More rustling, although much of it was coming from women who looked avidly curious instead of offended. Hyoka had chosen the group well; Satomi was offering them theoretical challenges the likes of which they did not often get to handle. They would do it, just to see if it could be done.
Arinei should have feared these women, not me, Satomi thought wryly. They’re the ones who want to experiment.
“Third, our message papers.” She held one up; it was the top sheet off a stack she had brought for them to tinker with. “I want to know everything you can figure out to do to one of these. Intercepting messages, sending false messages, preventing them from working, finding out where the people using them are. Destroying them at a distance, even. Anything that would make them less useful to others.” This was a more dangerous inquiry; the first two were things only the Primes could do, with limited applications. This, however, could seriously disrupt everyone’s communications, if it fell into the hands of the other side. Witches all over the land depended on these sheets to send information. They were easier to manage when traveling than mirror-sendings, they didn’t require the writer to know the location of the recipient the way sending objects did, and even nonwitches could use them, if they knew the proper musical trigger. It would severely hamper the dissidents, if the papers became unreliable. But what could be done to others, could be done to Satomi’s people as well. Satomi made a mental note to tell Hyoka only to place the most reliable women on that project.
She didn’t let that worry show. “These projects take precedence over whatever other work you may have been doing,” she said. “I know some of you have been working on the study of Mirei’s new magic, but until she returns to Starfall”— Which had better be soon, she thought savagely—“then there is little you can do on that matter. Hyoka, make up a list for me of any work that needs to be reassigned to other women.” And she would just have to hope she could find people to cover it. Enough witches had slipped out of Starfall that they were decidedly shorthanded. The corridors felt half empty when she walked down them.
Gazing out over the women, sitting at their tables, many with books and paper already laid out before them, Satomi had the sudden, disquieting feeling that this was the first stages of an army.
I hope it doesn’t come to that, she thought. But I’m afraid that it may.
SATOMI LOOKED UP from the sheet of paper Hyoka had given her. The Key stood on the other side of her desk, tension forming a skin over her excitement that did not completely hide it. Hyoka knew full well what she had just handed to her Prime, but the part of her that loved theoretical puzzles could not help but be giddy over what she and her assistants had put together, so soon after being given their task.
“This isn’t what I asked you to research,” Satomi said.
“I know, Aken. That is, you didn’t ask for this specifically. But I was thinking about the questions you did ask—not the questions themselves, but why you asked them. What purpose you’re trying to reach by those paths. And whether there might be another way to approach it, one you didn’t think of, but which might accomplish the same end.” Hyoka nodded at the paper, and bounced on the balls of her feet as she did so. “This is what we found.”
Satomi’s eyes dropped back to the tidy notation there. Too arcane for her to fully understand it at a glance—Hyoka had not given her the proposed ritual, as that hadn’t been worked out yet; instead, she had a thicket of metaphysical logic to read—but she grasped enough to know that this would not exactly accomplish what she had in mind. It would get her there, yes, but with a number of side effects she was not entirely sure she wanted.
Her silence made Hyoka garrulous. “I went looking back to the accounts of how the Prime offices were instituted,” she said. “To examine the things you asked—how to suspend a Prime with three, or what would happen if you put in a new one without fully removing her predecessor—you have to look at how things began, to answer questions like that. And, well, we’ve all been thinking so much about our traditional practices, thanks to Mirei. So I went back and looked, and then I started to think about this as a solution. It should work.”
“Removing all the Primes,” Satomi said, her voice flat with skepticism.
“And then reinstituting the ones you want to keep.”
One had to admire the sheer brass of it. Even while reeling at the potential problems. “You would have to raise the Primes without any other Primes playing a part in it, though—at least the first one.”
“Which is where the histories come in. They had to do that in the first place.” Hyoka twisted her hands together, now looking a little more nervous, a little less elated. “I’m not quite sure yet how they did it. The records aren’t clear. But we know it can be done—it must be possible—-because it was done.”
Against her will, Satomi found herself plotting out the order and the timing, looking for ways the dissidents might be able to interfere. Disband the entire circle of Primes: Arinei would lose her authority. Then raise new Primes. They were traditionally taken from the ranks of the Keys; had any Prime ever not been a Key first? Something for Hyoka to research. If the Primes had to be Keys, then she, Koika, and Rana would have to demote some of their people to make room. But no, that didn’t work; you needed a Prime’s authority to make someone a Key. They could not make themselves Keys while also Primes, and once they weren’t Primes, they wouldn’t be able to do it then, either.
So it would have to be possible to make ordinary witches Primes, or this wouldn’t work. Reinstate herself, and Koika, and Rana, and then choose successors for the other two. Naji for Shimi, and for Arinei . . . well, it would have to be Onomita, as she was the only Fire Key remaining at Starfall. Satomi would need to talk to her about the note she’d read, then—or else change her memory, too. Could Onomita handle that responsibility, dropped on her so suddenly? Or should they look to the unranked witches for possible successors? Was there anyone ready to take up that burden?
As for how the others might interfere, she saw remarkably few opportunities, at least at the moment. They could prevent the disbanding from happening, perhaps, which would return them all to stalemate. They could try to slip in their own replacements, before the Primes could reinstate themselves—but that would require them knowing they were about to be disbanded, and having the rituals necessary to raise new Primes out of nothing. With luck—and good security—Satomi could see to it that this would take them completely by surprise. They wouldn’t have time to put in their own people.
Three Primes reinstated, two Primes replaced. Then strip the rebellious Keys of their authority and replace them, and find a new Air Heart to replace Naji.
It could work.
Assuming that Hyoka could turn theory into application, and Satomi had the nerve to try such a radical move.
She handed the sheet back to Hyoka. “Look into it. Tell me what you find out. Keep this under the strictest security; your people are not to speak to anyone other than each other, you, or me.”
“And Koika and Rana?”
Satomi met her gaze coldly. “Themselves, you, or me. No one else.”
Hyoka moved in startlement, then bowed. “Yes, Aken.”
Chapter Nine
MIREI STUMBLED to her feet, off balance, head thick and slow. Her eyes kept going over the scene, not quite processing it yet. Two horses: hers and Amas’s. Two trainees: Amas and Lehant.
No Indera.
No Indera’s horse.
The foul taste in her mouth stopped her where she stood. Mirei raised one hand to her lips, then swore. Ferraleaf. Someone had drugged her. Drugged her and taken Indera.
Taken only one? a more alert part of her asked. Taken one, and left the others here?
And how would they have fed her the drug, anyway?
Mirei’s eyes went, inexorably, to the pot the previous night’s broth had been cooked in. It had been washed in the spring and set upside-down against a rock to dry. No evidence left.
But Indera had
cooked the broth.
Ferraleaf. One of the herbs she had pointed out to Amas and Indera on the long ride from Silverfire to Angrim.
Mirei swore again, louder. “Void-damned idiot,” she added. It was easier to keep her thoughts going around the aftereffects of the drug when they were said out loud. “Watching the wrong bloody two. Left your eyes off her. Ferraleaf likes damp—let’s see—yes, there it is, right by the spring, how clever of you to spot what’s left of it now, when she’s fed you most of the plant. Didn’t drink the broth last night, did she? Weren’t watching for that. And didn’t taste it, either, because she put salt in, like you told her to. Good job, Mirei, you’re a wonderful teacher.”
Her rambling, venomous monologue broke off as she turned and found Amas and Lehant had stirred into wakefulness.
“She’s gone,” Mirei said. No point in trying to hide it. “Drugged us and ran. Don’t know how long ago.”
She began to cast about on the ground as the other two struggled upright. Her body was stiff from her unnaturally deep sleep on the ground with only her cloak to protect her, but she disregarded it, working the stiffness out as she looked for tracks. Indera had taken a horse; that would be hard to hide—yes, there, leading back toward the road. Mirei followed the marks, leaving the trainees and the horses behind for the moment, and emerged out from under the trees into the sunlight of late morning. If Indera had left as soon as they were soundly asleep, then she could have quite a head start.
The hoofprints went to the road, and vanished into the hard-packed dirt.
Mirei straightened from her crouch and began cursing once more in a low, unbroken monotone. The lane was smaller than a Great Road, yes, and less heavily traveled, but there was enough traffic on it, and enough time had passed since the last rainfall, that the surface was an unreadable carpet of dust. No way to distinguish one set of hoofprints from another. Indera could have gone in either direction, and could have left the road at any point.
Bad enough to lose Naspeth because she didn’t reach Angrim in time. How was she supposed to justify losing Indera when the girl had been right there?
A rustle in the dry grass made her spin. She staggered a step, equilibrium still not recovered, and found Amas behind her.
“Why in the Void aren’t you gone, too?” Mirei demanded, saying the first thing that came to mind. “I thought you’d be the one to run. You, or the Thornblood.”
Amas gave her that same infuriatingly level look as always. “Why me?”
“Because you treat everything I say like I’m a marketplace vendor trying to cheat you, and you just haven’t figured out how. I expected you to question the things I said last night.”
“But not Indera.” Amas shook her head. Red-gold roots were appearing in her dyed hair, glimmering in the morning sunlight. Her expression almost pitied Mirei’s lack of understanding. “She worships you. Worshiped, I guess. Wanted to be just like you. She loves being who she is, being this—doppelganger thing. Then you come along and tell her you’re going to take that away.”
“I’m saving her life.”
Amas shrugged, sardonic. “I guess she’s not very grateful.”
“So why didn’t you run away with her? Are you more grateful?”
“She didn’t ask me to come,” Amas said. Then she smiled, with a cool edge to it. “And I haven’t finished thinking about what you told us.” The smile faded; she grimaced and spat into the grass. “Is this what ferraleaf tastes like, then?”
“Indera overdid it,” Mirei muttered, and headed back toward the camp.
Lehant was there, ducking her head into the spring in order to clear it. The water streamed over the girl’s bald head; she blinked her eyes clear and said, “Now what?”
Mirei knew before she tried that it wouldn’t work, but she had to try anyway. Maybe it would work for her, with her different flavor of magic.
She sang the spell that would locate a human being.
The result was not like trying to find someone hidden behind a blocking spell. Instead of the painful silence, she suffered a wash of dizziness that dumped her on her ass.
She should have given the girls warning. They had no way of knowing what spell she was casting. By the looks on their faces, they had half-expected that she was going to rain fire down on their heads for letting Indera slip off. Her fall clearly hadn’t helped their confusion.
“Damn it to Void,” Mirei said, not even able to put any real force behind it. She had known the spell would fail. That, then, must be what it felt like to try and find a person who was in two places at once. Sharyo was hopefully at Starfall, and Indera was Goddess knew where.
“Are you okay?” Amas asked, not approaching her.
Depending on what you mean by “okay.” “Yes,” Mirei said, tucking her legs underneath her. Crone on a crutch. So what now?
After she had sat there for a moment, pondering that question and coming up with nothing useful, Amas spoke again. “Can’t you just get her back with magic?”
“No,” Mirei said shortly, and left it at that. Better not to tell them they’re untrackable by spell. Don’t want to give them any ideas.
Another few moments of silence, and then Amas’s voice. “Shouldn’t you be following her? Before she gets too far away?”
“I have no idea which bloody direction she’s gone in, and I have you two to worry about,” Mirei growled. “Need to figure out what to do with you, before I go after her.”
“What to do with us?” This time it was Lehant, rising from her crouch beside the spring and coming a step toward her.
“Remember me saying your lives were in danger? I’ve lost two of you already, at least in the short term. I’m going to get you two safely stowed with somebody before I go haring off after Indera.” She closed her eyes and tried to recall where the nearest group of Cousins was likely to be. No, not Cousins; she needed at least some witches to protect these two. And she couldn’t just recruit the nearest Water Hand. This was going to be a nightmare. Every minute she spent on this, Indera was getting more thoroughly lost. Or being found by the wrong people.
Amas’s voice broke through her thoughts, again. “I can help you find her.”
“Will you stop distracting me?” Mirei demanded, rising to her feet in one smooth motion. Good; her sense of balance was coming back.
The trainee stood her ground against the anger. “I can help. I know Indera better than you do. If you can’t get her back with magic, then you’ll need to know where she’s likely to have gone. And besides, she trusts me, kind of.” The girl grimaced. “Okay, not really—but more than she trusts you, after what you said last night. I might be able to convince her to come with you.”
“And I’m not letting you hand me off to some witch,” Lehant put in, looking defiant.
Mirei’s frustration boiled over. “In case you forgot last night’s lesson, I’m a witch. And you’ll damn well go where I say you will, because I’ll hit you over the head or gag you with a spell or do whatever I bloody have to in order to keep your miserable, ungrateful skins in one piece.”
“We’re not ungrateful!” Amas shouted back at her, and for the first time, Mirei saw the girl’s composure snap. “It’s just that it’s a little hard to deal with what you’ve told us—it’s come out of nowhere, can’t you understand that? And you’re the only person we know, now. We can’t go back to our schools and we can’t go back to our parents and you want to pass us off to a bunch of women we’ve never met before, and then they’re going to put us back together with some girls we don’t know and we’re not going to be like this anymore. We won’t be ourselves. You’ve been through it, you’re the only one, and so we want to stay with you, all right?”
The summer silence that followed her words, a quiet breeze and the buzz of cicadas, seemed incongruous, even silly.
Mirei stared at the two girls. Amas, skin flushed and hands clenched into useless, impotent fists. Lehant’s gaze alternating between them both, its nervous flicker
betraying that she was on the edge of snapping, too.
I don’t know what to do with them.
She turned her back on them, walked a few steps to an elm and leaned against it, arms propped on the cracked gray bark. The remaining horses were not far away; they sidled a little, made uneasy by the shouting. Horses she could deal with. Witches she could deal with. Eleven-year-old girls? She was twenty-five, and when she was their age she’d spent the last six years of her life in a temple, learning to Dance for the Goddess.
“I don’t know how to take care of you,” she said, words muffled by her arms. She hadn’t meant to say it, but out it came. “You’re eleven. I don’t know what to do with you.”
Silence greeted this statement, until she had to straighten up and turn around to look at them.
Lehant looked startled. From the girl’s expression, Mirei could only think that she’d managed to prove to her that, yes, even Silverfires were human. Crone only knew what kinds of stories Thornblood trainees were fed about them. Probably similar to the ones Silverfire trainees got about Thornbloods.
Amas had gone white, and her lips were pressed together. Her eyes were large in her face, light blue and lost; Mirei couldn’t break away from her gaze.
The three of them stared at each other, and Mirei’s gelding whickered and stamped one hoof.
Then Amas pulled herself up, squaring her thin shoulders in abrupt determination. “We’re not children. We’re Hunter trainees.”
She said this as if it was supposed to solve all of the problems. Mirei couldn’t see how. “And?”
“So don’t think you have to treat us like children. Think—think like you’re running a Hunter school. Your own school. With two trainees. And it’s a different kind of school, because instead of having a compound, you’re teaching us on the road. Like apprentices. We’ll learn the trade by working with you.”
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