Doppelganger

17 Experimentation

Heat pounded Miryo throughout the day, and combined with the hard pace the Hunters set, it drained the energy from her. She refused to complain, though. Luckily Mirage called an early halt in a sheltered copse. Miryo wondered why they had not stopped in a town; they could have reached one before nightfall quite easily. She kept her mouth shut, though, as they set up camp. The two Hunters handled their horses with an easy, unconscious competence that made her envious. Then again, if what little she knew about Silverfire was correct, her double had been on the road more or less constantly for the past five years. Miryo was similarly competent with the things she did every day.

They took a light supper around the fire, still not talking much. Then Mirage revealed her reasons for stopping early, outside of a town.

“Right,” she said. “Time for us to work on this magic thing.”

Miryo stared at her. “Work on it? What exactly do you mean by that?”

Her apprehension was justified. Mirage shrugged.

“You say your magic spins out of control because of me. Has it ever actually happened?”

“Only during the ritual itself.”

“And you weren’t paying much attention then, I’d imagine. So it’s worth our time to test it. I’m not saying I think you’re imagining the problem; it’s just that we should have a better idea of exactly what happens. We’re isolated here. We can go away from Eclipse and then the worst thing we can damage will be some farmer’s pasture land.”

“And ourselves,” Miryo pointed out acidly.

“We’ll do something small. Then it won’t cause much havoc if it gets out of control.”

Miryo compressed her lips and stared at her doppelganger. Narika’s words about the time and practice needed to learn fine control danced in her memory. Keeping a spell small wouldn’t be half so easy as Mirage seemed to think.

But you need to do this; she’s right about that. And she’s not afraid of it. Do you want her to think you’re scared?

“Come on, then,” she said at last. “I want to get well away from here.”

, They left the horses and Eclipse behind. The latter seemed none too happy with the situation, but he said nothing. Miryo and Mirage walked through the woods in silence, Mirage leading the way, until they found a small gap in a grove of aspens where a thick carpet of grass had sprung up. A quick circuit revealed they were a good distance from any fields, so they settled themselves on the ground.

“You pick what we do,” Mirage said. “I have no idea how this works.”

Miryo considered it. Small, so we don’t need a focus. And nondestructive. Right, so Fire’s out of the question. Healing Mirage’s face came to mind, but she thought about what could go wrong and decided against it. “Levitation,” she said at last. A brief search netted her a fist-size piece of shale, which she set in the grass several feet away.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’m almost tempted to tell you to do nothing, so we can see what happens with that. Luckily for us, common sense overrides my stupidity. You should probably concentrate on the rock. And me. I don’t know if you’ll be able to feel what I’ in doing, but if you can, try not to interfere with it.”

Mirage answered with a sharp nod. She’s as edgy as I am. But at least I know one thing: she’ll be able to focus well. Nobody could get far as a Hunter if they couldn’t concentrate.

Miryo closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to center herself. Then she opened her eyes and focused on the rock.

It was over in a heartbeat, and Mirage was picking shards of shale out of her hair. “I assume that wasn’t the intended result.”

“Not at all,” Miryo said, disgruntled. It had happened so quickly she could hardly sort it out. She had reached for power, and sung the phrase, but then it had twisted away, like a cat that didn’t want to be held. “Did you feel anything?”

Mirage looked thoughtful. “Not at first. Just that you were concentrating. Then it felt like someone had punched me in the gut, and the rock blew up.”

“Interesting. It sounds like the power snapped sideways into you for a moment. I didn’t know it could do that. You can’t draw it on your own; you don’t have the channel. But it seems it can come into you through me.”

“Maybe if they trained the doppelgangers in magic, then, there wouldn’t be this problem.”

Miryo was skeptical. “I find it hard to believe nobody thought of that. And it’s not just a matter of that one channel; you’re not structured to work magic. I can’t explain how I know that, but I can sense it, like the way I sensed where you were.”

“So that’s how you found me. I was wondering.” Mirage leaned back and pondered the bits of stone on the ground. “It’s still worth a shot, though. If you explained what you were doing, I might have a better chance of not interfering with it—or tossing the power back to you when it slides over to me.”

A disbelieving laugh slipped out of Miryo. “It’s not that easy. I’ve been training my whole life. I can’t duplicate that in a night, any more than you could teach me how to fight.”

“Right, but wrong.” Mirage’s tone was brisk. “I couldn’t teach you how to fight; that takes time and practice. But I could teach you a basic stance, how to hold your hands, maybe some simple blocks and attacks.”

Part of Miryo rebelled against that notion; magic wasn’t that easy. But it was true that the basic principles could be explained quickly. Explained, but not necessarily understood. She’d be drawn and quartered by the Primes if they found out she’d been spilling trade secrets, but she was already on track for that anyway. A little more couldn’t hurt. Too much. “All right. I can try. But it begins with drawing power, and I really don’t think I can describe how I do that. It’s just there; I reach out and take it.”

“It doesn’t begin there at all. Where are you pulling this power from?”

“The Elements.”

“And where are they?”

Only then did Miryo realize how much knowledge she took for granted. She’d known things like this before she was ten. “They’re in the world around us. They’re what the world is made of, really, though each one has a specific prime source. The sun is the prime source of Fire, the sea is Water, the wind is Air, and the ground itself is Earth.”

“And Void?”

“Unworkable. It’s the thing that isn’t the world; how can you touch that? The Primes have a trick of showing you the Void—that’s what they did in my testing—but we can’t go there, or use it, or do anything with it.”

It wasn’t easy, reducing her education to a summary. Miryo was painfully aware of how much she was simplifying things. She could hardly do otherwise, though, so she forged on ahead. “Anyway. That’s basic magic. For bigger things, or more complicated ones, we use a focus. Stones, feathers—you’ve probably seen them.”

“Up close and personal, when I was blood-oathed to the commission.”

“That one’s a complicated spell. It uses all four Elements to bind you, and foci for each one.”

Mirage held up one hand to stop her and closed her eyes. “Earth—the crystal?” She cracked one eye long enough to see Miryo nod. “Was the blood Water?”

“Fire, in that case; blood is one of the rare foci that can serve for more than one.”

“So Water was, what, the bowl?”

Miryo felt proud. “Exactly.”

“Where was the Air?”

“The witch’s breath. Spells themselves are sung, but spoken words are an Air focus.”

“So what exactly does a focus do?”

The answer to that question had filled an entire lecture when Miryo was ten. Since then, though, she had thought of a much simpler explanation than the one Kibitsu-ai had used. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now, and no one had to know how badly she was butchering the true complexity of it. “Think of it like juggling. You can’t hold five balls in your hands, but if I were to toss them at you one at a time, you could keep them all in your control, ready to be taken hold of when needed. That is, assuming you can juggle.”

Mirage grinned. “Believe it or not, that was part of our training. Juggling is excellent for building coordination.”

“So you see what I mean.”

“Yes. I think so, at least, although I get the feeling you’re leaving the better part of it out.”

Miyro grimaced. “I am, but the full, technical explanation would take about four hours and would confuse you horribly.”

“We’ll skip it, then.”

“Do you have any other questions? I understand this stuff so well, I have trouble figuring out what I need to explain.”

Mirage considered it. “None that I think are relevant enough to ask right now. You can’t have gotten much sleep last night, so you need more tonight.”

“As if you don’t?” Miryo raised one eyebrow pointedly at her doppelganger, and they grinned at each other. “All right. We’ll give it one more shot. Try…” She considered it. “If you feel the power coming into you again, try to not fight it. I don’t think it will hurt you, and it may rebound to me of its own accord. We can hope.”

Mirage nodded again and closed her eyes.

Focus. Concentrate. This is easy. You should be able to work this spell without thinking. Miryo exhaled, then took a breath and sang.

This time it was not quick. Miryo could feel trouble building with horrifying clarity. She tried to cut the spell short, but power was surging through her and couldn’t be walled off. Wind kicked up around the clearing, bringing down leaves. Mirage’s eyes shot open, then narrowed; she opened her mouth to say something to Miryo, and then a huge gust of air slammed into her and threw her across the ground into a tangle of underbrush.

The wind died. Miryo cursed and leapt to her feet, going to her doppelganger’s side.

Mirage was swearing a blue streak and fighting her way out of the tangle. “Nettles,” she spat when she had regained her feet. Already blisters were beginning to rise on her hands and face. “Just what I needed.”

Well, at least my training will do some good tonight. Miryo cast about and found a patch of dock leaves. She pulled a few and offered them to Mirage, who took them with sour thanks.

“What was that you said?” Mirage asked as she rubbed the leaves over her blisters.

Miryo blinked. “When?”

“While I was still in the nettles. Misetsu and something.”

“Oh. Misetsu and Menukyo. First witch and her eldest daughter. Witch swearing. We’re all descended from those two.”

“Great. I don’t suppose we could call back their spirits and ask them what in the Warrior’s name is going wrong?”

“Sorry, raising the dead isn’t a spell anybody’s worked out.” Miryo took a deep breath, quelling her frustration. “I think that’s enough for tonight. And I’ll try to come up with some better way to do this.”

Eclipse didn’t question the explanation he got of the evening’s antics, but watching him, Miryo suspected he knew just how much they were leaving out. Mirage either didn’t notice or didn’t care; she seemed mostly interested in finding a stream to bathe her blisters in.

Which left Miryo alone with Eclipse for the first time since they’d met—when he’d held a knife to her throat.

“I know Sen—Mirage,” he said bluntly as Miryo was brushing leaves off her clothing. She tensed at his tone. “And I’d bet she’s made some sort of bargain with you, about what you two will do when you know you’re running out of time. But I can promise you this: Sen will never admit it’s too late.”

She straightened slowly, wondering if this was about to become real trouble. The two Hunters were good friends. Eclipse might get the bright idea that he could save Mirage trouble by killing her.

But if he were going to do that, he wouldn’t have given her this kind of warning. Would he?

“Perhaps,” she said, keeping her own tone level. “We’ll see.”

Eclipse sighed in frustration. “It’s a virtue and a flaw; she won’t give up on something she thinks is important. It’s gotten her through some tight situations before. But I’ve always told her that one of these days she’ll commit herself to something impossible, and kill herself trying to do it. And I have a bad feeling that time’s come.”

Miryo wanted to argue that, but she held her tongue. Let him talk, she told herself. Find out how he feels about all of this.

“Void it,” he muttered, glaring at her, but more in irritation than anger. “I’m wasting my breath, aren’t I? You two are too much alike. You’re probably as damnfool stubborn as she is; you probably think of this as a challenge you can’t pass up. Well, it was worth a shot. I’d rather not see you both get killed.”

That was a sentiment Miryo couldn’t argue with. But still she stood quiet, waiting for the rest of it.

“I’ll be honest,” Eclipse said after a moment, his voice low. “If I had to choose between you two, I’d have Sen live. Of course I would; she’s been my friend for twelve years. But…” He growled under his breath. “Warrior’s teeth. I’d rather see her live. But I’d rather see you live than both of you die.”

It was helpful, but not enough. Miryo had to know what he was planning to do. “There’s one way out of this,” she said. “Have you thought about it?”

His eyes flicked up to hers. “Of course I have.”

Stiff silence. “And?”

The words came out of Eclipse slowly, grudgingly, but they came. “I’m not going to kill you.” He sat down on a saddlebag, lacing his hands together into a knot. “If only one of you is going to live, I’d rather it was her. But I won’t kill you to save her.”

Tension drained out of her shoulders. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said wryly.

He managed a grin. “She’d never forgive me if I did, anyway. Just… Void it. For once, admit when you’re in over your head, Heads, Both of you. Don’t you both die just because you won’t give up.”

“I don’t plan on it,” Miryo said. “But I won’t give up, either, not easily—you’re right about that. It’s too important.” She smiled briefly, without humor. “If we fought, Mirage would win. But I don’t know if we will. These days, I can hardly predict what I’m going to do, let alone her.”

She finally felt relaxed enough to sit down, and settled herself on one of the bedrolls Eclipse had laid out while she and Mirage were off playing with out-of-control spells. “I’m not going to waste time worrying about it right now, though,” she said, thinking about those spells. “Better to work on finding a solution.”

Eclipse sighed again at that. “You sound like Sen.”

“Well, we are the same person. Kind of.” Miryo cocked her head to one side, studying him. “It’s strange, though; I sort of know her, and I sort of really don’t. Would you be willing to talk?”

“About her?”

“You seem like you’re pretty good friends, and—I don’t know. I feel kind of strange, questioning her.” Miryo glanced off in the direction Mirage had gone, wondering how long her double would take bathing. “Or maybe another time.”

Eclipse shook his head. “No, she’s in a mood where she doesn’t want to deal with other people. She won’t be back for a half hour at least. I’d be happy to talk.” He gestured for her to sit on a log, and settled himself on the ground. “What do you want to know?”

Mirage ducked her head into the stream and held it there as long as she could before coming up for air. The cold water cooled her temper, even if it didn’t fix her skin.

She sat on her hands to avoid scratching them or her face and leaned her head against the tree at her back. Random muscles in her legs twitched: another side effect of the spell backfiring. She shuddered at the memory of the power sliding through her, pulsing in her blood. All those years saying I wasn’t a witch, and now look at me.

Miryo didn’t seem bothered by the strange behavior of the power, but she was more used to that kind of thing. Mirage had to admire her double’s guts, agreeing to try spells despite the risk. It reminded her of her training days at Silverfire, when the students had learned to do a dive-roll from the back of a moving horse. They’d practiced the rolls from a standing position, and then from a stationary horse, but when the time came to do it in motion her muscles had still frozen with fear. Only reminding herself of what her fellow students would say should she balk had made her commit to the roll.

Maybe that was what had motivated Miryo.

Now that she’d thought of it, Mirage suspected her guess might be right. If she put herself in Miryo’s shoes, and imagined what her own attitude to magic would be in that place, she could understand her double’s actions.

Warrior’s blade, but we’re a stupid pair. I’m glad Eclipse is around to keep us sane, or we’d kill ourselves, just because neither of us would admit to being overmatched.

“Tell me about her childhood,” Miryo said.

Eclipse wasn’t surprised at the question. In her place, he would have wanted to know the same thing. Unfortunately, there was only so much he could tell her about it. “I wasn’t there for most of it. She didn’t come to Silverfire until she was thirteen.”

“I want to know about that, too,” Miryo said, sitting forward in interest. “I know she was a Temple Dancer, but how did she end up as a Hunter? I thought the schools didn’t take trainees older than ten—eleven at the most.”

“They don’t. Sen was… an exception.” Eclipse laughed briefly, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I still call her Sen. She just made such a vivid impression on me back then, when she came to Silverfire, before she earned her Hunter name. That’s when we became friends.”

“You’re year-mates?”

Eclipse nodded. “But she and I are better friends than most. A lot of people didn’t like her being accepted so late; she didn’t have any friends when she showed up. But I… well, I admired her. All these people trying to make her fail, to drive her out, and I think she didn’t even see them half the time. Just blocked out everything that wasn’t a part of what she needed to do.” He grinned as a memory returned to him, even though it was kind of a painful one. “There was this one master, Talon—he figured out early on that the quickest way to make Sen do something was to tell her she was too weak to do it—” He broke off as Miryo laughed. “What?”

The witch waved a hand, indicating he should continue. “Just seeing similarities, is all.”

“I hope you never went through anything like she did,” Eclipse said, a little grim, even after all this time. “Talon went too far, always telling her she wasn’t good enough. Had Sen convinced she hadn’t yet proven her right to stay. She damn near broke herself trying to satisfy him. In the end, Jaguar even brought in a witch to heal her when she ripped her knee apart from training too much.”

The amusement drained out of Miryo’s face at his words. Watching it was strange; Eclipse still hadn’t adjusted to the likeness. It was as if he were seeing Sen with long hair.

No, not quite. More as if he were seeing Sen the way she might have been, had she not come to Silverfire. The challenges she faced there had put a hardness in her, a streak of self-reliance that made her difficult to befriend. Eclipse was the only person who had really gotten inside that defense. Miryo was softer, more open; her life had not driven her to be so skeptical of those around her.

Miryo spoke, breaking his reverie. “She’s good, isn’t she? I saw the Thornbloods when they brought her in. She did quite a bit of damage before they took her. And there were four of them.”

Eclipse snorted. “It would take four Thornbloods to take her down. Partly because they’re not great Hunters, and partly because you’re right: she’s that good. I think that’s why Jaguar let her into Silverfire. She was already strong and agile from being a Dancer, and she’s got reflexes you wouldn’t believe.” He paused as a came to him. “Then again, maybe you would.” He held out his hands, palm up. “Put your hands over mine, just barely touching.”

Miryo did so, plainly curious.

“I’m going to try and slap the backs of your hands,” Eclipse said. “When you feel me move, you try to pull away faster, so I miss. Got it?” Miryo nodded. “Okay. Ready?”

His hands flashed out and slapped hers smartly.

“Okay, now you see how that works. I guess you never played this as a kid? We’ll do it for real this time.” He repositioned his hands beneath hers.

And slapped her hands again.

They went through this twice more before Miryo dropped her hands and gave him an ironic look. “I don’t have her reflexes, do I.”

The difference was unmistakable. “I guess not. She must have gotten it from the Dancer training, before she got to Silverfire.” But he knew as he said it that it wasn’t true. Sen couldn’t sing, and Miryo didn’t have the reflexes. It had to be a part of their condition—but why?

Miryo didn’t look like she believed the excuse, either. She chose not to comment, though. “So if life was so hard for her at Silverfire, why did she come? She had to have known it wouldn’t be easy.”

“Oh, she knew it, all right. I think she was just crazy.” Eclipse shook his head in bemusement. “She says she’d always wanted to be a Hunter. Like that was what she was meant to do. She didn’t mind being a Dancer, but it wasn’t her choice. Then the woman who led her company called her in one day, completely out of the blue, and offered her a chance to be a Hunter.” He shrugged. “She took it. And never looked back.”

“Looking back feeds doubt,” Miryo said softly, gazing off into the shadows. “And sometimes you can’t afford that.”

Her meaning was obvious. Eclipse watched her, and worried. They weren’t going to give up. And he could only hope that one of them would be left standing when it was done.