Doppelganger (10 page)

The room was cool, but she was drenched with sweat, as if she had run a dozen circuits around Star Hall. And all she had done was sit in a chair and answer questions! Miryo felt drained. And still the questions came, steady and remorseless, and still she gave the answers, without quite knowing how.

Arrayed against her were fifteen women, each with a gaze piercing enough to have nailed her to the wall twenty feet behind her. Three from each Ray of Star Hall; they were the Keys to the Paths, and stood
subordinate only to
the Primes who led the five Rays. They must be passing some manner of signal among themselves, for the questions never paused, and no two witches ever spoke at the same time; they merely continued at the same measured pace, wringing every last drop of knowledge out of Miryo, including some she never knew were in her. Ashin was among them, of course, but her unusually dark eyes betrayed no hint of anything.

"When will the next lunar eclipse come, and how extensive will it be?"

"It will come forty-three days hence, and cover three-quarters of the moon, Itsumen-akara."

"During what part of the year is the constellation of the Hunter visible in the sky?"

"From the spring equinox to the winter solstice, Kimeko-akara."

Two in a row from the Void Ray. There was no pattern to the questions, no rhyme or reason to how they came. Miryo could never be sure where the next one was coming from, or what it would concern.

"Eliseed can be used for treating shortness of breath, but never with pregnant women, or those suffering heart troubles, Atami-makiza."

Without so much as a glance, the cue passed from the Water Hand Key to the Earth Heart. Would Atami be upset that Miryo had given too much information? The witch had not asked for exceptions to the use of eliseed Even as Miryo said how many hot springs were in the domain of Trine—"Seventeen, Ueda-chakoa"—she slipped a glance back at the witch who had asked the previous question. Atami did not look irritated. It was probably better to tell more than less.

Miryo spared a moment to think of Eikyo. She hoped her friend was studying hard. The questioning was far more brutal than either of them had expected. How had Gannu ever passed?

"Lightning may be directed only in conjunction with Earth, Onomita-nakana. If the witch is not properly grounded, it may recoil back on her."

It took a heartbeat for Miryo to realize that no one had followed the Fire Head Key's question with a new one. She reached for her water glass; her mouth was dry from speaking, and these pauses came all too infrequently.

The Keys stood.

Miryo stared at them for an instant before leaping to her feet. The questioning was over. Now the Keys would announce their evaluation of her performance. Except that they hadn't discussed it among themselves at all; didn't they need to talk it over?

Then Miryo remembered her part, and turned to look behind her.

The five women who served as Primes for the Rays stood behind her in an impassive line. Miryo bowed to the Keys, then to the Primes, and moved to one side, out of the way.

"This one has brought her mind to you for testing," Satomi-aken, the Void Prime, said into the quiet of the room. "How do you find it?"

Hyoka-akara answered her, the Key of the Head for Satomi's Ray. "Her mind is sound and well-prepared. We commend her to your trial."

First stage down. Now, the one that matters.

Miryo approached the Primes and bowed again, trying to keep her face calm. They did not speak to her, but merely turned and led her out of the room.

The six women passed down a hallway and through a door, emerging into the crisp evening air. To her surprise, Miryo saw that full dark had just set in. Even though she was aware of the prescribed timing, it felt as though it should be noon the next day. The questions had gone on forever.

The Primes split up. One by one, they walked to the four doors of Star Hall, until each stood at the door for her Ray. Miryo was left a few paces behind the Void Prime. Satomi stepped forward at last, and Miryo saw with some interest that the woman chose the arm of the Hall dedicated to Air. Rumor had it that the branch you approached from was indicative of which had shown the most interest in you, the one they believed you showed the most talent for. But it was only rumor.

In silent procession, Satomi walked down the lofty corridor of Air. Miryo restrained her urge to gape around; she and the other students were in here only rarely. She kept her eyes glued to the Void Prime's rod-straight back, until they stood in the center, where the arms of the Hall crossed.

The witch guided Miryo up onto the dais at the center, then turned to face her.

"Remain here in vigil, and contemplate that which you face. At midnight, the ritual will begin."

And then I find out what Ashin was afraid of.

"I hear and obey, Satomi-aken," Miryo said softly. The witch turned away and left the dais, walking out through the north and the door of Earth.

Leaving Miryo alone in Star Hall.

From now until midnight, when the Primes would return, she would not speak. The silence of the Hall was oppressive, suffocating, until she wanted to talk, shout, sing, anything to break it—and yet she was forbidden to do so.

Miryo realized her breathing was quickening. Concentrating, she forced herself to calm down, and looked around the Hall.

It was a work of breathtaking beauty. Crafted from silvery stone, the Hall soared upward on impossibly slender supports, until it seemed to be reaching for the very stars it was dedicated to. Graceful rib-vaulting made a delicate pattern across the ceiling, fanning out across the bays, until at the crossing it leapt even farther upward, into a blackness the witchlights could not even touch. The crossing was devoted to the Void.

The four arms of the Hall, by contrast, were a riot of color. Each was built of the same silvery stone, clean and unadorned by even the simplest sculpture, but the walls between the piers of the arches were almost nonexistent, replaced instead by rank upon rank of exquisite stained-glass windows. In the west, where Miryo had entered, the colors of Air were all of the most delicate hues, barely even detectable, but the light that came through them turned everything sharp-edged and preternaturally distinct. She wondered what spell managed that. It was full dark outside, yet somehow the windows still shed light, still touched the silvery marble with their colors.

In the south, the hall of Fire was colored in all the hues of its namesake, red and orange and gold, until the light falling on the floor seemed to be pure fire itself. North was Earth, resplendent in rich greens and warm ambers; East was Water, all shifting blues.

And in the crossing itself—

The heart of Star Hall, dedicated to the untouchable emptiness of the Void, defied all the laws of nature. Somehow the color of the four branches, their light, their
life
, did not reach here. The air was peculiarly gray and washed-out, and the arches soared upward from the clerestory level into blackness. In the four arms, the windows depicted symbols of their Elements; in the center, Miryo could not even make out the windows, despite her best efforts. They faded away in an odd and disquieting manner, although she was sure they were there.

She shivered and looked away.

They wanted her to meditate on her future.
What a wonderful idea
that
is. All I can think about is what might
go
wrong
.

As far as she knew, there were two ways to fail the test. She didn't know how either of them
happened
—just the results.

She might die. It wasn't common, but it did happen, and supposedly in a variety of ways. Though that might just be student rumor. Certainly Hinusoka had died.

The other possibility would make her a Cousin.

Most of those who served the witches had never been witch-students. They were the children of other Cousins, as Miryo was the child of a witch. Mostly daughters; a rare scattering of sons, which was more than the witches had, but not many. But ultimately they were all descended from failed students, and sometimes—when something went wrong in the test—new ones joined them.

Eikyo feared that more than death. Miryo wasn't sure which way to feel. If you ended up a Cousin, you didn't remember anything, which presumably meant you didn't care about your failure. But there was something appalling about the thought, about losing your mind—

Miryo's breathing had sped up, and she forced herself to calm down.
Don't think about that. Maybe fear is how it happens
.

You'll find out soon enough.

She concentrated on her breathing, focusing her mind, slipping into a light meditative trance where she thought about nothing at all. And, without her being aware of it, time passed.

Between one heartbeat and the next, they were there.

Miryo's breath caught in her throat. The five Primes had appeared silently, simultaneously; they might have been statues were it not for their glittering eyes.

Satomi was on the dais with her. The others stood at four points around the dais, each on a circular patch of floor inlaid with the color of her Element. In wordless unison, without so much as a sound to direct their power, they began to rise, until they reached the level of the dais, each standing on a coruscating column of Elemental light.

"Who comes?"

The sung phrase, five voices blending as one, broke the crystalline silence.

"A sister." The solo response came from Arinei-nayo, the Fire Prime.

"Who comes?"

"A student." This time the Air Prime, Shimi-kane, answered.

"Who comes?"

"A daughter." That was the Water Prime, Rana-mari.

"Who comes?"

"A candidate." Koika-chashi, the Earth Prime.

"Who comes?"

"One of ours, who is not one of us; one who would join us under the stars, who has not been tried." Satomi's voice rendered the peculiar intervals of her response without hesitation; the words floated upward to be swallowed by the blackness above.

The four other Primes sang in return. "Let her be tried; let the testing begin."

There was a pause. Miryo took a deep breath and braced herself.

"Aken, I stand in protest."

The chanted line stopped Miryo's heart. Shimi looked across at her with eyes like chips of palest blue ice; the woman's expression was antagonistic as she addressed the Void Prime in a monotone.

Was this what Ashin feared?

"This student is not fit for testing. She must not be allowed to continue."

"Shimi-kane," Miryo responded before she could think, "the Keys passed me in the primary testing."

The Air Prime gave her a frosty look. "They are Keys, and not Primes." She continued to speak in a single tone; Miryo had unconsciously echoed it. The music was the framework of the ritual, and despite this interruption—her heart skipped another beat in horror—it must not be broken entirely.

"That may be so," she said as steadily as she could. "But the Law of this Hall states that a student who has succeeded in the initial testing is eligible for the final stage. You may not agree with their decision, but the Law grants me the right nevertheless."

"The Law is not supreme. I am the Prime of the Air Ray; I have the power to alter it."

Arinei broke in now. "Sister, do you challenge a Prime?"

Miryo's jaw worked up and down a few times. Contradicting a Prime was unthinkable—but she couldn't let Shimi destroy her chances! "Arinei-nayo, my apologies, but the Law gives me the right to undergo this testing, and I cannot allow that to be taken from me. I have not come this far to give up."

"As my sister says, it is within the power of a Prime to alter the Law."

"But is now the time to do it?" Miryo shot back. "The ritual has started. It should be finished."

"It is not the place of a student to dictate policy to us, candidate," Koika said in a frigid voice.

Miryo spun to the north to face the Earth Prime, then bowed her head at the rebuke. "I understand, Chashi. But I will not back down from what I believe is right."

"Even though it may bring more trouble than you expect? Even supposing you pass the ritual, I fear my sister may never accept you. You build difficulties for yourself, candidate."

"I hardly expect every witch of the sisterhood to view me as a friend, Koika-chashi." Miryo lifted her chin. "If I cause trouble with authority, so be it; better that than to relinquish my convictions."

"Why do you wish to continue?"

The question, almost whispered in the chant all the Primes and Miryo were continuing to use, echoed fleetingly around the crossing. Miryo shifted to look at Rana.

"If I may be blunt, Rana-mari, I have not spent all twenty-five years of my life studying for nothing."

"You may die."

That short declaration made Miryo's skin crawl. She remembered what little had been left of Hinusoka when the ritual was done, and the other students who had not survived. Her fate might be like that. Or worse.