo sighed. “Kamen, please. Did you really think word wouldn't spread?"

No, he hadn't, not really. He'd just hoped he'd have a bit more time. Fen
needed
a bit more time.