Marie Brennan - Doppelganger

All the same, though, it was better out here than in her room. Were she there, her bookshelves and desk would beckon her with reminders of all the things she still had to study, all the things she still didn’t know.

Out here, where the night breeze could refresh her, she could at least try to empty her mind, to find peace and forgetfulness.

She could try to ignore what was coming.

The wind blew more strongly, making her shiver.

Miryo tucked back strands of hair that had been teased loose from their braid and then wrapped her arms around her body. She should have brought a cloak, or at least worn warmer clothing. It might be the middle of summer, but here on the slopes of the mountains, the breeze could still be chill.

But if she didn’t want to return to her room, there were still places she could go that would be more sheltered. Miryo rose carefully, mindful of the long plunge that awaited her should she fall off the roof of the students’ hall. Despite the cool air, she removed her slippers and stuck them into a pocket; she preferred cold toes to the loss of traction on the slate roof.

She made her way up the slope to the ridge line where, balancing against the wind, she paused to look upward, at the structure she’d had her back to before. Star Hall itself, the ritual heart of this place, looming over everything else with its windows like watching eyes. Miryo shivered and moved hurriedly into the lee of a higher gable. A cautious slide down the opposite side took her to the base of another rise; the students’ hall, though not as mismatched in its structure as the main building, boasted a crazy landscape of intersecting roofs that afforded all sorts of fun climbing and hidden nooks. “Watch out!”

The hissed warning nearly made her lose her grip on the roof’s crest. She caught herself in time and slid carefully into the cup formed by the intersection of several slopes. Some enterprising student long ago had put a wooden platform down there, making a comfortable hidden spot that was a favorite refuge of those students who found it.

“You almost made me break my neck,” Miryo said to the other shadowy figure in the pit.

“If I hadn’t said anything, you would have fallen on me,” Eikyo pointed out. “I figured it was worth the risk.”

Miryo shrugged. “You would have survived.”

“With bruises. Pardon me if I didn’t look forward to that.” Eikyo sighed and leaned back, mirth rapidly forgotten. “Have you finished your essay for Yuri-mai?”

“I’ve hardly started,” Miryo admitted. “I’ve been…”

“Brooding,” Eikyo finished for her.

Involuntarily Miryo glanced upward again at the watchful bulk of Star Hall.

“Don’t think about it,” Eikyo said as soon as Miryo’s eyes moved. “Worrying isn’t going to help you any.”

“Like you never think about it yourself.”

“Of course I do. But not as often as you do; I’ve seen you obsessing.”

“I think I’m justified,” Miryo said sharply. “It is, after all, my fate we’re talking about.”

“And mine,” her friend replied, unperturbed. “In another couple of months. We’re all facing the same thing, Miryo. But plenty of women before us have done fine.”

Miryo shivered and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And plenty have failed. You didn’t see what was left of Hinusoka, after…” She closed her eyes, but it didn’t block the memory of the appallingly small bundle the Cousins had carried out of Star Hall. And the way it had dripped—“I just don’t feel prepared . Study is fine and well, but in the end, they hand you power and you have to control it. Or else it controls you. And there’s no way to practice for that, because only when the time comes will you have power to handle.”

“You’ll be fine,” Eikyo repeated. “Gannu made it, after all; if she can survive the test, you’ll have no problem.” Despite her words, her body had tensed, and Miryo looked at her in curiosity. “All right,” Eikyo admitted. “I worry, too. But not about dying. Is that strange?”

Miryo knew what she was referring to. Eikyo had a superstition about saying it directly, ever since the teachers told them what happened to students who failed the final test. Not everyone died. Eikyo thought the alternative was worse; Miryo didn’t much want to think about either one.

“Worry about something more mundane,” she suggested, to distract her friend. And herself. “Like failing the questioning from the Keys, and being publicly humiliated because they decide you’re not even ready for the test. Stuck here as an old woman, with all the younger students laughing at you—”

“Oh, that’s helpful,” Eikyo said, but some of the tension went out of her shoulders.

Miryo grinned at her. “Come on. If one of us is going to worry about the questioning, it should be me . Your memory has mine beat. Think past the test; think about the future. Are you sure you want to be Earth Heart?”

“Yes,” Eikyo said firmly, brightening. Her preference had always been for the company of plants and animals, rather than people; being in crowds made her uneasy. “What about you? Have you made any decisions yet?”

Now it was Miryo’s turn to sigh. “No. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be one of those witches they have to push into deciding. You may hate the idea of having to wait a year before you’re allowed to officially choose, but I’m glad.”

“Don’t you have any idea?”

“Nothing I can go on.” Miryo gestured in mute frustration. “None of them seem right. None of them really call to me, and isn’t that how you’re supposed to decide?”

“To the Void with what you’re supposed to do. Approach it from a different angle. Whom do you wish not to serve?”

The inversion of the ritual question was an interesting one, and it woke Miryo’s mind up a little. Choosing a Path within a Ray was relatively easy. If you wanted to carry out the fieldwork of your Ray, you chose the Hand. If you wanted to do research or recordkeeping, you chose the Head. And if you wanted to administer your Ray’s affairs, you chose the Heart. Most people knew where their talents and inclinations lay early on. But who you’d be working with, what tasks you’d be handling—that was organized into the five Rays, and for Miryo, that was harder.

She applied herself to Eikyo’s question. “Not the rulers, I think.”

“I can’t see you playing at politics with Lords and governors,” Eikyo agreed. “Fire’s out, then; four Rays left.”

Miryo leaned back and brushed strands of hair back behind her ears. “I don’t think I could do Water, either.”

“I was going to say that if you didn’t. You’re not suited to living your life out in a village, finding lost livestock and curing the pox.”

“Well, no one said I had to choose the Hand.”

“True, but you’re not really organized enough for the Heart, and you don’t have the patience for the Head. You’re going to be a Hand, no matter what Ray you choose; I’d bet on it.”

Miryo couldn’t argue that. “The rest… I don’t know !” She got up and paced as best she could around the tiny platform, feeling the weathered wood rough under her bare feet. “I don’t think I’d want Void. I don’t want to get stuck in internal troubles. That’s politics again, only our politics instead of everybody else’s. Earth? Maybe, but I don’t have the knack for nature that you do.”

“Which leaves Air.”

Miryo paused, thinking about it. The Air Ray didn’t have as clear a purpose as the others; they served whoever needed it. “They travel a lot.”

Eikyo laughed. “I can’t tell by your voice whether that’s a good thing or a bad one.”