The witch’s mouth was working up and down; her expression had turned hunted. “You just can’t.”
Young, and without the other’s composure. She’ll crack. “It’s necessary to our investigation,” Mirage said, hardening her voice. “If you get in our way, you’re interfering with the oath we swore, and slowing our progress. Which, incidentally, could get us killed. Do you want us to solve this or not?”
“You can’t talk to her! She doesn’t know!” The witch looked horrified as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
Eclipse pounced. “She doesn’t know? No one’s told her that her predecessor was assassinated?”
The witch swallowed and lowered her hands from her mouth. A deep breath failed to restore her shredded composure. “No. They haven’t. And she is not to be told. These orders come from beyond me.”
Beyond her. A Key? A Prime? Of her Ray, or another? This just gets more tangled.
“Why hasn’t she been told?” Eclipse asked. “We still don’t know why Tari-nakana was killed; someone may go after Kekkai-nakana next. She should be informed, for her own safety.”
“She has Cousins to guard her,” the witch said hastily. “Cousins weren’t enough for Tari-nakana,” Mirage reminded her. “Even a Hunter wasn’t enough. You can’t assume Kekkai-nakana’s safe from attack. Besides, she may have information crucial to our understanding of why Tari-nakana was killed.”
“She doesn’t, I swear by the Mother. Please believe me. Kekkai-nakana is safe, and she knows nothing.”
“How can you know that?” Mirage demanded. The witch’s expression grew even more desperate. She stood up abruptly, knocking over her chair, and then, before either Hunter could move to stop her, began to sing.
The Hunters’ vision and hearing returned, and the room was empty.
“That was unexpected,” Mirage said, standing up.
Eclipse shook his head to clear it. “To say the least. She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“Gone, and not likely to come back any time soon.” They did a circuit of the house, but found no one, witch or Cousin, and enough personal belongings had been removed to confirm the witch was gone for good.
“We ought to apologize to the people of Ravelle,” Eclipse said as they returned to their inn. “We’ve just robbed them of their witch.”
“Though I have no idea why. What in the Void was going on there?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. That witch is running scared, of us and of something else. But I’m glad it was her we faced down, and not the one from Corberth; she would have been a damn sight harder to crack.”
“True. I just wish we knew what caused the crack.”
They took to the road again as soon as dawn broke. Eclipse pulled the sheet of rice paper from a pocket in his cloak as they rode and raised one eyebrow at Mirage. “Think I should send a message to our dear contact? Or do you think she knows already?”
“That Water witch ran so fast, she’s probably in Starfall by now and has told everything,” Mirage said with a grin.
He laughed and tucked the paper away. “Pity. I was going to ask her to send the description to Jaguar with a spell. It would be a lot more reliable than homing pigeons.”
“I’d rather you not ask,” Mirage said. “I don’t want one of them serving as a go-between for our messages. We keep to ourselves, and they do the same. Most of the time.” Although that formerly clear-cut situation was becoming murkier all the time.
“All right, fair enough. Still, think how convenient it would be, if magic were more common. You could send messages from Insebrar to Abern in an instant—no need for pigeons or couriers.”
“I’d be out a hire or three.”
He laughed again. “Well, maybe there would be need. After all, you wouldn’t want to trust a witch with really private messages. They’ve got their own priorities, for all they talk about serving people.”
“It’s a moot point anyway,” Mirage said. “There aren’t enough of them to make things like mat common.”
“True. And I wonder why?”
Mirage shrugged. “They don’t have many children. Maybe magic somehow causes miscarriages, so they don’t carry most of their babies to term.”
“Or maybe they just have half as many because they don’t ever seem to have sons.”
“We don’t think they do. Who knows what really goes on in Starfall? For all we know, they kill off all the boy children.”
“You have such a cheerful imagination, Sen, you know that?”
“All right, all right. Maybe they miscarry when it’s a boy. It could be a magic thing. Who knows? Ask them, if you really want to know.”
He shuddered. “I’ve had enough of facing down witches for information, thank you.”
The conversation died then, but Mirage kept thinking as they rode. What would things be like, if there were more witches? She didn’t like the idea, but she was biased. When she thought about it logically, it might not be so bad. Witches did do healing, for example; they could do a lot of good if there were enough of them in the Water Ray to cover the towns properly. And the Earth witches worked to prevent droughts or blights, and they kept the starving wolves at bay during harsh northern winters. Fire witches she had less use for; they served the rulers in their political games, and Mirage tended to think the rulers didn’t need any encouragement or help. She also didn’t particularly care about the Void Ray, which did very little to touch the outside world.
Of all the Rays, she felt the most affinity for Air. They were like Silverfire Hunters, traveling constantly, addressing problems where they found them, no matter who it was that needed help.
She envisioned ordinary people having houses with the hot water spells Tari-nakana had set up, spells to keep food fresh, spells to make life a little easier or simpler. ,
And deep in her mind, something clicked.
Mirage realized that she had stopped Mist, and Eclipse was staring at her. She glanced forward and back up the road; there weren’t any travelers in sight, but some might come along.
“You’ve thought of something,” Eclipse said.
“Let’s get off the road.”
They dismounted and led their horses through the thick trees until they found a good place to pause. Mirage teth-ered Mist and hopped up onto a boulder, where she bit one knuckle and stared at the ground. “What is it?” Eclipse asked when his patience ran out. Mirage started, then looked at him. “If you were searching someone’s belongings and found papers you wanted to destroy, what would you do with them?” He blinked. “Burn them, probably.”
“Where?”
“Where? As long as I didn’t care about biding it, on site. If there was a fireplace.”
“Exactly. You’d burn them in the fireplace. So would I. There’s no point in going to the trouble to light a splinter from a lamp or whatever and burn each paper individually, where you found it.”
He saw the connection now. “Yet the ashes in Tari-nakana’s house were all over, in tiny piles, no more than a sheet’s worth or so in any one place. Why?”
“Magic,” Mirage said.
Eclipse’s eyes widened, then narrowed, considering it.
“I can’t imagine it would take more than a tiny bit of power to light each one. A witch wouldn’t think twice about it. She’d find a paper, conjure a lick of flame, and up it goes.”
“So you think a witch trashed her study.” Something else occurred to Mirage then. “And another thing—haw did that Wolfstar get into her house in the first place? It’s one thing for that Water witch to leave her house lightly warded; she expects mundane visitors, living where she does. But Tari-nakana lived in Starfall, and whatever her wards are, they’re strong enough that our contact felt the need to protect us from them. What about the Wolfstar? How did he get inside to set up his second trick, if he didn’t have help?”