Free Doppelganger by Marie Brennan

One by one, they walked to the four doors of Star Hall, until each stood at the door for her Ray. Miryo was left a few paces behind the Void Prime. Satomi stepped forward at last, and Miryo saw with some interest that the woman chose the arm of the Hall dedicated to Air. Rumor had it that the branch you approached from was indicative of which had shown the most interest in you, the one they believed you showed the most talent for. But it was only rumor.
    In silent procession, Satomi walked down the lofty corridor of Air. Miryo restrained her urge to gape around; she and the other students were in here only rarely. She kept her eyes glued to the Void Prime's rod-straight back, until they stood in the center, where the arms of the Hall crossed.
    The witch guided Miryo up onto the dais at the center, then turned to face her.
    "Remain here in vigil, and contemplate that which you face. At midnight, the ritual will begin."
    And then I find out what Ashin was afraid of.
    "I hear and obey, Satomi-aken," Miryo said softly. The witch turned away and left the dais, walking out through the north and the door of Earth.
    Leaving Miryo alone in Star Hall.
    From now until midnight, when the Primes would return, she would not speak. The silence of the Hall was oppressive, suffocating, until she wanted to talk, shout, sing, anything to break it—and yet she was forbidden to do so.
    Miryo realized her breathing was quickening. Concentrating, she forced herself to calm down, and looked around the Hall.
    It was a work of breathtaking beauty. Crafted from silvery stone, the Hall soared upward on impossibly slender supports, until it seemed to be reaching for the very stars it was dedicated to. Graceful rib-vaulting made a delicate pattern across the ceiling, fanning out across the bays, until at the crossing it leapt even farther upward, into a blackness the witchlights could not even touch. The crossing was devoted to the Void.
    The four arms of the Hall, by contrast, were a riot of color. Each was built of the same silvery stone, clean and unadorned by even the simplest sculpture, but the walls between the piers of the arches were almost nonexistent, replaced instead by rank upon rank of exquisite stained-glass windows. In the west, where Miryo had entered, the colors of Air were all of the most delicate hues, barely even detectable, but the light that came through them turned everything sharp-edged and preternaturally distinct. She wondered what spell managed that. It was full dark outside, yet somehow the windows still shed light, still touched the silvery marble with their colors.
    In the south, the hall of Fire was colored in all the hues of its namesake, red and orange and gold, until the light falling on the floor seemed to be pure fire itself. North was Earth, resplendent in rich greens and warm ambers; East was Water, all shifting blues.
    And in the crossing itself—
    The heart of Star Hall, dedicated to the untouchable emptiness of the Void, defied all the laws of nature. Somehow the color of the four branches, their light, their
life
, did not reach here. The air was peculiarly gray and washed-out, and the arches soared upward from the clerestory level into blackness. In the four arms, the windows depicted symbols of their Elements; in the center, Miryo could not even make out the windows, despite her best efforts. They faded away in an odd and disquieting manner, although she was sure they were there.
    She shivered and looked away.
    They wanted her to meditate on her future.
What a wonderful idea
that
is. All I can think about is what might
go
wrong
.
    As far as she knew, there were two ways to fail the test. She didn't know how either of them
happened
—just the results.
    She might die. It wasn't common, but it did happen, and supposedly in a variety of ways. Though that might just be student rumor. Certainly Hinusoka had died.
    The other possibility would make her a Cousin.
    Most of those who served the witches had never been