Wolf's-own: Koan Read online

  "Worth...?” Jacin almost gagged. “I didn't fucking care about the Jin, I wanted to save her!” Oh, no. “Oh... Mother. Oh, fuck, my—"

  "No, Fen, damn it, that's not how it works.” There was so much inside Malick's voice, too much of it Jacin didn't want to hear—sympathy, understanding Malick couldn't possibly have, tenderness and genuine compassion that made Jacin want to scream. “As Incendiary, you will have a chance to work your will on Fate, but never forget that Fate answers in its own ways. Even the gods are tempered by it, Fen. It's what makes you dangerous and valuable. Balance. Always. Even if you'd known, even had you the power then, Fate's price might still have been Caidi. This is why I can't let you not know anymore. I'm so fucking sorry, I'd take it from you if I could, but I can't."

  It didn't stop the ache, or the sick knowledge that had birthed it—it only made everything that much more excruciating. Jacin could almost see Caidi, sitting on the windowsill as she did almost every morning, only this time, she was shaking her head and looking at him with a sad look of betrayal. Could almost hear Beishin, laughing at him, telling him, You did this, little Ghost. And Jacin couldn't argue, not even the feeble defenses he used to justify the gutless inertia that kept him from finding the will and energy to put an end to it.

  "I killed her.” It came out like a wounded animal's whine, and no wonder, the way it slipped out from between too-quick and too-shallow breaths. And why was he just now feeling the weight and serration of the knowledge, when he'd known even as he'd watched her fall?

  You did this, little Ghost.

  "Bullshit,” Malick snapped. “Fate—"

  "That's what Asai meant. He knew, he had to have known, I... I didn't want it hard enough, I didn't—"

  He choked it off when Malick twisted, flipped Jacin roughly onto his back, and pushed him down into the sheets. Held him still.

  "See, this is why I kept waiting to tell you. I knew you'd—"

  "How can they do it? How can they ask it? She didn't deserve it, none of them did, it isn't fair, they're supposed to be better than us—you're supposed to be better than us! What the fuck could they possibly need me for, and why should I even bother to pretend to give a shit what they want when ‘fair’ means nothing to any of them? They made me weak and then took my mother and my sister away because I wasn't strong enough, and now they expect me to start all over again? For them? For Fate? Fuck Fate, and fuck them."

  He wouldn't. That was it. Incendiary? Fuck it. What did he care? “Start again"? No. He wouldn't. Perhaps gutless inertia had been a problem up ‘til now, but Jacin didn't think it would be a problem after this. Lack of knives would not be as much of a hindrance as Joori probably thought it would. All Jacin had to do was wait until Malick wasn't watching and—

  "Bloody damn,” Malick breathed, a sharp, cynical smile curving at his mouth that made Jacin want to kill him. “I used to think it was Joori who was innocent, but you, Fen....” He shook his head, eyes hard for all his voice was still soft and laced through with gentle consolation. “How have you lived through what you've lived through and still managed to keep hold of that gullibility with both hands? You think anything's fair? There is no fair—there's Balance, and that's all there is. Fair is how you've ended up—” He cut himself off, clenched his teeth. “Fate's a callous bitch, and there's nothing fair about it."

  "You think I don't know that?” Jacin snarled.

  Malick paused, peering down at him with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, I guess you do at that. But I'm not going to let you turn this into what I already see blooming in your eyes.” He shook his head when Jacin glared up at him, because Jacin had no idea what was “blooming in his eyes,” but Malick sure seemed to think he did, and it pissed Jacin off. “You don't want choices?” Malick said evenly. “You don't know what to do with them?—well, that's good, because you haven't got any when it comes to it. Telling yourself you killed your little sister because you didn't want her to live hard enough, and all so that you can add one more tick in favor of suicide, won't bloody fix it. You'll be gone and it'll still be un-fucking-fair, except it'll be even more un-fucking-fair for the brothers you leave behind you."

  Jacin sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, blurry eyes narrowing when Malick merely tilted his head and tipped a little nod.

  "Yeah, love, it means exactly what you think it means. You thought I was a cold bastard before? You haven't seen what a motherfucker I can be.” He leaned down, eyes sliding half-lidded, almost scary seduction, right in Jacin's face. “You kill yourself, Fen, you allow yourself to be killed, and my oath is once again my own. You understand what I'm telling you? I know you do, but just so we're very clear—as soon as the first flame touches your pyre, I will walk away from your brothers. They're nothing to me but tools to please you with, and if you're not here, I've no reason to keep them around. Wolf wants you alive, so alive you'll stay. Everything's a fucking trade, right? Here's mine—you're gone, I'm gone. Got it?"

  Malick's mouth was doing that flat thing it did when he was trying too hard to be a prick, when he wanted you to think he was a stone-cold asshole who didn't care if he crushed you or killed you, but none of it was making Jacin's anger and fear any easier to suss right now. Because there was also the fact that Jacin's cock seemed to think it was all somehow incredibly sexy, twitching a little throb to make sure he got the point, and there had to be something terribly sick and wrong about that, right?

  Got it? Yeah, Jacin got it. And the worst part was that he hadn't actually needed to be told, and yet still, here he was, naked and debauched in soiled sheets with the man who was fucking him in every sense. Worse—even with Malick's stark proclamation, Jacin had no intention of changing the current arrangement. He'd let Malick fuck him again right now, just to make it stop for a little while, and they both knew it. And they both knew Jacin would enjoy it.

  "Fucker.” Jacin's teeth clenched and his jaw quivered in helpless fury. “You don't want me to blame myself for Caidi, so you'll threaten Morin and Joori?” His eyes spilled over, and he didn't bloody care. “You said...."

  You said you loved me.

  Stupid to throw it between them now, when Jacin never dared believe it anyway.

  "It's no threat, Fen—it's a promise.” So strange, the way Malick's eyes glittered cold and his words struck sharp and precise, yet his voice was still so soft, full of concern, and his hands were gentle, soothing Jacin's skin even as his words ruptured Jacin's heart. “And make no mistake—I'll do whatever it takes to keep you here, because you're not done. Perhaps you've not pledged to Wolf, but I have, and he wants you saved, little Ghost."

  The epithet, coming now and from Malick, made Jacin snarl. Malick, the bastard, just ignored it. “I let you die now, and we've both failed. So yeah, if I have to make it clear to you that you're what's keeping your brothers protected by my oath, I'll take the chance that you won't deem fucking me a more attractive alternative to listening to me anymore.” He ran his hand, hard and rough, over Jacin's chest, up to his throat. “This may be very, very nice, Jacin, and I'd miss it terribly.” His fingers settled loosely around the base of Jacin's throat, and he cut his glance upward, smirked a little. “But it's really not the point."

  With a contradictory light stroke of callused fingertips, Malick grinned, that hard, cruel, predatory thing he trotted out when he wanted you to pay real close attention; the one that reminded Jacin that Malick could be an entirely different person between one breath and the next.

  "Unless you maybe want me to blow you now to get your mind off it all for a minute. I know how you get off on shutting me up. We can pretend I won't bring it up again just long enough to bring us both off, nice and dirty. Think you can get it up again this quick?"

  Jacin's teeth were clenched so tight his jaw was starting to throb. Because he'd flinched back there somewhere, a sickening lurch as his mind had tried to shy away from the razor-sharp candor of it, the precision of the verbal evisceration. And worse, his groin had tightened just a little,
like some primal, ingrained response over which he had no control whatsoever.

  "You're a fucking bastard."

  "Yeah,” Malick agreed. He dropped the grin, like it was a mask he could put on and take off at will, and the almost sad expression that took its place made Jacin want to scream. Or punch the shit out of him. Or kill him. “But I'm the fucking bastard who loves you."

  "Liar."

  Malick raised an eyebrow, tilted his head. “Ya think?” A shrug and he pulled his hand away. “Believe what makes you feel better."

  "I don't love you.” Snarled out and venomous. Because he didn't. He wouldn't.

  "Believe what makes you feel better,” Malick repeated. Bastard.

  Malick rolled away and sat up, his back to Jacin as he scrubbed both hands through his hair. Jacin curled in a little, couldn't help but stare at the wide, vulnerable expanse of muscle beneath Malick's skin and imagine how easily a knife would slip in, right between the ribs. As if he knew, Malick peered over his shoulder at Jacin, another smirk curving his mouth, but this one was more like the ones Jacin was used to seeing on him—all smartass cockiness and infuriating confidence.

  "The gods aren't done with you, Fen. I really am sorry. If I could give you this choice, I would. You will be what you are, or you'll fail the Cycle. I can't let that happen. For either of us."

  "What the hell does that mean?” Jacin snapped.

  Malick didn't answer at first, only stared at Jacin over his shoulder for several long moments then shook his head and looked away. “I brought you here to Tambalon—Mitsu in particular—because you've a choice I can't make for you. You were born under Wolf, but you're not truly his. You're not anyone's but Fate's until you choose a god and pledge yourself. Until then, you are more or less up for grabs to all of the gods, and any of their Temshiel or maijin who might be sent to persuade you. Unfortunately, you're also vulnerable to any of them that might decide an Incendiary is too dangerous and try to get rid of you. You're under my protection, but my magic only worked on you the once and only a little at that. I can't veil you, and I can only protect you so far.” He turned back again to look at Jacin, jaw set, gaze harsh. “You see where I'm going with this?"

  Jacin glared, refused to answer.

  Malick snorted a little and nodded, like there'd been some kind of agreement. “Yeah. You're going to have to actually try to stay alive, Jacin. Sucks to be you."

  "Fuck. You,” Jacin seethed, incensed that... well, he didn't really know—there were so many things to be incensed about that he couldn't pick just one. And he was sick and bloody tired of being assumed to be and accused of being suicidal when he'd already failed repeatedly to drag up the courage to prove them all right. “You don't know me, you don't know what I think, you have no idea what—"

  "You're right.” Malick turned his glance away again, rubbing at his brow. “I only know what you show me, and sometimes that's too bloody hard to read. Except sometimes you show me more than you want to, and one of the things I see is that you have no idea if you want to live or die, but you think you should want to die, so you'll hand over that choice to the first person who makes it for you. So until you're ready to handle that choice yourself, I'm taking it away from you. You'll live, Fen. Because I choose it."

  There was no answer for any of that. Jacin couldn't even pretend to bluster through a bullshit response that would at least leave him a little dignity. The horrifyingly shameful truth of it all was choking him.

  Malick shifted on the mattress until he was looking at Jacin straight again, and he didn't seem to care that Jacin couldn't meet his abruptly softer tawny gaze. “I know that you feel, Fen. I know that everything hurts you more than it should, and I know that this whole business is probably bloody killing you. I wish I could change it, I wish I could take it away for you, but I didn't do this to you, it wasn't my choice. But I have chosen to help you, Fen. Let me."

  The anger was still there, lumping in Jacin's chest and at the back of his throat, making it hard to form words, form the thought to make them. “I don't know what that means."

  A long, heavy intake of breath expanded Malick's chest, momentarily broadening his shoulders until he let it flow out on a weary sigh. He slumped. Jacin didn't know why, and it pissed him off that it should even occur to him, but the hint of defeat in Malick's posture shamed him.

  "I know,” Malick said. “We'll deal with it when you figure it out."

  Cryptic bastard. How was Jacin supposed to answer that? And why did he keep feeling like he should answer?

  Sad, furious, confused, Jacin turned his face away. Damn it, why couldn't he make himself just get up and walk away?—from this room, from this inn, from Malick, from Morin and Joori... from everything.

  "The solicitor's finally found us a house,” Malick said quietly. “We move in tomorrow. He'll come for the others while you and I begin at the temples in the morning. You should decide which one you want to start with."

  Jacin frowned, sat up, and shot Malick a murderous glare. Temple? He had no intention of going to a temple, let alone “beginning” with one and all that implied. Fuck the gods, what had they ever done for him but torment and punish him and take away the people he loved?

  "It's why you're here, Fen.” Malick stretched his arm out and brushed the tangled fringe from Jacin's brow, letting his fingers linger down over the little plait that held the hair back from Jacin's left temple, until Jacin smacked his hand away. Infuriatingly, it only made Malick smile. “You start again when you make a choice. I won't make this one for you, and I won't let anyone else, either. From this moment on, you go nowhere without me, you go nowhere unarmed. If you don't want to pick up a weapon, then you sit your ass here behind my wards like you've been doing until I personally drag you out. The holiday's over. Tomorrow we start at the temples."

  "You don't own me,” Jacin snarled.

  "You're right, I don't. And I won't, even if you almost want me to.” Malick smirked a little when Jacin flinched. “But I do love you."

  "Stop saying that!” It was too much. Didn't he care what it did to Jacin every time he said it? “You don't, you can't, and I don't want to hear you say it anymore.” Except he did, and he was fucking pathetic, because he kept trying to believe it, kept trying to pretend he flew as he fell.

  Malick's eyebrow went up, a mockery of ingenuous curiosity. “Yeah? Why can't I?"

  "Because there's—” nothing there! Jacin choked it back. And didn't know if it was because he didn't want to say it out loud and make it true, or because he was afraid of how Malick might answer it. “It was a trade, and I don't want it anymore. Stop pretending, I can't... I won't.... This....” He paused to suck in a breath, because air was coming a little harder than it should. “This, all of it—all it is... it's just another opportunity... another way to... to...."

  Another way to fail. And he couldn't say that, either. Even though it was the truest thing that was churning in his gut right now. Because he fucked up everything he touched. He even fucked up things he tried not to touch. And all this Incendiary bullshit, all the “love” distraction and probable manipulation—it only gave Jacin shiny-new ways to fall on his face and take everyone around him down with him.

  As with everything, Malick refused to make facing too-obvious reality easy. “Let me help you,” he said softly, “and we'll figure it out together.” He sighed a little when Jacin ratcheted up his glare. Mouth set, Malick leaned in and wrapped his hand around the back of Jacin's neck and gave him a gentle shake. Kissed him, warm and rough. “There is no trade anymore, you're not nothing, you didn't kill Caidi, you're going to be the most beautiful-dangerous Incendiary the gods have ever seen, and I fucking love you. Deal with it."

  * * * *

  She waited until Wolf and Raven and Dragon all completed their descent, leaving Owl's emerald shadow lurking behind the fire-mountains, staining the sky for the brief moments before the sister suns made her a vague ghost of a sliver in day's light. But she was there—quiet, ambivale
nt Owl, who shrouded her enigmatic majesty from the greedy grasping of her siblings and lent subtle insight to one with the prudence to seek it. A mind open enough to hear it.

  Xari opened her eyes, took her hand from the stone, and peered closely. A shift in the depths of crystal quartz, a faint swirl of possibility, but there. Less murky than it had been only last night.

  She sat back, thinking. The paint of her wolf's mask was drying out and beginning to flake; it itched. She set it from her mind and concentrated instead on the blank spot in the shifting fortunes spiraling beneath her fingers.

  It wasn't difficult to recognize the influence. She'd seen it before, after all. The difficulty was in following each strand of it and trying to see the overall displacement of the pattern, figure out where it started and trace it to its probable end. It was wearying. Still, it was why she was here. A penance to Wolf, though he had not asked or required it of her.

  A way to... commute a debt, perhaps. She owed the boy—the Untouchable that was no more; the Incendiary even now wending through the throes of long-delayed naissance. And he was, after all, the only way Kamen would ever accept the Sorcerer's mantle.

  "Come, then, all you shy little possibilities. Show me your pretty faces."

  She sent another humble appeal to Owl, a wish in the form of a prayer, and set a slow, delicate swipe to the stone with the very tip of her finger. Xari watched carefully, marked the too-brief clarity from the trail of her touch, and peered through it, squinting.

  She shook her head.

  Unfair. The child of Wolf who was not; the Fool who would refuse his fate. And the Eremite who held the Sorcerer's mantle and still disdained to don it. He'd refused it back in Ada, and he'd still managed to win through, when he really shouldn't have. There would be no reasoning with him now. And Xari knew what her god wanted of her, knew what he'd wanted of her even before he'd become her god.