Wolf's-own: Weregild (54 page)

Two figures, framed by flames, and then one went down, staggered back up, and spun into a clumsy whirl. Malick could not mistake the long tail of the braid streaming out behind Fen as Yakuli caught him in mid-leap with what looked like a hard kick to his gut. Fen flew back and went down again. There was no efficient grace or straightforward elegance to Fen's movements this time. There was merely a blow then a clumsy plunge to the ground. A bone-saving roll like an afterthought or maybe instinct, then Fen dragged himself up to his knees.

Son of a bitch had no idea how to quit.

Fen was at least on his feet again by the time Malick reached Joori and dropped his veil. Joori was livid, but Malick had expected him to be. Malick merely ignored the snarling and cursing and kept a firm grip as Samin trotted up to Malick's side, dragging Morin and his too-big broadsword along behind him. Morin's sword was bloodied, and there were streaks of it on his face. His eyes had that wild, half-shocked, half-exhilarated look to them that was too distinctive of a first kill. Malick might spend time later lamenting that the boy had been forced to it, but the world was tough all over, and Malick had other things to worry about right now. He looked both Samin and Morin over, judged them both unhurt, and saved all the rest for later. With the unspoken order to hold him back, Malick shoved Joori, still cursing, at Samin, sucked in a long breath, and took stock.

Shig and her party had been engaged about fifty yards down the hill, and though Malick could feel that Yakuli's men all had amulets, none of them were those the hunters carried, the ones made from Skel's Blood. One lucky break, in this night severely lacking them otherwise, but it made him wonder uneasily why, and if Yakuli had a nasty surprise just tucked up his sleeve and waiting. Maybe Yakuli really hadn't known they were coming, which made no sense at all, because Xari had warned him—hadn't she?

Malick's magic through Shig was nulling out the magic of the amulets Yakuli's men wore. The only weapons of any use to them were those made of steel. Shig's party returned the fight in kind, kept the fight to physical weapons and hand to hand, and though it was riskier, Malick approved. Malick wondered if Husao had anything to do with that as he stood at the edges of the battle itself and watched, his face twisted in obvious concentration, intent on observing Shig. Throwing magic around was how the Jin had gotten into this whole mess to begin with, after all, and Malick might not have liked what had happened to them, might have been pissed as hell that the gods seemed to condone it, but he'd always agreed that magic was not a tool for war. Regardless of their foolishness and the suffering they'd caused their own children, the Ancestors had never meant their magic to be used that way.

Satisfied that Shig had her end under control, Malick turned back to Fen, glad that he was at least on his feet again, but dismayed down to the ground that he looked so... not-Fen.

Laughing
, the grin curling at his mouth manic as he chuckled and muttered things Malick couldn't hear and probably didn't want to. He looked like every Jin Untouchable Malick had seen in the last century or so—blank-eyed and tattered, mumbling to himself, and just...
not well
. He was limping worse than he'd been before, and he didn't even seem to notice. Blood dripped from a split in his lip, down his face from an apparent head wound, and wide swaths of what Malick was pretty sure weren't shadows bloomed all along the left side of his face and his right temple. How the hell had—?

And then Yakuli went to shadow halfway through a charge, and Malick knew.

Bloody hell, and Fen had thought Malick fought dirty. Joori was still snarling at Samin, had latched on to Malick's sleeve, tug-tug-tugging then
wrenching
, but Malick just shook him off, called, “Fen!” and started running.

The whistle of air on steel was what moved Jacin to roll to the side and to his feet, surprised that he could hear it through the singing and the screeching, and the low, humming roar of the flames. Or maybe he felt it, Yakuli's sword coming for him, and what did it matter? Yakuli didn't even bother with his shadows for a while, just came at Jacin, both swords swinging. Jacin was surprised, because they looked like good weapons—heavy, quality steel—but Yakuli twirled them with no apparent effort, and aimed to damage, maim, or at least cripple with every swipe.

Jacin flew and spun and slashed, taking hits when necessary, and inflicting them every chance he got. And he couldn't stop laughing.

Catalyst and Incendiary light the lamps of the sky and burn the heavens whet your blades with the rites of vengeance our boy chosen the key rites of vengeance

Too many disadvantages. Jacin had to get up close to use his weapons, and Yakuli didn't. He blooded Jacin at least a little bit more every time he attacked. And with access to the shadows any time he wanted them, it was only going to be a matter of time. The throwing knives were useless against someone who could disappear every time Jacin reached for one.
Meant to fail
, and maybe so, Jacin didn't expect to get out of this alive, but he did expect to do a hell of a lot of damage before he went down. Maybe give Malick enough time to find Jacin's mother and get everyone else out, because Malick had promised. And now, in what were likely his last moments, Jacin chose to believe that promise.

He clung to it, laughed out his last breath as he went flying backward once again and landed hard on his ass. A pounding kick to his ribs splintered little snaps and cracks through his chest as pain exploded through him. Choking on breathless snorts, Jacin went down on his back in the grass again. The red-gold-orange of more fire than he remembered smeared through the trails of the stars spangling at the edges of his vision.

Subie snarled out another complaint. The ground shook, making Jacin's teeth rattle. He laughed harder. And even as he watched Yakuli coming after him, watched the flames curl and snap all around him, heard Joori's voice coming to him from far away, shouting, “
Jacin
!” in a voice edged with stress and panic, Jacin couldn't stop laughing.

"The ground trembles and shifts to Null,” he snorted then let it all bubble up his throat, spill out his mouth: “The gods have all gone silent and Wolf calls us home your Blood our Blood our boy clinging to corpses only say it once—"

"Shut up!” grated Yakuli.

"—
listenlistenlisten
Wolf suffers not the duplicity of weaker gods he calls the Prime to his duty, the key, the
key
...."

Jacin was still laughing as he pushed himself along the grass on his back, but it felt more like sobbing in disguise. His chest was tight, and his mouth was moving with no more control over what came out of it than Yakuli's creatures had over theirs.
Fuck
, his head hurt. “Wolf speaks we've chosen our boy say it once—"

"
Stop it
!” Yakuli snapped, but Jacin couldn't. Could only shuffle back a little more when Yakuli advanced on him. Not bothering with his shadows anymore, because what was the point? Jacin was lying on his back in the grass, crazed laughter and incoherent Voices frothing from his mouth like a rabid animal—what kind of threat could he possibly be?

Out of breath, Jacin throttled the snorting down some when Yakuli drew the swords at his sides up and to the ready. Let it burble back up when Yakuli took a step in. Saw Malick out the corner of his eye, careening in toward Yakuli, sword swinging in a glittering arc to his side. Watched some man he'd never seen before step in and hold Malick back, and then a woman with skin as black as the night hustle in to help him. Good. Jacin had already been responsible for the damnation of one soul; he didn't want Malick's on his conscience too. He didn't think he could take it, not after tonight, not after actually seeing what it meant to have one's spirit taken away, and who would be left to help these people if Jacin was dead and Malick was damned? Who would see to Jacin's mother? Who would take care of Joori and Morin?

"You've always known you couldn't live with it,” Caidi told him as she crouched down beside him and ran her warm palm over Jacin's bloody temple. She leaned in, laid a kiss to his cheek, soft and sweet, then pulled back, her hazel eyes glinting gold and dangerous in the wavering firelight. “The Ghost breathes his last and the Catalyst moves back to Zero.” She grinned, a Caidi-grin, all bright eyes and dimples. “Time to start again, love."

"Yeah,” Jacin agreed. He matched her grin and laughed some more. He had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, but he was breathing his last, Caidi said so, and it made him giddy. He rolled slowly, got an arm and a knee beneath himself, only to have them flail out from under him again when Yakuli's boot crashed into his gut and shoved all the air out of him.

Still chuckling—he couldn't help it—Jacin collapsed back, because he couldn't breathe for the smoke and the laughter, and his arms were too shaky to hold him up.

Wolf was bright in the sky, too bright, hazing his vision even more, making his head thump. He watched Yakuli lift his sword, saw the reflection of Wolf on the flat of the blade as it glinted and gleamed. Jacin winced as Wolf's mirrored light speared into his eyes, as he squinted through the flames at Wolf's face.

"Leers through a veil of burning skies,” Jacin wheezed, and what did it matter? He was failing, he was meant to fail,
made
to fail, and the Ghost would not survive the night, Caidi had told him so, and Caidi was the only one he could believe. Wolf grinned down, watching him fail, Raven and Dragon ghost-red splinters behind him. Jacin could almost hear Wolf laughing through the Ancestors’ lunatic shrieking, louder and louder, taking him over. He couldn't think, so he stopped trying, gave himself to the voices and the madness, and narrowed himself down to instinct alone.

"Fen!” someone shouted, and he thought it was Malick, but it was miles away, and Caidi was giggling, so he only shook his head.

"Ghost,” he corrected, grinning over at Caidi, her gold hair washed crimson in the firelight, then he shoved himself back when Yakuli's blades came at him. Because he was Jacin-rei, he was the Ghost, and the Ghost would not survive the night, but he wasn't going down alone, and it was just too fucking funny.

"Be the Ghost, Jacin-rei,” Caidi told him, and it was strange, because it was a tiny little whisper, but he could hear it through the Ancestors’ screeching songs, so he did as she told him to, because Caidi wouldn't lie to him.

Laughing again, loud and full this time, because he had the breath for it now, Jacin rolled to the right and onto his feet when Yakuli's crossed swords came down, a glittering X aiming to take his head from his shoulders. “Catalyst and Incendiary,” Jacin wheezed as he dodged away from a swipe, “light the lamps of the sky and burn the heavens whet your blades with the rites of vengeance."

Diving to the side, no thought, Jacin's hand drew a small knife all on its own from the straps on his forearm, flicked it at Yakuli. Some hard little coal in his mind that burned through the madness purred in satisfaction as it sank into a meaty thigh. “Wolf will
not
be thwarted,” Jacin breathed, “the Ghost unlocks the door to our grave the Prime turns the key to rebirth Wolf opens his arms and brings us home."

"Get him, Jacin-rei,” Caidi whispered. “No one can kill the monster like you can."

The Ghost grinned as he spat blood, drove in and up with his knives, then whirled back and away.

Joori “saw” it half a second before it actually happened. Caught somewhere in someone else's dream, time slowing down around him, moving with syrupy lethargy as battles clashed and fires flared, and Wolf stared down from the sky and watched it all. It was like seeing one reality overlay another, witnessing the tiniest snatch of
What Will Be
while
What Is
played out all around him.

Watched himself watching as Malick charged in toward Jacin, obviously intent on helping, and was stopped and held by Tatsu and Sora.

Watched as Jacin flew in at Yakuli, knives aglitter in the wash of fire and moon, and landed a solid slash across Yakuli's chest before being driven back again.

Watched as Yakuli looked down at where his tunic had been sliced and then smiled as the glimmer of mail flashed out. He drove in at Jacin, returned the favor, only Joori was wearing Jacin's mail, and Yakuli's hit drew a splash of blood that turned Joori's stomach and made Jacin stagger.

Watched Jacin go to his knees, and Yakuli raise his sword.

Watched himself tear loose from Samin and rush in toward Jacin, just as Malick used a short burst of magic to knock Sora and Tatsu off him then raced in toward Jacin too.

Watched himself get to Jacin first, try to drag him away and to safety, only to get Yakuli's blade through the throat. Joori actually felt the pain of it as he watched Malick charge in—radiant in his dread; terrifying in his rage—and cut Yakuli down.

Felt the elation, too short-lived, before he heard Jacin's screams of grief then the laughter as Joori watched himself fall into his brother's arms. The sky rumbled and roiled, and Wolf grew, grew, until he filled it, filled Joori's vision, and he watched Malick look up, sad and resigned, but not sorry,
not sorry
, smile down at Jacin and shrug like it didn't matter as Wolf swallowed him up.

Watched the battles rage and the not-dead burn, watched Samin try to protect Morin and save Shig at the same time, and watched as he staggered away when they fell beneath a swarm of hauberks and Yakuli's coat of arms.

Heard the laughter, the screams, coming from Jacin, and knew,
knew
they would never stop, that Jacin was gone, and all that was left of him was laughing itself to death on the trampled grass of Yakuli's compound beside Joori's dead body.

Samin wept as he cut Jacin's throat, stopped the laughter and gave him the only sort of brutal mercy a man like Samin knew. Tatsu and Sora withdrew, mourning one of their own, and Husao looked down into Joori's dead gaze, his eyes hard and his expression angry.

"Let him be what he is,” Husao told him sternly. “You must be what
you
are."