And I don’t give a damn which way you choose, really, because if I have to stab you and cart your dead body out of Angrim tonight, I will. You’ll recover.
The girl had, for a wonder, stopped struggling. She was staring at Mirei’s hair. “Am . . . am I a witch?”
“Witches cast spells with music. You couldn’t carry a tune if I gave you a bucket to put it in.” Mirei was guessing, but it had been true of Mirage. Sense of pitch appeared to be the property of the witch-half. Still, she didn’t want to start off by lying to this girl. “But there is a connection there. Like I said, I can explain everything. I just don’t want to do it here.”
“Why not?” the girl demanded.
“Notice how Ice has finally shut up? She wants to hear what I have to say. I don’t feel like telling her, since she’s a mercenary with the ethics of a dead rat. We’ve also just had a noisy fight in a city full of spies. Explanations can come when I don’t have to worry about being arrested.”
“Don’t trust her,” Ice half shouted, still frozen on the floor.
Mirei didn’t answer that. Instead, she let go of the doppelganger and stepped back, hands relaxed at her sides. The knife lay on the floor next to them where she’d dropped it; she saw the girl’s eyes flick toward it, once.
Six heartbeats later—Mirei counted—the doppelganger dove for the blade.
Mirei kicked it across the floor before her hand touched it and leapt back, singing. The doppelganger crumpled to the floor in a sleeping heap.
Ice was swearing at Mirei again, or at least Mirei assumed that’s what the smear of noise was. She spoke over it. “Count yourself lucky, Ice. I recently became a new woman who’s less pragmatic than the one you knew. Because of that, I’m going to leave you alive. On the other hand, you’re going to be the first person I’ve tried this on, so you’d better hope nothing goes wrong with it.”
Then, ignoring the mounting yells of the paralyzed Thornblood, Mirei began gathering suitable foci for a spell to change Ice’s memory.
Chapter Six
THE FOUR REMAINING PRIMES stood in a hallway and conversed in low voices.
“It will be ironic,” Koika said wryly, “if the Keys don’t pass her.”
Satomi smiled, though her face didn’t much want to bend. “I doubt it. Ruriko says her memory is excellent.”
“But with this much pressure on her? Perfectly intelligent girls have failed the questioning before, because of nerves.”
Satomi sighed at Koika. “Thank you for the comforting words.”
Arinei was pacing nearby; the heavy blue silk of her skirt cracked with her quick, tight strides. “I still don’t know what you hope to gain by this charade.”
“Come, Arinei,” Rana said. “Surely you learned this, serving in Insebrar. The servants often know far more about the Lords’ affairs than those Lords realize. It’s past time we had a care for that, ourselves.”
“I pay more attention than a Lord does,” Arinei snapped. “The Cousins do their work and go home, like ordinary people. What little they know about our affairs, they do nothing with. We have nothing to be concerned about.”
“Then Eikyo will find nothing, we’ll bring her home and test her properly, and all will be well.” Rana’s expression belied her carefree tone, though. In the meeting where they had argued this plan, Rana had been forced to play mediator between Satomi and Koika on one side and Arinei on the other. She, unlike Satomi and Arinei, had come from the Heart Path. The Hands of her Ray spent plenty of time adjudicating village squabbles, but Rana had little experience with it, and no liking.
Koika held up a hand to stop them all before the argument could begin again. “It’s time.”
Wordlessly, they arranged themselves into a line, spacing out so as not to leave an obvious gap where Shimi should have been. The double doors in front of them swung open in well-oiled silence, pulled by two Cousins on the other side, and together they entered the room.
Eikyo sat in a chair with her back to them, facing the array of the fifteen Keys. The cotton of her dress between her shoulder blades was dark with sweat, and the water glass at her side was empty. The questioning was not an afternoon stroll.
The Keys stood, and after a moment of startled paralysis, so did Eikyo. She turned and saw the women behind her, bowed to them and to the Keys, and stepped aside.
“This one has brought her mind to you for testing,” Satomi said, repeating the traditional words she had uttered countless times. “How do you find it?”
As Key for the Void Head, Hyoka answered her. That, too, was a part Satomi had played many times in past years. “Her mind is sound and well-prepared. We commend her to your trial.”
Which will not be the trial everyone expects.
Eikyo bowed again to the Primes, her knees visibly unsteady. Satomi could not blame her. But neither could she say anything to comfort the young woman; they had to carry out the outward trappings of this ritual, at least.
The four Primes led her from the room, with Naji following them. There had been disagreement over which of the Air Keys should stand in Shimi’s place. Koika had argued in favor of Ashin, and Arinei had argued even more vehemently against her. Naji was a safer choice, politically; before this trouble began, the presumption had been that she would succeed Shimi as Prime.
The outside air was uncomfortably still and hot. Satomi waited, Eikyo at her side, while the Primes and Naji dispersed to their doors around the outside of Star Hall; then she brought the young woman to the northern arm of the structure, the one dedicated to Earth. Koika broke protocol just a tiny amount, to smile at Eikyo in reassurance.
The others remained outside as Satomi led Eikyo inside, down the hall of Earth. Their quiet footsteps echoed against the pale silver marble of the walls, fading upward into the lofty spaces above. Here, in this branch, the stained-glass windows were greens and rich ambers, lit by permanent spells that allowed them to cast colored light down inside the building even when outside was black night. The other three arms showed the colors of their Elements, and as many times as she had been in here, Satomi never tired of its beauty.
In the center, where the four arms converged, was a dais, and the place of the Void.
It no longer looked as it once had. Formerly, the pillars and vaulting of the Hall had leapt upward farther yet, into an untouchable blackness thick with spells that had given the center of Star Hall a disquieting feel. It was the best the architects had been able to do, to represent the Void.
Mirei’s arrival had changed that, like so many other things. It was here that she had confronted the Primes, with the rest of Starfall watching, in an attempt to show them what she had achieved. The Primes, off balance and fearing what she might destroy, had attacked her. The conclusion of the ensuing battle had taken out the roof.
Now, the upper reaches of Star Hall were gone. The vaults of the center crossing were shattered; the rubble had been cleared away, but no rebuilding had happened yet. Satomi wasn’t sure what to do about rebuilding. Their understanding of the Void was changing; their representation of it should, as well. And a part of her liked the starlight now visible above the jagged stumps of the walls. The stars were the eyes of the Goddess; they had come down and danced about Misetsu, the first witch, when the Goddess gave her the gift of magic, here in the mountains now called Starfall. For all Misetsu’s later flaws, that had been an unsurpassed miracle.
They had arrived at the dais. There were ritual words for this, too, but Satomi did not use them.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked the young woman gently.
Eikyo swallowed hard, and then nodded.
She wouldn’t insult Eikyo’s courage by asking again. “We’ll be back later. I suggest you meditate; it’s what you’re expected to do anyway.”
“I hear and obey, Aken,” Eikyo whispered. Satomi had to fight not to flinch at the words. They were the traditional response, spoken in answer to the words she herself had not said. Eikyo had prepared too
much for this not to reflexively come out with her memorized responses, even when they were not necessary.
Satomi touched her on the shoulder, then exited out the south, through the hall of Air.
Naji was waiting outside, looking both apprehensive and excited. She had never done this before, and no one had told her what they had planned. “Now we wait?” she asked Satomi quietly.
“Inside,” Satomi told her. “We return at midnight.”
THEY HAD TO MAINTAIN the appearance of the thing. One aspect of this affair everyone had agreed on, without quibble: As few people as possible should realize that Eikyo had not really been tested.
The Primes and Naji met again shortly before midnight, and Koika, who had the best knack for it, cast a spell over them all that would keep Eikyo from noticing them until they were in position. Anyone watching from the facing windows of the main building should see her doing so. To a student, it always looked like the Primes appeared out of nowhere. Someday, Satomi hoped, they would, with Void magic translocating them to their places.
Then they dispersed to their doors again. Satomi entered through Earth again, with Koika.
“Here we go,” the Earth Prime whispered, and they went inside.
Eikyo was kneeling on the dais, hands clasped in meditative prayer. The tension on her face had smoothed out in her trance, Satomi was glad to see. At least the girl had not spent all this time worrying.
When the other women were all gathered around, with Satomi on the dais next to Eikyo, Koika sang a short spell to make them visible again.
At which point they diverged from ritual.
Satomi touched Eikyo on the shoulder again. “We’re ready.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Naji move in startlement. As Eikyo surfaced from her trance and stood up, Satomi turned to face the Heart Key. “I’m sorry to have misled you,” Satomi told her, but with her body language she communicated a different message. She was not sorry at all; she was the Void Prime, and Naji should not even think to question her.
“I don’t understand, Aken,” Naji said, but her tone was confused rather than challenging.
“We will not be carrying out Eikyo’s test tonight,” Satomi told her. “Though everyone must think we have, which is why we’ve carried out this deception.” She gave the Key a coolly reassuring smile. “It’s no fault of yours, don’t worry. In fact, I don’t doubt you’ll have your chance to test students; there are others besides Eikyo who will need assistance before Shimi returns.”
“If Shimi returns,” Koika said. Arinei glared at her. A stickler for protocol, the Fire Prime would defend to the last moment the distinction between suspending and removing Shimi from authority, and Satomi could have kicked Koika for raising that issue now.
Instead she turned to the others, pretending she did not see Arinei’s anger. “We’ll need to stay in here for a while. Eikyo, please come with me; I have a few last things to say to you.”
She drew the girl aside, back down the arm of Earth. It didn’t matter which way they went, but the student had long shown an affinity for that Ray; the least Satomi could do was to put her in the place where she would feel most comfortable.
“Do the students still use the code of five?” she asked Eikyo, keeping her voice low. In the crossing, the three other Primes and Naji were trying to settle down to wait; unfortunately, Star Hall was a space for ritual, not relaxation. There wasn’t even anywhere to sit.
Eikyo’s blue-gray eyes went wide. “Aken?”
“The code of five,” Satomi repeated. “For passing secret messages. It’s an ancient tradition—if by ‘ancient’ I mean that it predates my youth, at least. Do you know it?”
“Y-yes, Aken.”
“Good. I want you to use it whenever you communicate with me.”
Understanding dawned on Eikyo’s face. Then she frowned. “But—won’t the Cousins know?”
“I don’t think so. Those few of them who were once students won’t recall it, and the others have had limited opportunity to pick it up. Besides, you have to know to look for it, to see that a message is buried within, and they’ll have no reason to suspect you. It seems the most reliable way to communicate. Understand?”
Eikyo nodded wordlessly.
“Good. Notify me if anyone says anything about the doppelgangers; that’s the main thing. But also pay attention to what they say about us, the witches. Anything that seems to be more than routine talk.” Satomi sighed in frustration. “I wish I could give you something more specific. I want to know how they live, how they think—what lives are being lived, out of our sight, and whether we need to be concerned about them. Or even how those lives could be improved—do they feel mistreated? Questions like that. Trust your judgment.”
“I will, Aken.”
Satomi reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You will do fine, Eikyo. And we will bring you back. I swear that, before the five faces of the Goddess.” Here in Star Hall, the words carried extra force. Satomi did not make vows lightly, and even less would she do so in this ritual space, with the light of the Goddess’s eyes shining down through the shattered roof.
When she judged that enough time had passed, Satomi called everyone together into the center of the Hall. The Primes raised up columns of coruscating light from the Elemental symbols marked into the floor; Satomi, from where she stood on the dais with Eikyo, raised Naji’s for her. It was one of the authorities they had stripped from Shimi, a minor, showy sign of a Prime’s power.
Eikyo lay down on the floor, trembling, so that everyone would be where she would have been, had the ritual gone on as usual. They had to maintain appearances, after all. Especially now, at the end. Satomi sang, quietly, the words of a spell to render her unconscious. With one last sigh, the student—soon to be a Cousin—passed out.
The Primes and the Key stood around her in a ring, poised on the columns of light. Now was when Satomi would discover whether her authority and presence were enough to keep Naji silent for these next, crucial moments.
She looked the Key in the eye and said, “What I do now is necessary. Do not interfere.”
And without waiting for a nod, she began the spell that would overlay Naji’s memory of this time with the ritual that should have happened.
Because as few people as possible should know that Eikyo’s failure was a lie.
Naji realized what the spell was before Satomi was far into it. Her face went white, but her obedience held; with the other Primes there, saying nothing in protest, she bowed to the will of Starfall.
They had come in as usual, according to the words Satomi sang. They put Eikyo through the tests. First the verbal challenge; then the trials of the Elements themselves. The young woman had seemed to do well. Failure came, as it always did for Cousins, at the end. When they opened her to power.
Her mind broken by the onslaught of force, Eikyo had begun to speak incoherently. Satomi strung together an appropriately muddled set of sentence fragments. There were volumes and volumes in the archives of Starfall, recording the words spoken by new Cousins; no one knew if they had any importance. Witches had tried, from time to time, to extract meaning from them, but they’d met with little success. They seemed to have no more significance than the rantings of ordinary madwomen.
Eikyo had broken in this manner. And then, when the flood of words stopped, she had fallen to the dais, unconscious, her memory and self lost forever.
The intricate net of power built, drawn through the focusing structure of Star Hall, shaped by Satomi’s words and voice. Eikyo had failed. Tragic, but true. Any other memories that contradicted those events were to be forgotten; any details Satomi had neglected to supply were to be filled in.
Finally, the names of those the spell should affect.
“Naji,” Satomi sang, and then before anyone could realize what she was doing, “Arinei, Koika, Rana.”
The spell flared outward, to the four women around her, and settled into place.
Because as fe
w people as possible should know the truth.
Now only two did.
SATOMI WAITED in one of the smaller outbuildings of Starfall for Nae to come.
On the bed behind her, Eikyo slept. It was a small kindness given to those witches who failed, who became Cousins; they were given drugs, to keep them asleep until they reached their new homes. There would be as little reminder as possible of what they had lost.
Nae entered without knocking.
Old without being elderly, thin without being frail, the woman was the closest thing the Cousins had to their own leader. Nae’s face had weathered and hardened until the lines on it seemed carved by a knife. She looked impassively down on the figure in the bed. “What was her name?”
Nae alone, of all the Cousins, would know for certain who this young woman had been. “Eikyo.”
The Cousin thought it over. “Kyou, then. Where was she raised?”
The loss of memory was thorough, but it helped for the new names of failed witches to be at least close to what they had once held. “She grew up in Abern. Seshiki Hall. Insebrar would be good, I think.”
She was treading on the older woman’s toes by making the suggestion, but Satomi wanted Eikyo somewhere specific. Tsurike Hall in Insebrar was where Kasane had given birth to the daughter now called Mirei; it was from there that the infant doppelganger had somehow been spirited across the land to Eriot. One of those two domains might contain clues as to how that had happened, and Tsurike Hall seemed a good place to start.
Fortunately, tradition dictated placing new Cousins as far from familiar places as possible, to minimize the risk of anyone recognizing them. Nae nodded in acceptance of the suggestion. “What talents did she have?”
Witch Page 9