Mirei had known that an Air witch cast the spell. The color of Eclipse’s scar had been reported to Starfall. But she hadn’t known it was the Air Prime herself.
I’m going to make her pay.
Rigai’s voice whispered through her memory, saying, “Human sacrifice.”
A life offered to the Warrior, so that she would not take someone else’s.
Who better to offer in exchange?
The thought repulsed Mirei even as she was attracted to it. Wouldn’t it be poetic justice? She tried to set up Eclipse’s death; I’ll set up hers in his place.
She was a Hunter, and she’d killed people before. But never in such cold blood.
What would Eclipse think of it?
But he didn’t have to know. No one had to know.
I don’t even know if it will work.
Will work, her thoughts had phrased it. Not would work.
I don’t even know where she is.
Mirei dragged herself away from those thoughts with an effort, and looked back to Kekkai. The Key was staring at her, eyes wide. No doubt wondering what Mirei would do to her for having been the bearer of that particular bit of information.
I won’t do anything to you, Mirei thought coldly.
“We’re done for now,” she said, and left without another word.
THE PRACTICE WITH THE GIRLS that afternoon was a quiet one. There had been so much bad news lately, starting with Chanka and Anness; Mirei had been nauseated to hear about their deaths. Now the business in Kalistyi. The girls didn’t know where Mirei had gone, nor what exactly had happened there, but they knew that Ashin had gone with her, and that Ashin had come back dead. Indera and Sharyo were both stone-faced, and the others stayed gingerly away from them, as if not sure what to say.
Tajio had been watching over them in Mirei’s absence; with Mirei’s permission, she remained on hand to observe how the practices were normally conducted. Mirei wasn’t particularly happy with having an audience, but she couldn’t shake the memory of her conversation with Hyoka and Nenikune. She wouldn’t be around forever, and someone else had to know what to do with these girls. Ashin, who had helped, was gone.
As they moved through their exercises, silence only broken by shouts as they punched and kicked, Mirei wondered privately if this was even a good idea. If my magic is killing me—
The thought left her feeling scared in a way she hadn’t since the days before she rejoined. Back when she was doubting whether there was any alternative to killing her doppelganger. If the consequence of this rejoining was early death, then did she have any right to send these girls down the same path? Wouldn’t it be better to lose Amas, than Amas and Hoseki both?
It all depended on what exactly was happening to her. And she didn’t know the answer to that.
Practice ended; she waved everyone off, including her escort of Cousins. They didn’t want to go, but she summoned up a glare that drove them into retreat. Alone at last, she exhaled slowly, breath blooming outward in a white fog. Standing in the wintry clearing, she relaxed her muscles, and began to move.
It wasn’t a spell. There was no purpose to the power she drew. She simply moved, weaving her voice in counterpoint to the shifting of her body, and called up the power of the Void. Dangerous, perhaps—but she had to feel it. She had to touch it, and see if the healers were right.
She had to know if it was killing her.
The sensation was so different from other kinds of power. It was a paradox she didn’t understand—how she could make use of something whose essence was nonbeing. But she felt it around her, flowing through her limbs as she moved, and knew it was there even as it was not.
And in that power, she felt no harm.
Work like this was not dangerous. She had no proof for Hyoka and Nenikune; they’d have to take her word for it. This was not where the damage lay. What was harming her was translocation, the journey through the Void, where the only thing that kept physical form together was the power of her will. That was what she had to avoid—no, not avoid. She couldn’t afford that. She must use it in moderation, and accept that the cost would be paid in flesh and blood.
She drew her movements to a close and released the power she held. It did not hang in the air, as other Elements did; there was no need to cancel it. The minute she let go, it was gone, for it had never been there to begin with.
“A paradox,” Mirei murmured into the cold air. But one that was a part of her now.
With her attention no longer bound up in movement, she realized there were eyes on her.
Turning around and scanning the thickets of gray, leafless underbrush, Mirei said, “You might as well come out.”
Amas emerged from behind a tangle of branches, looking disgruntled. “I thought I’d gotten better at hiding than that.”
Mirei was not in a mood to play teacher right now. “What do you want, Amas?”
“Well, it’s not so much what I want, as what we want.” Amas glanced back over her shoulder and called out, “We might as well ask her now.”
Farther back, several more figures appeared. Lehant was not much of a surprise; Owairi, Hoseki, and Urishin were. As they came up to join Amas, Mirei sighed. “Couldn’t this wait until later?”
Urishin stepped forward. “I wanted to talk to you privately.” Mirei gave a pointed look at the others; she flushed. “Privately as in, without witches and Cousins around. Without Tajio-ai, or A— Or any of those other people that are constantly watching over us.”
“They’re there for a reason,” Mirei reminded her. “To keep you from getting snatched and killed.”
“You’re busy all the time, though. So when we saw you were alone . . .”
Mirei didn’t want to waste more time arguing the point. “Fine. What did you want to ask me?”
The girl took a steadying breath. The others were still a little behind her; whatever this business was, they were supporting Urishin, but it was her affair. “Ashin-kasora told us a while ago that it’s possible for a witch to tell where her doppelganger is.”
“Not exactly. Just the general direction.”
“But we can find them.”
“That’s how they were able to send witches out to kill their doppelgangers.”
“Well,” Urishin said, back very straight, hands clasped together, her whole posture proclaiming the nerves she was trying to hide, “do Shimi and Arinei have the missing doppelgangers with them? I mean, in the same place they’re in?”
Mirei’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”
Urishin bit her lip. “If they do—if they’ve got Naspeth there—then I could find her.”
The possibility had never even occurred to Mirei. Her mouth fell slightly open as she considered it. All the fuss over Kekkai not being able to say, and they had the answer here all along—
And then I would know right where to find Shimi. And I could kill her.
Mirei shoved that thought aside. “You can sense her, right now? Even with the block still in place?” She’d never tried it herself, because she hadn’t known to try until after her test. And it wasn’t a blatant thing; she’d only sensed it when she specifically went looking for it. She hadn’t even considered that it might have worked sooner.
But Urishin was shaking her head.
Mirei frowned at her. “Then what do you mean?”
The girl took another steadying breath. The others were watching her closely, eyes flicking occasionally to Mirei. “I mean that if the block were gone, then I could tell you where Naspeth is.”
“But you’re eleven.”
“I know.”
Mirei stared at her, then at the others. “Removing the block is the final part of your test.”
“I know.”
“But you— That isn’t supposed to happen for another fourteen years.”
“Just over thirteen. I’ll be twelve soon.”
“Thirteen, fourteen, it doesn’t bloody matter. Urishin, you’re not ready.”
“Wh
o says?” the girl asked quietly.
Mirei’s head reeled. “Void it—you know what happened to Chanka and Anness. Shimi used exactly the kind of thing you’re suggesting to kill those two. And that’s what will happen to you.”
“I’ll know what’s going on,” Urishin said stubbornly. “Chanka was too young to understand. I’ll be okay.”
“It isn’t just a matter of understanding. You’ve hardly begun your education. Everything you learned before coming here is just background. The spells, the detail—you’re, what, finishing up your first study of Earth? You’ve done one of the five Elements. You’re not ready.”
But Urishin wasn’t fazed. In fact, her nervous posture was relaxing, settling into something more determined, more confident. “Misetsu didn’t study for twenty-five years.”
“Misetsu,” Mirei said through her teeth, “was a holy woman, and a dedicated hermit.”
Urishin nodded. “She was a woman of great faith.”
“And you think your faith is going to replicate her miracle?”
Amas spoke up, startling her. “It doesn’t have to. Misetsu got magic when no one had ever had it before. Urishin has the channel for power already in her. She just has to survive.”
She couldn’t believe they were saying this, when two of their number had so recently died. “What do you think the odds of that are?”
Yet Amas would not back down. “Look, we thought about this before we came to you. We’ve been talking this over with Urishin for ages. She knows the risks.”
“I want to try,” Urishin confirmed, thin face serene. “Even if it means I might die.”
Mirei took one look at her expression and knew that now was not the time to try and persuade the girl that she was acting like a lunatic. She took refuge in something more concrete. “Look, I can’t help you anyway. You need a lot of people for that ritual, and I don’t even know how it works. And you’re never going to convince Satomi to let you do this.”
“But you might convince her,” Amas said.
“Is that what you want?”
“We were hoping you’d try.”
They faced her in a tight clump, the five of them. Owairi and Lehant, copper hair cut short, hardly distinguishable from one another in their practice clothes. Amas and Hoseki, standing side by side; more than anyone in the group, they had begun to work as a single unit, reading each other’s movements and blending into one. Urishin, standing by herself in front, and it didn’t look natural. There should be someone else next to her, someone with the same thin features. A Warrior half, a Void half: the other face of her soul.
In all the world, there were so few other girls like these. And Urishin was asking her to risk losing two of them.
“Just tell Satomi-aken,” Urishin said softly. “Tell her I want to try.”
That much, at least, Mirei could promise. Because Satomi needed to know about this lunacy. “I will.”
Chapter Twenty
IT MIGHT EVEN WORK,” Mirei said, shrugging.
“It doesn’t stand a chance in the Void of working,” Satomi snapped. “And you know it.”
The young witch held up her hands. “I mean the part about finding Shimi. You said Kekkai told you she’s keeping the doppelgangers close by.”
Satomi ground her teeth. “That doesn’t matter. The issue is Urishin, and the madness of this idea.”
Mirei looked thoughtful, glancing into the autumn twilight outside Satomi’s window. “I’m not so sure it’s madness.”
“She’s an eleven-year-old girl—”
“Who trusts the Goddess.” Mirei smiled sadly. “I recognize it when I see it. I probably had the same expression on my face, not long ago—both of my faces, if you want to put it that way. I saw it in Ashin a couple of times, too.”
“Faith isn’t enough.”
“Isn’t it?” Mirei’s gaze came back to meet hers, and now it had sharpened. “Everything that makes us who we are has come to us through faith. Misetsu’s gift, the spells we cast—what I am today. It all comes down to us having faith—opening ourselves to the Goddess and listening to what she has to say.”
If Satomi had ever felt the sensation Mirei was describing, she didn’t remember it. “She’ll die, just like Chanka and Anness, and Naspeth will die with her. You don’t know the numbers—how many students die, how many become Cousins. I do. And that’s for women who have studied their entire lives. For an eleven-year-old girl? The odds are impossible.”
“But this isn’t about odds. It’s about courage. Urishin has it. And as much as I know she might die—we all know that, very well—the more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to say, let her try.”
Satomi pressed her fingers against her eyes. She felt a headache starting, spiking in from both temples. “There’s no such thing as trying. There’s no second chance. If this goes wrong, there’s no trying again, no opportunity to make it right. That’s what she doesn’t understand. Or you, either.”
Mirei received that in silence. Satomi began to hope that she’d convinced the young woman. The next words hit her from the side, out of nowhere, and knocked her completely out of the calm she’d achieved.
“Is this because of Orezha?”
Satomi’s hands fell to her sides like stones. “She is none of your concern.”
“With all due respect, Aken, I think you’re letting your guilt cloud your judgment. Orezha died when she shouldn’t have. Now you’re clinging to these girls as if they’ll make up for that mistake.”
Satomi stood abruptly, hands clenching the edge of her desk until they hurt. “You may leave.”
“I think you’re afraid that if you let Urishin try, and she dies, then it’ll be your fault again, you making the wrong decision. But the decision that matters this time isn’t yours. It’s hers. Young as she is. Children younger than she is are sent off to temples, never to leave again; they’re forced into a life of pretended faith whether they want it or not. Is that better? Or is it better to make the choice for herself, and to try to help others in the process?” Mirei was unblinking, her face relaxed into a tranquillity Satomi found frightening. “Our job should be to help her as best as we can. Not to take her choice away.”
“Get out,” Satomi snarled.
Mirei stood at last. “If you can’t trust me, or Urishin,” she said quietly, “trust the Goddess. Pray, and see what you think of it then. But do it soon.”
Then she was gone.
THE ONE PLACE in Starfall Indera had found where she could be private was on the roofs. She’d heard that students often climbed around on the roof of the hall where they lived, but other places were less frequented. There was a large storehouse where they kept jars of wine, with a tall pine growing right alongside it; Indera could climb that to the roof, and have some time to herself.
Alone. She hadn’t realized how much she really was alone, until the night of the funeral. Until they spoke of Ashin’s life, and said she only had one daughter.
Sharyo’s the only one who’s real to them. I’m a copy, and they’ll get rid of me as soon as they can.
She sat glaring at the stars, pretending they were not blurring in her vision, and ignored the cold tracks that formed down her cheeks. She stayed until the air chilled her too much; then, reluctantly, she climbed back down to the ground. And there she found someone waiting for her.
“Are you all right?” Tajio asked.
Indera resisted the urge to scrub at her face. If any marks of her tears remained, that would only draw attention to them. “What do you care?” she asked rudely.
Instead of being offended, the witch smiled sadly. “I thought you might want to talk to someone, after your mother’s funeral.”
Indera turned away. “She wasn’t my mother.”
After a moment, she heard Tajio move, coming forward two steps, but not trying to touch her. “I understand. It’s very brave of you, to face it like that. To be strong enough to stand on your own, at such a young age.”
Startled, Indera turned to face her again. “You— Do you really mean it?”
Tajio nodded. “You’re an impressive young woman. Strong and disciplined. I’ve seen how hard you work at your training. I can only imagine how well you would be doing if you were still at Silverfire.”
The name lanced through her, awakening other pain. Indera turned away again, but this time a soft hand on her shoulder turned her back. “Tell me,” Tajio said, full of compassion.
So Indera did. They walked through the woods, Indera hugging her arms around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the chill both inside and out, and she told the witch everything. How no one here really thought of her as a person. How they only cared about Sharyo. And then what she’d overheard—it was a lie, that she had years yet before she would be expected to turn into somebody else. They were going to do it now. With Urishin, anyway, and if that worked out then there would be no point in waiting, would there? They’d all have to do it, then, every last pair.
So Indera would stop existing, and in her place there would be some witch. Sharyo, but with all the things Indera had worked for. All the Hunter training. All the things the witch-girl hadn’t earned. And Indera would be gone forever.
“I’m going to die,” she said at last, miserably, and the tears began to run down her face again, against all her efforts to stop them.
“Hey, listen to me,” Tajio said softly, and stopped and knelt. Indera turned to look at her, reluctant, sure she was going to hear another lecture on how it wouldn’t be bad, she’d still be herself, just more. The same lecture everyone else gave her.
She was wrong.
“If you weren’t here,” Tajio said, “then they wouldn’t do it. With the others, maybe, but not with Sharyo. It would be too risky, to open her to power when you’re not around; she’d be in danger, then. Both of you would.”
“But I can’t get out of here,” Indera said, struggling to keep her voice from going high and tight with tears. “I’ve looked. There’s patrols, and I can’t steal a horse.”
Witch Page 29