Doppelganger

21 Faith

Perversely, Miryo found her way back to her inn without difficulty. She paid no attention to where she was headed, but within a few minutes of leaving the Primes she looked up and found herself in front of the Twin Hearths.

Her feet felt like lead as she walked in. She had a private room on the third floor, with a sitting room and a bedroom; the sitting room had a fireplace. Miryo doubted any fire could melt the ice in her gut, but she craved the warmth. So she forced herself up the stairs, one step at a time, eyes on her feet, and focused only on that fire.

“Are you all right?”

Miryo looked up. She had just entered the sitting room. Mirage was on her feet by the fireplace, giving her a look of clear worry. Miryo shut the door with exaggerated care and said, “Yes. Mostly. The Primes were there.”

“The Primes?” Mirage led her to one of the chairs and got her to sit down. “Here?”

“Yes. Or I thought so; they were probably just projections.” She hadn’t even thought to check for spells. But would it have mattered? “Satomi—the Void Prime—she had to kill her doppelganger when she was my age. And Menukyo wasn’t the eldest daughter; she was the eldest granddaughter. Misetsu watched all three of her daughters die, because of their doppelgangers, before she figured out what was wrong.”

Miryo got to her feet, and was surprised to find she was steady on them. She walked a few steps away, into the middle of the room. She couldn’t bring herself to turn and look at Mirage. “They’ve looked. Truly, they have. And they finally told me why. You—” She looked at the ceiling and swallowed painfully. “Doppelgangers are the antithesis of magic. Your very existence puts all magic in danger. That’s why you have to be killed.”

She never even heard Mirage move. But one minute she was standing, looking at the ceiling; the next, hands slammed her into the floor, grinding her face against the carpet, and twisted her arms painfully behind her back. Miryo’s mind snapped out of its fugue and straight into fear.

“I have a theory,” Mirage breathed into her ear, voice low and hard. “I think that just as you can kill me, I can kill you. And I’m the only one who can do it. And, you know, maybe I should. All my Hunter training tells me to do it. You’re a threat to me.

“It wouldn’t even be very hard,” she continued, and her words had an edge to them that made Miryo’s blood turn to ice in her veins. “Your Cousins aren’t here—and they couldn’t stop me anyway. You have no magic you can depend on; you’re practically defenseless. Killing you would be easy. And it would solve so many problems.”

She paused. Miryo tried desperately to breathe, but all she could manage were shallow, panicked gasps. Oh, Goddess, she’s going to do it—

Then the pressure on her arms eased slightly. “But before I was a Hunter, I was a Temple Dancer,” Mirage said. “And that means I have faith. Faith that the Goddess didn’t mean for things to be this way. Faith that she wouldn’t give her children a ‘gift’ that requires them to kill. Faith that, if we search, we will find another answer. And that even if we don’t succeed, it’s still a cause worth dying for.”

Another pause. Miryo expected Mirage to let go now, and when she didn’t, her fear grew stronger. Never in her life had she been so terrifyingly aware of the fragility of her body.

“So I have faith in the Goddess,” Mirage went on. “But that’s not really enough, is it? Because this is in the hands of three people: the Goddess, myself, and you. I trust the first two. Can I trust you, though? Can I rely on you to listen past the persuasive words, the simple way out? They sound so plausible, so convinced of their own truth. Thinking past their boundaries won’t be easy. And I don’t know that you can do it.”

Miryo licked her dry lips and tried to speak. It took several attempts before her voice would work. “I can. I will.”

The pressure increased sharply, making her hiss with pain. “Why should I believe you?”

“I swear. On my soul. Satomi still regrets what she did—I saw it in her eyes, at the end. She’s never come to terms with it. I don’t want to live like that. I’d honestly rather die. It would be better to die, fighting for a better way, than live knowing I betrayed myself and the Goddess.”

She waited, barely breathing. The words were un-planned, but true. Only now did she understand what she’d seen in Satomi, so deeply buried. And she didn’t want to end up that way.

Then, slowly, Mirage released her arms, and knelt on the carpet beside her.

Miryo sat up, blinking sweat out of her eyes, and faced her doppelganger. Mirage looked drained, but she nodded. “Good. I knew you felt that way—well, I was pretty sure—but I had to make you say it.”

Well, at least that wasn’t an afternoon stroll for her, either. Miryo brushed her damp hair back and managed a wan grin. “If nothing else,” she said, listening with some detachment to the rasp in her own voice, “we’ll live on in infamy.”

Mirage gave a short, harsh bark of laughter. “Well, that’s better than nothing, I suppose.”

Miryo tried to fight the pull of her own weariness, then gave up and rolled over to lie flat on her back. “Crone’s teeth, all two of them. I didn’t get to ask about Ashin.” She laughed at herself, flatly. “You think they would’ve told me?”

“You’re asking me? I’ve never met these women.”

“Probably not. Void it. How are we going to find her now?”

“I don’t know. Our contact offered to meet us in Talbech. We can try to make her tell us.”

“If she knows.”

“I think she probably does.” Mirage leaned back against one of the chairs and wiped her own brow clear of sweat. “Mind if I think out loud?”

“Not at all,” Miryo said. She considered sitting up, but the floor was far too comfortable.

“Good. My mind’s too shot to work without help right now.” Mirage’s laugh sounded more like a croak. “So. Kasane has a child. She does the ritual, kills me—we assume—and I somehow end up with my foster parents in Eriot. Good so far, except we don’t know how I got there. I’m five; my parents send me off to be a Temple Dancer. I stay there until I’m thirteen. Tari-nakana sees me, recognizes what I am, and makes sure I become a Hunter. Why?”

“Because you’re good at it.”

“Right. Then, soon after that, several other doppelgangers don’t die.”

“I can believe you were an accident, but it stretches credibility that all of them were, too.”

“But we’re dangerous to witches, or so the story goes. So letting us survive isn’t a very good thing to do.”

Miryo snorted. “That’s an understatement. The Primes are not going to be happy with either of us. Letting you live is pretty much equivalent to an act of war.”

Mirage held up one hand to silence her, and dropped her head, thinking. When she lifted it once more, there was a gleam in her eye Miryo didn’t like. “An act of war.”

“More or less.”

“And they’ll try to stop us.”

“I wouldn’t bet against it.”

“So they’re likely to try and kill us.” She smiled without humor. “Like Tari-nakana.”

It was so obvious Miryo should have thought of it sooner, but she could hardly wrap her mind around the idea of the Primes doing something like this. “They hired Wraith?”

“Of course. Tari-nakana knew about me and did nothing. And soon after she finds out about me, other doppelgangers start to survive. They must have found out something of what she was doing, and took steps to stop her.”

“Which would be why Ashin has so conveniently vanished. If she was working with Tari-nakana, her life is in danger, too. Assuming the Primes know about her.”

“The real question, then, is why. Do these people not know the risk involved?”

Miryo shook her head. “I can’t quite believe that. But we know the risk, and that hasn’t changed what we’re doing.”

“They don’t have our incentive.”

“You expect me to know Ashin’s mind? Or Tari’s? We’re still going to have to talk with Ashin to figure this out completely. They must have some reason for what they’re doing, or they wouldn’t endanger the witches this way.”

“So we’ll go meet our employer and confront her. We need to talk to Ashin as soon as possible, and chances are these women know where she is.” Mirage stood with a burst of energy Miryo envied. “Can the Primes track us?”

Miryo groaned involuntarily as she rolled over and rose to her knees. “No. Normally, yes, but not with us. If they try a searching spell, it’ll get confused, because as far as it’s concerned we’re one target in two places at once. It can’t cope with that.”

“Even if we’re together?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re still the same thing in two places.”

“So we’re safe from that, at least. But we’ll need to watch out for mundane spies.” Mirage extended her hand to Miryo and helped her to her feet. “We need to get out of Aystad right away. Are you up to riding tonight?”

“Given what we’re facing?”

Mirage smiled briefly. “Okay. We’ll push our pace, then, and be in Talbech by late tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“Do you, now?” Miryo was flat on her back on her narrow bed, feet propped up on a saddlebag, and wanted nothing more than a nap. Mirage’s energy never ceased to amaze her.

Energy, or that damnfool stubbornness Eclipse complained about? Maybe she just refuses to be tired.

“How do those alarm spells you people set up work? Where are they normally located, and are they set off when you cross a line, like a trip wire, or do they sense more generally than that? And do they just go off, or do they give information about who’s there?”

The questions gave Miryo a mild headaches—or maybe it was just the sudden flashback to being questioned by the Keys. “They’re like a trip wire that resets itself. It goes off when you cross a border. I’d be able to tell you where it is; I can sense magic, even if I can’t work it. And they usually just indicate how many people have crossed it. Anything more than that and the spell starts being really complicated. Most witches don’t bother with anything more than the basics.”

“But they do tell you how many people. Void it. I was hoping they wouldn’t.” Mirage bit one knuckle, then shook her head. “Eclipse will just have to stay home. She’s expecting two people—it’ll be you and me.”

Miryo looked at her sharply. “What are you going to do, dress me in his uniform?”

“Not a chance. I’m through with beating around the bush. They know about us; I’m sure of it. Why bother pretending? We’ll just go in there and confront her.”

“She’ll have magic, you know. You may not want to be too forceful.”

“She’ll have a hard time singing if I hit her in the throat.”

Miryo flinched. Goddess. I keep thinking I’ve gotten used to her, and then she says things like that.

Mirage didn’t seem to notice. She sat down and leaned her elbows on her knees. “So. The things we want to know are: Where Ashin is. Why they’re doing this. If they have any ideas about how to fix us. Anything else you can think of?”

“If there are any other doppelgangers.”

“Good one. I assume they put all of them into Hunter training, but that might not be the case.”

“I somehow don’t get the feeling they’ll tell us who is involved with this.”

“If they do, they’re idiots. The Primes want to get their hands on us already; giving us names would make us an even bigger liability. I was trained to deal with torture, but you weren’t, and even I’m not unbreakable anyway.”

Trained to—Bride’s tears. I’m glad I didn’t have her childhood.

But I won’t tell her that they have other ways of making us talk.

Mirage cracked her back, then stood up briskly. “Let’s get ready. I’m sick of wasting time.”

The night had clouded over and the streets were black as pitch. Mirage liked it that way. She was in full uniform, and it was better if people didn’t see her. They started asking questions if they did.

Miryo had argued against the uniform. But Mirage had wanted to wear it, for a variety of reasons. It made her look more intimidating, for one thing; people had trouble dealing with a faceless woman. And given what they were planning, a little intimidation couldn’t hurt. Besides, she preferred to be in uniform for situations like this. It put her in the right mind-set, and gave her confidence. Which also couldn’t hurt.

“Where are you?” Miryo whispered, glancing around.

Mirage slid right up behind her. “Here.”

Miryo jumped. “Goddess. I can’t see you in this blackness. Were you there all along?”

“Yes,” Mirage lied.

Miryo shook her head and walked on.

Behind her, Mirage grinned to herself. It wasn’t very nice, playing with her double’s mind like that, but she couldn’t resist.

One last corner, and then they were there. Mirage waited as Miryo cocked her head to one side. The witch hummed softly, then nodded. “It’s a simple ward,” she whispered. “An alarm, nothing more. She won’t know who we are.”

Mirage nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

They crossed the boundary swiftly and sped to the door. Mirage waited, motionless, listening with all her skill for footsteps. They came, at last, and she tensed her muscles.

The Cousin who opened the door never stood a chance.

She wasn’t fight-trained, like the ones Miryo had with her in Angrim; she was a simple maid. Mirage had a hand over her mouth before she even finished opening the door.

“Fetch your mistress,” Mirage said in a low voice. Behind her, Miryo was keeping back, the hood of her cloak pulled low. “Tell her there are visitors. Nothing more than that. If you say anything else, it’ll go badly for you. Do you understand?”

The Cousin nodded convulsively.

“We’ll be in the sitting room. Now go,” Mirage said, and released her.

The woman fled. Mirage led the way into the house, Miryo on her heels, and searched for the sitting room. It didn’t take long to find; the house was not large. Glancing about, Mirage suspected that it, like the house in Ravelle, was the home of a witch. Whether or not it was the property of the woman they were meeting tonight remained to be seen.

Enough speculation. Mirage stepped back as Miryo seated herself in the most impressive chair in the room. By the way it was positioned, their contact had obviously meant it to be her own seat, when they came at the appointed time later tonight. Mirage stationed herself behind it, and then they waited.

Before long, she caught the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs. Two sets, one of which—the Cousin’s—scurried away down the hall. The other stopped for a moment, then continued on with a more measured, deliberate tread. And then the door swung open.

“What do—” she said, but she got no further.

Miryo stood up, and it was clear by the look on the other witch’s face that she recognized her, but had not expected to see her here. She had taken the time to put on the illusion, Mirage saw, despite the fact that it had been compromised in Ravelle. She must not want her real appearance known. Mirage didn’t blame her.

“What are you doing here?” the witch said. She had recovered her composition admirably.

“We have questions for you,” Miryo said, and Mirage took a step forward.

The witch’s eyes shot between the two of them. And then they widened hugely. “Dear Goddess. You—”

Then, to Mirage’s surprise, she began to laugh. Wryly, not hysterically; she leaned back against the door frame and smacked one hand against the wall. “What beautiful luck. We hire Hunters, and don’t even realize who one of them is. I wish you people wouldn’t wear masks.” Then she straightened and looked at Mirage. “What do you say we trade? You take off the mask, and I’ll drop the illusion. Deal?”

Miryo glanced back to Mirage, who gave her an imperceptible shrug. She could see no harm in it.

“Excellent,” the witch said, as Mirage reached up to remove her mask. And the illusion vanished from her face.

“Ashin!” Miryo blurted. And then a muttered “kasora,” as if she couldn’t decide whether to include it or not.

So this is Ashin. Mirage supposed the odds worked out; this wasn’t either of the two previous witches, and she doubted there were many of them in this group. One hurdle cleared, then.

“So,” Ashin said, brushing her hair back from her high-boned face, quite unlike the face of the illusion. “It looks like we both got a surprise.” She looked at them and shook her head wonderingly. “It’s amazing. You really do look the same. You would, of course, but it’s one thing to know that, and another thing entirely to see you standing side-by-side.” She gestured for them to sit. “Well, Miryo, I said I’d talk to you after your test. I guess now is the time.”

“So you didn’t know who you’d hired?” Mirage asked the Air Hand Key.

Ashin shook her head. “No. It was stupid of us, but Tari was the only one who knew where you were. It seemed safer that way—we couldn’t betray you—but then when she died, we lost you completely. We went ahead and hired Silverfires, but with you and your partner always wearing masks, we had no idea who we had. It was pure chance that we got you.” She paused. “Or maybe not. You’re good—or so I’m told—so it makes sense that your Grandmaster chose you.”

Technically he’d chosen Eclipse, but that didn’t mean Jaguar didn’t have her in mind. “Would you have hired me, if you had the choice?”

“I haven’t thought about it. Maybe, since you’re involved anyway. It doesn’t matter, though; it’s not something I can go back and change.”

Straightforward, just as Miryo said. I hope she isn’t the brains of this operation; she seems to be a good person, but she’s not nearly devious enough to run a subversive campaign. “Did you know the Primes were behind the assassination when you hired us?”

Ashin flinched visibly. “You’re sure of it, then?” Mirage nodded. “We suspected, but we weren’t sure. That’s why we hired Hunters; we needed to be sure. Void.” She sighed. “Well, I don’t think anyone will be surprised to hear it’s true.”

“They killed Tari-nakana because of this, then,” Miryo said.

“Of course. Well, sort of. They’d found out that Tari knew about a living doppelganger. It happens, sometimes, that a child somehow slips through, but a witch who finds out about one is supposed to report it. Tari didn’t, which meant that she was entertaining heretical ideas. They had her killed to prevent her from causing further trouble.”

Electric fire shot up Mirage’s right arm, making her clench her hand.

What in the Void was that?

A tension she hadn’t even realized existed melted out of her bones, and with the relaxation came understanding. The blood-oath, the spell that bound her and Eclipse to investigate the assassination, had been fulfilled at last.

What a shame that talking about her achievement would only bring the Primes down on her head all the faster.

Look on the bright side. That’s one less sword hanging over my head.

She dragged her mind back to Ashin’s last comment. “But she’d already caused trouble, hadn’t she?”

. “Yes. She was the one who began arranging for other doppelgangers to survive. We don’t think they were aware of that at the time, though. Otherwise they would have tried to get her to talk first, to name her accomplices. But they know now. Otherwise they wouldn’t have searched her home.”

Looking for evidence. Mirage nodded. “So how many of you are there, in this little conspiracy?”

Ashin gave her a measuring look. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you that.”

Mirage grinned. It was good to know Ashin wasn’t an idiot. “All right. How about a different question, then. Are the other doppelgangers out there children of your little conspirators, or did you find a way to make all doubles survive the ritual?”

“We know you let your daughter’s doppelganger survive,” Miryo said.

Ashin smiled faintly. There was a definite tinge of ruefulness to it. “Of course I did. If I believe in this, I should believe in it enough to commit my own child to it. But some of them, I’ll admit, aren’t ours.”

“And how are you arranging that?”

“The same way you made it,” Ashin said to Mirage. “As far as we know, anyway. When a doppelganger survives, it’s because the child was touched by starlight before the ritual.”

The implications hit home quickly. “So she has a soul when she’s divided.”

“Exactly. And this is important because it puts an interesting twist on the way your lives work. You two share one soul, you see. And so you’re the only people who can kill each other. If anybody else tries, you just come back, because the other half is still around.”

“We found that bit out the hard way,” Miryo said dryly.

Ashin looked disappointed that her declaration hadn’t been met with more shock and amazement, but she went on. “The immediate effect is that when the mother kills the doppelganger, it comes back to life a little while later.”

“And then what?” Mirage asked. “How did I end up with foster parents? Why wasn’t I just buried?”

“That’s a very good question, and one we’ll probably never know the exact answer to. The doppelgangers are given to the Cousins to dispose of, you see. Unfortunately, we don’t know which one tended Kasane. But you can bet the Cousins are in it up to their eyebrows, or at least some of them are. Every time a doppelganger survives to adulthood, it’s because a Cousin took her elsewhere, and didn’t report her to the Primes.”

Mirage was amused by that. So much for the Cousins as the mindless, eternally obedient servants. I wonder how many witches realize all the tricks their subordinates are up to?

“I just wish that the Cousins would talk about it,” Ashin said with a frustrated sigh. “We have a few on our side, but they claim to know nothing. The Cousins know more about what goes on at Starfall than anyone likes to think about, but they refuse to talk. Some of them help us, though.”

“You’ve been arranging for this with other witches’ children, then?” Miryo asked.

“Yes,” Ashin admitted blandly.

“And this doesn’t bother you at all.”

“Are we supposed to let them continue on, just as we have for all these centuries? No. We’re doing them a favor. Things will be better this way.”

“Only if we find an answer,” Mirage said, and put some bite in her voice. “I don’t suppose you happen to have that up your sleeve?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But you think there is one.”

“Of course. Why else would we be doing this?”

Miryo seemed to find Ashin’s attitude as irritating as Mirage did. “What if Mirage and I die, though? Then what?”

The Air Hand Key shrugged. “Then someone after you will find the answer. One of the pairs we’ve arranged for. The Goddess will not let things continue on this way forever; eventually she will show us how things were meant to be.”

Warrior’s teeth. She’d make a good siege general. Throw bodies at the problem, and one of these days some of them will break through. Just don’t count the casualties.

And as if Miryo and I didn’t have enough pressure on us before. Now it’s not just “find an answer or die,” it’s “find an answer or children will die, too.”

“What makes you think there’s an answer?” Miryo said.

“Did the Primes feed you that quote from Misetsu?” Ashin asked. When Miryo nodded, she snorted. “Crone’s stick. You should read the rest of what that woman wrote. She may have been devout once, but magic went to her head; all the later stuff reeks of pride. You can bet that by the time Monisuko’s opening ritual came around, Misetsu wouldn’t have heard the Goddess if she’d had all five Aspects shouting in her ear.”

Mirage could believe it. She’d seen Temple Dancers, who devoted their lives to honoring the Goddess, lose their way to the seduction of praise. It happened to the clergy, too. There was no reason it couldn’t happen to a witch.

“You think she was wrong about doppelgangers, then,” Miryo said.

“Of course. She couldn’t find an answer—because she wasn’t listening—and so she found an easy way out. Then she made up something suitably frightening to justify it.”

Mirage doubted the story was that simple. But she didn’t want to argue it too closely; she hoped Misetsu had been wrong.

“We’ve been trying to think of a solution,” Miryo said. “Obviously. We had thought that what we maybe needed to do was divide ourselves completely. Find a way to cut the connection that remains between us.”

Ashin looked dubious.

“You don’t think it will work?”

“It might work,” the Key said. “But so would killing Mirage—if your only goal is functional magic.”

“It’s one up on the old system; it leaves us both alive.”

“But it doesn’t really gain you anything.”

Mirage raised one eyebrow at her. “And what do you think there is to gain?”

Ashin got up and began to pace, hands clasped neatly behind her back. “I don’t know. Not specifically. But think about it—the priests and priestesses all turn their noses up at us and call us unbalanced. Why? What’s lacking in us? I’d bet anything it has to do with the doppelgangers. We’re losing whatever’s in you. It might be the physical attributes. You have speed, and strength—you’re born fighters.”

“So I’m the brawn, and Miryo’s the brain?”

“You’re not stupid; don’t act like you are. You know as well as I do that idiots don’t make good Hunters. You’re fighting, and she’s magic, but you’re both intelligent.”

Mirage conceded that with a nod. She had made the comment deliberately, intending to provoke Ashin.

“What about putting us back together, like we used to be?” Miryo asked. “That doesn’t lose anything.”

“Been tried. It didn’t work. The Path of the Head’s of the opinion it can’t work—the magic won’t flow in that direction, if that makes any sense. It’s like canceling a spell outright, instead of counteracting it. Just can’t be done.”

Mirage’s spirits sank at the witch’s words; for just an instant, she’d hoped that Miryo had hit on the solution. Her double seemed equally depressed. The room was momentarily silent. Then Miryo roused herself again. “Another question. Has anyone ever figured out why we only have daughters?”

Ashin nodded approvingly at her. “Not that I’m aware of, but it’s a good question, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a part of this same issue. Lack of sons would definitely qualify as an imbalance, at least in my book.”

“How are we supposed to fix it, though? Are all you people crazy enough to risk your lives for a heresy you don’t even fully understand?”

The Key shrugged. “We haven’t thought of anything. But we’ve been trying. And we may not have an answer, but we do have faith in the Goddess.”

Mirage smiled sourly. Her own arguments sounded flimsier, coming out of someone else’s mouth. “You don’t think separation is the answer, though.”

“I don’t see how it would right the balance. It seems that separation loses you just as death does.”

Now it was Mirage’s turn to stand and pace. “But it’s the only answer we’ve found.”

Ashin looked at her directly. In her eyes Mirage saw conviction, and determination, and a blindly trusting faith that frightened her with its unquestioning intensity. “But it’s not the only answer out there. I’m sure it’s not. You’ll just have to find the right one.”

Uh-huh. And it’s going to be that easy, I’m sure.

“What do you have planned?” Mirage asked her bluntly.

“ ‘You’ meaning ‘you and your friends,’ I assume.” She hardly waited for Mirage’s nod. “We’re not certain. We’d like to go on as we have, and save more doppelgangers, but it’s much more dangerous than it used to be.”

Not surprising. Mirage glanced over to Miryo and raised an eyebrow.

“Our best bet is to hole up, I think,” her double said. “To get off the road and really work this through. We’d have to find a place we’re not likely to be tracked down. Does Silverfire have anything like that we could use?”

“Yes, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Mirage sat down and twiddled her mask between her fingers. “Hunter security is good, but it can be broken, especially by magic. And they’ll be expecting something like that.” She realized that she had wrapped her entire head covering around her left fist. She pulled it off and folded it neatly. “Our best bet would be somewhere else, somewhere remote.”

“The mountains?”

“Maybe. I’d favor the ones here in Abern. I know a few folk who live there; they might be able to set us up.” The itinerary from Tari’s study was in her saddlebags, so hopefully no one would be able to make the connection to her earlier jobs. Mirage wondered briefly if she should demand protection from Ashin as one of the three boons she and Eclipse were now due. No, no sense in it; they want us alive anyway. Save the boons for later. And hope there will be a later.

“Hiding is a good idea,” Ashin said, nodding. “We can get in touch with you through the paper you have.”

“And if we think up anything that requires your help, we’ll contact you.”

The Hand Key nodded again. “May the Goddess be with you. I’m sure she’ll give you an answer.”