Doppelganger

3 Future [Miryo]

The mountains reached high into the night sky, but the stars glimmered higher still. Miryo lay on her back against the slanted roof of the students’ hall and studied them, trying to lose herself in peaceful stargazing.

Her thoughts, however, would not leave her alone.

Her eyes scanned restlessly, picking out one constellation after another, identifying each, reviewing their cycles in the sky. It didn’t help to look elsewhere. Turning her attention downward only showed her the nearby buildings of Starfall’s major settlement: the students’ hall beneath her; the architectural logjam of the ancient main building; the New House, where she would hopefully be living before much longer. All reminders of what was coming. There was no surcease to be found in looking downward.

All the same, though, it was better out here than in her room. Were she there, her bookshelves and desk would beckon her with reminders of all the things she still had to study, all the things she still didn’t know.

Out here, where the night breeze could refresh her, she could at least try to empty her mind, to find peace and forgetfulness.

She could try to ignore what was coming.

The wind blew more strongly, making her shiver.

Miryo tucked back strands of hair that had been teased loose from their braid and then wrapped her arms around her body. She should have brought a cloak, or at least worn warmer clothing. It might be the middle of summer, but here on the slopes of the mountains, the breeze could still be chill.

But if she didn’t want to return to her room, there were still places she could go that would be more sheltered. Miryo rose carefully, mindful of the long plunge that awaited her should she fall off the roof of the students’ hall. Despite the cool air, she removed her slippers and stuck them into a pocket; she preferred cold toes to the loss of traction on the slate roof.

She made her way up the slope to the ridge line where, balancing against the wind, she paused to look upward, at the structure she’d had her back to before. Star Hall itself, the ritual heart of this place, looming over everything else with its windows like watching eyes. Miryo shivered and moved hurriedly into the lee of a higher gable. A cautious slide down the opposite side took her to the base of another rise; the students’ hall, though not as mismatched in its structure as the main building, boasted a crazy landscape of intersecting roofs that afforded all sorts of fun climbing and hidden nooks. “Watch out!”

The hissed warning nearly made her lose her grip on the roof’s crest. She caught herself in time and slid carefully into the cup formed by the intersection of several slopes. Some enterprising student long ago had put a wooden platform down there, making a comfortable hidden spot that was a favorite refuge of those students who found it.

“You almost made me break my neck,” Miryo said to the other shadowy figure in the pit.

“If I hadn’t said anything, you would have fallen on me,” Eikyo pointed out. “I figured it was worth the risk.”

Miryo shrugged. “You would have survived.”

“With bruises. Pardon me if I didn’t look forward to that.” Eikyo sighed and leaned back, mirth rapidly forgotten. “Have you finished your essay for Yuri-mai?”

“I’ve hardly started,” Miryo admitted. “I’ve been…”

“Brooding,” Eikyo finished for her.

Involuntarily Miryo glanced upward again at the watchful bulk of Star Hall.

“Don’t think about it,” Eikyo said as soon as Miryo’s eyes moved. “Worrying isn’t going to help you any.”

“Like you never think about it yourself.”

“Of course I do. But not as often as you do; I’ve seen you obsessing.”

“I think I’m justified,” Miryo said sharply. “It is, after all, my fate we’re talking about.”

“And mine,” her friend replied, unperturbed. “In another couple of months. We’re all facing the same thing, Miryo. But plenty of women before us have done fine.”

Miryo shivered and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And plenty have failed. You didn’t see what was left of Hinusoka, after…” She closed her eyes, but it didn’t block the memory of the appallingly small bundle the Cousins had carried out of Star Hall. And the way it had dripped—“I just don’t feel prepared. Study is fine and well, but in the end, they hand you power and you have to control it. Or else it controls you. And there’s no way to practice for that, because only when the time comes will you have power to handle.”

“You’ll be fine,” Eikyo repeated. “Gannu made it, after all; if she can survive the test, you’ll have no problem.” Despite her words, her body had tensed, and Miryo looked at her in curiosity. “All right,” Eikyo admitted. “I worry, too. But not about dying. Is that strange?”

Miryo knew what she was referring to. Eikyo had a superstition about saying it directly, ever since the teachers told them what happened to students who failed the final test. Not everyone died. Eikyo thought the alternative was worse; Miryo didn’t much want to think about either one.

“Worry about something more mundane,” she suggested, to distract her friend. And herself. “Like failing the questioning from the Keys, and being publicly humiliated because they decide you’re not even ready for the test. Stuck here as an old woman, with all the younger students laughing at you—”

“Oh, that’s helpful,” Eikyo said, but some of the tension went out of her shoulders.

Miryo grinned at her. “Come on. If one of us is going to worry about the questioning, it should be me. Your memory has mine beat. Think past the test; think about the future. Are you sure you want to be Earth Heart?”

“Yes,” Eikyo said firmly, brightening. Her preference had always been for the company of plants and animals, rather than people; being in crowds made her uneasy. “What about you? Have you made any decisions yet?”

Now it was Miryo’s turn to sigh. “No. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be one of those witches they have to push into deciding. You may hate the idea of having to wait a year before you’re allowed to officially choose, but I’m glad.”

“Don’t you have any idea?”

“Nothing I can go on.” Miryo gestured in mute frustration. “None of them seem right. None of them really call to me, and isn’t that how you’re supposed to decide?”

“To the Void with what you’re supposed to do. Approach it from a different angle. Whom do you wish not to serve?”

The inversion of the ritual question was an interesting one, and it woke Miryo’s mind up a little. Choosing a Path within a Ray was relatively easy. If you wanted to carry out the fieldwork of your Ray, you chose the Hand. If you wanted to do research or recordkeeping, you chose the Head. And if you wanted to administer your Ray’s affairs, you chose the Heart. Most people knew where their talents and inclinations lay early on. But who you’d be working with, what tasks you’d be handling—that was organized into the five Rays, and for Miryo, that was harder.

She applied herself to Eikyo’s question. “Not the rulers, I think.”

“I can’t see you playing at politics with Lords and governors,” Eikyo agreed. “Fire’s out, then; four Rays left.”

Miryo leaned back and brushed strands of hair back behind her ears. “I don’t think I could do Water, either.”

“I was going to say that if you didn’t. You’re not suited to living your life out in a village, finding lost livestock and curing the pox.”

“Well, no one said I had to choose the Hand.”

“True, but you’re not really organized enough for the Heart, and you don’t have the patience for the Head. You’re going to be a Hand, no matter what Ray you choose; I’d bet on it.”

Miryo couldn’t argue that. “The rest… I don’t know!” She got up and paced as best she could around the tiny platform, feeling the weathered wood rough under her bare feet. “I don’t think I’d want Void. I don’t want to get stuck in internal troubles. That’s politics again, only our politics instead of everybody else’s. Earth? Maybe, but I don’t have the knack for nature that you do.”

“Which leaves Air.”

Miryo paused, thinking about it. The Air Ray didn’t have as clear a purpose as the others; they served whoever needed it. “They travel a lot.”

Eikyo laughed. “I can’t tell by your voice whether that’s a good thing or a bad one.”

“I don’t know which one it is.”

“You’ve complained enough times about never getting to leave Starfall. I’d say you have the traveling bug.”

Miryo wrapped her arms around her body, trying to imagine that life. “But I’ve never actually done it. Not like they do, always on the move. I think I might like it; sounds better than my other options, anyway. But what if I don’t?”

“You do have a year after the test before you can officially choose,” Eikyo reminded her. “That gives you a chance to find out, before you get locked into anything…” The end of her sentence trailed off into an enormous yawn.

“Up early again?” Miryo asked.

“Was I ever,” Eikyo said feelingly. “Ruka-chai had me help with one of the mares. She dropped a darling little colt this morning.”

“So that’s where you were,” Miryo said, sitting once more. “I was wondering. You didn’t come to breakfast.”

“No, Ruka-chai had one of the Cousins bring food out to us. We were covered in muck; believe me, you didn’t want us at breakfast.” Eikyo yawned again, and flapped one hand in apology. “Sorry. I should get back to my room, though.”

“As should I,” Miryo said heavily. “I have to finish that essay for Yuri-mai, after all. You’d think that we’d be done with essays at this stage, but no.”

They both climbed to their feet, and Eikyo gave Miryo’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry. We’ll astound them with our knowledge during the questioning, and then breeze through the final test. Both of us. And then you can figure out where you want to be.”

“Thanks, Eikyo.” Miryo gave her a quick hug; then they began the steep climb back out of the cup. The wind bit into Miryo as she crested the top; she shivered in her thin clothing. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said to her friend. They split up then; their rooms were not far apart inside, but a crumbling bit of roof in between them made it safer for Eikyo to take a different path.

Miryo made it back to her side of the building without trouble. She leaned over the edge to make sure Teruku was not looking out her window; her fellow student knew Miryo and nearly everyone else went climbing on the roof, but she disapproved, and let everyone know it. Teruku was at her desk, with her back to the window. Miryo wrapped her hands firmly around a sculpture of a falcon and swung her legs over the roof. Her feet touched onto a knot of vines and, balancing on these, she inched her way over to her own window and climbed through.

Her half-finished essay for Yuri-mai was on her desk. Miryo gave it a sour look and stretched out on her bed instead.

Lying there, she could look directly across at her shelves. They held pages and pages of notes, all tied into tidy sheaves; a good portion of her education was there, neatly stacked. Not all of it, of course; her education had begun as soon as she could speak, with simple etiquette. The sixteen forms of address proper for witches of various affiliations. How to bow. Where she could and could not go in Tsurike Hall, her first home.

Most of the material covered in her first ten years was not there. Those years had been spent on simple things, letters and numbers, the specialized language of magic. And voice lessons, of course; those had begun as soon as she could speak, so that when the time came she could shape her spells without waver or hesitation. The rest of her early training, in basic history and geography and the like, was deeply enough ingrained that she didn’t need to go back over it.

Miryo rose to her feet and went to the shelves, where she ran a finger down the stacks of notes from her Elemental studies. She had finished reviewing them a few days ago: the symbolic associations of each, the foci that could be used to channel them, the magical effects they were suited for, their reflections in human society, their philosophical meanings. All five Elements, even the Void; it might not have any magic associated with it, or any foci to channel that magic, but it had everything else. Endless floods of detail. Once she finished her essay, she would go over it again. And again, and again, until time ran out and they put her knowledge to the test.

Scowling, Miryo went to her desk and glared at the sheets there. For a moment her own tight, slanted handwriting seemed hateful to her. She wanted to climb down the side of the students’ hall and run away, down the mountainside, out into the night.

But there would be no point to doing that. She was a student here, the daughter of a witch, and in a month’s time, barring failure, she, too, would be a witch. There wasn’t any other path to take, not that she would choose voluntarily.

She kicked her chair abruptly. For the last year she’d gone through this cycle; every few months she would turn maudlin, questioning her purpose and her odds of success. It would pass before much longer; it always had before. Most of the time she enjoyed the challenge of her studies. Her mood would clear; she’d go to the tests with her determination restored and do just fine.

And if I tell myself that often enough, I might even begin to believe it.

“Oh! You surprised me, Narika-kai.”

The words were swallowed up almost immediately by the shelves that filled the library. Narika looked up from the book she was holding and smiled at Miryo. “Are you so jumpy today?”

Miryo straightened from the bow she had dropped into when she rounded the corner and saw the witch. “I’m just a little tired, Kai.”

“I’m not surprised.” Narika closed her book and eyed Miryo, who tried not to flinch. “I think every student begins shorting herself on sleep as her trial approaches. Tell me, what did you stay up to study last night?” Her eyes went to the book in Miryo’s hands. “Plagues?”

“Oh, no, Kai. This was for an essay I was writing for Yuri-mai.”

“But I bet you were studying,” Narika said, smiling.

“Yes, Kai. Healing spells.”

“Ah, a wonderful subject. Not one I have any particular knack for, which is one of the reasons I didn’t choose Water, back when I was your age. They do more healing than any three of the rest of us. Does healing interest you?”

“I’m… not certain, Kai.”

Narika nodded. “You have time before you must choose. Of course, I’m not supposed to be trying to encourage you in any direction yet, since you haven’t been tested, but I don’t think you’re likely to fail. So I’ll go ahead and say that I think you would be admirably suited to Air. You strike me as the sort of woman who would do well with variety and adventure. Of course, you wouldn’t have to be a Hand—I myself enjoy keeping the Ray’s records, which is a good deal more sedate—but I think you would enjoy it There, now I’m done proselytizing. Have I convinced you?” Narika smiled again, quite disconcertingly.

“I will consider it, Kai. But to be quite honest, I have no idea what I want Air might work, but I’d have to travel first to see if it’s what I want to do.”

“Very sensible of you.” Narika put her book back on the shelf and held out a hand for Miryo’s. She flipped through it rapidly before shaking her head. “Things like this are depressing to me. I would not have wanted to be Ashin two years ago, finding that outbreak of red cough in Razi.” Snapping the book shut, she walked farther down the library aisle to shelve it. Miryo followed her uncertainly. “To be quite honest, I can’t abide being around sick people. I would have made a very poor addition to the Water Ray.”

They emerged out the end of the aisle into an open space filled with tables. A twelve-year-old student Miryo recognized only faintly was asleep at one of these, her head pillowed on an open book of maps.

“Are you nervous?” Narika asked suddenly, rounding on Miryo.

“I beg your pardon, Kai?”

“Nervous. About the testing. It’s only a month away, as I’m sure you know all too well. Are you worried?”

Miryo looked at the witch, considered dissembling, and abandoned the idea. “Yes, Kai. Very much so.”

“I can’t say for certain, of course, but I don’t think you need to be. Well, a little worry won’t hurt you—it will keep you alert—but for the love of the Lady, Gannu made it through. You’re a good student, from what I’ve heard and seen, and level-headed. Don’t fret too much, and do be sure to sleep. You’ll need your energy, if you want to pass.”

“Yes, Kai. I’ll be sure to rest.”

“Do that.” Narika turned again and sent a disapproving look at the sleeping twelve-year-old. “Not, of course, to the detriment of your remaining work.” She sang a short phrase under her breath; Miryo immediately identified it as a simple spell of levitation, with the ending flourish that would fix it for a period of time. She felt no movement of power, of course, and would not until after her test. But she needed no special sense to see the spell’s result; the chair the student was in, and the table her head was resting on, rose smoothly to hover in midair.

Narika turned back to face Miryo. “Have you further studying to do here?” Miryo nodded. “Then tell her, when she wakes, that I will see her an hour after First tomorrow. I don’t side with those who would drive students until they drop, but neither will I tolerate laziness.” That said, the witch disappeared down an aisle and out the door.

Miryo eyed the floating student with some amusement. Narika was unpredictable, but reasonably pleasant, as long as you didn’t cross her. She felt some pity for the girl. With the spell fixed as it was, it would last for at least half a day. The girl would have to find a way down, or be in trouble from her teachers for missing class.

She fetched a book on spells of communication from a back corner of the library and brought it to one of the tables to read. After about three pages, noises from above told her the student was waking up.

The girl stretched, yawning, and rubbed at her eyes. Miryo stifled a snicker. Scratching one shoulder absently, the student opened her eyes blearily and looked around.

And then she looked down.

Miryo’s laughter escaped her as the girl yelped in fright. The poor thing clutched at the arms of her chair, looking panicked. “You’re not up that high,” Miryo said calmly. “You can probably just jump down. Of course, I suggest you remember to take the book with you, or you’ll be in trouble with Tomichu-ai for not returning it to the shelf.”

“I’m afraid of heights,” the girl whispered in a strangled voice.

“I’d say you have a problem, then. You can’t levitate yourself down. If you don’t jump, you’ll have to stay there until the spell fades—which it should do an hour or so after Low, if I’m any judge—and every one of your teachers will assign you extra duties for missing class.” Miryo stood, closing her own book; if the silly chit was going to keep having muffled hysterics up there, she would have to take her reading elsewhere. “That on top of whatever Narika-kai assigns you for falling asleep in the library in the first place. You’re to see her an hour after First tomorrow.”

The girl gave a little wail. From her expression, she’d run afoul of Narika before.

“Look on the bright side,” Miryo continued, smiling. “Even if you can’t find the guts to jump, the spell will fade before you have to meet Narika. I wouldn’t recommend missing that appointment.”

Then she left, shutting the door quietly but firmly on the girl’s rising wails.

Miryo hesitated in one of the hallways of the main building, next to a bust of some long-dead witch. What had seemed like a good idea following the encounter with Narika lost some of its shine now that she was trying to follow through on it.

Come on. She doesn’t bite. I think.

Straightening her back and lifting her chin, Miryo strode forward and knocked crisply on the door of Ashin’s office.

In the silence that followed, Miryo prayed that the witch had not left Starfall again. As the Key for the Air Hand, in charge of the most mobile third of the most mobile Ray, Ashin was gone from the domain more frequently than any other ranking witch, and often with little warning. If Miryo had missed her chance…

Then you’ll talk to her later, Miryo told herself irritably. You haven’t even passed your test yet. If she isn’t here, then you’ll just put the cart back behind the horse, where it belongs.

But as the silence stretched out, Miryo could not shake her feeling of disappointment.

“Can I help you with something?”

Miryo turned to find the very witch she was looking for coming down the hallway toward her with what looked like a saddlebag draped over one arm. The Key stopped abruptly, staring at her. “Miryo, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Kasora,” Miryo said. “That is—I’m sure you must be busy. I can wait until later—”

“No, no, come in,” Ashin said with surprising eagerness. She shifted the saddlebag over to her left arm and dug out the key for her door. “You—that is, you haven’t been tested yet, have you?”

“No, Kasora.” Miryo followed her in hesitantly, and stood with her hands clasped to keep them still as Ashin moved about lighting lamps with quick spells.

“I thought not. I would have remembered the questioning session.” Ashin dropped the saddlebag onto a nearby chair, atop the pile of things already there. Most of the offices Miryo had visited in Starfall were cluttered to one degree or another, but usually with papers; Ashin’s was crowded with all manner of other stuff instead. A lantern, a compass-there was a saddle on the floor. “What do you need?”

“Oh, I don’t—that is, Ashin-kasora, I’m here more for curiosity than anything else. You see, I’m considering joining the Air Hand after my test, and since you’re at Starfall right now, I thought I might take the opportunity to talk to you about that.”

Ashin stopped abruptly again, as she had in the hall. Her voice, when she spoke, was oddly tight. “After your test.”

Miryo hastened to explain. “I’m sorry, Kasora. I know it’s early for me to be thinking about that. But you’re so rarely here—I apologize if I’m overstepping my bounds.”

The Key began moving again, rummaging through piles as if searching for something, only she seemed to have no clear idea what she was looking for. “Oh, no. Not a problem. A lot of students start thinking about it early. It’s good to be optimistic, I suppose.”

Optimistic? Miryo’s nerves returned full force. No one would ever quote an exact statistic on how many witches failed the test. It wasn’t many; she knew that much. But Ashin’s words were hardly encouraging.

Ashin glanced up and must have seen something on Miryo’s face, because she smiled. Was it Miryo’s imagination, or was the smile forced? “You’ll be fine, I’m sure. The questioning is nothing to worry about; we just want to make sure you know what you need to, before you go into the test.”

But the questioning wasn’t what she’d been referring to a moment before. Miryo laced her cold fingers together. “Kasora—”

“After your test, why don’t you come visit me again? We can talk then about your Ray and Path. The Air Hand might be an ideal place for you. You’ll know better afterward, though.”

And again that edge of artificiality. As if Ashin were not half so sanguine as she was trying to appear.

What did she know that Miryo didn’t?

Miryo could not come out and ask; the Key’s tone was too clearly a dismissal. She made herself bow politely. “Thank you, Kasora. I’ll be sure to do that.”

Ashin came around the desk and led her out to the hallway. “I look forward to it.” And then the door closed behind Miryo with a thud.