Damn Kamen to the suns and back for... for existing.
"We have appointments we must keep,” she told Fen. “You're not going to see Goyo today, Fen. We have other concerns that are much more important. Our god has... expectations, and I have no intention of disappointing him. And we all must bow to certain inevitabilities."
"I don't,” Fen said. “I'm not going to any temple, and I won't—"
"You,” Imara said, leaning close, “will do as your god commands.” She let her eyes narrow in clear threat. “Your brothers need my protection, Fen Jacin. Do you really want to be the one responsible for taking it away?"
She'd been right—the way to Fen Jacin was through his brothers. She could see the rage all over him, but the threat reined him in; his hands had been hovering over the hilts of the knives at his belts, but they fisted instead of settling around the grips. His chin quivered, even as his eyes flared murderous fury, but all he seemed able to force out through his teeth was, “Fuck you."
Since he merely spun and stalked out of the room and then across the hall to his brother's, Imara let that bit of disrespect slide.
* * * *
"The temple?” Morin had no doubt his eyes were sprung wide and his jaw was flapping. “You want to take Jacin out in public? During the day, when there are people about?"
"It cannot wait any longer,” Imara said, perhaps a bit taken aback at Morin's admittedly indecorous reaction. “I managed to put the Patrol off for a few hours, but they will be back, and this task must be completed before your brother meets with Goyo."
"Why does he have to meet with this Goyo person at all?” Samin asked, wary.
Imara looked like she smelled something foul. “Because he is counselor to the Patrol and his position must be respected."
Morin didn't miss how her gold eyes rolled a little in derision. “Yeah, well, subjecting him to Jacin isn't really going to accomplish that,” he muttered. “He's got the social skills of a bitchy ken-ken.” And making him try to use them was sometimes actually painful. Didn't she know what a bad idea it was to allow someone of the Patrol to question Jacin at all? She was supposed to be smart—shouldn't she have figured that out just by what she'd already seen?
"After your brother has completed his task at Wolf's temple,” Imara said with a lift of her chin, “that will hardly matter anymore."
Morin couldn't figure out if that was an answer to what he'd said or to what he hadn't said. Abruptly uncomfortable, he drew his gaze from Imara's and looked around at the others for some kind of reassurance, but there was none to be had.
Jacin was looking angry-puzzled, which was a switch from his usual angry-angry, but not much of one. Shig was trying very hard not to show any reaction at all, but Morin was getting to know her fairly well, and he was pretty sure he detected some inner giggling. Samin just looked tired, but he'd been up all night, keeping watch against whatever those things were that had somehow managed to sneak up on—
Damn it, every time the reality of it hit Morin, his stomach clenched and curled, and he wasn't even certain why. Sure, he liked Malick well enough, but Malick was Temshiel, he'd be back, there wasn't really any such thing as death to them. There was no sense in mourning, and that wasn't what it felt like, anyway.
Maybe it was that “on our own” feeling that Morin kept shoving away, because they weren't, really. They had Shig and Samin, and while Shig could be a flighty, unreliable twat sometimes, Morin had no doubt that Samin wasn't about to abandon them. And now they had this Imara watching their backs as a favor to Malick, which should have made Morin feel better, because Malick had cared enough to get Imara to do it.
Thing was, Imara wasn't Malick. Imara was here as a proxy—and probably because she had her own reasons too; all of her sort did—not because she actually gave a shit about any of them... gave a shit about....
Yeah. That was it. Morin knew it would come to him if he thought about it, so maybe that was why he hadn't.
Malick put up with Jacin's batshit ways and near-constant grieving hostility because Malick loved him. And in his own Temshiel way, Malick was just as crazy as Jacin was. Malick had a vested interest in figuring out what Jacin needed and giving it to him.
Imara didn't.
"I thought it was too dangerous,” Joori put in, his disposition toward Imara apparently just as hostile as it had ever been toward Malick. Morin almost sighed. “Those banpair wanted to get to him badly enough to attack a Temshiel, and now you want to just parade him about in the middle of the day?"
"Whatever they wanted,” Samin said from his sprawl in the chair across from Morin, “they didn't want Fen dead.” He shot a sharp look at Imara. “But I can't say I disagree with Joori. They got through Mal's magic. Why not yours?"
Imara only shrugged. “I may not have Kamen's power, but I'm not helpless."
"Well, apparently, neither are they.” Joori was leaking suspicion all over the place. “What happens if they get past you too?"
"Then we will be all the closer to knowing what they are and what they want."
See, this was why they needed Malick. He didn't have that chilly “he's just a mortal” rationality. If Malick were here, he'd be locking Jacin up in the room and hiring mercenaries to guard him.
Joori's mouth had dropped open. This time, Morin couldn't blame him.
"Let me make sure I'm understanding you clearly,” Joori said slowly, so quiet and even that, if Jacin's voice wasn't so raspy and hoarse, Morin might have thought it was him. “You want to—"
"They know where he is, Fen Joori,” Imara cut in, not entirely unkindly. “And after last night, every Temshiel and maijin in the city—indeed, the world—knows where he is and what happened to Kamen. Banpair will not be the only ones to... seek Fen Jacin.” She paused, peered at Jacin closely, but Jacin was busy staring off into the empty space in the corner of the room. Imara frowned then turned back to Joori. “The servants of Wolf's temples are not merely priests and priestesses but trained warriors. It is the safest place for your brother just now. Probably for you too."
Joori's jaw was set hard in that stubborn way that reminded Morin too much of Caidi. “Why?” he growled. “What is Jacin to any of these people?” He turned his glance on Jacin, pleading this time. “Jacin? What are they talking about? I thought we were through with all of"—he waved his hand helplessly about the room with a slight pause for emphasis on Imara—"this."
Jacin was still engrossed in the shadows in the corner. Staring. Jaw clenched so tight Morin imagined he could hear teeth grinding.
"Jacin?” Joori said, more insistent this time.
Jacin didn't even twitch.
Joori got up from the table and started toward Jacin, saying, “Jacin, answer me, I want to know—” but he stopped short when Jacin merely blinked, gave his head a little shake then pushed away from the wall and walked out. Nothing new. He did it lots of times when Joori nattered at him, and most of the time Joori chased him down. This time, Joori only looked angrily at Imara.
Imara merely lifted an eyebrow. “It appears your brother has decided that it's time to go."
Morin wouldn't call the expression on Imara's face a smirk. But it was damned close.
* * * *
He had no idea where he was going. Just away. Outrun Asai, maybe, outrun everyone, hide so they couldn't find him, lose himself in the streets of Mitsu where no one knew what he was, what he'd been, what they'd made him with their selfish “justice” and their callous indifference to those who got their bones ground up beneath the weight of their Balance.
Yes, Asai hissed, remove the threat. He sounded far too satisfied. The only way to save them is to abandon them. Your mere presence is a danger, Jacin-rei.
"I know, I know,” Jacin grated. Hadn't Asai been throwing that at him all morning? And hadn't Imara all but confirmed it? The minions of the gods were looking for him now, and if he was around people he cared about, they'd be used and threatened. It was what these people did.
J
acin jolted back a little when he knocked shoulders with someone on the stairs, but he didn't stop, just regained his balance and kept going, picking up his pace so he was almost running when he hit the bottom. Malick's duster flapped around his calves, reeking of pine and sage, but the consolation Jacin couldn't admit seeking when he'd donned it didn't come. “Just shut up and leave me alone."
He saw nothing, just the door on the other side of the inn's tearoom into which he'd just blundered, the light through its window like a beacon, so he aimed straight for it. There were bodies in his way, hazy enough in his periphery that he didn't bother trying to put faces to them, and as long as they got out of his way, it didn't much matter.
The gods would use you still, little Ghost, Beishin told him. Even now they send their thugs to trick you and control you.
"Get the fuck away from me,” Jacin snarled. He rammed into some big, blocky slab of muscle and bone but merely staggered back a pace and adjusted his angle.
The door. He needed to get to the door.
Perfection, little Ghost. I can show you how to achieve it.
"I'm not perfect, Beishin.” Half sneer, half shout. “I'll never be perfect, isn't that what you said?"
Just another trick, another setup to failure, because that was all Beishin had ever meant for “his Ghost,” and Jacin wasn't falling for it again. And now, with “Incendiary” hanging over his head, it seemed there was no limit to the catastrophic possibilities.
Another indeterminate barrier placed itself between Jacin and the door, so he merely lashed out with a hard fist and removed it.
"Fen Jacin,” someone said, but it was fuzzy, muffled, and there was no one he wanted to talk to anyway, so he just kept moving.
Light. Freedom. The noise of a city street to block out the whispers of Beishin in his head. And yet another obstruction in his path.
"Fen Jacin, you must—"
"Stop him, before he—"
"Step away, he belongs to Kamen."
Jacin whirled at that one, because he knew that voice, and she had no fucking right to say that, no fucking right to even be here, not when Malick.... It wasn't fair, she didn't know, she didn't see, she didn't—
"You don't understand,” he growled at Imara. “You don't understand a fucking thing, you don't know anything about me, so stop—"
"You're right, I don't—"
"—pretending you give a shit, just get away from me, I don't want—"
Imara took hold of Jacin's wrists in a grip surprisingly strong, snapped his hands up between them and held them fast. Had he been going for a knife? He couldn't remember.
"What you want,” Imara said, low and even, her gleaming eyes intense, “is about to matter very little, if you won't calm down and pretend for a moment to be reasonable.” Her gaze roved over Jacin's left shoulder; he followed it, noted a big man in the surcoat of the city's Patrol, eyeing him with distrust and no small amount of anger. “Goyo apparently sent an escort,” Imara went on, “which I've no doubt could turn very quickly to your escort to the city's dungeons.” Her mouth turned down, weirdly sympathetic, for all her grip was almost cruel. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Or to the towers of the sickhouse, Fen Jacin. Do you understand?"
Jacin clenched his teeth, peered at the man over his shoulder again, then noted the man's female companion just to the right. She was bleeding from lip and nose, one hand holding a short sword, and the other pressing a cloth to her face to blot and staunch. Jacin frowned and turned back to Imara.
"You have assaulted a guest of the inn, Kamen's solicitor, and an officer of the Patrol."
"I....” Jacin blinked. He had? He flexed his hand, still held fast in Imara's. Knuckles tight, fingers throbbing just a little. Yeah, it seemed he had. When had he done that? Shouldn't he remember something like that?
Worried now, not quite horrified but getting there, Jacin shot his glance around, noted he was quite thoroughly penned into a corner of the tearoom and nowhere near as close to the door as he wanted to be.
"This is Kamen's Untouchable?” A man of striking good looks stepped up behind Imara, black hair strung through with startling bolts of purest white, his eyes sea-blue and clear as glass. His left cheek was going red and slightly puffy, his eye watering as he regarded Jacin with a half smile that was somehow critical and forgiving at the same time.
"Don't call me—” Jacin stopped in mid-snarl. Because he had no idea against which epithet he was reflexively rebelling—"Kamen's” or “Untouchable."
"I'm going to let you go,” Imara said, her voice low and strangely gentle. “The Patrol is probably going to want to disarm you, but I'll see what I can do.” She leaned in close. “This convinces me more than ever that the safest place for you right now is Wolf's house. Give me a moment to get rid of the Patrol. Can you control yourself that long?"
Jacin shut his eyes, teeth set tight against the swell of indecipherable emotions trying to wind up his throat. He didn't want to go to this Goyo person, but he didn't want to go to any temple, either. Except he seemed to be nicely cornered, and he'd let it happen.
Ah, Jacin-rei, poor little Ghost. You just can't help but fail, can you?
"Fen Jacin."
Jacin snapped his eyes back open and hung onto the gold gaze looking back at him.
"He's here with you now, isn't he?” Imara asked softly.
Jacin tried not to flinch, but his body just wasn't doing what he wanted it to right now.
"I know you can see and hear him. I believe you."
Did she think that was what he wanted to hear? Did she think that would make it better?
Helpless, adrift and getting farther from shore every second, Jacin only shook his head. “It doesn't matter."
Because mad or not wasn't really the point. Merely one among... hundreds.
Imara sighed. With a weary shake of her head, she relaxed her grip, tipping a small nod to the solicitor. It wasn't until he stepped in, shifting himself between Jacin and the door, that Imara let go altogether and angled away to speak quietly with the Patrol.
Jacin blinked and looked around, noting for the first time all of the eyes peering warily back at him. It appeared he'd disturbed breakfast in the tearoom. The patrons were only now beginning to resume whatever they'd been doing when the crazy Ghost invaded their quiet little lives, though they all spared chary looks before doing so. Jacin decided to pretend he didn't notice them as he let the solicitor steer him a little farther into the corner that was still too far away from the door.
"I am Naro-yi of Owl,” the man said with a low dip of his head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Kamen Jacin."
The name startled Jacin, enough so that he couldn't think of anything to say for a full thirty seconds. And when he finally did, “That isn't my name,” was all he could think of.
Naro-yi's eyebrows went up a bit. “Ah? Well.” He shrugged and waved a hand. “It is not meant in offense, I assure you. It is merely how our kind... differentiate.” Jacin must have been blinking stupidly at him, because Naro-yi was compelled to go on, “Kamen has placed a hand of protection upon you, marked you as his, so that all might know and respect his claim."
And why did that roil in Jacin's gut in a hard little ball of anger mixed with relief and gratification?
Claimed.
Touch the Untouchable.
"His claim extends, of course, to all those he has brought here to Tambalon,” Naro-yi went on. “I'm told that means a great deal to you."
It had. Before. Jacin just hadn't realized how much until it was gone. “Kamen is dead.” It came out a little thin and high, laced through with anger, because damn it, Jacin had let himself depend on Malick, and Malick had let his guard down. Jacin looked away toward Imara so that Naro-yi wouldn't see how speaking the words had stung.
Naro-yi whiffed a snort that was an inelegant contrast to the overall elegance of his manner and appearance. “So many would like to think so,” was all he said. His smile tilted expectantly as Im
ara stepped back over. “All settled, then?"
"What the hell is going on here?” Joori's voice was strained, louder than usual, and attracted all of the attention that had just receded from Jacin himself. Joori didn't seem to care, stalking across the room, thunder at his brow, with Samin lumbering behind him. Joori glared at Imara, and then down at Naro-yi's hand where it was, unnoticed by Jacin until just this second, locked to Jacin's elbow. “What happened now?” Joori wanted to know. And by his tone, he wanted to know right this second.
Jacin was sure the derisive twist to Joori's question wasn't meant for him, because it never was—always to those around him—but that didn't stop the knowledge that it was always because of him, and it never failed to bring the shame with it. Jacin set his teeth against it and just looked away.
"Your brother is... stressed,” Imara answered, her voice soft and sympathetic, which only made Jacin's cheeks flare up with warmth, so he shut his eyes. “The Patrol—"
They have come for the Incendiary, Jacin-rei. Asai's voice was hardly more than a whisper, but it nonetheless drowned out everything else around Jacin, set the periphery buzzing with white again, his head throbbing in time to his too-rapid pulse. If you allow them to take you, you will never walk freely again.
"Shut up.” Weak and watery.
They know what you are, all of them. Every Temshiel and maijin felt Kamen's spirit wrenched from the world last night—
"Did you do that?” Jacin barked. “Was it you?” Because that would be just like Asai—find out what Jacin needed and then take it away, just because he could.
"Jacin?” Joori's voice. “Do what? Was it who?” Worried. And then Joori's grip landed on the arm that Naro-yi wasn't holding. “Jacin, what's wrong?"
Let me help you little Ghost, Asai said, which wasn't an answer to Jacin's question, but struck echoes in his head to swirl and tangle with Malick's voice, speaking those same words to him, but Malick wasn't here, he'd left, and Jacin was alone inside this crowd of people who stared with fear and sympathy in their eyes, even Joori. You cannot allow them to take you. If you allow them to make the Incendiary helpless to them, you shall never see the suns again, you shall never see your brothers again. I know of a safe place where none of them will find you. Come with me, little Ghost.
Wolf's-own: Koan Page 18