Doppelganger (11 page)

"Perhaps, Mari," she said quietly. "I am willing to take that chance."

"The Goddess smiles; the ritual continues. The sister, the daughter, the student, the candidate; she has been tried, and not found wanting."

What—oh, Misetsu and Menukyo, the ritual—that was it, port of it—all a test—

"Let the testing continue," the other four Primes sang in response to Satomi, in melody once again. "Will you begin?"

Miryo just barely remembered her own part. "I stand ready for Earth. May the Goddess as Crone be at my side, and lend me determination."

The Hall disappeared.

A crushing, lethal pressure was on Miryo—not physically; there was no physical element to this, but it was nevertheless horribly real and present, moving inward, forcing the life out of her. Its strength was terrifying. Miryo shoved back reflexively, trying to fight against the deadly attack.

Determination. Strength. Attributes of Earth
—

Miryo braced herself, no longer trying to push the pressure back, merely concentrating on holding her own. It made the heaviest burden she'd ever shouldered feel light.

Goddess, Crone, I'm not strong enough
—

That defeated thought sparked a sudden reaction in her; perversely, it made her that much less willing to give in. Eikyo had been right.
I made it this far; I'm bloody well not going to give up now
. She hardened her focus even more—

The pressure vanished. The Hall reappeared.

"I have mastered Earth," Miryo sang unevenly, her voice barely able to render the response. "Its strength is mine."

"The Crone smiles," sang Koika. Did she look pleased? Impossible to tell; the Primes were all impassive.

"Let the testing continue."

Miryo was not ready. She wanted nothing more than a moment to catch her breath, to recover from the ordeal of Earth. But she feared that any hesitation might undo her, might allow the terror to take control.

"I stand ready for Water," she sang before the doubts could rise up further. "May the Goddess as Mother be at my side, and lend me flexibility."

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when the Hall went away.

A fierce wind sprang up, seeking to rend her apart, to snap her in half. Miryo felt like a tree in a hurricane-force gale. Trees—they broke in storms, they were too stiff. She tried to bend with the wind.

She couldn't make it work. Like a tree, with its grained wood, she could not give way. The wind increased in force, and Miryo felt pain, as though her spine would snap, her branches break off.

Mother, Goddess of Water. I know what I should do
—
these tests are, in a way, straightforward
—
but I can't do it
!

Slowly, painfully, she relaxed the nonphysical part of herself, moving in the direction the wind drove her.
Be a willow, not an oak
. It was working. The Goddess was with her.

"I have mastered Water," Miryo sang when the Hall was once more in her vision. "Its flexibility is mine."

"The Mother smiles," Rana sang. Two Primes had passed her; leaving three. And then—

Don't think about that.

"Let the testing continue."

"I stand ready for Air. May the Goddess as Bride be at my side, and lend me clarity."

This time Miryo was assaulted, not by a wind, but by an unreal barrage of—she could not put a word to it. Ideas, images, sounds, all flocked around her, flashing back and forth too rapidly to be comprehended, blurring into a demented collage, a howling demon of chaos.

It began to erode her sanity.

like studying
—
information
—
all those bits and pieces
—
all at once
—
too many to control
!

The torrent continued. Miryo fought to put the thoughts into order, to force them into some kind of sanity; she fought and failed. Her own mental balance was rapidly disappearing beneath the onslaught.

I have to stay calm!

She felt a scream building in her gut, fought it back. She could not make a sound. It was forbidden to do so, except in the responses. Not just for discipline; any extraneous noise could disrupt the power of the ritual. The wrong sound could be death.

This and a thousand other thoughts flew past in a maddening flood.

And then it was over. Miryo drew a deep breath. "I have mastered Air. Its clarity is mine."
Or so I hope. Misetsu's faith
—
that was closer than I would have liked
.

Shimi appeared to find her performance good enough. "The Bride smiles."

"Let the testing continue."

She feared this one more than all the rest—all the rest save Void. Singing the next lines took more courage than she could have imagined. "I stand ready for Fire. May the Goddess as Maiden be at my side, and lend me courage."

Frigid chill. And a wind, again, this time bringing the ice of the far norm, like a blast of air off a snow-covered mountain peak. Miryo's first instinct was to curl in on herself, pull her insubstantial body into a ball, but it did no good; there was no shelter.

This was not what I expected. Goddess, I'm so cold!

The more she tried to hide, the worse it became. Her bones ached at the cold. It grew steadily more painful; her body was freezing solid, turning her into ice. Miryo huddled in on herself, almost weeping at the cold.

I'm going at it wrong. Obviously. Maiden, Lady of Light, what must I do?

Fighting back at the ordeal of Earth had failed. But Earth was not about fighting; it was about enduring. Fire, on the other hand—
that
was where you fought.

The fury she had held back, slowly building since Shimi had pretended to deny her right to be here, came bursting forth. It was more than anger, more than determination; it was her burning drive to undergo this ritual, and the dedication that had carried her through twenty-five years of training. To this point. This test.

I'm not going to give up now.

The passion of her emotions flared against the cold, pushing it back. Miryo straightened, lifted her chin. She had barely held on in the trial of Air, but this one was
hers
.

The Hall appeared once more.

"I have mastered Fire," Miryo sang, and this time there was real conviction in her voice. "Its courage is mine."

"The Maiden smiles," Arinei responded. She
did
look pleased; Miryo could see just a hint of it around her eyes.

"Let the testing continue."

This time the response was not Miryo's. She faced Satomi, who met her gaze as she sang the words. "No one stands ready for the Void. The test begins. May the Goddess as Warrior have mercy on your soul."

Everything
vanished.

There was nothing. Not only was the Hall gone, and the Primes who stood in it, but nothing came to replace it. There was no wind, no images, nothing at all. Miryo had been struck deaf and blind—more, even; her skin felt no sensations, she smelled no odors, even her own sense of her body was gone. There was nothing.

And Miryo knew it was the Void, but even that thought would not come, would not form in the emptiness. There was nothing.

Not even herself.

Her heart would have beat faster, had she a heart. She would have been terrified, had fear been able to exist. Her mind, were it not gone, would have dissolved into shrieking insanity. But it was gone, they were all gone; there was nothing except the Void, and the Void was nothing.

Her scream rang in the vaulting of the Hall.

Miryo stared around at the five women, the stones of the Hall, her own body. Her eyes drank in the images. The sound of her own panicked breathing was music; the touch of the air pure bliss. The world had returned.

She had screamed. Perhaps she had failed. But at the moment, Miryo could not bring herself to care; nothing mattered except the return of the world.

"You have glimpsed the Void, for an instant only, and it has marked you," Satomi sang. An instant? Eternity, and no time at all. Miryo's mind flinched back from it. "The Warrior has tested you, and you have not been destroyed."

"Let our newest fly on the wings of power."

The five women sang that phrase as one, and as the last syllable was released, something flooded into Miryo.

Pain annihilated the world.

Mirage awoke with a start, and didn't recognize her surroundings.

She sat up swiftly, battle instincts leaping into readiness. No one else was in the small, plain room. It was sparsely furnished, with just the bed she had been lying on, a small wardrobe, and a chair. The wardrobe doors were closed.

Moving as silently as possible, Mirage rose and stepped over to the wardrobe. Then, after taking a single breath to steady her muscles, she threw the door open.

No one was inside.

Reassured that she was alone in the room, she turned to survey it once more. Her saddlebags were there, piled on the chair; their presence did not clear up her confusion in the slightest. Where was she? And how in the Goddess's many names had she gotten there? Her blades were with everything else, so whatever had happened, she wasn't a prisoner.