Wolf's-own: Weregild

by Carole Cummings

  "I'm so boooooored,” Caidi moaned. She'd been sitting in the middle of the rumpled bed next to Morin, but now she threw herself facedown into the mound of sheets and blankets with a disgruntled sigh. “And I'm huuuuuungry."

  Joori seized on it: “Yeah, isn't it past lunchtime?” He shifted significant, expectant looks between Shig and Samin, pleased when, unbidden, Caidi lifted her head and gave the room in general hopeful puppy eyes. Even Morin unintentionally cooperated, shifting his bored glance from its contemplation of the gray day through the window and letting it flick around, eyebrows raised. Joori buried a smirk when Samin's gruff face turned resigned.

  Shig and Samin had been keeping them all corralled in Jacin's room since Malick had stalked off with Yori to wherever-the-hell less than half an hour ago, not leaving any of them alone for even a second, and not allowing them to even travel down the hallway to the washroom unaccompanied. With the exception of having taken turns to go back to their rooms to arm themselves—first Samin, then Shig, once he got back—they hadn't let the four of them out of their sight for even a second, Samin pacing about the room and Shig leaning with her back to the far wall, arms crossed over her chest. Joori wasn't sure if they were being protected or imprisoned, but since it prevented him from talking openly to Jacin, like he desperately needed to, it all amounted to the same thing. Time was running out all too quickly, and he was stuck just sitting here in limbo, waiting it out. It was making him insane.

  "I expect they need to be fed,” Samin said, peering at Shig with a lift of eyebrows, as though looking for agreement.

  She merely shrugged. “Mm,” she said. And then just stared, blinking slowly. Apparently, she had no intention of being the one to feed them.

  Samin tried to out-stare her for a moment before his mouth clamped into a sour line. “Can you at least tell me nothing's going to happen if I go down for some trays?"

  "Maybe—if I were a seer."

  "Damn it, Shig, this is not the time for your games!” Samin turned scary when he was pissed: his face set itself into cut granite, and his eyes went flinty and flat. “Are we all right or not?"

  Shig sighed, her expression and her stance both drooping just a little. “I'm not a seer, Samin,” Shig said, almost gentle. “I can't tell you what's going to happen."

  So why did Joori get the feeling that she knew anyway? And why was he the only one who seemed to notice that she hadn't actually answered the question?

  Samin's mouth tightened. “Fine,” he growled. “I'll go and collect a tray or two. You.” He jabbed a finger at Shig. “Pay attention. Do whatever it is you do, and watch, understand?"

  Joori was dying to ask exactly what they were supposed to be watching for, but didn't necessarily care. One thing was just as bad as another, he supposed, and danger was danger. Which was all the more reason to get them all the fuck out of here, and the removal of Samin as a blockade was something to be encouraged.

  "I get it, Samin,” Shig replied, her green eyes sharper than Joori thought he'd ever seen them, no amusement in her expression, no dreamy-eyed abstraction. “Go get some lunch."

  Jacin hadn't seemed to be paying much attention, instead slowly making his way over to the door, where his belts and straps and sheaths hung from hooks on the back. He threw the longer ones to dangle loose over his shoulders; the others he bunched into one hand and used his other hand to hold himself up as he carefully made his way back to the clothespress.

  "I would've got those for you if you'd asked,” Joori told him. Jacin might not have even heard him, for all the reaction he offered. Joori watched him flop the belts and sheaths over the knives laid out on top of the press before he began to methodically strap them on. Jaw clamped, Joori looked away and sent a steady look at Samin, who was peering at Jacin with something soft-ish and faintly approving. Joori shook his head. “Is there anything we're supposed to do while you're gone?"

  "Stay here,” Samin rumbled. “And do what Shig tells you."

  Joori merely lifted an eyebrow, his mouth forming into a thin line, his skepticism over being “protected” and possibly ordered around by someone who rarely even spared the attention to follow a conversation purposely plain. Samin ignored it, spared one more dark look to Shig, flipped it over to Jacin, then quit the room with a gruff, “I'll be back anon."

  Silence fell; the occasional slap-and-slide of leather and steel as Jacin armed himself was loud inside it. Joori watched him for a while, watched the sweat build up on his too-pale face, the fine tremor in his fingers, the way his jaw tightened once in a while on a thwarted wince as he tied the butt of a sheath to his thigh with a leather thong to keep it in place. Joori looked away, shaking his head. What did Jacin think he was going to be able to do if they were attacked? He couldn't even walk without limping.

  Joori throttled the urge to say as much, because Jacin wouldn't listen, and it would just piss Joori off more. “What's that ring?” he asked instead. It had been bothering him since he'd spotted it—partly because he knew who had to have given it to Jacin, and what Umeia had said when she'd handed it over to Shig, but mostly because Jacin had obviously accepted it.

  "Yeah,” Morin put in, head tilting to the side in curiosity. Always on the lookout for stirring trouble, Morin. “What is that? Malick give it to you?"

  Predictably, Jacin didn't answer, though Joori couldn't tell if it was because he didn't want to or if he simply hadn't heard the question. He'd seemed rather removed from them all since they'd been herded in, even Caidi, and Joori had seen Jacin sink inside himself and his inner-noise before.

  "Hey!” Morin said, a little louder this time. “Jacin-rei, I asked—"

  "Jacin,” Joori snapped reflexively, probably a little sharper than he should've done, but he was on edge and not in the mood for Morin's shit right now. “Why d'you have to do that?” he wanted to know, angry at too many things, and Morin taking every opportunity to emphasize the suffix of their brother's name had been a kettle set to boil for too many years. “Father's not even here anymore, and nobody else in the world but you calls him Jacin-rei. D'you hate him that much?"

  Morin calmly looked at Jacin, watching him steadily strapping on belts and sheaths then sliding knives into them. “I called him that when I was little,” he told Joori, “because Father demanded it and it pissed you off. I call him that now because it's what he is.” He didn't blush or look away when Joori gaped at him, only shrugged, perhaps a little uncomfortable but not backing down. “I don't hate him,” he went on quietly then went back to watching Jacin, who was still behaving as though he was in the room by himself. “But you've done him no favors by pretending he isn't what he is."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  Morin shook his head. “It doesn't matter, because you'll never see it. You've always refused to look.” A pause, and then Morin again met Joori's gaze squarely. “You're a good brother, Joori. But you're crap at accepting people for what they are."

  Joori was still gaping. Was this some kind of really idiotic and unfunny joke? “Have you lost your small mind? I'm the only one who—"

  "You taught him how to stay sane,” Shig put in quietly. Joori snapped around to stare at her, poleaxed, because even if what she'd said was true, how fucking dare she. This wasn't her family, she had no place in this conversation. She smiled at him, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, and it pissed him off, because she probably did. She shrugged and waved her hand in a vague gesture toward Jacin. “But you also taught him to hope for the impossible. He was always going to be what he is. Pretending he wasn't and convincing him to believe it seems... kinda cruel."

  Joori's mouth flapped, dozens of hot retorts and plenty of vicious profanity accumulating at the back of his throat, vibrating, but Jacin's soft voice stoppered it tight:

  "Shut up, Shig,” Jacin said, quiet and low but fierce, laden with threat. “You've no right to an opinion when it comes to my family.” He turned slowly, his eyes burning out of their bruised hollows like twi
n pits of fiery penury from beneath stringy, uneven fringe. He stared Shig down until she smiled a little.

  "Umeia's coming,” she said, keeping her gaze steady on Jacin. Her smile remained, but she looked... odd now. Strained.

  Shit. Did that mean Umeia was going to try and take them away now? Were they still expected to go with her? They still hadn't been told who they were being “protected” from, and Joori had no idea if they were going to be simply handed over to Umeia and expected to follow after her meekly, or if all this sudden tension was a result of whatever had happened between Malick and Umeia.

  "What does that mean?” Joori asked Shig.

  Strangely, considering his previous silence, Jacin was the one to answer: “It means we're leaving now.” He opened the clothespress and took out a hefty little purse that clinked with promise as he stuffed it down his shirt. “It means we're not waiting for Umeia, we're not depending on Malick, and we're not asking permission. We'll meet the caravan tonight, but we're leaving here now. Get your shoes on."

  "Stunned” was probably a good word for the silence that settled. Probably a good word for the wave of relief and elation that swamped through Joori too. He thought he might be grinning.

  "Yeah?"

  Jacin nodded, said, “Yeah,” and then he limped back over to the door and snagged the long duster that hung on a hook, slipping it on to cover the crisscross of belts and straps that entwined him.

  "You sure you want to do that, Fen?” Shig asked softly. “She's not alone."

  Jacin's mouth tightened, and if possible, his eyes blazed harder. “All the more reason,” he grated. “Malick wants to keep them here. I can't allow that. It's my duty—not theirs."

  Joori scowled. Wait, what duty? And what did Jacin mean by, Malick wants to keep them here? Had Malick broken his promise to get them out safely? Not surprising, really—he was Temshiel, after all—but was Jacin still intending to keep his promise to fucking Malick? Did Jacin still intend to send them away and keep a broken bargain, or was he cutting his losses and coming with them?

  Surprisingly, Shig nodded, her mouth turning down into a gloomy frown. “True,” she said, somewhat sadly. “But the Ancestors told him to."

  "Fuck the Ancestors,” Jacin snapped. “We're getting out of here. Now.” He peered at Shig evenly. “You going to try and stop us?” Challenging. Daring her.

  Joori had no idea how to feel about that. What would happen if it really did come down to a fight? He'd seen Jacin at work before, but he wasn't in very good shape right now, and Shig could do things with her mind. Joori shot quick glances to Caidi and Morin, both of them staring wide-eyed, thankfully quiet and waiting to see how it all shook out, keeping an eye on Jacin for cues.

  Shig sighed, eyes closing and hand coming up to rub distractedly at her forehead. “No,” she murmured. “I wouldn't be able to if I wanted to.” She dropped her hand and leveled an intent gaze on Jacin. Joori was surprised and dismayed to see a small trickle of blood leaking from her left nostril. “Don't forget what you are, Fen Jacin-rei. Don't forget what any of them are.” And then her eyes rolled back, and she slid down the wall into a heap on the floor.

  Caidi gave a little meep! but stayed where she was, her huge hazel eyes going from Shig to Joori to Jacin then back again.

  Jacin watched Shig's descent with abrupt alarm, breathed, “Shit,” then jerked his chin at Joori and swung the door open. “Move. Now. Go get their shoes and—"

  "No need to panic, lad,” Umeia said calmly, her shapely figure framed in the open doorway. She held a crutch in her hand—the irony of it thoroughly stunting any sense Joori might have made of it, and any gratitude he might have had for it otherwise. Her eyes slid to the knives Jacin had unsheathed and clenched tight in his fists, then up to his face. She shook her head, grimaced. “You look better,” she told him.

  Jacin growled, low and threatening. “What did you do to Shig?"

  "Worried about her, are you? You don't even like her.” Umeia's gaze went to the huddled heap on the floor across the room. “Nothing too serious,” she assured Jacin. “Unfortunately, I caught Samin on the steps, but he's only got a bump on the head. Well, that and your lunch all over his trousers. Van and Bone are trying to move him now, but he's rather large, so....” She shrugged. “They'll both be fine. I only needed them out for a while."

  "Why?” Jacin asked, all slit-eyed hostility.

  "You already know why,” Umeia said, her demeanor more brisk and commanding than it had been just a second ago. “Malick wants to keep them here, doesn't he? You don't want it, and I can't allow it. I'm getting you all out.” She shot a look at Joori. “Do as your brother told you. Get ready to leave. There's not much time."

  Joori looked at Jacin, waiting, because he wasn't about to trust any of these people, no matter that what he was hearing now seemed to be exactly what he'd been wanting since... ever. Jacin just looked back at him, then gave his head a little jerk toward the door—permission; command—so Joori chivvied Morin and Caidi off the bed and out of the room. He paused in the doorway and then turned to Jacin. “We go together. Right?"

  Because he knew bloody well that Jacin had had no intention of leaving with them before all of... whatever all this was.

  "Not now, Joori,” was all Jacin said, and since Caidi was already halfway down the hallway and Morin was staring at him with something between blame and gloom, Joori decided to leave it until he saw what happened next. Because what choice did he have?

  With one last look at Shig crumpled on the floor, Joori followed Caidi down the hall to the room they'd been loaned. Caidi already had her shoes and cloak on, busy now collecting what few things they'd removed from the packs and sacks and shoving them wherever she found room. “Is Umeia-onna taking us somewhere good?” She picked up the porcelain doll Samin had bought her, her heart-shaped little face twisted in real concern. “Is Samin-seyh hurt? It sounded like he's hurt. Should we ask her? Is he coming too? We're not going to leave Shig-onna on the floor, are we? Won't Malick-seyh be mad if we leave while he's—?"

  "Caidi.” Joori dragged on a pair of Jacin's boots and caught up his cloak and Morin's. “Let's just go now, and we'll talk about all of that on the way, all right?” Because any second now she was going to ask about Yori, and Joori was doing everything he could not to wonder if he'd ever see her again.

  "On the way where?” Morin put in. “Does Jacin-rei trust her?"

  Joori ignored the “rei” because there wasn't time right now. He threw Morin's cloak at him and swung the sack Caidi had loaded over his shoulder. “I doubt it, but he won't let anything bad happen."

  Morin pulled the cloak on, then took one of the smaller packs and settled it over Caidi's shoulders before taking the bigger one for himself. “You really think he can stop a determined Temshiel?” he muttered, dubious.

  Joori wasn't sure of anything right now, so he didn't answer. “Let's go,” he said. He pushed Morin out the door and waited for Caidi to trot past him before taking a quick look around the little room that wasn't home but almost could have been. He left the room and shut the door behind him, deliberately not thinking.

  Jacin and Umeia were waiting for them in the hall, engaged in a low-voiced conversation that didn't look terribly friendly.

  "...know all that,” Jacin was growling. “Did you think I was a fucking idiot? I know what Malick is, I know what Asai is, and I know what I have to do."

  Umeia was looking at him with what looked like real sadness in her eyes. “And I can't change your mind?” she asked him softly. “You don't have to do this, lad."

  "Yeah,” Jacin said. “She's my mother, so yeah, I do."

  "Do what?” Joori asked as he herded Caidi and Morin in front of him. Because as horrible a person as it might make him, he was willing to sacrifice their mother if it meant getting them all out of here safely. And he only prevented himself from sinking into dark guilt and self-rebuke because he knew damned well that their mother would ask the same of him, if she could.


  Jacin clamped his mouth shut and looked away, sending an angry gaze down the steps. Umeia merely stared at Jacin for a long moment, shook her head, and shut her eyes. Again, it looked like she was genuinely sad about something, but with all the confusion under which he'd been flailing since Malick and Yori had bolted out of here, Joori had no idea what to make of any of it.

  "So be it,” Umeia said. She tipped a nod at Joori. “Help him with the steps."

  Jacin wouldn't let him help. And he knocked the crutch out of Umeia's hand with a sneer, glaring as it clattered to the floor. Umeia only looked at it with a lift of her eyebrow, shrugged, and waved at the steps. Jacin descended more slowly than he would've done a few days ago, but he was steadier than Joori would have thought he'd be. Either he'd been overdoing the limp before to fool Shig and Samin, or he was underdoing it now to fool Umeia. Joori had no idea which, or why Jacin would do either, but it showed that Jacin was thinking, planning, and it gave Joori hope.

  Joori had expected to be stared at as they went. The “lads and ladies” were all up and about now, socializing with each other or be-robed and headed for the baths. But no one seemed to even notice them. It wasn't like that night when Malick had got them through the Gates—there was no swell of magic, no vertigo or lingering high. It was just a complete lack of notice on the parts of everyone around them. Umeia's magic, Joori had to assume, though he hadn't known she could do something like this. Then again, she was Temshiel, and what did he really know about their limits?—if they even had any.

  The back stairs past the kitchens still had evidence of the spilled trays Samin must have been carrying—rice and noodles everywhere on the landing—but there was no sign of Samin himself. Joori was surprised to find himself hoping Samin would be all right. Besides Yori, Joori thought he probably liked Samin the most out of any of these people. Straightforward and... what? Honorable, maybe. Or at least as honorable as an assassin could be, Joori supposed.

  Umeia laid a hand on the handle of the door at the bottom of the stairs, the one that led in from the back alley. She turned to look at Jacin as she swung the door open. “I'm sorry, lad. But you won't listen, and I can't take any more chances."