Doppelganger

12 Dance [Miryo]

“Not just any company, either,” Edame said, looking smug. “These are the Dancers from the Sunset Temple in Eriot.”

“Haira has its own company, yes?”

“Of course we do. We have the second largest population of Avannans in the land, second only to Eriot itself. You should hear Iseman go on about how Temple Dance is the purest expression of adoration of the Goddess. But this company is truly incredible. I saw them once, in Eriot, several years ago.”

Miryo looked over the railing at the Dancers below. Uniform with their sleek, black-dyed hair and lithe bodies, they milled about below, stretching and preparing for their performance tonight. She’d learned about them, as she’d learned about everything else: somewhere between clergy and laypeople, Temple Dancers were a key element in the Avannan sect’s religious practices. They were also disturbingly flexible, she saw as one of them began to stretch. She didn’t think her own body would do that without serious magical aid.

“You’ve probably never seen a Temple Dance before,” Edame said.

“No,” Miryo replied, still watching them. “Avannan worship isn’t that strong in Insebrar, and they tend to not perform for witches anyway. And of course they never come to Starfall.”

“I’m almost tempted to keep you away tonight,” Edame said with a smile. “This company is so good, they’ll spoil you for anyone else.”

“Do you know what they’ll be performing?”

Edame glanced around, then leaned toward Miryo with a conspiratorial air. “The Aspects.”

That broke Miryo’s attention away from the Dancers in the room below. “Are you serious? I thought they only did that on Holy Days!”

“That, and when somebody with a lot of money requests it. Especially if that somebody is as devoutly Avannan as Lord Iseman is.”

Miryo looked back down, trying not to feel awed. The Aspects of the Goddess were neither a rote Dance performed the same way by every company, nor a local tradition not found elsewhere. Every company had its own version, and every version was different. “Eriot’s company was the first one to perform the Aspects, yes?”

Edame leaned against the rail and nodded. “Long, long ago. Their version is legendary. Avannans talk about it as if the Goddess herself comes down and Dances with them. The Aspects are one of the holiest Dances there is, and they do it better than anyone.”

And Miryo herself would be seeing it tonight. She felt a quiver inside, and with some surprise identified it as excited anticipation. It had been a long time since she’d felt that way. More than a year. The stress of studying for her testing had damped her spirits considerably, and her doppelganger’s existence had prevented the aftermath from being the joy it ought to have been.

“I’m glad I stayed,” she murmured.

Edame laughed. “You’ll be even more glad in a few hours.”

The anticipation of seeing the Temple Dancers distracted Miryo from her nerves over meeting two of the highest-ranking people in the land. The great hall was imposing, but not as grim as the hall the Primes sat in for rulings. Miryo could feel the eyes of the assembled people on her as she walked past them; they were used to Edame’s presence, and no doubt other witches came through, but a new arrival was always an occasion for comment.

Iseman and Terica looked to have been cut from the same bolt of cloth. They were both tall and bone-thin; Ryll could have been their cousin. Both were dressed in long robes more elaborately embroidered than Miryo considered to be in good taste, but she kept this thought from her face. Hairans tended toward flamboyant, even gaudy clothing, and the Lord and Lady were far from the worst offenders in the hall. Miryo was grateful all over again for the dress Edame had found for her; at least it was subdued. Some of the color combinations out there that evening had never been intended by nature.

Miryo sat next to Edame for the meal, with Iseman and Terica on the witch’s other side. The food was rich, much more so than she was accustomed to; the assault of spiciness and sweetness in the sauces was nearly overwhelming. Miryo had to be careful what she chose out of the available dishes. Hairans ate much as they dressed.

She made simple conversation with Edame and the woman on her other side, but stayed quiet for the most part. She wasn’t in a mood for chatter. Instead she entertained herself by trying to guess what was in each of the elaborate dishes served to the high table by men and women who were, in Miryo’s opinion, the only tastefully dressed Hairans in the hall. She was grateful when the meal was over and they retired to a smaller hall nearby that had been prepared for the performance.

Iseman and Terica seated themselves in two thronelike chairs along one wall, in front of a mural that was probably the work of the landscape painter; it featured half-clad nobility lounging on a hillside in front of a fiery sunset. Edame, Miryo, and favored members of the court took chairs behind the Lord and Lady and to either side. Everyone else—lesser ministers, courtesans, hangers-on—was relegated to the galleries along the walls. They shifted restlessly, embroidered robes rustling in the otherwise silent room.

And then the Dancers entered, and all sound ceased.

For this Dance, all wore black. Their pale skin stood out in sharp contrast. Their clothing was as close-fitting as it could be without restricting movement, and unadorned; men and women alike wore pants and sleeveless vests. Every one of them was lean and fit, and nearly androgynous in their similarity.

They lined up facing the Lord and Lady of Haira, and bowed briefly. The priestess who accompanied them spoke a short benediction, dedicating the night’s performance to the glory of the Goddess in all her five Aspects. Then she, along with the majority of the Dancers, retired behind the black curtain that had been erected at the back of the hall.

Only one young woman remained in front, and she seated herself on the floor. After a moment of silence, hidden musicians struck up a tune.

It was swift, light, and full of energy. The seated woman stretched one leg out, raised it, rolled back over her shoulder and sprang to her feet.

The Maiden, Miryo realized. Not all companies performed the Aspects in the same order, but she seemed to recall that Eriot’s went in order of increasing age. She wondered where they would put the Warrior in that sequence.

The woman was still moving. She leapt about lightly, kicking her legs higher each time. When she was on the ground, her feet all but blurred with their fast, intricate movement. The music continued, ever more rapid; it sounded like a call now. And so it was: The Dancer’s motions beckoned a man from behind the curtain. He came forward to join her, and the two whirled around each other in a dazzling display of agility.

Miryo was entranced. The Temple Dancers made their motions look simple, but she could guess at the strength and control they required. This was nothing like the country dances performed at festivals in rural areas, nor the courtly patterns trod by stiff-backed highborns. The steps were choreographed and rehearsed for weeks before they were ever performed for the public. And the training these Dancers underwent, if she remembered correctly, began when they were only five years old.

Others had come forth to join the two already on the floor. They moved in a circle around the first two, kicking higher with each turn. The music was a joyous celebration of the Maiden’s youth and boundless energy.

And lacing through it all, expressed through the bodies of the Dancers, was the power of Fire. Its beckoning warmth called to her, entranced her, invited her to take hold—

Miryo stopped herself just short of drawing power, for what purpose she did not know, except to feel the thrill of holding it. Goddess wept. If I did that, and it got out of control, here in this hall…

She took a deep, unsteady breath, and tried not to think about that.

When the Dance finished, the performers retired behind the curtain and were replaced by two new Dancers, one man and one woman. The two of them struck up positions mirroring each other, and then the music began.

It began with flutes, a pair of them, playing a simple duet. The man and woman flitted around each other, skimming across the floor, barely touching it. They leapt, too, but where the previous Dancers had done so in sharp competition with each other, these two seemed to move for the sheer joy of it. The illusion that they were floating in midair at the height of each leap was so strong that Miryo almost suspected magical intervention, and for one, irrational moment feared that she was somehow doing it. Her entire body was tense with the frightened awareness that she might draw power, and yet she couldn’t leave; it would be a horrible insult. All she could do was sit there, with a physical embodiment of the Element of Air being displayed before her, and fight not to reach for it.

The music turned, and so did the Dancers. Now they came together, and if Miryo had thought they were floating before, now they were flying. The man grasped his partner around her lean waist and tossed her about as though she were the feather she imitated. He gave the impression that he could, if he chose, fling her right up to the vaulted ceiling, and not even find it hard.

That Dance ended in a beautifully posed embrace, honoring the Goddess as Bride. Miryo gulped in air gratefully, trying to both gather herself and relax before they were replaced by their fellows.

Both of the previous Dances had been in a standard four-beat pattern, but now the musicians began a tune in three. The Temple Dancers glided across the floor in a waltz that was to stiff court waltzes what water was to glass. Round and round they whirled, every move flowing into the one that followed it. Where Miryo’s heart had been set racing by the energy and freedom of the previous two pieces, now it was calmed—and that almost did her in. She just barely caught herself before she opened herself to the Element of Water. The beautiful, swirling patterns were more subtly seductive than the first two Elements had been. Her fingers clenched around the arms of her chair as she caught herself just in time.

She wasn’t sure what to expect from the next to last Dance, for she suspected that it would be the one honoring the Crone. After all, the Earth did not move very much, and neither did most old women. The company chose to express the concepts of solidity and deep roots; the Dancers in this fourth piece moved into poses Miryo had not thought possible, and then held them as if they could stay there all day. The musicians switched to low-voiced instruments that resonated deeply in the hall. The quiet strength and determination of the Dancers impressed Miryo a great deal, and although she felt the power of Earth there, she also remembered the trial she’d under-gone in Star Hall, and drew on that resolution to keep herself in check. And then it ended, and she was safe. There was one Dance left, the Warrior, but mere was no such thing as Void magic, no Void power, nothing to lure her to the edge of danger.

But she sat bolt upright as the first notes slashed through the still air of the hall. Electricity raced up her spine—not magical power, but something other, something from the core of herself. She was in no danger of working a spell, but her eyes were riveted on the scene in front of her as the Dancers expressed through movement their devotion to the Goddess as Warrior.

The Dance had leaps, but they were not frivolous, nor were they competitive, unless the Dancers were competing against themselves, each trying to outdo her own last display of strength and control. It looked like a fight, if fighting were art. The men and women on the floor leapt and rolled and came together with movements that were just a hair short of being violent. But there was no contention; there was only the bond of loyalty and fierce determination.

And then the music shifted, rising a note, and Miryo’s heart rose into her throat. With that shift the music became sharper, even more fierce, and she suddenly felt a longing to be out of her chair, out of the castle, out on the road; she wanted to be riding to find her doppelganger this minute. The challenge sang in her blood, driving her to victory. With this feeling in her, surely she could not fail.

She tightened her grip on the chair until her knuckles turned white and forced herself to breathe. Not yet. You can’t leave yet. Not today. Not now. But tomorrow…

Tomorrow, I hunt.

The Dance finished abruptly in a final, breathtaking pose, and she unclenched her hands. They ached from the strain. Massaging them surreptitiously, Miryo eased back into her seat and glanced over to her left.

Edame, who appeared not to have noticed her various struggles, gave her a sour smile. “I could do without the Warrior Dance. It never seems to fit into the sequence, no matter where they put it.”

This contrasted so sharply with Miryo’s own reaction that she did not respond. She didn’t exactly like the Dance, but it had roused in her feelings she could hardly contain. Edame, it seemed, did not feel that way. Which was not unexpected; the Warrior was not often honored in the witches’ religious practices, because of her absence from their magic. Miryo’s reaction was the odd one.

The priestess had finished her closing invocation, and the people in the hall began to move again. The Dancers emerged from behind their curtain, lining up to be presented to Iseman and Terica. First among them was the priestess, who exchanged warm words with the Avannan Lord and Lady before gracing Miryo and Edame with a chill nod.

“Blessings of the Goddess on the unbalanced,” the woman said, and stepped aside for the company of Dancers.

Edame made a vexed sound. “I hate the ones who do that.”

“Do what?” Miryo murmured, pitching her voice for only Edame to hear.

“Call us ‘unbalanced.’ At least most priests have the good taste not to be so… open about it. Look at the way she looked at us. Like we’re wayward children who refuse to hear what the Goddess is trying to tell us.”

Edame’s description was an apt one. The woman’s gaze had been faintly regretful, in what was quite possibly the most irritating way imaginable. “How many are like that?” Miryo asked. “I know some priests and priestesses don’t approve of us, but the teachers never tell us how many are likely to make an issue of it.”

The Fire Hand shrugged. “It depends on where you are, and what sect they’re from. Less in Currel, for example, being so close to Starfall. Nalochkans aren’t bad. Avannans are the worst. They click their tongues and shake their heads over whatever it is we’re doing wrong—and of course no one ever tells us; we’re supposed to guess that on our own.”

“So they don’t tend to make trouble.”

“Not usually, no. But there are exceptions.”

Miryo continued to nod and smile at the Dancers at they filed past. She wished the line would hurry up; she was still humming with energy. And dawn was hours away yet. Miryo took a deep breath and forced herself to sit quietly.

The line was nearly finished at last. It went in order of increasing rank, save for the priestess; the first ones presented had been those who did not even perform tonight. Now there were only four Dancers left, the last of whom would be the leader of the company.

The next-to-last woman froze when she reached Miryo.

She recovered smoothly, and bowed with perfect grace to both witches. “Goddess be with you,” she murmured, and moved onward. Miryo marked her, though, and her face, with a small scar on her chin. Tonight she would seek that Dancer out, and ask her why she had frozen, as if she recognized Miryo’s face.

There was a reception afterward, of course; the visit of a company as famed as Eriot’s was an occasion for celebration in this city so heavily populated with Avannans. And even those who did not honor Temple Dance as the highest form of religious adoration knew a social occasion when they saw one. The hall was filled nearly wall-to-wall with people.

Miryo detached herself from Edame as quickly as manners allowed and began to circulate. The Dancers were easy to spot; black hair was reasonably common in the eastern domains, but they were the only ones with bare, unadorned heads. Finding a specific black-haired Dancer, however, was much more easily said than done, especially in this crowd. Miryo was about to give up in frustration when Kan materialized at her side.

“Rice wine?” the Cousin said, offering her a goblet.

Miryo took it, distracted. “Kan, I need you to do a favor for me. Find Lionra, the seneschal. There’s a Dancer in the company with a scar on her chin. I need to know what room she’s in tonight. She’s high-ranking, just below the company leader. Be discreet if you can.” She could go to the company’s leader and ask for the Dancer’s name, but that would spark interest she would prefer to avoid.

Kan nodded and vanished into the crowd, leaving Miryo with wine she didn’t really want. She continued to peruse the room, keeping an eye out for the Dancer, but before much time had passed Edame reappeared, looking irritated.

“There you are. I realize you are perhaps not planning on joining my Ray, but it will still do you good to speak with some people here. You should be seen.” She took Miryo’s arm and led her through the crowd.

Socializing was not what Miryo wanted to be doing at the moment, but Edame was impossible to argue with. She endured the next few hours patiently, watching the Fire Hand flit from group to group. Finally, pleading exhaustion, Miryo escaped to her own room.

Kan was not there, and neither was Sai. Miryo stood in the middle of the sitting room and fidgeted, wondering what to do. Should she go seek out the Cousin, or wait here for her to return? They could waste hours tonight chasing each other through the keep. She decided to stay where she was.

Her determination was sorely tested; it was nearly Low before Kan came back. Miryo braided and rebraided her hair repeatedly to keep herself busy. She was twisting it into a low bun when the Cousin finally entered and bowed. “I apologize for taking so long. The Dancer’s name is Sareen. She has a room to herself in the western wing. It’s next to the room of her company’s leader, and two down from that of the priestess.”

The snapping energy she had gained from the Warrior Dance was still with her, in full force now that she could do something with it. “Thank you. Take me there, please.”

They encountered no one in the hallway. Miryo could hear the distant sounds of the revelry still going on. Before she was quite ready, she was in front of Sareen’s door, and Kan had retired to a nearby alcove. Miryo straightened her dress, then knocked on the door, hoping the Dancer was in.

She was. And she started again when she opened her door and saw Miryo.

“I would like to speak with you,” Miryo said.

Sareen recovered and bowed. “Of course, Katsu. Please, come in.”

The room was bare compared to Miryo’s; this was the sort of housing that would normally be given to the lesser servant of a high-ranking visitor. Temple Dancers lived spartan lives. Were Sareen one of the younger Dancers, she would be sharing a room with two or three others. It was a mark of her status that she had even this room to herself.

There were two chairs; Miryo took one and gestured for Sareen to take the other. It felt strange. She still wasn’t used to having rank herself, that people would wait for permission to sit in her presence.

“Twice now,” Miryo said, having considered and discarded a more roundabout approach, “you’ve reacted oddly when you looked at me. Why is that?”

Sareen dropped her eyes. “My apologies, Katsu. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You needn’t apologize. I’m just curious. Have you seen me before?”

“I don’t believe so, Katsu. It’s just that you remind me a great deal of someone I used to know.”

I knew it.

Miryo swallowed her rising excitement and forced herself to speak casually. “Who?”

“A fellow Dancer. She used to be in training with our company.”

Of all the professions Miryo had envisioned for her doppelganger, Temple Dancer had not been high on the list. It was almost as strange as imagining her double as a priestess. “How long ago was this?”

“Quite a while. Twelve years, maybe thirteen.”

“And… she was your age?” Miryo had to hastily revise her sentence. Sareen would find it odd if she referred to the doppelganger as “it.”

“A bit younger, Katsu.”

Sareen looked to be in her late twenties. Which fit, of course; the doppelganger would be the same age as Miryo herself. She had to reach into herself for the calm of Air again before asking the next question. “Where did she go?”

Now the Dancer looked regretful. “I don’t know, Katsu.”

Somehow I didn’t think it was going to be quite that easy.

“Did she go to another company elsewhere, do you think?”

Sareen shook her head. “No. Criel—our leader at the time—said she had a different calling. I don’t think she’s still a Dancer.”

A different calling? Perhaps it had become a priestess, strange though it was to imagine. “Where is Criel now?”

“I think she’s in Verdosa, Katsu—in the main temple there.”

In the east. Miryo could not believe her luck. Or perhaps it wasn’t luck; perhaps the thread she’d been following had been bringing her to Sareen and Criel, not to her doppelganger itself. No way of knowing, at least not yet.

Miryo realized Sareen was looking at her curiously.

She cursed her lack of magic; if only she could use it, she could question the Dancer further and then “encourage” her to forget the conversation. But since the woman was likely to gossip, she didn’t want to add fodder by asking more questions.

Sareen was still looking at her. Miryo put her frustration aside and stood. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure you’re tired, after that performance. Which was quite beautiful, by the way—I count myself lucky that I was here for it.” Despite the danger it had posed.

“It is how we worship the Goddess,” Sareen said quite simply. “The beauty brings you closer to her.” She bowed Miryo out of the room, and closed the door behind her.

It wasn’t until Miryo was well away from Sareen’s room that she realized she had never even asked her doppelganger’s name.

Climbing around on the rooftops in Starfall was one matter; the Cousins knew perfectly well that students went to the roof of their quarters for privacy and a look at the stars.

Climbing around on the rooftops of Haira’s central keep was another matter entirely.

For one thing, it lacked the architecture of the students’ quarters, which was well-suited to climbing and hiding. For another, Haira had guards who would be less inclined to look the other way if a mysterious silhouette appeared against the night sky. But Miryo needed fresh air, and quiet, and she was accustomed to doing her thinking while sitting on a roof. She took her chances with the guards and climbed out her bedroom window.

Outside, she took deep breaths and tried to calm her racing heart. She had proof. Her doppelganger existed, and someone had seen it. More than one someone. Miryo had not doubted the Primes, but somehow this confirmation made the whole situation more real.

Her doppelganger was out there. Somewhere. And she was going to find it. Because she refused to fail.

Criel, former leader of Eriot’s company, would know where it had gone. What professions were there for thirteen-year-old former Temple Dancers? Many of them joined the clergy when they became too old to Dance, but Miryo had difficulty visualizing her double taking vows at that age. And why had it left the company in the first place? What “other calling” had it gone to follow?

These were all questions she could ask Criel when she got to Verdosa.

Now that she had a direction, Miryo could not wait for dawn to come. She did not regret this pause in Haira, but she was itching to get back in the saddle. She had to wait a few hours yet, though, before she could wake the two Cousins and get them on the road—

North.

Miryo’s heart almost stopped.

North, not east. The pull had moved. And it was distinct; she wasn’t imagining the change. Whatever was drawing her wasn’t in the east. It was north, now—not the far north, but nearby. Toward Kalistyi, though maybe not that far.

It’s on the move.

The pull did lead to her doppelganger; she was sure of it now. And it was moving. Heading west.

What’s in the west?

Half the domains lay in that direction. It could be headed anywhere, from Starfall to Askavya.

But the thread that led to it was stronger than it had ever been before. Miryo was no longer afraid she would lose it. Whichever way her doppelganger turned, she could follow it. And it couldn’t run forever. Eventually—soon—she would catch it.

Miryo rose and began to make her way back across the roof to her window. She hadn’t gone far, knowing she didn’t want any encounters with guards. Her mind and heart were both racing, but she made an effort to quiet them. She had to get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow would be early enough to get on the move once more.

And if I keep telling myself that, she thought wryly, I might even begin to believe it.

She did not sleep that night.