A touch to Jacin's cheek, long, soft fingers stroking over the bristle on his jaw.
Oh, fuck. It wasn't just a voice inside his head this time—Beishin was real. He was here. Touching, when he'd never have touched before.
The others couldn't see him, blithely unaware while Asai whispered in Jacin's ear as they all nattered about what had happened, what was going to happen, what should happen, while Jacin was busy trying not to scream every time Beishin smiled at him or spoke to him in that deep, soothing voice.
Damn it, Jacin was armed, he had knives strapped all over him. Why couldn't he make himself draw one?
"Fen Jacin?"
Jacin jolted, eyes popping open, all unwilling, because if he looked, he'd have to acknowledge, and then he'd know he'd gone completely off the jump. Damn it, it wasn't fair—if he was going to be driven insane, he should at least get the mercy of oblivion to go with it. No one should have to know they were this crazy.
"Fen Jacin?” Imara repeated, all sympathetic topaz eyes and soft tones. Here, standing in front of him, except he hadn't let her in, and maybe she was a hallucination too—how would he be able to tell? “Are you well?” she asked softly.
Jacin could only shake his head and turn his glance to Asai, standing solidly right next to him, his fingertips gliding along the jut of Jacin's cheekbone. Trying very hard not to actually whimper, Jacin looked back at Imara.
"Are you real?” Because he was standing in front of a locked door, and she certainly hadn't come through it, but she was Temshiel, so he had no idea if a lock meant a damned thing.
Imara's eyebrow went up. “I am quite real,” she assured him, bemused.
Jacin licked dry lips. “Do you see... anything?"
Because if even a Temshiel couldn't see Asai, when she used her magic to look, that would mean Asai wasn't real, which would still mean Jacin was crazy, but he thought he could take that more easily than he could take Asai being alive. No one had been able to hear Asai before except Jacin, not even Malick, so if they couldn't see him, that would make some kind of fucked-up sense. But Jacin hadn't actually seen him before, either, Asai hadn't been real, not until Malick had—
Oh, fuck.
Malick, what am I supposed to do now, you bastard?
"See what?” Imara asked.
Jacin swallowed and clenched his teeth tight, trying to ignore Asai's too-real touch, but he was touching, and it was pretty hard not to notice. “I....” Jacin choked it off—not because he didn't want to ask it, but because his throat was closing up. He couldn't breathe. “I... Asai, he... oh, fuck.” He turned to Asai, raw desperation. “Why can't they see you?"
Asai merely smiled, reached out again then shook his head sadly when Jacin flinched away, nearly cringed. “Because I do not wish it,” he said.
"Don't,” Jacin breathed, thin and brittle. “Please, Beishin. Don't."
"Don't what, little Ghost?"
"Don't....” Jacin's mouth flapped, air sucking frantically in, but it couldn't seem to get down to his lungs. “Don't... be."
Worry etched itself over Imara's face, then annoyance when the pounding on the door at Jacin's back started. Jacin almost shrieked. He startled away from the door and stumbled sideways, but Asai was right there, so he pulled up short.
"Jacin?” Joori's voice. “Jacin, what's—?"
"He is fine, Fen Joori,” Imara answered, command in her tone, her eyes narrowed and pinned to Jacin as Jacin twitched and shook and backed away helplessly from Asai's advance and right into the door again.
"Ah, your beloved twin,” Asai said, his smile cruel now, his dark eyes hard. “Ever the watchful terrier, trying so hard to own and protect.” He stopped right in front of Jacin, leaned in. “You will only get him killed too, little Ghost. And then what?"
Just like Mother and Caidi and Yori, and....
Where was Caidi? Asai's mocking had always faded to the background before when Caidi came, so where was she when Jacin really needed her? And where was Malick, because Malick made Asai go away entirely, and Jacin really needed Asai to go away, except, oh yeah, Malick wouldn't be coming to chase Asai away, Malick had gone up in a burst of flame, his bones probably still smoldering out on the street, and maybe Jacin would start seeing Malick's ghost, too, because why not, Jacin had been a Ghost himself all his life, so why was he—
"Poor, poor little Ghost,” Asai whispered, his breath hot on Jacin's cheek, and Jacin flinched so hard he almost went over sideways against the door.
"Malick,” Jacin wheezed, but it was wasted breath, because Malick wasn't here, Malick was gone, Malick was dead, and Jacin hadn't really known how much he'd depended on the safety of Malick until the safety was suddenly not there anymore. “Caidi, please."
"They can't hear you, lad,” Asai told him. “They're dead. You killed them."
"I—” Jacin wanted to say he hadn't, but he couldn't shove the words past the grating blockage in his throat. “I don't want you here,” he said instead. “Go away, go away."
Imara said something then, but Jacin couldn't hear it—Asai's voice was filling up his head, making it pound.
"When has what you wanted ever meant a thing, Ghost?” Asai's tone had gone hard, deliberately cruel in a way Jacin had only heard it once. “You have failed at everything you've wanted, everything you've tried. You need your beishin to tell you what you want."
The pain was so great it was like Asai had just driven a knife into Jacin's chest. Jacin's eyes popped wide as he tried to suck in air.
"Caidi?” he called, rough and shaky, more of a gasp, really, but it made Imara peer at him sharply and lift an eyebrow. Jacin shook his head, trying to swallow a lumpy sob that was stuck at the bottom of his throat. “She isn't here,” he told Imara. “Asai comes and Caidi makes him quieter, but she's not here and he won't... he keeps... I don't want him here, I swear I don't want him here, but Malick's the only one who can make him go away, and Malick... he... he—"
"Fen Jacin, I don't see—"
"He's right there!” Jacin cried. He couldn't even lift his arm to point, because Asai was too close, and Jacin didn't want to touch him on purpose. “Can't you see him? Can't you... can't you make him stop?"
"You see Asai?” Imara's gaze had gone intense, her expression wary. “Here? Now?"
"Yes,” Jacin snarled. “I... no....” Fuck, he didn't know.
"Jacin!” came from the other side of the door, urgent, accompanied by more pounding, enough to rattle up Jacin's backbone. “Jacin, open this door or I'll get Samin to break it down!"
"Such drama,” Asai said with a tsk and a sigh. “Must you parade your aberrant nature so?"
"I wasn't—” Jacin cut off the protest. Because talking back had only ever encouraged Asai. Yeah, that was it, Jacin had talked back, had answered, and that had made Asai more real, and if Jacin just stopped believing....
There were new voices out in the hall now, a harsh reprimand in a voice Jacin didn't recognize, then Joori snapping something back.
"There, now,” Asai said, mouth pinched. “You've woken the inn."
"Joori,” Jacin breathed, then he shut his eyes, because everything was going to sparkles and he couldn't get enough air in his lungs to shout or scream, and calling for Malick wasn't going to do any good. “Joori,” because Malick was gone, he'd left, he'd died, like they all did, and that bed only feet away—where Malick had given Jacin comfort and quiet and safety for a little while—was looking more and more like a yawning abyss through Jacin's spangling vision. “Beishin, please,” because what else could he say, what else could he do but beg the man he'd loved and killed and damned to the earth, plead with him for... fuck, Jacin didn't even know, just... not this, whatever fresh hell this was where everyone left and those who didn't got taken away, and those who deserved their damnation came back to haunt you and drive you—
"Fen Jacin!” Imara shook him until he opened his eyes, gasping in sharp, shallow breaths, because his chest wouldn't expand and his throat wouldn't un
clog.
Jacin flung his gaze wildly around the room, made himself believe it was empty but for him and this Temshiel who didn't belong here, in this room where Malick was supposed to—
"Oh, fuck,” Jacin rasped. “Malick. Oh, fuck."
Not some surreal nightmare from which he couldn't wake—Malick was gone, Asai had been right in front of Jacin, touching him, and now this strange Temshiel was looking at him like he was scary crazy, and he couldn't deny it, because he could actually feel his mind teetering on some brink like it was a physical thing.
The scraping of the key in the lock right next to Jacin's hip was too loud, shattering through his head like he was standing inside a giant bell. His nerves were sentient things, juddering over his skin in wire-tight little spasms, threading out from where Imara gripped his arms and raising gooseflesh all over him.
The door shoved at Jacin from behind, Joori's voice still calling to him, but Jacin couldn't really hear it anymore, couldn't understand what he did hear, just found the sense in the word as Joori spoke his name and let Imara pull him away from the door. Joori almost fell through it, face frantic, hair sticking to a slightly sweaty brow, eyes both livid and frightened. A man and a woman in the uniform of Mitsu's Patrol were behind him, and Jacin had a brief moment of dismay when he realized what that likely meant, but Joori ignored them and pushed himself into the room. He went immediately for Jacin and pulled him away from Imara, looking Jacin over like he was afraid Imara had been trying to steal body parts. And then he peered closely into Jacin's eyes, narrowed his own.
"Jacin,” he breathed and set his hand to Jacin's cheek, and it was so like Asai's touch that Jacin had to flinch back from it, he had no choice. “What the hell?"
Samin bullied his way in and demanded, “You all right, Fen?” with a suspicious cut of his glance toward Imara.
Jacin wanted to reply, wanted to say no, he wasn't all right, and it had nothing to do with Imara, but he still couldn't breathe, and even if he could, he wasn't sure what kind of gibberish might come out of his mouth if he tried to speak. He peered nervously over Samin's shoulder at the Patrol, wondering if he should just let them take him away, lock him up, take away the choices he didn't know what to do with anyway, put him someplace where he couldn't hurt anyone just by existing and where a dead man he used to love couldn't haunt him.
...Or maybe that would only trap him in some dark cell where he couldn't get away from the haunting.
Luckily, the whimper got snagged in his throat, along with all the air his lungs were trying to suck in and not quite getting.
"This is Fen Jacin-rei?” the woman asked, mouth pinching down into a skeptical frown.
Joori scowled. “It's Jacin. And I told you to wait in the hall. Or better yet, go away entirely, can't you see we're a little busy right now?"
The woman ignored him, shot a look to the man who'd apparently come with her, and shook her head when he shrugged. She turned to Jacin.
"Fen Jacin.” She looked him over with a small frown. “Goyo of Snake and counselor to the Patrol has some questions for you about the events of this evening. Please come along.” She peered about, somewhat warily. “Is one of you Kel Saminil?"
Jacin only heard Joori's indignant, “What? It's the middle of the bloody night!” from a distance. The blood pounding through his own ears was much louder, the glitter and flash around the edges of his vision too distracting. Because there was Asai again, standing right behind Imara, watching Jacin, smiling at him.
Jacin's lips were numb. So were his fingertips. His chest had gone so tight that the concept of breathing had taken on a meaning that was almost academic.
Imara's steady stare was what Jacin latched onto, because it was the only thing that was static besides Asai's mocking dark gaze. Imara looked right at Jacin, calm and unwavering, the vivid topaz of her eyes like some kind of anchor. Jacin had time to think that they were the same color of the bottle Malick's uzin had come in, that night back in Ada when Jacin had tried and failed to get drunk, and instead had fallen into the morass that was Malick and the shattered remnants of his own life. And then he had time to notice that the air had thickened and his throat had closed off completely, then, Oh shit, I think I'm going to pass out like a hysterical little girl, and everything just... went away.
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Chapter Five
Kamen, Imara thought with a weary sigh, when you come back, I'm going to kill you again
Just what exactly had Kamen been doing all this time?
"So, when are you going to tell me what's really going on here?” Fen Joori asked. Hostile. Suspicious. Imara couldn't really blame him.
With a stifled growl, Imara rechecked the wards she'd set in place last night as she'd shuffled the Patrol off with excuses and high-handed commands, and a grudging promise that she would see that the Incendiary was brought to the Statehouse tomorrow. Today. The suns were already rising. She sighed, glanced over at the bed, and pursed her lips.
"When I understand it fully myself,” she replied.
She'd thought it best last night to keep watch over Fen Jacin herself. The one called Kojoi Shig—the one with the mark of the spirits almost blazing out from her soul—had bullied the younger brother out the door, and Kel Saminil had kept the watch across the hall. The twin, this Fen Joori, had refused to be moved from his brother's side and slumped now, trying not to let bloodshot eyes drift closed, propped against the headboard of the bed where the Incendiary lay unconscious. Imara had been afraid for a while last night that the potion Fen Jacin submissively—indeed, dazedly—allowed Kel Saminil to pour down his throat wasn't going to work, but it seemed like it had finally kicked in. Perhaps she could put Goyo off a little longer; he could hardly question the Incendiary if the Incendiary was drugged unconscious, right? Imara couldn't even detect any dreams.
Then again, she supposed she wouldn't. If Kamen's magic hadn't been able to penetrate the void that was Fen Jacin, Imara didn't imagine her own stood much of a chance. Though Imara had the finesse of years and knowledge, while Kamen had blunt power and the brass to use it. Not much of a match in an actual fight, but for something like this....
Perhaps.
"If you don't understand it,” Fen Joori pressed, “why should we trust you to protect him?"
Imara tried not to roll her eyes. “Because at the moment, you seem to have little choice."
Fen Joori's lip curled but he went silent. Thank the gods. Honestly, did these people think she had nothing better...? No, she wasn't going to let herself bow to the antagonism. She would remember that they had every right to suspicion. And she would remember that this was the earth-bound who'd released the Ancestors and sent them home, and that Wolf had marked him. A Jin imprisoned all his life by the Adan, and what had Temshiel or maijin ever done for his people in his lifetime but use and hurt them? Well, besides Kamen, of course, but if Imara was reading Fen Joori correctly, Kamen was only a little higher in his esteem than Asai. Which, she had no doubt, pleased Kamen immensely.
A smirk threatened.
"He's had enough,” Fen Joori said quietly, fingers idly teasing at his brother's hair. “You saw him. He can't take much more.” His voice had a note of pleading beneath the resentment.
Imara eyed Fen Jacin, still fully dressed and sprawled diagonally across the bed he apparently shared with Kamen, face pressed into the pillow and arm flung out as Kel Saminil had left him. He hadn't stirred, not even when his brother tried to reposition him once or twice. Imara's gaze was critical, assessing, catching too frequently on the small braid that wound tangled hair back from Fen Jacin's face. It made Imara shake her head, half-wondering and half-aghast, considering what a braid had meant to this once-Untouchable. Who would choose to wear such a reminder?
Pretty, in the Jin way, all high cheekbones and sharp features, echoed and yet somehow softened in his brother, even though Fen Joori's expression was locked in enmity, and Fen Jacin's relaxed in sleep. Still, though, Imara could
see what had caught Kamen's eye. Kamen had always been one for aesthetics. Imara didn't think that was all it was, though. Something else had snared Kamen like a man seduced to shipwreck by the call of a siren. He was such a predictably easy mark for the sort of tragedy that lived inside Fen Jacin. It probably called to Kamen at least as strongly as the voice of his own god. And what Imara had seen last night did not fill her with confidence.
Kamen and his damsels. Idiot.
"Yes,” she finally answered softly and met Fen Joori's wary gaze for a moment before turning her own out the window again. “I can see that Fen Jacin is... strained.” Which was putting it very, very kindly.
Bloody hell, what was Wolf thinking, setting Kamen to this in the first place? A pup still, really, all wagging tail and slobbering grin, until you crossed him and then the teeth came out, snapping with too little thought. Not settled enough yet, surely, to make of this once-Untouchable what Wolf obviously wanted. Kamen was only half-molded himself; how could he be expected to cast another in the shapes his god desired?—this other. Because this young man, lying dead-asleep and still as stone, was the embodiment of why the Incendiary had been deemed too dangerous in the first place.
This could not be the same Untouchable who'd mown through Court officials in Ada and then removed Asai's heart from his chest. This Fen Jacin could not be the soul chosen by Wolf to redefine the role of Incendiary and move the world to his whims.
Except that he was.
"So... what's your power, anyway?"
Imara turned to Fen Joori with a lift of her eyebrow.
Fen Joori shrugged and looked away. “I mean... Malick has them all. Asai—” A slight clench of teeth. “Asai was a seer, and so was that Xari. And so was Husao, now that I think about it.” His mouth tightened. “All those bloody prophets, and none of them—” He shook himself. “But that Tatsu was a healer, and so was... um, Umeia.” He stopped there, peering at Imara expectantly.
Wolf's-own: Koan Page 16