Doppelganger

7 Double [Miryo]

Miryo schooled her face to calm, her eyes in soft focus on the far wall. Once she might have paced, might have bit at her fingernails or her hair. The ritual had changed her, though; the calm of Air was in her, and she knew it now. She needed all its help to stay tranquil.

I have been marked. But in what ways? Goddess, Lady, I don’t understand—have I passed, or not? What is to become of me?

Miryo had not seen many people since the ritual; for a while it had just been Nenikune. Then, when the healer was satisfied with Miryo’s physical health, Satomi’s secretary Ruriko had come to summon Miryo.

Summon me to judgment?

Just then Miryo would have given a great deal to talk to Ashin. She wasn’t certain of her own status, but it didn’t much matter; whether she was a witch or not, she would have cornered the Hand Key and forced information out of her. Ashin had suspected this was coming. And Miryo wanted to know why.

She wondered how long she had been unconscious. No way of knowing; Nenikune had refused to say, and Miryo had known better than to ask Ruriko. The summons had been too formal. For all she knew, it could have been a week since her trial. The room she’d woken in had no windows, but if Nenikune had been bringing meals at regular intervals, then Miryo had been awake for two days.

The double doors, each carved with the symbols of the five Elements, swung open. Miryo rose to face Ruriko and bent into a tiny bow. Even if Miryo was a witch—and she wasn’t at all certain of that—it couldn’t hurt to be polite. The secretary gestured wordlessly for Miryo to enter, and exited after she passed, closing the doors with a final-sounding thud.

Miryo had never liked the hall she stood in now. Though beautiful, it lacked Star Hall’s aura of magic; it was merely a place for mundane ruling, and not a space for ritual. Its intimidation was grimmer.

She walked the hall’s length, hearing her footsteps echo coldly off the stone. In the floor beneath her feet were five parallel ranks of marble slabs; beneath them lay the bones of early Primes. The inscriptions were nearly illegible on many of them, worn smooth by generations of footsteps. It was a stark reminder of age and endurance, and it made Miryo feel small.

At last she came to the front of the hall and sank without hesitation into a full bow. Even if she was a witch, she was facing the Primes now, and respect was still required.

“Rise,” Satomi said.

Miryo forced her knees straight and lifted her chin. She had no idea what was going on, or what had happened to her, but she was damned if she’d cower. The five Primes eyed her from their thrones on the dais before her. Behind each of them hung beautifully stitched banners in their Elemental colors. Satomi’s pale, fiery hair stood out starkly against its black background. It did nothing to soften her unreadable expression.

“You do not know what has happened to you,” the Void Prime said at last.

Miryo remained silent, not knowing what she should say, or if she should speak at all.

“You could not have known,” Satomi continued. “The information necessary to understanding has not been made available to you. We will give it to you now, so you may know what it is you must do to fix that which has gone awry.”

Her voice had the measured cadences of formal words. Miryo forced herself to breathe, and did not look away from the Prime’s pale green eyes.

“Five days after a witch gives birth to a daughter, before the infant is exposed to starlight, before the eyes of the Goddess bestow a soul upon the child, the witch performs a ritual that will, in the full course of time, allow that child to work magic. A channel is created. It is then blocked, that the child may learn the patterns of magic before its power is thrust upon her. And that block is not removed until the child is twenty-five.”

None of this was new to Miryo; it was a part of the general course of study. She kept her eyes on Satomi, waiting for the new information that must be coming, the information that would tell her why she had suffered so terribly in Star Hall.

“But this ritual has a second effect. It creates a doppelganger—a second shell, a copy of the first, identical in every way, save that it lacks the capacity to work magic.”

A second shell—Cousins? But no, Cousins are different—what happens to the other child?

Satomi answered the question for her. “This copy is danger to the witch-child. Thus it is always killed.”

Miryo’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

“Your doppelganger is alive,” the Void Prime said, her words whispering in the vast spaces of the hall.

And Ashin knew it. I’d swear my life on it.

She swore my life on it.

Miryo forced herself to breathe again, and wondered what, if any, of her thoughts had shown on her face.

“You must kill your doppelganger,” Satomi said, not a flicker of an eyelash betraying any emotion other than cool practicality. “This is your task and yours alone. You may enlist others to your aid, but it must be your hand that strikes the blow.

“If you do not kill your doppelganger, then before much longer your magic will kill you. You cannot control it so long as your double exists; its continued life puts yours in danger. Until it dies, you must not use magic save in utmost defense of your life, and even then, be warned that your spell may kill you just as surely. You may not use your magic to kill your doppelganger.

“Once you have accomplished this task, you may return directly to us and take up life as an ordinary sister, choosing a Ray and a Path.”

Only then did Satomi blink. The motion, jarring after the absolute stillness of everything in the hall save her mouth, jolted Miryo. She stared at the Void Prime, looking for words.

But it still was not time for her to speak.

“A horse will be prepared for you, and an escort. You shall have such supplies as you need. In addition, you may choose one witch to be your counsel, answering what remaining questions you have until you depart. Whom do you choose?”

“Ashin-kasora, Aken.”

Miryo didn’t even have to think about it. This was a golden opportunity to get answers from the Hand Key.

Satomi blinked again, once, before answering; that was her only reaction. “Ashin has departed from Starfall on other business. Whom do you choose?”

Gone. Conveniently. And after saying she wanted to talk to me. Miryo controlled her anger. “Narika-kai, Aken.”

“Narika will be your counsel. You will depart in two days. You may wear this.” Satomi extended one arm, and a small object drifted through the air to settle in Miryo’s cupped hands.

It was a pendant, crafted of silver: a three-cornered knot, laced around a thin circular band. Miryo’s breath caught in her throat. Despite my doppelganger—despite everything—I am a witch. Satomi would never give her the triskele sigil unless she had passed. She might not be able to use her magic, but she was a witch.

“Thank you, Aken,” Miryo whispered.

The Primes rose to their feet then, startling Miryo; they had not moved throughout the proceedings. “Go forth and hunt, and return to us as one of our own,” they sang in a unified monotone. Miryo bowed deeply to them and, torn between elation and sick dread, left the hall.

Miryo sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the floor. Around her were small trunks, empty, that she needed to pack; after she left Starfall they would be taken to the New House, where women just past their tests lived until they had homes of their own. On the bed next to her were saddlebags, likewise empty. These she would take with her to hunt her doppelganger.

Her stomach clenched at that thought. She could not imagine killing someone, not with her hands. Magically, maybe; there were always brigands stupid enough to attack witches. But not with a knife. Not that close.

A soft knock made her jump nearly out of her skin. Smoothing her hair back, Miryo took a deep breath and went to answer the door.

Narika was outside. “I expected you would be here,” the witch said. “May I come in?”

She would never have asked permission before. It was another sign that Miryo was, despite her difficulties, a witch. The victory, sought ever since Miryo could remember, tasted like ashes in her mouth. “Please,” she said woodenly, and opened the door wider.

Narika eyed the empty trunks and saddlebags, but did not comment. Miryo gestured for her to take the chair, and sat on the bed herself. At least she could sit, now; once she would have stood for the whole conversation.

“Satomi-aken told me of your situation,” Narika said. “Do you have any questions?”

Miryo stared at the floor for a long moment, trying to focus her thoughts. They ran about like confused mice, chasing themselves in little circles. With an effort she brought them together, and asked the first thing that came into her mind. “Does this happen often?”

“No,” Narika said grimly. “You did well to pick me; a lot of witches don’t know much about this. But it’s something my Path is familiar with, though not even all of us. You might have done better to ask one of my sisters in the Void Ray, but I can tell you almost everything we know.”

“How did it happen to me?” Miryo said. It came out almost as a wail.

“No one knows. Perhaps your mother simply made a mistake. I didn’t know Kasane well, but she never struck me as one so overwhelmed by sentimentality that she wouldn’t be able to kill an empty shell. She knew the consequences of letting it live all too well. Every witch who has a daughter knows that.”

“Do you think she knew, though? That it was alive?”

“Who can say? Kasane never gave any sign that she did, at least not that anyone has admitted.”

Miryo tried to ask her next question, but felt her throat close up, blocking the words. She swallowed hard, disgusted with her own pitiful wailing. For the love of the Goddess—if I can’t even discuss this without falling apart, how do I expect to go after my doppelganger? At this rate, I’ll not be able to see it through the tears, even if it were in front of me. Miryo swallowed again and squared her chin. “How am I to find it?”

Narika sighed. “It could, in theory, be anywhere. You have at least one advantage: It will look exactly like you. So you can circulate a description, or even a sketch, to help track it down.”

“That could take forever.”

“It’s possible. But I believe—although this is mostly speculation—that it won’t be quite so difficult as you think. You and your doppelganger are joined in some way we don’t fully understand; it’s this joining that puts you in danger. But it can also work for you. I think that, if you trust your instinct, you’ll find yourself traveling in the right direction.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“No. I don’t.”

Miryo considered this for a moment. No immediate path of travel leapt to mind; she felt as lost as before. “I don’t know if you can answer this—you said not all of this is understood—but what is it about my doppelganger that is dangerous?”

“It prevents you from controlling your magic.”

“I know that,” Miryo said, curbing her impatience. “But tow?”

Narika sighed again. “In short, because it’s a part of you, though separate from you. Controlling power takes perfect concentration, and your doppelganger is a part of you that you cannot focus at will. Thus your control is not strong enough.”

“Even though it can’t work magic.”

“Even so. And you must hurry because—as you will, unfortunately, discover—though Satomi-aken has forbidden you to cast spells, her order will be hard to follow. Can you feel it?” Narika’s eyes bored into Miryo. “Can you feel the power around you?”

Miryo swallowed painfully. Yes, she could. She’d been trying to ignore it. The power witches channeled came from the world around them; she could sense it with every breath she took, every touch of her hand against an object.

“Don’t reach for it,” Narika told her grimly. “You’ve been warned about the consequences. But that’ll be hard to remember when you find yourself in trouble.

“You must be vigilant against this. Small spells you might work without terrible backlash—if you’re lucky—but fine control is something that takes time to acquire. You would likely turn yourself into a human torch when you meant to light a candle.”

Miryo nodded, her neck muscles stiff with tension. I’ll not fall into that trap. I mean to see this through to the end. Narika was eyeing her as though hammering her warning home by sheer force of gaze.

“Is there anything else?” Narika asked.

“Not at the moment,” Miryo replied softly.

The witch nodded and rose. Then she hesitated. “For what it’s worth,” she said, looking down on Miryo, “you have my sympathy. And my prayers.”

Narika was at the door when the words leapt from Miryo as if of their own accord. “Why do all of this?”

The Air witch looked puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

Miryo rase with a swift, choppy gesture. “The whole thing. Doppelgangers. What’s the purpose? Why did the Goddess set it up this way?”

“Do I look like a priestess to you?”

“No, but they don’t know anything about us anyway. We’re the only ones who would know.”

Narika shrugged. “Ask one of my Path sisters in the Void Ray, perhaps. One or another of them—I recommend Baira—can no doubt engage you in a long, philosophical debate about the Goddess’s purpose for us in this world. You’ll probably not find any answers, but then again questions like that rarely have any.”

Miryo recognized the bite in Narika’s tone for what it was, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. When Satomi-aken said I might have someone to give me counsel, I know that’s not what she meant.”

Narika crossed back to Miryo, looking rueful. “I snapped your nose off, didn’t I? I apologize. You don’t need that, not right now. I have little patience with that sort of question, but I understand why you ask it. I don’t have any answers for you, and I don’t know if there are any to be found, but I wish you luck if you search for them.”

“Thank you,” Miryo said.

The witch returned to the door. “If you need anything further,” she said, “send… a Cousin. I’ll do what I can for you.”

Send a Cousin, Miryo thought bitterly as the door closed. “Send word,” she was about to say. If I were really a witch, I could spell the message to her.

And thoughts like that are getting me precisely nowhere.

Tossing her hair from her face, Miryo turned to the empty trunks and began to pack.

The door to Miryo’s room was flung open so quickly it rebounded against the wall and nearly hit Eikyo as she dashed through. Miryo, who had leapt up from the floor at the sudden entry, was almost knocked down again as her friend hurled herself forward and enveloped her in a crushing hug.

“I was worried you’d be gone already,” Eikyo said into Miryo’s hair.

“Not until tomorrow,” Miryo said faintly, still dazed.

Eikyo stepped back and squeezed Miryo’s shoulders. “Nobody will tell me what’s going on. I’ve never hated being a student so much—nobody tells students anything.” She reached out and touched Miryo’s triskele pendant with one finger. “You are a witch, right? Some people don’t seem to think you are—but you have this.”

Miryo laughed shortly; it sounded bitter even to her own ears. “They’re half right. I have the pendant, but what does it mean? Nothing, except that if I die I’ll be buried as a witch and not as a student.”

Eikyo’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Sit down. It’ll take a while to explain.” Miryo swept a stack of papers off her desk chair, threw them into a trunk, closed the lid, and sat on that herself. Her bed was covered with saddlebags and clothing; she’d have to finish dealing with that before she could sleep tonight. “I’m technically a witch, but I’m not allowed to work magic yet.”

Eikyo listened to her explanation, her blue-gray eyes solemn. When Miryo finished, there was silence in the room; the chirping of a cricket outside the window was shockingly loud.

“Well,” Eikyo said at last, her voice heavy with unexpressed emotion, “I guess that’s pretty cut and dried. You find it, you kill it, you come back and everything will be normal.”

“Assuming it’s that easy.”

“What complications could there be?”

“Finding it won’t be simple,” Miryo said, rising. She tried to pace, but her scattered belongings got in the way. She controlled her urge to kick them across the room. “And killing it… I know I have to. But the thought of actually doing it, with a knife or whatever… I’m not used to that. It’s not like I was trained as a soldier or an assassin; I’m a witch, for the Maiden’s sake! I’m not supposed to kill people!”

“But crying over it won’t do you any good,” Eikyo said, sounding more like her usual solid self. “It’s the only way through this. So you grit your teeth and do it anyway.”

“I know. I’ll deal with it when the time comes. But that still doesn’t clear up anything about Ashin.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“She’s gone. Satomi-aken told me I could choose a witch to answer my remaining questions; I tried to pick Ashin, but she apparently left right after my testing.”

“Who did you choose in her place?”

“Narika.”

“Does she know where Ashin went?”

“I didn’t think to ask,” Miryo said thoughtfully. “That’s a possibility. I’ll find her tomorrow morning, before I leave. If Narika knows, I might try following Ashin.”

“What will you do if she doesn’t, and can’t find out? Where will you go?”

Miryo shrugged. “Narika thinks that if I choose at random, instinct or some such will lead me toward it. But she admits that she doesn’t know if that will really work.”

“Have you tried it?”

“Not yet. I don’t know how I go about ‘trying’ to do something instinctively.”

“We could go up on the roof; then you’d at least have a clear line of sight.”

They did not head for their usual sheltered pit; instead Miryo and Eikyo climbed to the highest point they could easily reach. Above them Star Hall vaulted up into the night sky, blotting out stars, but neither of them was about to attempt that climb.

“All right,” Eikyo said when they reached the top. “Which way?”

Miryo glanced around. The peak the students’ quarters and Star Hall were perched on was the highest in the immediate region; to the east and west the mountains marched on in a jagged line. South, the land rose up into the bulk of the mountain range, then fell away sharply into a narrow coastal plateau; that region was inhabited by witches and Cousins and no one else. To the north the heights shrank to foothills, and then to plains, until they spread out into the patchwork of domains ruled by various Lords and Ladies, which spread out for weeks of travel in all directions.

And my doppelganger could be anywhere out there.

It was unlikely to have chosen the south. So Miryo would have to head generally north, but she could tend to the west, the east, or any line in between. None of them stood out in her mind as being more likely than any of the others.

I guess I just pick at random, then. Miryo thought about reciting a children’s counting-rhyme to choose, but discarded the idea. I have to head somewhere. I guess it’ll be west.

Miryo raised her arm to indicate this, and found herself pointing east instead.

Eikyo looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

Shrugging, Miryo lowered her arm. “Nothing. East it is.”