Warrior and Witch (15 page)

There had to be one place in Starfall where the Primes could have some peace and quiet.

Satomi went there now to pray. There were chapels for that, but tonight she preferred to be beneath the stars. She felt the witches had done wrong to lock themselves farther and farther away from the Goddess’s eyes, behind stone walls. When she stepped out onto the patio, though, she found herself not alone. Arinei was there.

The other Prime’s expressive face was drawn and weary. Satomi came up to her, but did not reach out; the two had been colleagues for years, but never close. She would have touched Rana, or Koika. But Arinei’s pride was too sensitive.

“I wonder if we made a mistake,” Arinei said. She had her arms braced against the carved stone of the railing. Her eyes roved restlessly across the late-night landscape of Starfall, the treetops rustling softly in the breeze.

“Mistake?”

“Testing Eikyo the way we did. Without Shimi. With Naji in her place.”

Satomi’s apprehension faded. Arinei was not referring to what they’d actually done. “It’s hardly the first time. Primes have been sick or absent before.”

“But what if that caused her failure?”

This was very much a conversation Satomi did not want to be having, with the knowledge bottled up behind the false front she had constructed. “Other students have failed, Arinei, and we’ve never known why. But they’ve failed with all five Primes there, and students tested with a Key present have passed. It was simply coincidence this time.”

Arinei did not seem reassured. Bickering with her since Mirei’s arrival had made Satomi’s patience with the volatile Prime wear thin, but the woman’s expression now reminded her that, for all her faults, Arinei was dedicated to Starfall and the well-being of its people. Her heart was in the right place, even if she did not always agree with Satomi on the right course of action.

“I do wonder, though,” Satomi went on before she could stop herself, “why those failures happen.”

The Fire Prime looked toward her for the first time. The starlight was not strong enough to show her expression. “The question has been asked before.”

“And never answered. But Mirei has me wondering about all manner of things that we take for granted, or have stopped asking about. Why do some students lose their memories? Why do others die?”

“Because the Goddess judges them,” Arinei said, her tone taking on a harsh edge. Or was that just tiredness? “The qualities necessary to be a witch are not in them.”

Satomi sighed. Now she looked away, at the shadowed flanks of the mountains. “It wouldn’t concern me as much if this was something our daughters all chose. But it
isn’t
We choose it for them. We train them from the cradle for this life.”

“We can’t afford to delay it. Preparation requires years of study.”

“And yet still some of them fail, even with study.” And they hadn’t always done it this way, though Satomi kept that thought to herself. The elaborate, codified course of study their daughters followed hadn’t been some divine revelation from the Goddess to Misetsu. It had been built up over centuries of work. Yet she remembered, from her days in the Path of the Head, how small a difference it had made in the number of women who passed the final test. Some, but not enough. As long as women failed, it was not enough.

A faint breeze flowed across the patio, briefly ruffling her hair. “How
did
we begin doing things this way?” Satomi murmured, half to herself. “And what might happen if we did them differently?”

“What do you mean?” Arinei asked, warily.

“If a witch didn’t conduct the connection ritual, then her daughter would be ordinary. Yes? The ability to touch power is not inborn. But we always choose to pass it on.” Satomi pondered this. “I wonder what would happen if we conducted that ritual on a child who
wasn’t
one of ours.”

No response from the Fire Prime. Misetsu had only done it to her own daughters, and had taught them to do the same; from that decision had come their tradition, their people. But Misetsu had made errors out of pride; they knew that now. What if this was one of them?

“Or an adult,” Satomi added, as the thought came to her. “We’ve always performed it on infants because we had to do it before they had souls. But if the soul is no longer a problem, then why infants? Would it work the same on an adult? Our daughters don’t touch power until the test; they could study just as well
without
the channel inside them. Of course, then you wouldn’t have the doppelgangers to raise separately. The witches who resulted wouldn’t be like Mirei, with both magic and battle in her background.” There might be reasons for working the ritual on infants. Benefits to be gained by seeing yourself from the outside for a time.

“I wonder, too, what will happen when Mirei has children.” A faint smile touched Satomi’s lips as she said that, the first real one in a while. “I suspect some of our Heads may order her to take up with some man, just to see if she has sons. And if she does—what about them? Can they learn to use magic, too? Misetsu only ever had daughters, but that could be chance. And her descendants, the ones who survived, lacked a part of themselves. We’ve never had an opportunity to see if men might be part of this.”

Continued silence from Arinei. Satomi sighed. Too many questions with too few answers, and she was not at all sure she wanted to experiment with such things. “I doubt I would live to see the full result, even if I started trying out these ideas. I think the only reason we test our daughters at twenty-five is because it’s five fives, a sacred number; we
could
do it at a different point. But you’re right: They do need study. Quite a lot of it. And I am old enough that I don’t expect to see Obura’s daughter tested, much less any children Mirei might have.”

Smiling at that thought, Satomi turned back to face the other woman. “Especially since I doubt we could pin her down to
have
children just yet.” Would Mirei consider taking that year-mate of hers for a father? She seemed very close to him. Of course, they would have to find him first.

Arinei did not seem amused. The Fire Prime’s face was closed and unreadable; she presented certain emotions to the world when it suited her purpose, but she could also lock them away. Satomi wondered what was going on behind the mask.

“It’s late,” the other woman said. “And I am weary. I believe it’s time for me to seek my bed.”

Satomi nodded, but didn’t move toward the door. “As you will. I’m going to stay out here for a while longer yet. I’d like to pray for Eikyo—Kyou, as she’ll be known from now on.”

Walking away, the Fire Prime answered under her breath. “If you think the Goddess will hear you.”

Chapter Seven

Getting out of Angrim unseen could be done. Getting out of Angrim unseen with an unconscious body could also be done, but it was harder.

Mirei thought she had managed it, but she wasn’t sure. She missed surety. Hadn’t there been a time when things seemed clear and she didn’t have a lot to worry about? It couldn’t have been that long ago, but it felt like ages.

The comatose doppelganger jounced in the saddle in front of her as they rode through the darkness toward the bolt-hole. Mirei hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with her once she woke up. Herding two eleven-year-old girls was hassle enough; adding in a third with no reason to like her didn’t appeal.

And what about Naspeth?

Mirei hadn’t the first damn clue what to do about the missing Windblade doppelganger. If the witch in that room had been behind that disappearance, Mirei had lost her chance to find out when she put a knife in the woman’s throat. Naspeth might be somewhere in Angrim right now, tied up, waiting for a kidnapper who would never return. It was probably the best-case scenario: if that were true, then sooner or later someone would find her or she would get loose.

Pretty sad, when that’s your best-case scenario. Do you think the Windblades will be nice enough to notify you if she comes back?

And a corner of her mind wondered with sick curiosity just how a doppelganger’s ability to come back to life would work in the event of death by dehydration. How many times might it happen, before Naspeth got free? What would an experience like that do to a young girl’s mind?

Mirei growled such thoughts away. She would do something about Naspeth. She didn’t know what, but she’d do it. Just as soon as she dealt with the three she currently had.

Once she got them moved from their current hiding spot—she wasn’t about to believe the Silverfire bolt-hole was safe anymore, not after today’s adventures—she would contact Satomi. Through the paper or, if possible, through a mirror. The Void Prime could direct her to witches or Cousins who could be trusted. The loyalty of the witches in Angrim was a dangerous unknown.

So. It was a simple plan, partly because complicated plans tended to fail more, and partly because she couldn’t think of anything brilliant to do. Get to the bolt-hole, bring Amas and Indera somewhere safer, contact Satomi. Explain things to them. Get them back to Starfall.

Find Naspeth. Somehow.

Because she’d meant that promise to the Windblades.

She reached the abandoned farmhouse. Mirei pulled her gelding to a halt, slid off carefully with her burden. No sense beating the girl up any more than necessary. She whistled a soft birdcall to announce her presence, then carried the doppelganger through the doorway and laid her on the uneven floor.

The house was quiet. Mirei put her face close to the trapdoor that led beneath the house and said softly, “Amas? Indera?”