Wolf's-own: Koan

by Carole Cummings

  Imara waved a hand. “I am many things. But then, I am very old.” He raised his eyebrows a little, looking her over. Imara allowed a small smile. “Older than I look,” she assured him. “And I have continued to learn and grow my magic for many, many lifetimes."

  "So, your power is that you're... old."

  It was said with such ingenuousness that Imara almost laughed, but didn't think that would go over very well. “One is merely an asset to the other,” she said. Fen Joori's only response was some weary blinking and a frown. Imara considered for a moment. “You might understand it better as being bound to spirits, as you once had a spirit of the earth bound to your soul. Our souls belong to our gods, we can bind them to no other. Wolf took me as a healer with some small talent at interpreting the spirits and commanding fire, as well. I have learned and grown since then. My powers are not as... dazzling as Kamen's, perhaps, but they are almost as many. And there is something to be said for subtlety.” She tried not to let that last curl wry.

  It didn't seem as though Fen Joori would have noticed anyway. “Healer,” he murmured. He wasn't looking at Imara, instead studying his own fingers as they traced Fen Jacin's braid from temple to shoulder. “Can you... d'you think you can... help?"

  Imara sighed. That one hurt. Because she wanted very badly to answer “yes,” but what she had seen so far did not bode well.

  "I shall surely try,” was all she could offer.

  Fen Joori merely snorted derisively then pursed his lips and shut his eyes. Imara really couldn't blame him.

  She shook her head and turned to the window to watch the sister suns cresting over the distant crags of Tougei just at the bottom of the curvature of the bay, trying to push their light through the encroaching cloud cover. She shuddered. She'd lived ages, but she didn't think it would take even a few years of suffering the doom of the Jin Untouchables before madness took her. Regardless of what she'd seen last night, she had to respect Fen Jacin for surviving it for at least a decade and with any of his mind intact at all. Imara supposed she should perhaps make an allowance or two.

  Still, the sight of Kamen's ring on Fen Jacin's hand appalled her. If the laws against the theft of such a thing weren't so harsh, she might consider confiscating it, just to see it out of the hands of someone so... precarious. As it was, Imara was unwilling to risk herself so. Certainly not for Kamen.

  Impulsive and arrogant as you ever were, Kamen. What are we going to do with you?

  What a way for Wolf's Null to emerge from his self-imposed exile. Kamen would make sure he did it in the most visible, dramatic way possible. Sending the Ancestors home and then claiming the first Incendiary in over a century for himself was certainly dramatic. And then he'd ruined it all by allowing himself to be ambushed in the street by banpair.

  Imara smirked.

  It flattened almost immediately.

  She'd been so sure Kamen didn't know what he was doing where it concerned the Incendiary—and so far she hadn't been proven wrong. But the Incendiary was not at all what Imara had been expecting. She'd rather thought—perhaps hoped—that Kamen's nearly vicious protectiveness had been just Kamen being his arrogant self, assuming he knew more than he did and no one could do a job as well as he could. It appeared Imara had... misjudged.

  There must be something to recommend Fen Jacin, Imara reasoned. After all, Wolf had risked the undoing of Fate itself to snatch him from Raven's hand. Kamen, of all people, had apparently completely lost his mind over his Untouchable-now-Incendiary. And the mortals all around Fen Jacin too obviously both feared and loved him, though Imara hadn't yet gotten a complete fix on the fear. There were too many shades of it, some of it for Fen Jacin and some of it of him, and all of the emotions flying around last night had been too tangled to dissect properly.

  Too unpredictable, this Incendiary. Volatile and submissive by turns, with an underpinning of violence in every move he made. And yet one hallucination of his former teacher-tormentor had undone him, reduced Fen Jacin to a quivering mess.

  "But there's the rub,” Imara muttered to herself, and she set to going over her wards yet again, searching for cracks or weak spots. Because perhaps “hallucination” was merely wishful thinking. Fen Jacin had believed it so hard, he'd almost convinced Imara she'd felt something herself.

  Imara pursed her lips, shook her head.

  Kamen's people said that Kamen had felt something, too, just before his spirit fled, crying his message. If a Null of Wolf in his own Cycle had been so blindsided by whatever it had been, Imara didn't now know what she could do about it. She'd come because the Incendiary would be Wolf's, and because she hadn't realized the warning she'd prevented Xari from offering had been such a dire one. She'd forbidden Xari because Kamen was being a prick, and because sometimes he needed a lesson. He'd been keeping something from Imara, and Imara hadn't liked it. And, she admitted, because she'd assumed Kamen had no idea what he was doing, that he was failing whatever test Wolf had set before him. She'd assumed she knew better.

  Dakimo was going to flay her, and Kamen was going to do it again—much more painfully and laughing all the while, no doubt—when he got back.

  Kamen had always been a smug bastard.

  Imara didn't turn when the door eased open silently behind her. She merely assessed the state of Kojoi Shig as she crept in, stopped to peer warily at Fen Joori for a moment then, when he merely gave her a tired glare, joined Imara at the window. Calm, this one, but she'd have to be if she'd survived the spirits with her mind intact, used them as Imara understood she'd done once. Unsettled, though. Yearning and confused, with the shadow of a fresh grief that had nothing to do with Kamen. Loyalty, but not as much as Imara had felt in Kel Saminil. Kojoi Shig had just enough calculated coldness to know where loyalty ought to end, and more than enough self-worth to end it when sense told her she should.

  Perhaps in need of direction, this child of Wolf, but Imara didn't think she'd require much guidance in the end. Kamen had chosen well.

  "All is well, Kojoi-onna?” Imara asked. She kept her voice to a low murmur. She wasn't quite ready for Fen Jacin to wake yet.

  Kojoi Shig snickered. “Call me Shig, yeah? I don't think I'll ever feel like an ‘onna’ and ‘Kojoi’ isn't something I feel the need to....” She trailed off and shrugged with a cynical twist of her mouth. “Just Shig."

  Imara peered at her closely. Another pretty one. Blond hair set with streaks of color, a beacon to the spirits unconsciously mimicking her aura, and her sharp jade eyes belied the dulcet tones of even her reprimands. Between this Shig and the Fen brothers, Imara would have been tempted to assume Kamen recruited for beauty—which would actually be all too believable, where Kamen was concerned—but the presence of Kel Saminil rather negated that assumption.

  "No formalities here,” Shig went on, her glance just as judicious as Imara suspected her own was, watchful with a note of wariness beneath the affability. “In fact, Samin might be moved to see how easy Temshiel bones break if you call him Kel-seyh one more time. He hasn't used that in years.” She turned her gaze back out the window, the rose-orange rays of the rising suns catching at her hair and eyelashes, sparking gold. “Though, stick to ‘Fen’ with Fen Jacin. He doesn't let everyone call him by his name.” A shrug that wasn't quite as careless as she was trying to make it. “I don't think he likes the... familiarity."

  Ah. So, this pretty young woman would prefer to be more familiar and had been rebuffed. Interesting.

  "So, what should we call you?” Shig asked. The lightness of the tone seemed genuine this time.

  Imara's eyebrows rose a little. She'd introduced herself last night, after all. “I am Imara Wolf's-own."

  "That's it?"

  This time, Imara frowned. “What else were you expecting?"

  "Overlord?” Joori put in, his tone a strange mix of derision and affection. He flushed a little when Imara turned to him with a light frown. “That's what Malick said when I asked him that question."

  Shig snicke
red in agreement. “Or maybe more like Almighty Master of All Things Coitus.” She shot a wry look sideways. “He has a pretty high opinion of his... skills."

  Joori merely huffed something that could have been a snort or a cough.

  "I'm aware,” Imara muttered.

  "But he's a good man, for all that. And from what I hear, his boasts are all pretty justified."

  Well, they would be. That was the problem with Kamen—he was good at everything he did. He only knew what failure looked like from the outside. And he led with his heart. Always. Backed by that cocky bravado that had probably contributed at least a little to him having been blindsided by banpair. And if Imara wasn't much mistaken, the Incendiary had rather blindsided Kamen as well. And would continue to blindside Kamen until Kamen failed Wolf so badly that—

  Imara peered, considering, over Shig's shoulder at the sleeping Fen. Was that what she'd seen in the Incendiary last night? Was this a failure in progress?

  "He was taking care of it."

  The teasing tones were gone from Shig's voice, leaving only the lilting delivery common to most of those with the mark of the spirits on their souls. And the fact that her testimonial was very close to an answer to Imara's silent questions made Imara think that perhaps this perceptive child of Wolf hadn't gotten all of her acuity from the spirits. There were some mortals who grew their own magic from the seed of the Divine sorcery that made all living things, and the echoes of brilliance in the gaudy aura told Imara that Shig was likely one of them.

  Perhaps Imara might acquire herself a new initiate when all this was through.

  "Taking care of us,” Shig went on. “It's only....” She paused, her mouth turning down into a girlish little pout. She gestured over to the bed. “It's only that he loves him. I mean really loves him. And he doesn't really know how, and Fen doesn't know how to be loved, so neither one of them were doing it right, and now with Mal gone—"

  "Shut the fuck up, Shig.” Rough and grainy, but with force behind it nonetheless. Imara was dismayed to see Fen sitting up slowly, bleary-eyed and already scowling, even as he rubbed at his eyes then raked a hand through his dark hair. Damn it, that potion should have kept him down for hours yet. Fen pushed Joori's hand from his shoulder then shot Shig a blurry glare before he aimed it at Imara for a moment, more appraising. He looked back at Shig. “We don't even know her."

  Shig shrugged. “She says Mal sent her,” she offered. Like it was all the proof she needed to offer her trust, and yet Imara could tell that she wasn't entirely convinced, either. Which was all too close, because if Kamen had known what was going to happen, Imara thought she'd be one of the last he'd call on to take his mortals in hand, let alone “his” Incendiary. And if he ever found out that Imara had rather accidentally abetted his unexpected trip to spirit....

  "Mal isn't here,” Fen snarled. “And fuck if I'm going to let you pretend you know everything about me and spew it all to some Temshiel I don't even know.” He shunted a glare between Shig and Imara. “Get out."

  Shig tutted, though Imara was sure she detected a low level of hurt beneath the blithe calm. “Nope, sorry, can't. Joori needs a break, because you know he didn't let himself sleep for even five seconds while you were out, and Samin might deck me if I left you alone without one of us to babysit you. It's what you get for being a suicidal asshole."

  "I don't need a break,” Joori put in, though he seemed to be eyeing his brother cautiously, waiting for a reaction to see what his own should be.

  The Glare of Death that Fen aimed at Shig was, Imara had to admit, rather impressive.

  "I could kill you with a fucking teabowl, Shig."

  "Then maybe we'll have to take those away too,” Shig said with a grin that only made Fen snarl and lurch up from the bed. He threw off Joori's attempt to restrain him like he wasn't even there.

  Imara was between Fen and Shig before she'd even really thought about what she was doing. She had to remember that her magic wouldn't work against Fen. Any force Imara could use was going to have to come from her own mortal body, and though her strength was greater than that of most mortals, she wasn't armed at the moment. Neither was Fen, but the feral gleam to his gray eyes made Imara think he wouldn't hesitate to tear a person's throat out with his bare hands, if he had to.

  "Fen,” Imara said, voice calm and even, “perhaps we can come to a compromise, yes?"

  Fen didn't say anything, only glared at Shig, who was still grinning behind Imara. Well, at least Fen wasn't lunging. Progress? Perhaps Fen Jacin merely needed a firm hand.

  Imara looked at Shig. “Please wake the others. You should all have time to dress and break your fast before we must leave.” And with what Imara had seen last night and was still seeing now, it wasn't going to be in answer to Goyo's high-handed summons, either. Fen was overdue for a visit to Wolf's temple, and Imara was bloody well going to make sure he made it, after all of Kamen's stalling. That was at least one part of Kamen's job she didn't mind doing herself, and none too soon, the way things were going. She turned back to Fen. “Fen and I have matters we must discuss."

  That made Fen refocus the glare on Imara. “I have nothing to—"

  "Can you see him right now?” Imara cut in.

  "See who?” Joori asked, suspicion and anger rising once again to twist his face into a hostile mask. “What is she talking about, Jacin?"

  Fen had gone silent, nearly choking on his fury and confusion as he merely stared at Imara, questions Imara couldn't begin to fathom in his eyes.

  "Joori, Shig,” said Imara, “I need to speak with Fen, please. Alone."

  "No.” Joori let go of Fen's arm and tried to step in front of him, but neither Fen nor Imara backed off to give him room. “Jacin, you've only just—"

  "Get out.” A slight softening of the tone, the barest flicker of a gentler glance to his brother, and then Fen turned all his focus back on Imara. “Go, Joori. Take Shig with you."

  It wasn't hard to see the hurt in Joori's eyes, the sorrow and the insult. And it wasn't hard to see the determination not to care in Fen's.

  Bloody hell, this family tangle could take centuries to sort and soothe.

  "Fine,” whispered Joori, hollow, bloodshot eyes filling for the briefest of moments, but he kept the emotion back. “Let me know if you... right. Never mind."

  With a heavy breath, he pointed a meaningful look at Shig, backed away from his brother, and walked to the door. He turned and waited for Shig. Mouth turned down, Shig followed after Joori and walked silently out of the room with one last concerned glance at Fen.

  "Did you see him or not?” Fen snapped the moment the door snicked shut.

  Imara sighed, stepped slowly over to the window again, and propped her leg up on the wide sill. Fen opened his mouth like he meant to protest but then closed it again.

  "I did not,” Imara answered.

  It was like she'd just punched Fen in the chest. All the air went out of him. He kept the hostile expression, though Imara was sure she saw something raw and agonized in there somewhere. Perhaps she should have considered her answer more carefully.

  "I don't know why I'd thought it might be over,” Fen mused, his raspy voice almost inaudible. He heaved something that might have been a sour laugh, but the hollowness of it turned it into something... almost eerie. Or perhaps it was the shadow of the larger implications of the comment, even if Fen didn't know what they were. “It never ends, does it.” Not a question. “It will never....” He shook his head, eyes clearing, and mastered himself, control slipping about him like a visible suit of armor. “Why are you here?"

  Imara blinked. “Because Kamen isn't. You and yours need protection, Fen Jacin. You can't—"

  "Me and mine need nothing from you. You can go now."

  A far cry from the quaver of terror that voice had husked out last night.

  "Oh?” Imara's eyebrow went up. She titled her head. “And if Asai's spirit really is here?"

  She waited, but all Fen did was narrow his eyes. Th
e man gave new meaning to the words “stony silence."

  "You said Kamen chased him away,” Imara said, “but when Kamen went to spirit last night, his wards vanished as well. If there is anything here, hovering about, the only magic standing between you and it is mine. My wards, my magic.” Imara paused then leaned in close. “Are you quite certain, Fen Jacin, that you need nothing from me? Are you quite certain that those you love need nothing from me?"

  The anger and confusion emanating from Fen were almost live things. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared, and his eyes... bloody hell, she didn't even need magic to figure out what was going on in his head—it was all over his face. So, when he finally ground out, “You're a fucking bitch,” it was fairly redundant.

  Imara shrugged. “Kamen has allowed the task to which Wolf set him to languish for too long. I intend to see to it now. Perhaps we might... coexist a little better if we define and resolve to respect one another's boundaries."

  Fen stared for a long, long moment. Glared, really. Imara could understand how one might cringe beneath that baleful glower. Perhaps that was the effect Fen was looking for. He did not, however, seem surprised when he didn't get it.

  He jerked his chin, jaw set. “Fine,” he snapped. “Here's my boundary: You stay out of my way, and I won't send your spirit after Ma— Kamen's."

  It was small—tiny, really—but Imara saw it: a twitch, a flash of doubt and grief and fear in the truncated speaking of the name Kamen had refused to shed along with his mortal skin. Imara almost sighed. So. That was how it was with Fen Jacin, then.

  All right. Imara had seen the sort before. Bricking himself up behind rage and distrust because all of the other emotions had betrayed him. Just brilliant.

  At least Imara knew.

  She tipped a slow nod, almost a bow but not quite. “I have no intention of getting in your way.” Not at the moment, at least. Not unless he didn't get himself together and pledge himself to Wolf. He'd bloody well do it if Imara had to knock him unconscious and drag him to the temple.