The young witch had effectively vanished, and Satomi was afraid of what that might mean.
Other witches had been sent to collect the doppelgangers not at Hunter schools, and not all had met with success. Three of the other eight were now missing. So was one of the witch-children who’d been at a regional hall—Chanka, barely two years old. Her doppelganger Anness was safe, after a pitched battle; Shimi had sent someone after her, too. Satomi had a difficult time smoothing that incident over and convincing the Lord of Trine, who knew about the situation with Shimi, that this was not going to mean magical battles breaking out all over.
And she could only hope she’d told him the truth.
Five doppelgangers safely on their way to Starfall; seven witch-students young enough to still be at domain halls also coming south under escort; four witch-students here; four more doppelgangers traveling with Mirei. Hopefully.
But Starfall itself was becoming more and more restless.
People knew when a witch-student failed; success was celebrated, and its absence was noted. Traditionally, though, the incident was not spoken of openly, and was not spread beyond the domain of Starfall itself, so that the new Cousin could take up a position elsewhere without fuss. But tradition was breaking down in so many other places, Satomi didn’t know why she had bothered to think this one would hold.
Because I wanted it to, she thought bitterly. Because I needed it to. Luck had not obliged her. People knew Eikyo had failed, and were talking about it, and the news had spread rapidly to many other parts of the land.
If I find out Arinei fostered this deliberately, I will flay the skin from that woman’s back.
She couldn’t afford to, though, and Arinei knew that quite well. One Prime had been suspended; they couldn’t lose another. Satomi didn’t know of a single time since the institution of the office of Prime that two of them had been gone at once.
So she had to fight by every means necessary to hold things together, as rumors slipped through the halls and grew daily more outrageous. Little had actually changed in the witches’ lives, but that didn’t matter. The fear of change was enough. Satomi issued a few declarations intended to reassure her people, but mostly she was relying on subtler means; witches in her Ray, women she knew to be loyal to the new order, spread counter-rumors where they could. But Satomi couldn’t stop everything.
The Primes, who formerly had met as a group rarely more often than once a week, were now having daily conferences in their council room, and sometimes more than daily. They had to work together, not separately. Reports came in of witches abandoning their postings, and not just in Air; there were those in other Rays who feared the consequences of Mirei’s existence, or simply preferred Shimi’s promise of normalcy. And never mind that their actions were contributing to the disorder.
The ones Satomi feared, though, were the ones who stayed where they were. Stayed, and planned action.
How good a rebellion was Shimi capable of building?
She tried to shake this thought off as she strode through the hallways, on her way to yet another meeting. Shimi was one woman. A Prime, yes, with an aura of authority no ritual could strip her of, and intelligent, but one woman. A strict proportion would put only a fifth of the witches behind her, and that was assuming that she alone could be as effective as the other four together. No, she would not be able to muster more than a small fraction of their people. Enough to cause trouble, yes—How much trouble did Tari start, with a bare handful of allies? her mind whispered treacherously—but nothing they could not overcome.
Satomi reassured herself with this logic, arrived at the council room, and found Koika and Rana already there.
They waited to begin their business, because no one wanted to alienate Arinei further, and a good half hour passed before they became impatient enough to search for her. First by runner, then by magic.
They met the painfully resounding silence of a blocking spell.
Arinei was gone.
THEY DID NOT LOOK for her first in the ruling hall, and so they missed their chance to find the message before the rest of Starfall did.
The proper traditions and authorities of our people and our way have been corrupted by Satomi, who dishonors her office as Prime of the Void Ray.
The fate of Eikyo, daughter of Dairai, is only one sign of many. Satomi would bring such change to Starfall as would destroy it forever, robbing us of the gifts passed down from Misetsu in ancient times. She would risk the lives of innocents in reckless experimentation, testing her questions of magic on the bodies of children not of our people, endangering our daughters by depriving them of the teachings they need to survive the Goddess’s test. The fate of Eikyo is a warning to us all.
I cannot in good conscience stand by a woman who would throw so many of our established traditions away on the appearance of one woman of dubious loyalties. This Mirei owes allegiance to the Hunter school of Silverfire, and cannot be trusted to keep our secrets. She has vanished from Starfall and has not reported back. We must ask ourselves what she is doing in her absence.
Thus it is that, with a heavy heart, I, Arinei, raised Prime of the Fire Ray, have departed from Starfall in protest. With me have gone others who are loyal servants of Starfall. We shall not return until Satomi steps down from power, is removed from her position, or shows sufficient proof that she has seen her error and will not continue in it.
In the names of Misetsu and Menukyo, and the Goddess who watches over us all.
At the bottom were five signatures. Not just Arinei’s, but those of four Keys: Mejiki and Kekkai from Fire, Goyoi of the Earth Hand, and Rinshu of the Water Head.
It was posted on the doors to the ruling hall, in plain sight. At least half the witches at Starfall had seen it by the time Satomi got there. She took it down, but knew the gesture was futile. Arinei’s damage could not be undone.
“SO NOW WE SUSPEND HER, TOO,” Koika said grimly.
The Earth Prime was leaning against the wall in the council room, too tense to sit. Her blunt fingers picked at a loose thread hanging from one sleeve. Rana was slumped in a chair across the table from her, staring at the wood’s polished surface, hardly blinking. Satomi sat in her own chair, and could not stop looking at the two empty chairs that made this room seem so deserted.
“We can’t,” she said into the silence.
Koika glared at her. “The time for dancing around Arinei’s tender sensibilities is over, Satomi. We have to suspend her.”
“But we can’t,” Satomi snapped back, sitting upright. “Suspension requires the consensus of four Primes. We have three.”
An awful silence followed her words, as everyone looked at the empty chairs.
Satomi bent her head and ran her fingers into her hair, gripping the strands as if to pull her mind out. “It’s my fault,” she said to the table. “I spoke with her, after . . . after I took Eikyo to Nae. I . . . I was tired. I was speculating. I didn’t mean half of what I said, not seriously, but I asked questions . . . things about our traditions. Why we do certain things, and not others, and what might happen if we did them differently. I should have thought. Arinei’s a traditionalist, and I knew she was on edge . . . but I said them, and she took them seriously, and now she’s gone.”
Rana’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Then write to her. Tell her you didn’t mean it. She’ll come back.”
Satomi laughed bitterly. “After posting her self-righteous diatribe on the doors of the ruling hall, for all to see? Arinei will not back down from that. She cannot. Her position as Fire Prime would be damaged beyond repair.”
“Look,” Koika said, coming forward to touch her hand, still buried in her hair. “It isn’t your fault. I’m not saying what you said to Arinei didn’t hurt,” she went on, when Satomi looked up to dispute that, “but it was merely the last flakes of snow that broke the branch. Something else would have done it, if you hadn’t.”
Satomi wished she could believe that. After days of fighting a dip
lomatic war to keep Arinei mollified, though, she couldn’t forgive her lapse that easily.
A timid knock at the door made them all jump.
“What now?” Rana said, voice heavy with dread, as Satomi went to the door.
Onomita was outside. Key of the Fire Head, the only ranking witch of her Ray remaining at Starfall, her round face was pale with nerves. Everyone was looking at her askance since the departure of her fellow Keys and Prime. Some of them were wondering whether she was truly loyal to the people she had stayed with; the rest, no doubt, despised her for not having the courage to go with them. Satomi had no illusions that everyone still here was loyal.
The Key had a folded piece of paper clutched in one shaking hand. “Aken—I found this—You asked me to look in her office—”
Satomi took the paper, unfolded it, and read.
Eikyo is not truly a Cousin. This was a plan of Satomi’s. She wishes to place a spy among them. If I do not remember this, then someone has altered my memory.
The handwriting was Arinei’s.
Satomi’s eyes shot to Onomita’s, and found them wide with fear. Onomita had read the note, certainly. She would not have brought it here, otherwise.
And now she was terrified of what Satomi would do to her.
Satomi didn’t even feel herself pulling in power until she heard her own voice, singing a short phrase in a snarl barely clear enough to effectively shape the spell. The note in her hand burst into flame; she released it, and glowing ash drifted to the floor.
Behind her, Koika and Rana were crowding close. “What in the Void was that?” Koika demanded, staring at the vestiges of the note. “What did she find?”
Arinei didn’t trust me. And the worst part is, she was right not to.
All three women were still staring at her. What in the Void was she supposed to do about this? Wipe everyone’s memories of the note? How much more was she going to compound this problem, that had seemed like such a good idea at the time?
Oh, Maiden’s mercy, Satomi thought with sudden fear. What will Arinei do to Eikyo?
She needed breathing space to find out. Satomi turned first to Onomita. “Thank you,” she said to the Key, keeping her tone as unthreatening as possible. “Come to me if you find anything else that looks relevant. But I hardly need tell you, I hope, that every bit of this must remain completely secret.” She’d explain later that by “completely,” she meant that not even Rana and Koika should know.
Onomita nodded, her head bobbing more times than necessary before she gathered her wits and stopped.
“This is an extremely delicate time,” Satomi went on, just to reinforce it. “The last thing we need is more rumor and suspicion flying around. We mustn’t jump to conclusions. Understand?” If Onomita didn’t understand, then soon Arinei might have all three of her Keys on her side.
The woman nodded, bowed to the three Primes, and left.
Satomi closed the door and turned back into the room, facing her other two immediate problems. Their eyes were still wide with worry. With sudden startlement, Satomi realized what this must look like from their perspective. They didn’t know what the note had said, and their imaginations were no doubt supplying all kinds of possibilities even worse than the truth.
She could use that.
I even manipulate my friends, now, Satomi thought grimly. She didn’t like it, but that didn’t mean she was going to stop.
I just hope that I truly am doing what’s best for my people.
“Arinei is in a position to do us far more damage than Shimi ever was,” the Void Prime said, crossing the room with brisk strides and resuming her seat at the table. “Her note was a listing of Lords and Ladies that might be sympathetic to their cause—I say ‘they,’ because we must assume that she will join forces with Shimi. Arinei is practical enough to see the advantages of that, even though she doesn’t share Shimi’s Nalochkan zeal. And Arinei has the influence necessary to get the Lords to listen to her, especially with both her Heart and Hand Keys on her side.”
Satomi would have been happier if her words had been more of a lie. The only part of it that was false for certain was the part about this being in the note. Satomi had every confidence—every fear—that the rest of it was true, if not written down anywhere.
The other two Primes had seated themselves again, as well. Satomi went on. “Topping the list, of course, was Lady Chaha of Kalistyi. Her religious beliefs mean she will be open to Shimi’s arguments.”
“But what can they do?” Koika broke in, putting her interlaced hands on the table and leaning forward. “If we can’t suspend Arinei, then they can’t suspend any of us. We’re at a deadlock, in terms of authority.”
“Here in Starfall, yes.” Satomi wished for the first time that her chief ally among the Primes had been someone more politically savvy than the Earth Prime. Koika was intelligent, but she spent much of her time monitoring and modifying the weather patterns of the land, and other matters that had little to do with people. When humans came into Koika’s sphere, it was through questions of physical survival. “But we must worry about the world outside our domain.”
Rana knew where she was going. “The Lords all have advisers,” she reminded Koika.
“I know that,” the Earth Prime snapped, nettled by the older Prime’s patronizing tone.
“So think about what Arinei can do through that,” Rana said. “If Lady Chaha’s Fire adviser happens to be on our side, then Arinei and Shimi will likely convince the Lady to abandon her for someone else. Someone allied to them. If the advisers agree and the Lords don’t, then those advisers can work on convincing them.”
“Soon enough,” Satomi said, taking up the thread when Rana faltered, “we find ourselves locked out of the governance of those domains. Our influence wanes. What percentage of our income does the Fire Ray contribute?” No need to answer that one out loud; Koika, as the Prime of the Ray tied with Air for the smallest contribution, was well aware of how much money the Fire Ray possessed. “Without that income, we’re crippled. Soon the ordinary witches will become dissatisfied with us. Under those conditions, questions of morality and ideology give way to practicality. We’ll find ourselves facing a true revolution for the control of Starfall.”
Koika, as always, thought in brutally practical terms. “Why not just assassinate us?”
Rana’s knobbly hands began visibly trembling at the question. Satomi, though, had thought of it already. “There’s no guarantee they won’t try that, too.”
It would be hard. The Primes were always guarded, and by now they had made doubly sure those guards were trustworthy. No witch was likely to catch one of them unaware enough to take them down with a spell, and an outsider wouldn’t stand a chance. Other witches, though, would be far more vulnerable. And assassinating their allies could do almost as much damage as killing the Primes themselves.
Koika slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. “So what do we do? I don’t know politics; that was always Arinei’s job. How do we fight this kind of war?”
Satomi looked from the Earth Prime to the Water Prime. Rana did not meet her gaze. There would be no relying on her. Harsh as it was to say, Rana was too old; you had only to look at her lined face to see that she was not prepared to face these kinds of challenges. She was a good Prime, but not for times like these.
Which left only Satomi to answer Koika’s question.
She lifted her chin and made her voice as level, pragmatic, and confident as she could. “Well. If this is a war—and we must consider it as such, now—then we must think like generals. We must disrupt their communications, counteract their offensives—and send spies among them, if we can.”
MOST OF THE WOMEN gathered in the room came from the Void Head. They, more than anyone else, were inclined to ask questions of theory, about how spells worked and why. Inventing new ones was outside their purview—that was a religious matter, driven by faith, not research—but they could and did modify existing spells, adapting them to
new purposes.
And also counteracting them. Mirei was the only woman in the world capable of canceling spells outright, with the power of the Void, but centuries of women had worked on the matter of how to oppose spells, and thereby negate their effect.
“We have several tasks at hand,” Satomi said to the assembled group. Mostly Void Heads, but not all; there was always the occasional witch who engaged in this study as a hobby. And Satomi saw distinct value in getting women of different Rays to cooperate. If she could not cancel the fragmentation plaguing them, she could counteract it. “Hyoka, I leave it to you to decide how best to divide your time and effort.”
The Key of the Void Head nodded. She had collected this group, along with Kimeko, the Heart Key; Hyoka knew who was qualified, while Kimeko knew who was loyal. Or at least likely to be. Of Hyoka’s loyalty, Satomi had no doubt; the woman was a theorist down to her bones, and she saw Mirei’s existence as a fascinating and so far inscrutable puzzle. If she could have recombined all the other pairs on the spot, just for more examples to study, she probably would have.
Satomi passed a sheaf of paper to Hyoka. “First, the ritual of suspension. As it currently exists, it requires the participation of four Primes. The ritual of reinstation, however, requires only three. This suggests to me that it may be possible to work the suspension with three. I want to know if it can be done, and if so, how.”
A few of the listening witches shifted at her words, but no one looked surprised. They’d known, when Hyoka recruited them, that they were here to work against Shimi, Arinei, and all the other witches in revolt. And they’d just come from the public session where Koika and Rana had demoted their errant Keys.
“Second,” Satomi went on, “the ritual that creates a Prime. It instills the participant with certain authorities and abilities that are exclusive—only one woman can have them for a given Ray at a time. I want to know what the effect would be of performing this ritual when the previous recipient of those qualities has been suspended of them, but not removed from her position. What metaphysical repercussions is that likely to create?”
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