Doppelganger

14 Capture

Mirage did not sleep in again her second morning in Angrim. Early rising had been a habit for as long as she could remember; Hunter trainees never lingered in bed, and neither did Temple Dancers, so she had been four the last time anyone let her sleep in regularly. Even when flat on her back in Silverfire’s infirmary, she had woken early. Now it was an ingrained reflex.

She went around to the back of the Cracked Oak’s courtyard and found a bent horseshoe tossed against the wall. The message had gone out without trouble, then. Wisp was always reliable.

The market streets of the city were already filling up; vendors were opening their stalls and laying out then-goods, and a handful of enthusiastic buskers were warming up on the corners. The snatches of music they played followed Mirage as she bought saddle oil and strong gut cord, reminding her of the witches she was tangling with. It was a discordant note in an otherwise sunny and pleasant morning.

It was still early, and her shopping was done. Eclipse had promised to take care of the rest of it. She could re-turn to the inn, but before she did so, there was one other stop she wanted to make.

Angrim’s temple had always been one of her favorites. The open pentagonal layout felt less confining than most temples. Her company of Dancers had performed a specially designed Dance here once, a little over a year before she left them. That had been one of Mirage’s first major public performances, back when she was Seniade, back before Criel had come to her and offered her a chance at her long-buried dream.

She brushed the ghosts of the past from her mind and returned to her purpose.

There were a variety of ways to purify oneself for presentation to the Warrior. For general worship, people often went through an exercise of controlled breathing. But the Hunter schools were descendants of ancient Warrior cults, and so Mirage showed her devotion in a different way.

The moves she performed were simple, but she put all her concentration and effort into each one. This was more than just purification; it was the beginning of her worship, and it demanded the best she had to give.

There were several patterns of movement to choose from, depending on the devotee’s purpose in coming. Mirage chose the pattern of supplication. It was far from meek in tone—the Warrior didn’t value meekness very highly—but the entreaty in it was plain. And then, pattern finished, she saluted the statue at the heart of the shrine. Since no one was there to watch, she made it the full, formal, Hunter’s salute. Then, for good measure, she pricked her finger on her dagger and pressed her bloody fingertip to the wood rail that surrounded the shrine. It was stained with the small blood offerings of countless previous devotees.

Then Mirage knelt and prayed.

Warrior. Lady of Blades. Huntress and Protectress.

I got myself into this situation. I know that perfectly well. And it’s up to me to get me out of it; I do not seek your aid in that.

But you are a warrior, not a murderer. You value a fair fight, or so the clergy tell us. And so I have to ask that you grant at least that much to Kerestel—Eclipse—and me.

Fighting the Wolfstar: that would be fair. Fighting Cousins: that would be fair. But fighting the assembled forces of Starfall would not be fair. Even if it’s not all of them, even if it’s just a faction, that is not a fair fight; it’s slaughter. I’m no more immune to magic than the next person, whatever people say about me. And neither is Eclipse. If we go up against the witches, we’re dead.

Please, grant us this much. Grant us at least a fighting chance.

Mirage lifted her eyes to the statue of the Warrior. Unlike many, it did not depict her in any fighting pose; instead she stood upright, sword raised before her face, eyes gazing outward with calm readiness. The look on the Goddess’s face gave Mirage strength.

We will do what we can. If that’s not enough, then so be it. But please, Warrior, at least give us that fair chance.

I promise I will use it well.

Something of the quiet she had gained in the temple stayed with Mirage as she returned to the Cracked Oak. The clamor of the streets did not bother her; the annoyance of an overturned wagon of beer kegs did not touch her. She entered the inn feeling calmer than she had in some time. If trouble awaited her, at least she had made her peace with the Warrior.

The common room was deserted; those who wanted breakfast had eaten it and gone, and the rest had not yet risen for lunch. One of the servants had pushed several tables to the walls so she could scrub the boards of the floor, but had left the job half done; the bucket sat abandoned in the middle of the open space. Mirage, carrying her purchases, passed it on her way to the stairs.

Halfway there, she spun and threw the flask of saddle oil.

The Hunter behind her ducked it, but Mirage had bought herself time to draw her sword. And then she was backing up, retreating from the blur that was his attacking staff.

The floorboards were still damp; that was all that saved Mirage a moment later. Another Hunter leapt out from behind one of the overturned tables, but skidded on the boards, and thus gave her just enough warning to drop into a sideways roll. And as. she came to her feet, Mirage realized just how much trouble she was in.

Hunters.

Four of them.

Thornbloods, her mind told her coolly, and then she was retreating again, trying to keep distance and the remaining tables between her and her attackers. Two were armed with staffs; two were bare-handed. No blades? Why not? She sidestepped a staff blow at the last moment, so that the man went reeling off-balance. Thornbloods almost always use blades.

Sword against staff. Mirage tried to cut through his weapon, but it had been well-hardened, and for a Thorn-blood he did remarkably well at catching most of her blows on the staff’s iron bands. He wasn’t quite quick enough with the unaccustomed weapon, though. Mirage swung at his right side, but disengaged before he had even fully blocked it, then drew her elbow back and turned the motion into a quick jab that found a weak point in his leather armor. He collapsed, and then Mirage was running, vaulting a table to get clear of the other three.

She maneuvered to keep the unarmed pair, a man and a woman, away from her back, so she could concentrate on the other staff fighter. He was better than his friend. Mirage had to leap over the butt of his staff and immediately block the descending upper end. The effort jarred her arms, and all she gave in return was a tiny slice along the back of his hand. She did the same to the other hand a moment later, but it was minor damage at best, and his friends were about to enter the fray.

Void it—I’ve got to get free of this! Mirage looked for an exit and found none. And in her moment of distraction, the staff fighter struck twice: slamming the elbow of her sword arm, and then knocking her blade clean out of her hand.

The other Thornbloods charged. Mirage created her own exit; she rushed the staff fighter, who had not expected such a move, and shoved him into the unarmed man. She failed to break free, though, and found herself fighting the other bare-handed Hunter, a woman, while at her back the men rose to their feet.

She feinted right, as if to bolt for the door; behind her she heard one of the men shift. Then she reversed direction and headed left, toward the stairs. Two steps into her flight she spun and kicked the bucket of soapy, dirty water. It flew into the face of the staff fighter, blinding him. The woman charged in. Mirage wasn’t afraid. She’d bet on herself in a one-on-one fight any day, so long as she didn’t have a concussion going into it. But the story would change quickly when the other two got back into the fight.

She broke two of the woman’s fingers just as the staff-man arrived. His first blow she dodged, but the second clipped her in the diaphragm; she spun out of that and hook-kicked him in the kidneys, but he hardly grunted. His retaliatory blow, while not very strong, was enough to send her off balance and rolling to the floor. Mirage came up right next to a table and leapt onto its top, but the unarmed man had anticipated that, and was waiting for her there. His roundhouse kick threw her right back onto the floor.

Another roll, but she was hurting now, and the Thorn-bloods knew it. They spread out around her, trapping her near the overturned table, and advanced steadily. Mirage spat blood and forced air back into her lungs. There would be no backup coming for her. She had to finish this now, before they finished her.

The broken-fingered woman was the weakest link of the chain. Mirage targeted her. She got in one good kick, but it wasn’t enough to take the woman down, and then the staff smashed into her lower back. Her spine erupted in agony. She snarled it away and spun, slamming her stiffened hand into the back of the staff fighter’s neck. The woman kicked the back of her knees and sent her to the floor. A boot caught her chin and she flew backward, hitting the floor hard, and before she could force herself to her feet there was a sharp pressure on the small of her back, and someone twisted her arms painfully behind her. Mirage tried once to heave the weight off and got her face slammed into the floor. Then the female Thornblood knelt in front of her.

The woman wound her unbroken fingers in Mirage’s hair and dragged her head up so she could see. Mirage spat more blood at her, but the woman ignored it, instead reaching up to pull the mask of her head covering down.

“Ice,” Mirage mumbled painfully.

The Thornblood smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while,” she purred.

“I see it only took three friends to get your nerve up,” Mirage said, putting as much acid into her tone as she could.

Ice was not perturbed. “Ah, this was not just personal. This was a job.” Her smile got nastier. “There’s a witch who wants to see you.”

Then Mirage’s head was slammed into the floor again, and she passed out.

The mirror in Miryo’s bedroom was enchanted. She discovered this by accident; she was humming to calm her nerves while waiting for the Hunter to return, and the sound caused a resonance. The spell was one that caused the mirror to show various rooms in the house.

Of course. Can’t expect a Fire witch to go skulking in stuffy closets. That’s for the Cousins. She can sit up here and spy in comfort.

The enchantment didn’t even require power to get it started, just a snatch of the proper music. Miryo, inferring from the type of spell and the tastes of Fire witches, figured the key out easily, and spent some time playing with the mirror. It reminded her of all she stood to gain.

There was a commotion in the house’s courtyard; she could hear it through the window. Miryo shifted the mirror to see from above the front door, and found herself staring. Not one but three uniformed Hunters were out there, two of them carrying bodies. What in the Crone’s name had happened?

She redirected the mirror again as they came inside and went to the room where Kan was waiting. No polite salutes now; the two Hunters at the back, both men, dropped their burdens while the woman Miryo had hired strode forward. She was obviously nursing an injured hand and more than one bruise, but arrogance was written in every line of her body.

“We’ve got her,” she said without ceremony. “Within a day, as I promised. Now heal me and my friends.”

Miryo bristled at her tone. Who was she, to order a witch around? Not that Kan was really a witch, but the Hunter didn’t know that.

Rudeness is the least of your problems. Kan can no more heal them than I could direct an army. But she can’t admit that, and I can’t do anything to help her. Not until my doppelganger is dead. Miryo eyed the two bodies on the floor, neither of which was moving much. One was a man, also in Hunter uniform. The other was bundled up so that only her boots were visible, but Miryo didn’t need a face to know it was her double.

Goddess. I’m not ready yet. I can’t just walk in there, stab her, and heal those Hunters.

“I’m afraid I cannot do that,” Kan was saying with laudable poise. “Here is your payment, as I promised. I will give you coin for a healer as well, but I have pressing business I must attend to.”

“For the Warrior’s sake—at least heal him!” The female Hunter pointed at her motionless companion on the floor.

“He was not hired for this job,” Kan said coldly. Her eyes dared the Hunter to argue. “You were the only one contracted. His injuries are none of my concern.”

“He’s going to die, Katsu.” The term of address was ground out between her teeth. “That bitch stuck a sword in his gut. No healer is going to be able to fix that. He’ll take an infection and rot to death. I don’t care if you didn’t hire him; you still ought to heal him.”

“We’ll pay for the service,” one of the other Hunters said.

Miryo felt a sudden pain and realized she had chewed one finger until it bled. She could not take her eyes off the motionless Hunter. Oh, Lady—I just can’t do it yet! Not even to save that man! I want to use my magic, but I can’t, not yet. Please, Mother of us all, I’m just not ready. Forgive me. Forgive me. I cannot kill it yet.

Kan had been thinking fast. “I cannot,” she said gently. “I must continue on to other things. But one of my sisters of the Water Ray lives on Upper Cart Lane, which is not so far a walk from here. Take him there, and she will heal him. Tell her he was hurt in the employ of Miryo.”

Rage was still plain in the female Hunter’s posture, but she bowed jerkily. “We will do so. Katsu. Good-bye.” They picked up their unconscious companion and left.

Miryo waited until they were out of the courtyard, and then ran down the stairs to the waiting Cousins. “Put it in the attic room,” she said, not looking at the body on the floor. “I’ll deal with it shortly.”

Mirage awoke to pain. She immediately pushed it to the back of her mind. The last thing she had seen was Ice’s vengeful face, so this was no time for weakness. She had to be alert.

At least no one had blindfolded her. Not that there was much to see. The floorboards in front of her nose were dusty, but disturbed by footprints. The musty smell of the air suggested an attic. And the quality of the light suggested that it was afternoon, so either she was still in Angrim, or she’d been kept unconscious for more than a day. The former seemed more likely.

She shut her eyes again, partly to calm her headache, and partly to concentrate on sound. She could hear no one in the room with her. Of course, given Ice’s words, a witch might be watching her magically. But she’d have to take that chance.

Rolling over brought more pain, of course, but that was to be expected. The room was tiny, with a sharply sloped ceiling, and empty save for a door. Nothing for her to work with.

Mirage twisted her hands behind her, testing the ropes binding them.

If a Thornblood tied these, they’re even more worthless as Hunters than I thought. The ropes, while not loose, were definitely workable. With an ease born of long, painful practice, Mirage dislocated both of her thumbs and set about wiggling out of her bonds.

in moments she was free, but as she reset her thumbs and examined the rope around her ankles, footsteps sounded on the stairs outside the door. With one last, quick glance around, Mirage twined the rope loosely around her wrists and lay back down, more or less in the position she had been in when she awoke.

The only difference was that now she could see the door.

The visitor was not Ice, nor any other Thornblood. Red hair, clothing good but practical; probably a Cousin. Mirage suppressed a shudder. Am I better off, or not? Which would be worse—Cousins, or Ice?

No time to dwell on it. The woman was bending down to examine Mirage; she’d see the loose rope in a second.

Mirage slapped her hands hard against the floor and threw her weight onto them, kicking upward with her still-bound feet. She was lucky. The Cousin was unprepared and her aim was good; her heels struck the woman’s head and sent her careening backward into the wall. She fell to the floor and Mirage was on her in an instant, clipping her hard behind the ear. She wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.

Mirage searched her clothing and swore. Unarmed. What kind of Cousin goes around unarmed? Unless she’s a witch, but I can’t believe it of her. No pendant, and she doesn’t move like a witch. She’s combat-trained, I’d bet on it. I’m just lucky she thought I was still unconscious.

Swiftly now, she untied her feet. There had been a definite thump when the Cousin hit the wall, and another when she fell; someone might come to investigate. The room’s one window was much too small for Mirage to fit through, and looked out onto an unhelpful brick wall. She’d have to find another path of escape.

So she tied the unconscious Cousin with the ropes that had bound her and slipped out the door. It opened onto a very short hallway with two more doors off it. They looked like more attic rooms, so she headed for the stairs at the other end.

The floor below was much more habitable, with a staircase to the next floor down at the other end of the hallway. But before Mirage could decide whether to investigate the rooms along the hall, go out the window, or head downstairs, one of the doors opened and another red-haired woman stepped out.

Void it. Mirage charged her. But this one was more ready than the first; she whipped a knife out as Mirage approached.

The woman’s speed was no match for Mirage’s. As the woman thrust with the knife, Mirage dodged to the inside. One hand seized control of the knife, while the other slammed into her collarbone.

This second Cousin collapsed with a cry of pain. Mirage kicked her in the head and put her out, too, but now her nerves were humming; with that noise, more Cousins would be arriving within seconds. No time to tie up this one, and no point. Mirage scooped up the knife and ran.

The house did not contain a religious shrine, but it did have a room for working spells, which was much the same. Miryo went there immediately after ordering the Cousins to take care of the doppelganger.

She knelt in the center of the room. Triskeles done in Elemental colors encircled her; she spared them a brief glance before ignoring them entirely. Her mind focused on a single thing.

Maiden. Bride. Mother. Crone. Warrior. Be with me.

Miryo took a moment to calm her breathing and her heart. Both were racing, after the scene with the Hunters. The knowledge of what she was facing didn’t help her any, either.

Forgive me. I should have helped that man. He was seriously injured, and needed healing. But I had not prepared myself properly, and so I could not—would not—help him. I was too weak.

Please, Lady of Five Faces, help me not be weak now. My doppelganger is upstairs. I must—no, I will kill it. It hurt that man, nearly killed him; it has probably done the same to others. I, however, wish to help those in need, wherever, they may be. I know now that I can serve you best as a witch of the Air. And this is the first step in that service.

I go now to execute my doppelganger. Be at my side, Goddess, as I wield the knife.

Mirage spared a quick glance out the hallway window as she turned the corner. As she had hoped, she was about to reach the ground floor. A straight run for the front door seemed her best option. Hopefully the house’s remaining defenses would not mobilize in time to stop her. And hopefully she wouldn’t run into anything worse than surprised Cousins. But luck, which had been with her so far, now deserted her. She reached the bottom of the stairs, turned a corner, and found herself face-to-face with another red-haired woman.

The triskele pendant that hung around her neck drew Mirage’s eyes like a magnet.

“Warrior,” she whispered. “You’re the witch who had me taken.”

Miryo stood frozen, numb, barely able to feel the dagger in her fingers. She had thought she was prepared for the shock of seeing her doppelganger. She was wrong.

Her doppelganger’s flame-colored hair was cut close to her head, but the hue was like hers. Its body was hard muscle, but the proportions were the same. And the face she saw was her own. Not similar: identical. Battered though her doppelganger was, its face was hers. Miryo’s skin crawled as she stood in the hallway, staring at herself.

Its eyes—gray, like her own—widened in shock. It was even less prepared for this than Miryo herself.

“Who are you?” it whispered, body tensed and wary. Miryo realized for the first time that it, too, had a knife in its hands. “My—my sister?”

“No,” Miryo said, responding automatically. She couldn’t make herself move. “Not sisters. You and I—we’re the same person.”

One pale eyebrow rose in a manner that was eerily familiar.

“You’re my doppelganger. My double. Made when I was five days old. Only you were supposed to be killed then—doppelgangers are always killed—but you survived. Somehow. But I have to kill you now.” She closed her mouth with a snap to keep herself from babbling more.

It brought the knife up defensively. Miryo eyed the blade and swallowed; it looked very competent. And it had nearly killed a Hunter. How was she supposed to stand against it?

“So you murder babies,” the doppelganger said coldly.

“It’s not murder!” Miryo protested. “It’s done before the child is presented to the Goddess. So there’s no soul when one body is killed.”

“I’ve been in starlight since then, more than once. Do you want to bet that I still have no soul?”

That hit far too close to home, even after Miryo’s resolution to put the question behind her. “It doesn’t matter. I have to kill you. As long as you’re alive, I can’t control my magic. So either I kill you now, or I cause a lot of destruction and probably hurt or kill other people before I die, myself.” The word “kill” stabbed her every time she said it.

“And I’m supposed to believe you.”

“You don’t want a demonstration, believe me.” Miryo clamped down on the trembling part of herself and matched her doppelganger, glare for glare.

“So why don’t I kill you? That should solve the problem, shouldn’t it?”

Miryo’s heart thudded painfully. She didn’t have a prayer of matching it in a fight, and now she’d admitted her magic was not stable. And she had a sick suspicion that neither Kan nor Sai would be appearing to help her. The courage of her convictions held her up. “That’s not the way it goes. You’re a doppelganger. A copy. Not a real person. You were never meant to live.”

It stared at her as though she were babbling nonsense. The expression, its familiarity, unnerved her, but she refused to show it; any hint of weakness and this thing would exploit it. Miryo kept her jaw firm and did not look away.

The doppelganger straightened suddenly. “All right,” it said, and tossed its knife casually to the floor in front of Miryo. Then it spread its arms wide. “Do it.”

Miryo stared at it in complete shock. “What?”

“Kill me,” it said grimly. “Stab me in the heart. If you truly believe what you’re saying, then it should mean no more to you then tearing up a sheet of paper. Do it. Stab me in the heart.”

Miryo stepped forward, over its discarded blade. Taking a deep breath, she raised her own knife, lining its tip up with her double’s chest. It could undoubtedly strike the weapon from her hand, but it made no move to do so.

Her doppelganger gave her a twisted smile. “Think of me, whenever you cast a spell.”