And Joori couldn't even stand to think it, let alone tolerate it. He might disapprove of the hold Malick had on Jacin, he might worry over it and try to weaken it a little, but it was nowhere near as destructive as the hold Asai still had. For pity's sake, Jacin still talked to the slimy bastard like Asai was standing in the room with him. At least Malick actually cared about Jacin. Even if he didn't know how to do it right. And if Malick had somehow managed to get Jacin kil—
No. He wouldn't think it. Couldn't. Not after everything they'd already lost. And Jacin wouldn't dare risk himself like that. He knew what it would do to Joori to lose him too. Sometimes Joori thought it was the only thing keeping Jacin alive.
"Jacin,” Joori whispered, face pressed into the wood, hand flat against it. “Please. Open the door. Please be in there."
"Is everyone here all right?” Samin's voice. Thank the gods.
Joori spun, heart hammering and breath coming in truncated little gasps. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been wound, but when he saw Samin standing in the hallway, Jacin halfway behind him, both of them eyeing Joori a little warily, his knees almost gave. The blood registered a half a second later, and some odd little part of Joori's mind wondered if any of it was Malick's, but he wouldn't dare voice it. Nor would he dare voice the things ramming around in his head and his chest right now—the accusations, the rebuke, the how could you?—because Jacin had that dazed, blank-eyed look to him, and Joori needed to get rid of it, quick, before it set in and stayed. As much as Joori hated to admit it, Malick did keep Jacin in the present most of the time, chased away the “ghosts” Jacin spoke to more than he spoke to even Joori, and now that Malick was... gone, the job would fall to Joori.
"Yeah, we're fine,” Joori answered. He looked both Jacin and Samin over thoroughly, noted the blood and the slash marks on Samin, but chose not to mention it right now. Jacin looked bloody, too, but unhurt, and cold or not, that was what mattered to Joori. He liked Samin, but Samin could and did take care of himself. He liked Malick well enough, too, but Malick had thought he could take care of Jacin and he'd just been proven incontrovertibly wrong.
It was better this way, though Joori wouldn't say it out loud. Joori could give Malick credit for caring and for trying, but Malick didn't know everything he thought he knew. For some things, Jacin needed Joori. Joori wouldn't go so far as to agree with any of the bullshit Shig had spouted, but yeah, it might be better all around if Joori could have Jacin to himself for a little while. And if Malick never came back, best to get used to the idea now. The last thing Jacin needed was to let himself become dependent on a grand anticipated homecoming that never came. Or another immortal with intentions of which no one could ever really be sure.
"There's, um....” Samin cleared his throat, stared at Joori with a strange hesitancy that didn't look right on him, then looked down. “Malick—"
"We know,” Joori said, softly, and mostly to spare Samin the chore of having to say it. “Shig knew. She said he told her."
Samin nodded, no surprise on his face, just a slump to his shoulders and a fatigue in his blue eyes that made him look older. “His wards are gone. They were banpair, and we think they were after—"
He broke off abruptly when Jacin jostled into his side, like he was trying to shove Samin out of the way to get by. Samin stared at him, but Jacin merely sidled between Samin and the wall and turned to stand beside Joori with his back to the door of his room. Blinked.
Samin cleared his throat again. “I don't know how safe it is here.” He paused and stared at Jacin; strangely, it looked as if he was looking for guidance. When Jacin didn't say anything, Samin went on, “I want us all in the same room. Yours and Morin's is the biggest, so it should be there. I'll keep the watch."
Banpair and blood and keeping watch—danger! shrieked beneath every word spoken in Samin's calm voice, but Joori only nodded. “Sure, yeah, that sounds—"
"I want to be alone."
Joori didn't think he'd ever get used to Jacin's raspy voice, but even through the strain, Joori had no trouble at all hearing the inflexibility in the tone. He stared at Jacin—the hollow nothing in his eyes, the spatters of blood going to brown on his face, his hands, the knives strapped all over him like prickly armor. Joori looked back at Samin and silently shook his head.
Apparently, Samin hadn't needed the hint. He set his jaw. “No.” Clear and flat. “No one's alone right now, Fen, and especially not—” He cut himself off, shot a glance to Joori then back at Jacin, gaze softening, but his tone was unmoved when he went on, “They'll want to know what happened. Would you like to tell them, or shall I?"
And why was Joori detecting the tiniest hint of threat in the even question? He narrowed his eyes between them, watching the silent argument fly back and forth across the plush hallway. Something was going on, something Samin had almost said and Jacin wanted to make damned sure he didn't.
"They were after you,” Joori said, throat tight, because he knew Jacin, and knowing Jacin, it wasn't hard to figure out what he didn't want Samin to say. Joori set his jaw, looked at Jacin straight, but Jacin was still staring at Samin. “Weren't they, Jacin?” Still, Jacin remained silent, the gaze that had sharpened momentarily on Samin now going dull again, withdrawn. It was almost a physical pulling away, and Joori had to restrain himself from laying hands on Jacin to prevent it. “Why would banpair be after you?"
He stood there, waiting, because Jacin could be stubborn, but so could Joori. Joori had been letting Jacin get away with not saying things lately, because he found out more when he eavesdropped on Jacin and his “ghosts” than from anything Jacin might actually tell him, but Joori wasn't letting it go this time. He knew what the stories said about banpair, and though he didn't think he believed in them wholly, every myth and legend he'd ever heard had started somewhere in truth. And he'd had enough experience now with Temshiel and maijin to know you couldn't trust magical beings for even a second, let alone the ones who were said to actually eat people. At least that blood all over Samin and Jacin meant that, whatever these banpair really were, they could be hurt.
"Jacin,” Joori said, through his teeth and as harsh as he could make it, “I want to know what—"
It lodged in his throat when Samin all at once turned into a blur of brown and flashing blade, spinning to his left, sword raised and teeth bared. Bloody hell, he looked scary like that. Jacin, too, with his dead eyes and vicious snarl, blooded knives in his fists and body tense. They were like a pair of pissed-off jackals.
Apparently, the newcomer who'd been approaching from the stairway agreed. The woman stopped, just cresting the top step. She held out her hands, palms out, and put on a calm smile.
"Your pardon,” she said, voice somewhat lilting, gold eyes placid in her striking face, the light-brown tone of her skin almost making them flash out through the dim light of the hallway.
Temshiel—Joori knew it just by the almost unreal perfection of the features. Or maijin, maybe. Joori couldn't tell the difference between them with just a look—they all hid behind beautiful faces. Arrogant lot, they were.
"You are Kel-seyh, I should imagine,” the woman said with a low nod to Samin. And then she looked between Joori and Jacin, almost bowed this time, but not quite. “Fen-seyh. Fen-seyh.” She straightened. “I am Imara of Wolf. I come at Kamen's request.” She gestured at the door, where Morin and Shig had slatted it open and were peeking through the narrow opening. “Might we speak?"
* * * *
Morin had been out and about with Samin several times since they'd come to Tambalon. He'd seen people of different color before. Mitsu was fairly diverse, and though Morin's own olive skin was darker than most here, he'd been rather fascinated by the new knowledge that people came in more colors than what he'd seen in the Jin camp where he'd lived for all but a few months of his life. The contrast between the Jin prisoners and the Adan who guarded them was sometimes hard to see, if one only looked at physical features; sometimes you had to look at the eyes, lo
ok for the defeated notes in the gaze of a Jin to see the difference. Even in his brief experiences in Ada, Morin hadn't seen so many distinctions as he had in two weeks in Mitsu. Some pale as ghosts and fair-haired, like that Tatsu, or dark as night, like Sora, but Mitsu was like a big, earth-toned rainbow, every color in the limited spectrum represented.
He'd never seen anyone like this woman. Skin a light brown that Morin distractedly named “cinnamon,” but with an almost russet underlay that gave her skin tone a burnished depth that almost had its own darkling glow. Her black hair was cut straight to the shoulders and slicked back so that her sharp gold eyes shone out like lamps. A wolf's eyes, Morin couldn't help thinking.
He'd be willing to bet this one didn't need to expend a whole lot of Temshiel magic to get mortals to do anything she wanted—all she had to do was point those eyes at someone and they'd fall over themselves to hand her things she didn't even need to ask for.
"...do we even know you're who you say you are?” Joori, suspicious and territorial as ever. “And if you're from Wolf, why didn't we see you when everything went to shit in Ada? Don't you people help each other?"
They'd filed in from the hall, Imara first, with Jacin and Samin keeping sharp eyes on her the whole while. Imara seemed to be trying very hard to make herself unthreatening, seating herself in Shig's chair, her back to the door, where Jacin leaned with his hands hovering over his knife sheaths. Joori and Morin sat to either side of Imara, with Shig across the card-strewn table and Samin behind her, ostensibly casual, but he made sure his right hand was free and the tethers on his scabbard were loose. The fact that Imara had healed all of the wounds Samin had accumulated tonight with a single touch to his shoulder didn't seem to have put Samin in a more trusting mood. Morin did not smirk.
Imara smiled, soft and kind, and set a hand gently to Joori's shoulder like they were old friends. “I was forbidden from Ada by Wolf himself. When one of our own was murdered, all of Wolf's were forbidden from Ada.” She angled a look over her shoulder and peered levelly at Jacin; Jacin only stared blankly back. “The matter of the Catalyst was for Kamen, and Kamen alone. What Fen Jacin is and has always been is now a matter for Wolf."
That got a twitch out of Jacin. Imara narrowed her eyes a little, but when she turned back to Joori, her smile was as soft as it had been before.
"No Temshiel or maijin could have possibly been as valuable to Fate and to the Jin as the Paradox and the Key that was set in Kamen's hand. I don't know how the tale will be told in the annals of Jin history, but Fen Joori is a name known by all the gods and their servants."
Even if it was complete bullshit—and Morin didn't think it was, actually—it had a definite effect on Joori. He flushed a little, eyes glittering, and looked away.
Morin almost snorted. And Malick thought he had charisma.
The thought sobered Morin. Up until Imara had shown up, he'd been telling himself that maybe Shig had been wrong. She didn't have her spirits, after all, so how could she know? Except it was too easy to believe that Malick had found a way to make sure they knew, put them on their guard, once he knew he wouldn't be there to protect Jacin. Because Joori could say whatever he wanted, but Morin knew that Jacin was everything to Malick. You didn't even have to be terribly observant to see it, and you only had to know Jacin for a little while to see it was the same for him. Except Jacin was killing himself trying to fight it. A struggle that Joori was only encouraging and confusing, when, really, it could've been a lot less angsty and overwrought than it was turning out to be. And all of this uproar tonight was only going to make it worse. The last thing Jacin needed was more confusion. Malick's sudden absence, just when Jacin was starting to let himself believe a little, was only going to cast doubt where it didn't need to be.
"...brother has been through enough.” Joori had apparently decided to ignore the charm and show his claws. “If I'd known Malick was planning on dragging him into this whole banpair thing in the first place, I would have put a stop to it."
Morin shot a look over at Jacin, just to see if that got any reaction, but it didn't. Jacin just kept staring blankly, though his hands kept flexing and fisting over the hilts of his knives, and it looked like he was trying very hard not to twitch.
"If it hadn't been for Malick,” Joori went on, “they wouldn't even know Jacin existed."
"I think you're wrong there, Joori,” Samin put in. “They were waiting for us. They knew we were coming, and they waited, gave us a fight to get our measure and then struck like cowards from the shadows. I can't wait to see how pissed Malick is that he got it in the back and that the only blaze of glory came from his own improvised pyre.” He shook his head at Imara. “Malick said they had magic he couldn't do much with. In my opinion, they were purposely getting Malick out of the way, trying to get at....” He trailed off and shot an uncomfortable glance at Jacin.
"So, then.” Imara sighed and slumped back a little. “They know what Fen Jacin is."
"What d'you mean, ‘what he is'?” Morin couldn't help blurting. “Get Malick out of the way for what?” He looked again at Jacin, but there was still no reaction. “Jacin was Untouchable but now he's not anymore. Joori's right—if they were after Jacin, it had to be because they were after Malick.” He peered around at all of them, letting his gaze rest on Samin. “Right?"
"What difference does it make?” Joori snapped. “Whatever it was, Malick dragged Jacin into it, and Jacin has no business or reason to take it any further. If they wanted Malick, they got him. If they wanted Jacin, it was because of Malick and they can't have him.” He turned to Jacin, eyes hopeful, almost pleading. “Jacin, we're done, understand? We'll find a way to get some money, and we'll leave. There is no reason for you to get dragged into whatever Malick's business was with those... whatever they were. We'll go where they can't find you, and we'll start over. All right?"
Morin rubbed at his brow.
For pity's sake, they'd risked their souls for one another. How blind did a person have to be? Morin could understand it with Jacin—because, really, how rational could he expect Jacin to be, after everything?—but there was no excuse for it from Joori. Well, there was, but not one that would help in the scheme of things.
Knowing Malick would come back wasn't going to do it for Jacin—all of this was going to hit him a hell of a lot harder than Morin thought Joori suspected, and probably sooner rather than later. If Morin knew Jacin, this threat of banpair coming for him for who-knew-what reason this time wasn't going to be much of a threat. In Morin's opinion, and with the state Jacin was in right now, they could set Jacin loose on the entire coven and he'd plow through every one of them, just on the tails of the anger and betrayal too obviously ramming around inside him right this minute. Joori was terrified, Morin could hear it in the stridency of his arguments, but Joori just couldn't seem to acknowledge how bloody good Jacin was at what he did. Or the fact that Jacin might want to do what was being implied. For Malick, yeah, but for himself too.
Morin couldn't tell what Imara was thinking. She didn't have that smirky fuck you look to her that Malick always got when Joori was being a prick. She simply peered around at all of them, her sharp gold eyes set in her smooth skin making her look like something that had just stepped out of some artist's conception of what Temshiel should look like. Morin never really thought of Malick as Temshiel, because he always seemed so... normal. The only time Morin had to acknowledge what Malick really was, was when he tripped over Malick's magic and didn't have much of a choice. This Imara just oozed Temshiel, even when she wasn't trying to.
It should have been comforting, what with Imara professing to have come to protect them in Malick's place. Instead, it made Morin vaguely uneasy.
As if she knew—and maybe she did—Imara lifted an eyebrow at Morin, tipped him a small, ironic smile, and shrugged. She turned to Joori. “I think, Fen Joori, that perhaps there are matters of which you are unaware.” She paused and turned a mild look over to Jacin, but when Jacin didn't react—still�
��Imara shifted her glance to everyone else. “Fen Jacin—"
"I'm leaving,” Jacin cut in, then, before anyone could even blink or protest, he spun, threw open the door and walked out. They were all still staring at the door when they heard the one to Jacin's room open then slam shut. The abrupt silence was so thick they heard the lock turn and catch from across the hall.
Joori jolted up, meaning to go after him, no doubt, and this time, Morin couldn't blame him. He'd just been arguing less than an hour ago that if Jacin had wanted to kill himself, he would have found a way, despite any precautions. But things had changed rather drastically since then.
"Be still.” Imara set a hand to Joori's wrist and stopped him. Joori's mouth pulled back in an indignant snarl, but before he could snap out a reply, Imara told him, “Be still, Fen Joori. I will see to it."
Shadows swirled around her, and then she was gone.
* * * *
"I told you, little Ghost."
Jacin watched Asai stroll around the room, inspecting the press and the clutter of belts and small knives strewn over it that Malick had dragged out before and eschewed in favor of the garrote and sword. Asai shook his head, peered into the brass plate bolted to the wall over the press, and smoothed his hair. He turned to Jacin, smiling, soft and condescending.
"This wouldn't have had to happen, if you'd listened to your beishin. When will you learn?"
Jacin had to let the gasp loose, he had to—he was already getting lightheaded trying to keep his breathing normal, and everything was spangling at the edges of his vision. Jacin shut his eyes.
"You're not real. You're dead. I killed you myself."
He'd gone completely crazy, that was it. He'd started with voices, and now he'd progressed to hallucinations.
"Yes, and I must say how very disappointed I was in you.” Asai tutted. Jacin imagined he was shaking his head in that mock-sorrowful way he had, but refused to open his eyes and look. “You fell under Kamen's spell, little Ghost, that's all. I don't suppose you can be blamed entirely. I should have taught you more about the duplicity of Temshiel. But he's out of the way, and we can move on to what's important to us. You still have the ring, yes?"
Wolf's-own: Koan Page 15