Doppelganger

20 Misetsu

“That’s twice!”

“You’re seeing things.” Mirage refused to look at Eclipse as she retrieved her sword from the dust.

“No. The first time, maybe, that explanation would fly. But not now. He shot you down, Sen, and there’s a hole in your jacket to prove it.”

Now Miryo stepped forward, looking from one to the other of them. “What do you mean, ‘the first time’?”

Mirage shot Eclipse a furious look, but it didn’t silence him. And somehow hitting him didn’t seem like a reasonable course of action. Since she couldn’t think of anything else to do, she just stood, trying not to shake, as he answered Miryo’s question.

“It was when we were students. She got into a fight with this other trainee. He hit her and killed her. I ran to get a master, but when we came back, Sen was on her feet again, and fighting him.”

“He didn’t kill me. I was just stunned.”

“Not a chance, Sen. Even then I knew what a broken neck sounded like.”

“And now it’s happened again,” Miryo said, her voice faint “I saw that Hunter shoot you. You were dead before you bit the ground.”

“I wasn’t dead.”

Eclipse laughed wildly. “What are you going to say—the arrow bounced off you?”

Miryo held up her hands to silence both of them. “Please—just think about it. This would explain so much.”

Mirage’s eyebrows shot upward. “Like what?”

“Like how you didn’t die twenty-five years ago. Maybe Kasane did kill you, and then you came back to life.”

That produced a momentary silence. Then Mirage shook her head. “But how could I have ended up unkillable? Is there some spell that would do that? No, it doesn’t make sense. Besides, if I’m invulnerable, why would the Primes send you to kill me?”

“Maybe they didn’t know,” Eclipse said.

But now Miryo was shaking her head, eyes wide with appalled understanding. “No, the Primes knew. But you’re not completely invulnerable, either. When they sent me after you, the one thing they emphasized above everything else was, I had to kill you myself.”

More silence. Then Eclipse said, “So if I were to attack her—”

“You stay away from me,” Mirage snapped. “I’m damned if I’m going to let you test this theory on me.” The very thought made her gut clench. She could still remember, though she had tried to forget, the sickening crunch in her neck as Leksen’s foot collided with her jaw. That, and now the impact of the arrow, and the hot, spreading pain, and the blackness.

“It makes sense, though,” Eclipse said.

“Except that neither of you has given me a good answer for how I ended up like this.”

Miryo snorted. “We’ve already got ten thousand unanswered questions. What’s one more or less?”

Mirage cleaned her sword of dust and her dagger of blood, then sheathed them both, the familiar tasks hiding the shaking of her hands. “Fine. So I’m hard to kill. What now?”

She succeeded in turning them from the subject, at least for the moment. The glance Miryo sent at the corpse on the ground looked involuntary, as though it drew her eyes against her will. “Is that the Wolfstar?”

“Wraith. Yeah. You can tell by his uniform.”

“So your commission is finished.”

“Only partly,” Mirage said, grateful to be discussing something other than her deaths. “There’s still the matter of who exactly hired him. Eclipse and I will write to our contact while you go see yours. Then we can decide whether to go after Ashin or our employers first” She snorted. “Assuming, of course, that Ashin isn’t our employer.”

Miryo gave her a startled look. “Do you think she is?”

“Not any of the ones we’ve met so far. From your description, she sounds too straightforward to be our first witch, and too confident to be our second. So there are at least four of them involved, counting Tari-nakana. But probably more than that, since there are four doppelgangers that we know of.”

“Yeah. I’m trying to think of who else has a daughter the right age.” Miryo pondered it, then gave it up with a shake of her head. “I’ll have to think about it What should we do with him, though?” Again that involuntary glance, her eyes sliding sideways.

“We strip him,” Eclipse said. “The uniform marks him, and generally the only way to get a complete one is to kill its owner. So that’ll be proof of his death. The body, we’ll bury.” He raised one eyebrow at Miryo’s reaction. “You seem surprised.”

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to show him that kind of respect.”

“He was doing his job. Just as we are. I personally wouldn’t have accepted a commission to kill Tari-nakana, but that’s not an issue worth defiling his corpse over.”

Mirage watched Miryo’s reaction with interest. Did she think we’d leave him for the crows? I didn’t much like him, but that’s not a fate he deserved. It seemed that her double had in fact expected something of the sort.

Miryo closed her eyes, swallowed once, and opened them again. This time she looked at the body quite deliberately. “All right, then. Let’s get this done and move on.”

Snatches of conversation kept drifting to Eclipse’s ears. He tried not to look as though he were eavesdropping, but it was hard; he wanted to hear what they were saying.

He could tell Miryo’s voice from Mirage’s. They were very similar, of course, being built of the same basic stock, but Miryo was a witch, and it showed. Mirage lacked the trained mellifluousness her double had. And there was a near-permanent edge to Mirage’s voice that Miryo didn’t have.

But the more they talked to each other, the more they began to sound alike. Not entirely, of course, but their tones did shift together. Eclipse had heard it before; people often picked up intonations and speech patterns from those around them. But it was more disturbing, hearing it from two voices that were so similar at their core.

He wondered if it was possible Mirage could pick up all the qualities of Miryo’s voice. She had a tin ear, probably caused by the same division that made Miryo’s reflexes ordinary. But could either of them develop to match the other? Or was there a basic divide between them, caused by the ritual that had made them two?

That was, in part, the topic of their conversation tonight.

Earlier in the evening they had experimented once more with magic. Miryo had described what happened to the spell she had built during Eclipse’s fight with Wraith; she hadn’t really been in control, and had barely managed to divert the energy when Mirage reappeared. She had speculated, however, that bad she completed the spell while Mirage was dead—or whatever—it might have worked. Mirage, of course, had flatly refused to test this theory. But they had compromised: Eclipse knocked her out, then moved back a safe distance while Miryo tried a spell.

It backfired. Miryo hadn’t seemed surprised, but it was hard to tell; the fallout had all but completely paralyzed her, so her expression was a bit stiff. The spell’s effects had only worn off a little while ago.

Eclipse snorted at the memory. The growing rapport between the two occasionally left him on the outside, but they needed him around; without him, they might start trying some of their more crack-brained ideas. Like getting Mirage drunk. Miryo thought the alcohol might interfere with the power sliding into her, but Eclipse had gotten her to postpone that particular test. Permanently, he hoped.

“I don’t know how we’d do that, though.”

He blinked and came back to himself. What had Mirage just suggested?

His year-mate shrugged. He pulled his eyes away and watched her out of his peripheral vision. “You’re the witch,” she said. “Can’t you put something together?”

“It’s not that easy,” Miryo said, shaking her head. “You don’t create a new spell by experimentation, you know.”

“Oh, right, because I know so much about where spells come from. Does a little bird deliver them?”

There was real bite in Mirage’s voice, but Miryo just rolled her eyes, unfazed. “No. They’re created by intuition, mostly. Although that’s not the way my teachers put it. I never quite understood how this works, but apparently, every so often, there’s a witch who just finds herself following a pattern nobody’s used before. And it works. They say it’s a matter of closeness to the Goddess. That’s the way Misetsu got started. Her faith was strong enough mat she received the gift of magic, and the ability to pass it on to her daughters. We’re all descended from her.”

“So new spells aren’t something you can create at will.”

“I’m afraid not. Still, the idea’s worth looking into. Maybe someone else can find a way to make it work. It runs counter to the way I’ve been thinking, but we haven’t had any luck so far combining our efforts. So maybe separating us completely is the solution.”

Separation? Eclipse tried not to show his interest. After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be listening. But as a potential answer to their problems, it had merit. As near as anyone could tell, the difficulties they were having were caused by the remaining connection between them. Severing it—if that was possible—might fix everything.

He wondered how they felt about that. What existed between them was not quite friendship, and not quite sisterhood; it was something different, and as far as he could tell neither of them ever thought about it. They had just accepted it as a matter of course, within a day of meeting. But how would this separation change mat?

He couldn’t guess. He knew, however, that if a permanent severing was the only answer to their problems, they would both accept it without question. It was a cost they’d be willing to pay.

Once more they split up. Miryo rode directly into Aystad, while Mirage and Eclipse circled around to a different gate. There was less need for it, since Aystad wasn’t a Hunter town like Angrim and Elensk. But caution seemed to be ingrained in the Hunters’ bones, and Miryo was beginning to behave that way, too.

She found the Twin Hearths, her designated inn, and took a moment to get her luggage into her room. She didn’t bother to unpack it, though. That was another thing she was beginning to pick up. She’d skipped out of enough places in the middle of the night lately that she knew better than to get settled in.

Then it was time to find her contact, Yaryoki. The names and locations of all the Void Hands was one of the things she’d been drilled on and tested over, but just because she knew the streets’ names didn’t mean she could find them. Aystad was a horribly tangled town. Miryo at least had the sense to ask her innkeeper, and he was very obliging, but following his directions turned out to be impossible. By the time Miryo found Yaryoki’s house, nearly an hour later, her temper was frayed quite thin.

She took a moment outside the low garden wall to straighten her hair and calm herself. Then she walked in.

The perimeter spell tripped as she passed through the gate. Miryo kept her steps slow, to give the Cousin time to get to the door. It opened before she reached it, and the short, stocky woman inside bowed her in without a word.

Perhaps it was the way the Cousin seemed unaccountably tense. Perhaps it was the way she didn’t ask Miryo’s name, as if Yaryoki had been expecting her. Whatever it was, though, instinct prompted Miryo to draw herself suddenly erect as she was conducted into the sitting room.

Where she bowed to the Primes.

Being around Mirage had taught Miryo how to control her expression better. She was proud of herself as she straightened; that control, combined with her sudden suspicion before she walked in, allowed her to face the Primes without flinching, or showing any sign of surprise that they were here, in Aystad, in Yaryoki’s house. Expecting her.

Satomi, of course, was in the center. They sat in an arc of high-backed chairs; the resemblance to their formal seats in the hall where they had sent her on her hunt was not accidental. Magical lights cast the room into stark relief. The effect left her feeling as though there was no place to hide.

“We are concerned,” Satomi said.

Void it.

“The Cousins were sent with you for protection. We began to worry when they were seen by a Void Hand, and you were not in their company. We investigated.”

So Kan and Sai had been found. Miryo wondered, rather belatedly, where they had gone after they left her.

Satomi’s eyes were completely expressionless. “You have found your doppelganger.”

“Yes.” No point in denying it.

“And it is not dead.”

Miryo found herself flinching at the pronoun. She had grown used to thinking of Mirage as a person; it was jarring to speak with someone who didn’t. But Satomi was waiting for an answer. “No, Aken.”

She expected the Void Prime to ask her why, and in fact was marshaling her arguments. Not that she thought they’d work, but it was worth a try. Satomi, however, surprised her by staying quiet. It was Rana who spoke next.

“We understand,” the Water Prime said, and Miryo’s jaw almost hit the floor. “It is difficult. To face one so like you in appearance, to strike that blow, is not an easy thing to ask.”

“You must do it, though,” Koika put in. “This task has been given to you. It is your responsibility to fulfill it.”

Miryo could already see what they were doing. Next it would be Shimi. And, right on time, the Air Prime spoke up. “There are no other options. None. We have searched for them, through the centuries, and found none. Misetsu established the pattern for us, and we must continue to follow it if we wish to survive.”

And then, of course, came Arinei, giving her the final exhortation. “This is all that remains between you and the power that is your birthright. All you need do is reach forth and take it. Then you will be a witch—as you have strived to be, all these years! That dream will be yours!”

Empathy, resolution, reasoning, and a grand vision to round it off. All nicely matched to their Elemental roles. Miryo hoped the cynicism she felt didn’t show in her eyes. It would make them very unhappy.

Of course, so would what she was about to say. “So you say. But I’d still like the chance to investigate it myself, before I go kill a part of me.”

“Your doppelganger is no part of you. It was separated out in infancy for a reason.”

“What reason, Shimi-kane? That’s one of the things I wonder about. And I’m afraid I can’t quite agree that she’s no part of me.” No visible reaction when she called Mirage “she,” but Miryo knew they’d noticed. “You see, I’ve met her. I’ve looked her in the eye. And that’s something none of you can understand. You’ve not been there, looking at your own reflection made flesh.”

“Wrong,” Satomi said.

The word brought Miryo’s head snapping around to face the Void Prime. It broke the tenor of their little speeches so far. Satomi wasn’t speaking from a script now; she was talking to Miryo directly.

“What?” Miryo said.

“I have been there. I looked my doppelganger in the eye. And I hesitated. For an entire day I talked to her, and I questioned everything exactly the way you have. But in the end, I chose to complete my task. Will you hear why?”

The floor had dropped out from under Miryo’s feet. Satomi’s doppelganger had survived? How? Presumably the way Mirage had, of course, but… Miryo tried to envision it—the Void Prime, twenty-five and idealistic, looking for a way out. And then accepting that there wasn’t one, and killing her double.

“Yes,” Miryo managed to get out. And then a belated, “Aken.”

Satomi closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they were as cold as ice.

“Centuries ago,” she began, “in the days when the land was still joined into three great kingdoms, a woman dwelt in the southern mountains. She was a hermit, and a devotee of the Goddess in all her Aspects. Despite her young age, she was known for her faith, and her love of the Lady who watches over us all.”

Misetsu, obviously. Miryo knew the story. But she kept her mouth shut; no sum of money would have persuaded her to interrupt Satomi right now.

“One evening, as the stars were beginning to emerge, this woman climbed to the top of a crag and stood there, singing praises to the Goddess. And such was the joy and devotion in her heart that her song changed, and became something more. And she saw that around her the starlight had begun to grow; it filled the air, and formed into threads, and began to dance around her.

“She stood there the whole night through, singing. When the dawn rose, she sang one final praise, and then fell asleep, there on the rock where she had stood. In the evening she awoke, and the gift of magic was strong inside her, and the Goddess had given her the name of Misetsu. In the weeks and months and years that followed she continued to hear the Goddess’s voice in her heart, and thus created the first spells and enchantments.”

Now Satomi’s voice changed, and Miryo realized the story was diverging from the one she had always been told. “She had daughters, three of them. And the Goddess showed her how to pass her gift on. One by one, as her daughters were born, she sang the spells over them. And she found, to her surprise, that as she did so, each child became two. This puzzled her, but she chose to raise all of them as her own.”

Goddess, I wish Mirage were here to hear this. Wait—no, I don’t. I’m not sure what the Primes would do to her. “Twenty-five years later,” Satomi continued, “she began to discover her error. For the time had come for her eldest daughter, Monisuko, to wield her magic.” Monisuko? I thought her name was Menukyo.

“To Misetsu’s horror, her daughter’s magic raged out of control. And before long, it slew both her and her double. Misetsu grieved, but attributed the disaster to imperfect faith. Her next daughter, Machayu, would do better.”

Machayu. Still no Menukyo. But I bet I’m going to hear how they ended up deciding to. kill the doppelgangers.

“Machayu also died, and her double with her,” Satomi said. Miryo wasn’t surprised. “But Misetsu did not give up. She prayed tirelessly, and sought a way to make it possible for others to wield magic, so the gift would not end with her. It was after Maiyaki, her third daughter, died, along with her double, that she found the solution. With the death of the doppelgangers, magic became stable. Misetsu, now aged and weary, lived just long enough to see Monisuko’s eldest daughter, Menukyo, become a full witch.”

She paused to give Miryo a searching look. Miryo stood still and tried to show no expression. And there’s Menukyo. Not the eldest daughter. The eldest granddaughter.

When Satomi did not speak again right away, Miryo risked a question. “But why must the doppelgangers be killed? What did Misetsu learn that made her think that was the only way?”

Satomi gave her a brief smile, but there was no humor in it. The Void Prime’s eyes were hard and flat, as if holding emotion down by will alone. “When I was sent after my doppelganger, the answer to that question was given to me before I left. I felt, based on my own experience, that it would be better if those after me did not know. It seemed kinder. But I question my decision, now. It is my dearest hope that I will never again be required to send one of our own on this task, but I will advise those who come after me to tell those sent. It is imperative that our young witches understand why they must kill their doppelgangers.”

Miryo stilled her hands and waited, motionless, for her answer.

“The answer we give comes to us from Misetsu, from her last writings before her death. ‘The doppelganger is anathema to us. It is destruction and oblivion, the undoing of all magic. It is the ruin of our work, and the bane of our being. It and our magic will never coexist, and its presence threatens all that our powers can do.’ So wrote Misetsu, five days before she died.”

Silence. Tension. Miryo suddenly blinked, and forced air back into her lungs.

Merciful Mother. I thought—I mean, there was obviously trouble, but—

“The doppelgangers are a danger to us all,” Satomi said. “That is why we must kill them. If we do not, all that we are will be destroyed.” Her expression was grave, and only now did Miryo see something human in her eyes, too deep to be identified. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” Miryo managed. Her voice was little more than a strangled whisper.

“We will give you another chance,” the Void Prime said. “You see, now, why you must kill your doppelganger. For your sake, for the sake of us all, do it without delay, and return to us. If you do not, we will take steps, for our own protection.”

In her mind’s eye Miryo saw Mirage, but the image had subtly changed. Mirage. Not just a part of herself, but a danger. Carrying in herself the seeds of destruction for Starfall. It was a part of what she was. Could that ever be fixed?

Goddess. This choice—Mirage, or all that I’ve held dear—

“I understand, Aken,” Miryo whispered. She felt dead inside. “May I be excused?”

Satomi nodded. “May the Goddess walk with you.”