The three candidates for Noir had been embroiled in what might have been the most dramatic struggle any of them had ever taken part in. In the midst of the purification rite, Mireille had shown up, obviously intent on keeping Kirika out of Noir by any means necessary—including lethal ones. The two had traded gunfire for several minutes before Kirika had her former partner cornered—but for some reason, she hesitated. Thinking that perhaps Kirika had emptied the clip of her Beretta and was merely bluffing the Corsican blonde, Chloe had come to the aid of her friend and had attacked the tenacious interloper who would dare to interfere with their ceremony. Yet, for some reason, as they fought, Kirika still seemed unresponsive and lost in thought—hardly what Chloe had expected. But then, she and Mireille had been rather close over the last few months (a little too close in Chloe’s opinion), so perhaps she was busy shaking the last remnants of that bond from her psyche—appropriate, given that the ritual Mireille had interrupted was intended to purge such ideas in the first place.
Still, it was clear that the Corsican was outclassed—within less than a minute, Chloe had imbedded one of her knives in Mireille’s thigh, and was about to move in for the kill when she heard a familiar voice shout “Stop!” from behind her. She whirled around and saw Althena standing there with a worried look on her face.
Chloe would have responded to the appearance of her mother figure, but Althena rushed toward her… and almost knocked her to the ground as she ran past her to grab Mireille in a tight embrace. “Thank goodness you’re alright!”
This turn of events was the last thing that Mireille had expected, which explained her erudite reply: “Huh?”
“Oh, where are my manners? I am Althena. Welcome, Mireille Bouquet, to the Manor. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you personally for quite some time.”
“Wha-huh?”
“I’m sure you have questions, but right now, Chloe and Kirika are in the middle of something very important, and we should let them finish. Can you walk?”
“I… I think so.”
“Althena, what’s going on?” asked Chloe, who was by now utterly bewildered. Hadn’t the Corsican’s role in all of this ended back in Paris?
“Do not worry—everything is as it should be. I promise, all will be explained in due time. In the meantime, continue with your preparations. I must speak with Mireille privately.”
Mireille was aghast—since when was she on first name terms with this nutcase? “What are you—”
Althena simply held up her hand to temporarily calm the third candidate. “Come, my child. We have much to talk about, and very little time to do it.”
Throughout the whole incident, Kirika remained silent.
After Mireille’s wounds had been cleaned and dressed Althena led her to a room that looked like a library—there were certainly enough books to for the description to fit. Appropriately enough, Althena began by discussing literature, albeit a very specialized example.
“Are you aware of the poem that describes the nature of Noir?”
“Yes… Kirika and I came across it several times while we were investigating Soldats.”
“Do you know it well enough to recite it?”
Mireille tried to ignore the image of Alice reciting poetry to the Caterpillar that came to mind as she began, “Noir… it is the name of an ancient fate / Two maidens who govern death…” Mireille paused here, unsure how to continue.
“Very good… and the third line?”
“I’m not sure… in the research Kirika and I did, it seemed to vary.”
“That it does; there are, however, three main variations: ‘The peace of the newly born their black hands protect,’ ‘To ward the darkness from the nursing babes their black robes serve as shields,’ and ‘To the depths of hell's fire their black souls lure the lost children.’ As you can see, all three use very similar imagery, involving children and something ‘black’ that belongs to the subject of the line.”
“So, which one is right?”
“Actually, my own research has led me to believe that all three are valid descriptions of Noir. These ending lines are what I wish to discuss with you. Do you know what they mean?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Come now, you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Mireille bristled at being called a “girl”—she was 27 years old, for god’s sake! “Maybe I can, but I’m sure it will be much faster if you just tell me.”
Althena, unfortunately, didn’t bite. “Noir is a very old institution—it has been inactive since the days of Charlemagne, but its memory has been preserved in that poem, which comes from that culture.”
Mireille was getting frustrated with all of the tangents that Althena was going off on. “Is there a point to this?”
For her part, Althena wasn’t fazed, and kept going. “The Franks were a Germanic people, and this was reflected in their language—particularly in their pronouns.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What do all of the third lines have in common?”
Mireille sighed. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not exactly in the mood for the Socratic method right now.”
“The traditional translations all use the third person plural: ‘their black hands,’ ‘their black robes,’ ‘their dark souls.’ This implies that the subject of the third line is the two maidens mentioned in the first.”
“What else would it be?”
“Come on, Mireille. I know that you speak German.”
Mireille sighed again; apparently, she’d have to play Althena’s game in order to get any information out of her. “Alright, the German language uses the same word for the third person feminine singular as the third person plural.”
“Which would make the phrases ‘her black hands,’ ‘her black robes,’ and ‘her dark soul.’” Althena looked at Mireille expectantly, but when the Corsican showed no response, she continued: “Obviously, if this translation is true, then the subject of the third line can’t be the two maidens, but rather, a third person.”
At this, a spark of realization finally came to Mireille’s eyes. “W-What?”
“That was the great insight I found… that by themselves, the two Maidens who govern death are not Noir, but rather a part of Noir, along with a third woman, a Hand who could serve as their guide and protector. Naturally, as I learned about the process by which the Maidens become a part of Noir, I came to realize that the references to children and newborns could just as easily apply to them, as they are metaphorically reborn several times during their preparation. Suddenly, it all made sense; this was why three candidates were necessary in order for Noir to form—because in actuality, the True Noir is not two people, but three… and you, Mireille Bouquet, are that third woman.”
Mireille was still in a state of shock. “No…”
“The three of you have indeed been tested in the last few months, but they were not tests to determine which two were the Maidens, but rather, which one was worthy to lead the Maidens. And I’m happy to say that in this regard, you’ve succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.”
“No!”
“Really, I always believed you were the best candidate for the Hand. After all, you’ve actually experienced the darkness and sin of the world in ways that Kirika and Chloe could never have done with their sheltered upbringing….”
As Althena spoke, it seemed that all of the blocks began falling into place, and suddenly, it seemed that every problem, every difficulty in Mireille’s life had been leading up to this moment—exactly the way this horrible excuse for a human being had planned it. “Shut up!”
“The way you protected and assisted Kirika proves your capability in those roles, and of course, the fact that you’re the only one who can prove she isn’t a teenager is definitely a plus….”
“God damn it, shut up, you psychotic bitch!”
“But most importantly, of the three candidates, you are the only one who has absolutely no reason to feel indebted to Soldats. With you as their guide, Noir will have a free Hand to cleanse the world of evil—and that evil will not be able to use Soldats as a hiding place.”
“Fuck you!” Even as her outbursts increased in intensity, Mireille could hear her voice beginning to waver.
“Of course, Chloe and Kirika know nothing of this—if they knew, it could adversely affect they way they acted around you. But that’s beside the point. Right now, you need to make a decision about whether or not to you will grasp the opportunity that has been placed in front of you.”
“I… I…” Words utterly failed Mireille; she tried to form the rejection that she wanted to give, but for some reason, she couldn’t—to her own surprise, perhaps even horror, she found herself seriously considering taking part in this insanity, and the fact that she knew that Althena was manipulating her at that very moment didn’t change that. The mental deadlock continued for nearly a minute before the Corsican’s emotional fortitude snapped; soon, Mireille was doing something that she hadn’t allowed herself to do in years: she cried. Not just a few solitary tears, but a full-blown case of sobbing and shuddering. It wasn’t long before her knees felt like they were going to give out, but before she hit the floor, Althena grabbed her and hugged her tightly.
Despite the fact that at the moment Althena was the one person Mireille hated more than anyone else in the world, she still found her words and her embrace to be comforting. “I know you’re confused… not an hour ago, you came here to take Kirika away from all this, or die trying, and now, you’ve learned that you’ve been groomed to lead her and Chloe from the very beginning. If I were in your place, I’d be angry as well. But that doesn’t change the fact that you still have to make the most important decision of your life: Will you lead Noir?”
“I… I need some time to think about it… alone.”
“Of course. You may use my quarters. Follow me, please.”
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(Posted Thu, 03 Aug 2006 06:21)
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