"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.