Satomi listened to the recitation with detached, bitter admiration. Well played, Shimi. You kept your Nalochkan sympathies in check, and stressed themes that will strike a chord with a wider audience. I might wish you were less competent at your job.
“Thank you,” she said to Naji. “You were very right to bring this to my attention. I was about to send you a message myself, you and Hassei both, and Ashin on the road. You have heard that Shimi is gone from Starfall, and why?” The Heart Key nodded. “The Primes decided this morning to suspend Shimi’s authority over your Ray, pending a resolution of this issue. Unfortunately, it seems we haven’t moved fast enough. This sending is exactly the kind of problem we wished to prevent.”
Naji had regained most of her composure, although her fingers still twisted in her skirt. “What should I tell my Path?”
“That we will be addressing them in the ruling hall at High.” They could move up the preparations for the ritual. “Every Air witch currently at Starfall is required to attend. Absence will be treated harshly.” And it might not be a bad idea to send immediate word to the Cousins who watched the roads out of Starfall, to detain any witch who attempted to leave. No sense allowing Shimi any more supporters than necessary.
“Would you like me to tell Hassei?”
“No, I’ll tell her myself. And Ashin. Just inform your Path.” Only Shimi could deliver a sending to all Air witches at once, as a function of her authority as Prime, but the three Keys together could achieve the same effect, by sending to each of their Paths. That would be useful, once the Air Prime was suspended.
Naji nodded, rose, bowed, and left, and Satomi went instantly to work, notifying everyone involved that they would be stripping Shimi of her authority sooner than expected, before she could do more harm.
BY THE TIME THE BELLS CHIMED HIGH, everyone had gathered. Outside, the noon sun beat down on the buildings of Starfall, but little of that warmth and light penetrated the ruling hall. Five heavy thrones sat in a row on a dais, each dominated by the banner that hung above and behind, stitched in the colors and symbols of each Elemental Ray. They faced rows of benches divided by an aisle; the aisle itself was paved with the worn, nearly illegible grave slabs of early Primes.
Four of the thrones were filled; the last, under its white and silver Air banner, was conspicuously empty.
The benches were well populated, and at the front of their ranks were chairs for the fifteen Keys, eleven of which were filled. Not all of the figures seated in those chairs were physically present, though. A few Keys, Ashin among them, were away from Starfall, but had been notified in time to perform the complex spell that sent projections of their images here. Had they waited until Light, as originally planned, they would likely have had all fifteen. Satomi wondered if her decision for haste had been the right one.
All of the Air witches currently at Starfall were present. None of them had tried to leave, but three others had—one each from the Void, Water, and Fire Rays. Word had spread rapidly from the Air witches to the rest of Starfall. No doubt it was doing the same out in the other fourteen domains of the land. But they could do nothing about that at present, save what they were already carrying out.
Satomi addressed the gathered witches, outlining the situation in clear, bare terms. Hardly anyone even shifted in her seat as she detailed Shimi’s actions. When done, she rose to stand in front of her throne, black banner at her back, and spoke into the tense silence of the hall.
“What affects one branch of our people affects all,” she said. “From the Earth to the Void, the Elements interrelate, and so, too, do the realms of our concern. The actions taken by one witch have repercussions for her sister.
“On this day, we gather to consider the actions of Shimi.”
The other Primes stood up from their seats. Koika went first, as protocol dictated. “Shimi has undermined the foundations of Starfall, at a time when we need them to be strong. For this, we censure her.”
Then Rana. This was not the spell itself, but it was just as ritualized as if it had been. “Shimi has refused to bend to the consensus of the Primes, who have agreed upon the best path for Starfall. For this, we censure her.”
Finally Arinei. It felt awkward and off; there should have been another voice between Water and Fire. Satomi had not realized how accustomed she was to the rhythms of their rituals until it was disrupted. Always it was five Primes, five Elements, five components to everything they said. Even raising a new Prime involved five, the four incumbents and the newcomer. The imbalance created by the loss of one was palpable.
“Shimi has spread confusion among the witches in her care,” Arinei said. This much, at least, Satomi granted her: in public, in ritual, she showed no sign of her own doubts and dissension. “She has failed in her duty to lead them. For this, we censure her.”
And now it was Satomi’s time to speak, too soon, last in a series of four instead of a series of five. “For her actions, we hereby censure Shimi. Let it be known to all the witches of her Ray and of others that from this time onward, we suspend her authorities, privileges, and powers as the Prime of the Ray of Air, until such time as a majority of three Primes in agreement see fit to reinstate her in her position.”
Ruriko brought a small table forward and set it on the dais before Satomi. On the table were the foci for the spell. Though not as complex by half as the ritual that installed a witch as Prime, suspension was difficult enough to require aids.
Their four voices blending together, the Primes took up the foci and sang the spell that made their words into reality. Some of the powers granted to a Prime were magical; others were tradition and law. The ability to send to the Ray as a whole, to raise or dismiss Keys, to admit a new witch into the Ray. These things and more they took from Shimi, by the power of the spell they sang. Satomi took the part of Air in the chorus; the Void Prime always sang the missing Element, unless she was the one suspended, because there was no role in it for Void power. She wondered, briefly, if it would be rewritten some day, when witches like Mirei ruled.
The closing declaration did not take long, and then the Primes exited through a side door. Arinei immediately began stripping off the ceremonial robe of gold and red that she wore over her dress, with stiff, tight motions that communicated her mood better than angry words could. Koika and Rana did the same, more slowly, not looking at Arinei.
Satomi herself stayed by the door, listening to the snatches of conversation that emerged into audibility as the assembled witches filed out of the hall.
Among them she heard murmurs of discontent, and she was afraid.
Chapter Three
JAGUAR BACKED AWAY from the cabinet, allowing Mirei to move out into the room again. At a nod from the Grandmaster, she sat down in one of the chairs set before his desk. He remained standing, knife still in hand.
She let out a slow breath and laid her hands flat on her knees, stilling her nerves. “This is . . . delicate information. There are problems among the witches right now, and some people wouldn’t be happy that I’m telling you about them. But I owe allegiance as much to Silverfire as to Starfall, and besides—I need your help.”
“There have been witches here,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “Outside Silverfire, that is—not in the compound. We don’t think. Witches, or Cousins. They haven’t done anything yet, but it has us nervous. Indera’s hair has red in it, and many people know that Amas dyes hers. We suspected this had to do with them.”
“How long have they been watching, do you think?”
“Six days.”
Shimi hadn’t known where the doppelgangers were that long ago. It had to be Ashin’s fellow conspirators, following through on the instructions Mirei had given them right after her transformation, to keep the doppelgangers safe. Best not to explain that to Jaguar, though; too complicated. Stick with the current problem.
She ran one hand over her cropped hair, then made herself stop. “There’s at least one witch who is probably going to try and k
idnap those two. Kidnap them, and later kill them. So, in short, I’ve come to ask you to let me take them away.”
“For what purpose?”
Protection did not need to be named. “Eventually, they’ll be like me. They’ll rejoin with their witch halves.”
“Or die.”
“Not if we can prevent it.”
Jaguar paced, wariness lining his body with tension. He was old, but still hard. “I knew when they came here that the past was repeating itself in some fashion. Not exactly, of course—Tari-nakana bought your training here, while these girls were both brought by their parents. But still, to see two more, with the kinds of gifts you have—you had—I wondered if there was Starfall influence I was not seeing.”
“Yes and no,” Mirei said. Certain witches would no doubt cheerfully beat her for airing their dirty laundry in front of an outsider. Then again, other witches—Ashin’s “heretics”—had paid her, an outsider, to investigate Tari-nakana’s assassination, to confirm their suspicions. Or were supposed to have paid her. She wondered if she would ever see the money, or the boons she and Eclipse were owed.
“Tari-nakana,” she said, leaning forward. “She paid for me to come here, yes, and talked you into taking me even though I was thirteen. She knew what I was. After that, she went and arranged for others like me to survive. They’re called doppelgangers. She got them fostered with false parents, and probably made sure the children would be sent to Hunter schools when they were old enough. But it wasn’t a Starfall thing. Remember how I was hired to Hunt her assassin, and whoever hired him? He was working for the Primes.”
Jaguar stared at her. “But you were hired by witches yourself.”
“Renegades. That’s why they turned to outsiders for help; they couldn’t trust their own. The Primes had Tari-nakana killed because of what she was doing with the doppelgangers. It’s a metaphysical thing; they thought doppelgangers were a threat to the existence of magic itself. Which turns out not to be true, and I’ve convinced them of that.” Sort of, her mind whispered caustically. “It doesn’t bring Tari-nakana back, though.” She had never thought of it before now, but Tari-nakana had died because of her. Mirei regretted that she had never had a chance to speak to the woman.
“So who are they in danger from?”
“Well, not everybody agrees with me yet. It’s going to mean some big upheavals in the way they do things, and of course you’re going to get resistance to that. That’s a general problem, though, not the specific one. There’s this one witch from Kalistyi who has fairly Nalochkan attitudes about the Warrior—” Mirei stopped, momentarily frustrated by the tangle of concepts packed behind her words, which she couldn’t find a simple way to explain. She had never expected to sit in the office of the Grandmaster of Silverfire and talk metaphysics.
But Jaguar was not a stupid man. He had risen to his position partly by virtue of his ability to take scattered pieces of information and link them together by intuitive leaps. Nodding, he said, “So these girls, these doppelgangers, are associated with the Warrior. Which is why they’re stronger and faster. Why they understand fighting, and learn it so well.”
Mirei nodded in reply. “Dancing, too—anything physical. Anything based on movement, I should say. Which is something I still don’t quite get yet; the Warrior’s Element is the Void, so why are they associated with the physical? But whatever it is, the doppelgangers are that part of the self, while the witch-halves are the rest of it. The four concrete Elements, the four Aspects of the Goddess that are stages of life.”
“And they used to kill doppelgangers. So this one witch believes they should still do so, and will attempt to follow through.” Jaguar walked to the window and gazed out over the compound. Mirei could hear the sounds, faintly, of Silverfire’s daily life, adolescents being trained to spy and kill for those who could pay them. The noise was as familiar as the ever-present singing at Starfall.
Jaguar nodded to himself, still looking out the window. “We can defend them.”
“No offense, sir, but I don’t think so.”
Now he turned to face her, and he did not look amused. “You don’t think we’re a match for a single witch?”
Void it, Mirei thought wearily. Why did I ever think I could get away without telling him everything? We’re bloody well trained to investigate. I’ll be lucky if I keep the decorations on the walls of Satomi’s office a secret.
Hanged for a fleece, hanged for a sheep. If she didn’t convince Jaguar, no way in the Void was she taking those two doppelgangers without resorting to serious magic. “It might not be just a single witch. You see, the one we’re worried about is the Air Prime.”
Of all the Rays to be in danger from, that might be the worst. Like Silverfire Hunters, Air witches were itinerant. They did different work and served out of charity, rather than for money, but the similarities were enough that Jaguar could visualize the situation without her coloring it in for him. Air witches were everywhere. They weren’t tied to specific places. They were mobile, adaptable, and therefore highly dangerous. They lacked the resources of other Rays, but anyone who had ever worked as a Silverfire Hunter knew how far you could still get without those, if you were creative enough. The real question was how many of them would follow Shimi, if she told them to cause trouble.
“The ones we’ve been seeing around,” Jaguar began.
“Probably not hers, though I can’t say for sure. I think they belong to the renegades I mentioned, the ones who hired me. They’ve been worried about coming out into the open, and what might happen to the other doppelgangers. I can find out. Silverfire’s not going to be safe, though; she knows your two are here. The Void Prime was all set to send witches in after these girls herself, to get them to safety. I talked her out of it because I know what response that would get. But Shimi, the Air Prime, may not have such compunctions. She gets a couple of witches to help her out, and she could burn this place to the ground.”
It wouldn’t solve the problem of the doppelgangers; they would just come back to life, as long as their doubles were still alive. Sharing a soul was an odd business. Mirage had died twice, Miryo once. Mirei remembered all three, and shuddered to imagine what burning to death would be like.
Then, with a chill as if someone had poured cold water down her back, she thought, very distinctly: I can’t let Jaguar know that. He finds out his best trainees are also unkillable—and why—then he won’t give them up, not for anything.
“When this business is done,” Jaguar said. “Will you bring them back?”
Mirei hesitated. Eventually, the girls would have to rejoin with their witch-halves. That wouldn’t be for years, though, given the way Starfall trained its daughters; there would be time for the Hunters to finish their own educations. But that assumed Starfall would let them go.
She had waited too long. Jaguar’s face was settling into hard lines, reading her answer in her silence.
“Maybe,” she said, before he could tie himself too strongly to that conclusion. “I can’t give you a better answer than that; I’d be lying if I did. I want to bring them back. I will if I can. But I don’t know how long this trouble will last, and what will happen along the way, and what the other witches will want to do.”
“Those girls belong to us as much as to them.”
Did they? The two here had less than a year of Silverfire training under their belts, while they owed their entire existence to the magic of Starfall. But once you entered a Hunter school, you belonged to them, until—unless—they chose to let you go.
She looked up into Jaguar’s cold, light eyes. “See it this way, if you can,” she said quietly. “They’re still in Silverfire hands. Because I’m one of your own. And I’ll take care of them.”
He met her gaze, unblinking. Mirei knew she had always held a special position in Jaguar’s regard. It was not necessarily a privileged one, not in the sense of lenience; he’d held her to the highest standards when she was in training here. But he had allowed her i
nto Silverfire years late because of the promise he saw in her. That promise was gone now, lost in the merging with Miryo. Would he still trust her as he once had?
Would he still see her as a Silverfire?
“Train them,” he said at last. “They are born of the Warrior, as you were. That may not last, but while it is there, it should not be wasted.”
She nodded. “I will.”
“Then you may take them,” Jaguar said, and went to the door to tell Slip, while Mirei prayed to the Goddess that she would be able to keep her promise.
THE RUNNER SPOKE quietly to Briar, but the first-year trainees were already learning the fine art of eavesdropping. “You’re in trouble,” Tanich hissed at Indera, leaning under his horse’s neck. “You’re getting hauled in before the Grandmaster. He’s going to rake you over the coals for being such a snot.”
“Idiot,” Indera whispered back at him, looking superior. “The Grandmaster doesn’t bother himself with stuff like that. It’s a privilege to go see him.” But inside, her guts twisted. A group of her year-mates had jumped her the other night; had the Grandmaster heard about that? Scuffling in public was an offense, but private fights like the one in their dormitory were common, and ignored. Surely she couldn’t be in trouble for that.
“You’re just jealous,” she added, mostly to see Tanich glare at her, but also because it was true. They all hated her, every one of them, because she was better. Stronger and faster and a better fighter; she’d taken Lesya down in two heartbeats the other day. They needed to jump her in a group, or she would win. And she didn’t bother to suck up to them the way that stupid cow Amas did.
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