Wolf's-own: Weregild Page 19

  Fen was still glaring, but he had that ring clutched tight in his fist.

  Malick pointed at it. “You know, that won't work anymore if you kill me,” he said, a little bit desperately, and ignored Shig's little snort entirely. A lie, of course—the fact that it didn't lose its magic upon the death of its contributor was rather the appeal of Temshiel Blood in the first place—and Shig likely knew it. Shig seemed to know far too much these days, but she kept her big mouth shut this time.

  Samin was frowning, skeptical. “So,” he said slowly, “you're saying that the gods want Yakuli to keep doing what he's doing?"

  "No, not exactly.” Malick shot a look at Shig, but he'd already known she'd be no help. At least she wasn't glowering at him like everyone else was. “The gods don't care about right or fair or just. The gods want Balance.” No, that wasn't going to work. He was going to have to start at the beginning.

  "There were Temshiel who made the mistake of loving mortals. And from that love came the Ancestors. The gods were angry, they wanted to wipe out the Ancestors and the Temshiel who made them, because they were a potential threat to the Balance—mortals aren't supposed to have magic just given to them—but Wolf called them all to his Cycle. In a sense, they all became Wolf's children."

  "And their children became the Jin,” Fen said.

  Malick was a little surprised—Fen was actually participating in a conversation, with him, and without having to be forced to it—but not terribly encouraged. Fen was still glaring, nearly vibrating with rage.

  "Yeah,” Malick said. “The Jin have always been Wolf's favored children. But then the Ancestors pushed too hard. They bound their magic to their people. Even Wolf wouldn't come to their defense that time—they hadn't just threatened the Balance; they'd rocked it—and the Temshiel were ordered to abandon the Jin or burn. Most of those who'd either sired or birthed the Ancestors burned. But still, Wolf would not allow the Jin to be destroyed, and none of the other gods had the strength to defy him. So they simply waited until Wolf was no longer in his Cycle."

  "The Binding War,” Fen said, eyes narrowed.

  Malick stared. “You already knew."

  What would he think if he knew on which side you fought in the Binding War? Umeia had asked, and for all that it had clogged anger and betrayal in Malick's chest at the time, it had still stoked the low simmer of unease to a smoldering coal. Because, yeah, what would Fen think? Except it appeared he already knew.

  "How?” was all Malick could think to ask.

  Fen only stared for a long moment, his face unreadable, then he shrugged. “I had a good teacher."

  "Not Asai, surely."

  "No."

  Right. Husao. Maybe his pain-in-the-ass interference had actually proven helpful this time, because Fen had known for days that Malick was Temshiel, and he'd obviously already known what the Temshiel had been to the Jin, and he hadn't actually tried to kill Malick. Malick supposed that Fen having Husao as a tutor was perhaps one small blessing in Malick's own favor right now.

  "Maybe he knows,” Samin put in irritably, “but some of us would like to know what the fuck you're talking about."

  "Yeah, yeah,” Malick muttered as he scrubbed at his face. “No one knew that the Ancestors had also bound their magic to their lands. And when the Jin used their magic against the Adan, it was the last straw. Some believe Raven influenced them, but it doesn't really matter, in the end—they did it and they had to be punished.” He sucked in a deep breath. “So, Raven set the Temshiel on them. Even those of us who aren't Raven's had to obey. And since maijin and Temshiel are equal parts of the—"

  "The maijin fought for the Jin,” Fen said, nearly breathless. He tried to stand, back away, but only ended up with his back pressed more firmly into the cushions of the chair. “Asai—"

  "No, Fen.” Malick reached out, clamped down on Fen's wrist. Fen stilled, but Malick could feel the vibrations in the taut muscles beneath his fingers. “He'll tell you he fought for the Jin and he serves Wolf, but it's only true enough that it can't be entirely negated. He wants to get the Jin out from beneath Adan rule, it's true, but only so that he can rule them.” Fen snarled, tried to jerk his arm away again, but Malick jerked it right back. “Those charms, Fen—don't forget where they came from. Don't forget what he's done with them. Skel made them, but Asai used them. He's why all of those people have been Disappeared. The Adan never would have even known it could be done, were it not for Asai.

  "He got hold of Temshiel Blood, and he saw what could be done with it, but he saw too late—he'd already betrayed the one who gave him the amulets and taught him the spells. Skel went to the suns for it, but if he hadn't, Asai would have seen him murdered for Heart's Blood."

  "I don't understand,” Samin put in. “Why wasn't Asai sent to the suns too?"

  Malick held back the growl, mouth pinched up in a sour grimace. He pointed at the ring. “One. We can make one. It's against the law to make more, but it's not against the law to take it when it's given, it's not against the law to use it however one sees fit. It's why we have to be careful when we hand them over. We're responsible for when they're misused, not the one misusing them. It may be difficult to believe it, but Skel had the best intentions, except....” Malick sat back, abruptly saddened and a little winded. “He made dozens. Maybe hundreds. The only intelligent thing he did was to keep the stronger spells to himself.” Because as bad as it was now, it could have been so much worse.

  "What is any of this to me?” Fen asked through his teeth. “What are you trying to convince me of here? You've already said whose side you're on—shall I help you destroy the Jin altogether? Would that please your gods?"

  "It probably would,” Malick snapped back. “But it wouldn't please me.” Fuck, had he really just said that out loud? “Why d'you think I walked away? Why d'you think I'm here?” He couldn't seem to make himself shut up. “I waited—for the first decade of Wolf's Cycle, I waited, I watched, but there was nothing. Nothing. No guidance, no direction, no call. I couldn't watch it done anymore. I couldn't stand to not do something. Except I have limits—I can't kill the men who are behind it all."

  "Mal....” Samin was shaking his head, frowning, apparently trying to understand and not quite getting it. “I've seen you kill men who've—"

  "I can take out the small fish,” Malick cut in, nearly desperate for someone to understand this, “the ones who don't affect the Balance, the ones who serve it by their deaths, who aren't protected by Fate, but I can't take out the ones who serve the Balance by living, no matter how repugnant they are. And Yakuli—somehow—serves the Balance. His existence serves Fate.

  "I've slaughtered those who've stolen magic because I wanted to, because I enjoyed it, because the idea of allowing them to keep doing it makes me bloody sick to my stomach, and I couldn't stand not doing something about it anymore. If I could prove beyond a doubt that Asai is the one pulling Yakuli's strings....” He growled, teeth clenched. “If it was my choice, I would walk into that compound Yakuli's got going, tear it down around his ears, and cut Asai's throat while I was at it, but I can't. The whole place has invisible ‘Hands Off’ signs all over it."

  "Why would it—?"

  "I don't know,” Malick growled. “I'm a fucking minion, the gods don't bother to give me the bigger picture, and I don't always get to have morals, all right? I don't know why I can't touch him, I just know that I can't."

  "So, why couldn't we?” Samin asked, no longer angry and accusing, but genuinely curious, too obviously already calculating strategies and points of attack in his mind.

  Malick shook his head. “Because there's magic all over the place. Shig already said as much.” He turned his gaze squarely to Samin's. “I couldn't risk all of you when I knew I wouldn't be able to help you. I couldn't risk Umeia, who'd sworn you all oath."

  I didn't want to send you all out on a moral quest, only to watch you all cut to pieces.

  Malick didn't say it, but Samin was a practical man, a man who un
derstood “acceptable risk” and recognized it when he was looking at “unacceptable risk.” He didn't acknowledge Malick's tacit apology with words, but the nod of his head spoke his acknowledgment for him.

  Malick sighed just a little. Well, that was one of them.

  "So, Heart's Blood really would free the Jin,” Fen said evenly, eyes still pinned to Malick, hostile and just as suspicious as he'd ever been. And yet he still held that ring protectively in his fist. “Asai wasn't lying."

  Was that hope, deep down in that gray gaze? Fuck, Malick hoped not.

  "It depends on your definition of ‘free',” Shig put in softly.

  Malick braced himself. He could never tell these days if he was going to be sorry or vindicated when she finally shut up.

  Shig crawled up onto the bed beside Malick, sat on her knees, and looked Fen in the eye. “Ever been imprisoned in your own body, angry Ghost? Ever had your magic forced from you at someone else's will? Ever had your body move to someone else's tune, like you were a puppet, but one with a mind—one who knew what was being done to them and couldn't stop it?"

  She paused for a moment, staring at Fen, the silence filling with heavy tension, until Fen finally shook his head and looked away. He didn't see Shig's poignant smile.

  "It hurts,” she said softly. “Whatever state your mother's mind is in right now, her soul is in agony."

  Fen's teeth clenched, and he shut his eyes tight.

  Shig leaned in, took hold of Fen's chin, and turned his head. She waited again until he opened his eyes, then murmured, “Would you be the one to justify the means to Asai's end?"

  It was so like the argument Malick himself had made to Umeia that he almost jolted a little, peering at Shig with a jaundiced eye. She didn't appear to be playing by his rules anymore—she'd obviously been “listening.” It had been so long since he'd had to worry about it, that he hadn't even thought to keep her from doing it. And he had to wonder whose rules she was playing by... if any.

  "You've not even heard the plan yet,” Shig told Fen, nodding over at Malick. “He's got one. He always does.” She leaned in farther, until her mouth was right next to Fen's ear. “Punch-drunk, angry Ghost. The risk of a soul. You sure you can live with it?"

  Malick heard it, but he had no idea what it meant.

  Fen apparently did, though. He snapped himself back, stared at Shig for a long time with narrowed eyes, then turned his piercing gaze over to Malick. Scrutinized him. Malick was finding it hard to sit still beneath the hard glare before Fen finally turned back to Shig, said, “Yes,” then he knocked Shig's hand away and cut his glance back to Malick. “What do you intend to do?"

  Shit. Malick had already made his decision, hadn't he? He'd known all of this was coming, and somewhere down where he never looked, he'd known what he would do when finally put to it.

  "Exactly what I promised to do,” Malick muttered. “Exactly what I'm forbidden to do.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. He flopped back against the headboard and rubbed at his brow, trying to pretend he wasn't risking everything with a promise he'd already made once, knowing even then he'd do it if it came down to it, regardless of the risk. “I'm going to help you get your mother."

  And in order to do that, he was going to have to lead his people into the heart of Yakuli's compound, and he couldn't pretend he didn't hope Yakuli was there, would force Malick to kill him in “self-defense,” and he couldn't fool himself that it would be defense enough for the gods. In all likelihood, he was going to end up killing a man he was forbidden to kill, and he'd end up burning for it.

  Bloody hell.

  Maybe it really was love. Why else would he have just more or less sworn to give up his soul for someone who could barely stand to look at him?

  "What did she say, Shig?” Fen asked hoarsely, his eyes shut tight again, head down, the ring clenched in a white-knuckled fist.

  Shig sighed, bowed her head. “She said....” She bit her lip, but neither she nor Fen looked up. “She said, ‘No laws, my twice-born. All things come to Zero.’”

  Nothing but the faintest strangled gasp from Fen, then he nodded, took a long, deep breath, and blew it out slowly. With a small shudder, he lifted his head, met Malick's gaze calmly, dry-eyed. He held up Malick's ring between long fingers.

  "What exactly are you hoping to hear?"

  Malick thought about how he should answer, if he should answer. Decided he'd come this far.

  "I won't know until I hear it."

  Fen's jaw set tight, but he didn't lunge for Malick's throat, and he didn't actually snarl this time. He sighed, rubbed at his eyes, then propped his elbow on the arm of the chair. He folded his fingers around the ring again and rested his chin on his fist.

  "Fine,” he said evenly. “Do it."

  * * * *

  He felt a little uncomfortable with Samin watching, and he had no idea what the hell Malick thought Shig could “help” with, but Jacin submitted to it all without growling. It was necessary, or at least Malick seemed to think it was, part of the deal, and if it meant he'd never have to listen again, Jacin could endure it.

  Letting go of the ring was... almost devastating. The first waves of noise nearly took him under. His mind already felt brittle, almost fragile, and the screeching, after not having to hear it for days, almost overwhelmed him at first. Blaring in his head, obliterating thought, consuming him, and only the frantically held-to knowledge that he could reach out and silence it all with a touch allowed him to keep hold of himself.

  And save him, he missed the touch.

  What was wrong with him? He'd been so long without the quiet that he'd nearly forgotten what it was like to have it, and now that he'd had it again, he was having a hard time doing without it. Had he always been this hollow thing, grasping with greedy fingers? A slave to touch, all right, he'd known that, but... like this? Trading everything, bartering his self-respect for it? No, not bartering—offering. Ruination by his own reaching hand, and he couldn't make himself stop wanting it.

  A trained fucking dog. Slobbering after a bone, licking its master's hand for a taste.

  Shame crept about his edges, and he waited for it to hook him in, pierce him, but nothing could touch him but a swirling confusion that was worse and more senseless than the usual insanity. Blathering in his head, bouncing against the inside of his skull, pulsing through his own confused angst and trebling it.

  Too fucking loud, too fucking insane, and the touch me please that was ringing inside it was only making everything worse.

  "All right, you're doing really well, Fen,” Malick said, his voice coming through amazingly clearly, and it was strange, because Jacin didn't think he was only hearing it with his ears. “Try and narrow it down to the words alone. I've got hold of the Ancestors’ magic. I'm going to boost it, all right? Can you feel it?"

  Jacin frowned a little, because he could feel it, and he really didn't like it, not at all. Too strong, too resonant, too... everything. Malick's hand was clamped to Shig's instead of his, Jacin noted abstractly, and he wondered vaguely why that was, but he only had so much concentration, so he dismissed it. Dismissed his own pathetic worries and fears and wants, and tried to blank out everything but the shrieking.

  "Try to picture it in your head. Like a... like a wave."

  A wave of colors, and he could taste them, slithering over his tongue, down his throat, choking him. Red tasted of fire, and blue of words he couldn't understand, blurring together, anger chittering at the edges and tasting black, clogging his nose with its cloying silty rot.

  "Ride it out, Fen. Set yourself astride it and ride it out."

  Buzzing, almost vibrating his teeth with its reverberation, and he couldn't reach for the pain this time to dull it. Madness crowded in, he could almost feel it like a physical thing, trying to shove him from out his own mind. It took everything in him to keep his hands clamped to the arms of the chair, keep them from clawing for pain or silence—he didn't even care which this time.

  "There it is. You're do
ing really well, Fen. Feel it?"

  He felt... something. He latched onto Malick's voice like a piece of driftwood in turbulent seas. And strangely, the tidal wave in his mind wasn't a wave, it was a cool wind. He almost recognized its taste. Not dragging him under and drowning him. It was softly sweeping away debris. Not reducing the volume, but... clarifying what was left a little.

  Wordswordswords, always too many and too close together, and he could taste-touch-smell them this time, nearly overwhelming, but only nearly. Still clogging, still cloying, and treacherous if he got caught in it, but not taking him under. How was he holding on? What was he holding on to?

  "Out loud, Fen,” Malick told him calmly. “Anything you hear that's actual words, I want you to say them out loud."

  "They don't make sense,” Jacin protested, teeth gritted, hands curled into fists and cramping, and holdonholdonholdon, don't let it all the way in, don't let go. The focus of his life for years had been keeping the insanity in, only spilling it when he couldn't help himself, and each time he'd let it out, he'd edged further from sanity, and it had been harder to claw his way back. “It's all just... frenzied."

  "It doesn't matter what it sounds like.” Malick's hand went to reach out, but he caught himself and drew it back. “We all know it's not you, Fen. We all know the madness doesn't come from you, all right?"

  How had Malick known that it had been a surge of fear down Jacin's backbone, when Jacin hadn't even known it himself? And how was it that Jacin found himself wishing that Malick could lay that comforting hand on him like he'd clearly intended, and it wasn't for the silence the touch would bring? Comfort. And it was killing him that he couldn't have it.

  That cool wind again, like... like Malick. Like it had been that night when Jacin had given up, given himself over to both Malick and silence, and a breeze had blown through his mind and settled it for a little while. Settled him. Calmed him like he hadn't been since... he couldn't remember.