“I guess we’re the first ones here,” Mireille remarked as she and Jeanette entered a marble room with a gaping maw in the floor as a centerpiece. She didn’t say it because she found it to be particularly interesting, but rather because the almost reverent silence in which she had made her final preparations for a ceremony that she still had misgivings about would likely drive her nuts if she didn’t break it. It didn’t help that her mood had been soured by the excessively long, heavy, hooded, black cloak she’d been made to wear—not only was it stiflingly warm under there, but she’d nearly tripped over the hem several times while walking down the staircase. Of course, it made perfect sense why the Corsican assassin was wearing ihre shwarzen Roben, as Althena’s “official” translation of the poems put it. She’d be the one “shielding” the metaphorically “newborn” Maidens, after all—assuming, of course, that said Maidens didn’t try to kill her as soon as they saw her. At least she’d been allowed to wear her normal clothing underneath.
The ceremony didn’t seem too complicated—well, most of it, anyway. According to what Jeanette had said, most of it would be a simple matter of confirming what Althena said. True, in theory Mireille could change her mind during the ceremony, but she knew full well that if she did so, she probably wouldn’t leave this room alive. Once everything was said and done, Mireille would have the opportunity to address the two Maidens she would be leading—unfortunately, the records on this final section of the ceremony were varied and sketchy at best. It appeared that the Hand was supposed to say something that would unite the three members of Noir to their purpose and permanently cement their working relationship. According to Jeanette, Althena believed that each speech had to be tailored for each Noir, and thus, there was no use setting them down as a fixed part of the ceremony.
Jeanette opened a small, otherwise hidden door in the side of the wall, revealing a small, well-lit chamber with a marble bench. “You will wait here during the first half of the ceremony. You may use this time however you wish: meditating, or perhaps going over your statement. I will be waiting outside the door as your witness, and will open it when the Maidens are confirmed.”
“Do I have to make a statement?”
“That appears to be the only part of the final stage that is absolutely vital.”
“Couldn’t you have at least given me a day or two to figure out what to say?”
“Sadly, no,” came a third voice from the staircase. The two women already present turned to see Althena standing in a typically Stoic pose. “While it would undoubtedly be beneficial to give you the opportunity to craft a well-written statement, we no longer have that luxury.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jeanette.
“It appears that our enemies within Soldats have followed Mireille here—likely intent on finishing the job Mireille originally came here to do.”
“Damn it,” the blonde muttered. Thanks to the new arrivals, no matter how the immediate situation turned out, the aftermath was now almost guaranteed to be messy.
“Don’t blame yourself—I’m certain they would have come anyway. Just do the best you can.”
There’s that patronizing tone of voice again… does she want me to hate her? The answer was likely “yes,” thought for the life of her Mireille couldn’t figure out why—so she decided to shove that aside for the moment. “Could I have some paper and something to write with? You know, so I can go over a few ideas?”
“Certainly,” Althena said with a Mona Lisa-esque smile. “In fact, I made sure to bring a pencil and a pad of paper for just that reason.” As she handed them over, Mireille couldn’t avoid feeling that she’d just been manipulated yet again.
Chloe struggled (with mixed success) to try and restrain her excitement as she and Kirika followed Borne and Marennes down the spiral staircase to the secret chamber located far beneath the Manor. She had only been there once before, as a small girl—she’d been playing hide-and-seek with Kirika at the time, and had chosen to hide in one of the mansion’s many secret passages. Of course, as she had a natural sense of curiosity, she’d gone all the way down the stairs until she’d found the most beautiful room she’d ever seen. Of course, she’d gotten in big trouble because of it, as that entire section of the Manor had been off-limits to her at the time, which was apparently why she had not been allowed to partake in the purging of the Corsican’s parents with Kirika. Maybe if I hadn’t been disobedient, there wouldn’t have been any problems….
But now was not the time for that. Within a matter of minutes, she and Kirika would be confirmed as the True Noir, and the Corsican would be out of their life forever. She glanced over at her friend, who looked positively resplendent in her white tunic: so calm, so Stoic—like Althena, in a way. Looking at the Japanese girl, one never would have known that only a few minutes ago she had seriously considered abandoning her post; thank goodness Chloe had convinced her otherwise. Now, it was only a matter of time.
Surprisingly, the chamber was actually very well-lit when the Maidens arrived—not at all like the dim space from Chloe’s memory. She’d assumed that the lighting for the ceremony would be just as oblique, if not more so—this seemed like the kind of thing that was supposed to be done in dark, candlelit rooms. Then again, that might have simply been her sense of the dramatic talking. But within seconds, that thought was washed away by the glistening sheen of the highly polished marble of the chamber. It was the picture of geometric perfection, with the obvious exception of the irregular hole in the middle of the floor.
Athena was standing before the chasm, still with the smile that had comforted Chloe for years—though there seemed to be a hint of sadness with it. Her assistant Jeanette was standing off to the side, though Chloe wasn’t entirely sure why—there only needed to be one witness for each Noir, if she remembered correctly…. But that was unimportant—surely Althena knew what she was doing.
Once each person present was in her preordained place, Althena took a deep breath, and then began the ceremony by reciting a poem that was by now familiar to everyone in the room—though, oddly enough, she choose to do so in German.
“Noir, das ist der Name eines alten Schicksal.
Zwei Mädchen die den Tod beherrschen.
Den Frieden des Neugeborenen beschützen ihre schwarzen Hände.”
And so, after years of planning, and the shedding of massive quantities of tears, sweat, and especially blood, the centuries-old Rite of Noir began.
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(Posted Sat, 30 Sep 2006 21:51)
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