Chapter 6
Paths
The stone fireplace threw shadows all over the living room; they stretched and took haunting shapes, something the children realized they needed to get used to.
The Etxarren was ancient with no electricity, so they'd have to get used to sleeping, eating dinners, roaming the perimeters, or peeing in the dark. No more lights or the comfort of friendly strangers on the busy Tokyo streets. The "new Noir" must soak themselves willingly in the darkness, if at least by candlelight.
Mireille and Kirika lit the fireplace but kept it low. Indeed, the evenings were cold, but the climate was still balmy enough to endure. They didn't want to risk the enemy spotting them in the wilderness.
"Sir Asher is the man who hired us as your guides," said Mireille, leaning against the concaved stone shelf in the wall; it held a pot of flowers, the same yellow and white-pinkish ones from outside. "He covered our airfare, our car, our hiking gear. And your training, and for the surrounding woodland protection of his personal bodyguards. Nothing's better than no-man's-land to hide from the enemy."
"So the men following us weren't something to worry about?" asked Audriane, almost berated. "Sir Asher provided them as our bodyguards?"
Mireille grunted. "That's what he claims. I still don't trust them."
"Like the ones from the airport?"
"I suppose."
It bothered Audriane that the assassin wasn't too concerned with whether they should trust the suited men. It scared her thinking about how many of there were, where they were positioned in the area.
Riki raised her hand. "Hold it there, blondie—."
Mireille glared at her.
"Whatever—," began Riki.
"Ahem," said Audriane, clearing her throat.
"Sorry, blonde looks good on you," said Riki. "Anyway. This 'Sir Asher'. Who is he? Who are 'they'? I've been hearing you saying 'they' a lot."
Despite the warmth of the fireplace, Kirika's heart chilled, while Mireille remained lost in the mocking flames.
Kirika exhaled, with a worn-out expression speaking for them both. "They . . . are the Soldats. An undying organization, with different factions. Sir Asher is an influential figure in the faction of the Soldats of New. That's all we know about him."
"The Soldats," murmured Audriane, leaning into the wooden table that took up the center of the small main room.
Kirika's voice was laced with caution. "Factions only exist because of clashing ideals. You probably didn't realize this with all that gunfire and panic, but men were shooting at each other at the massacre. We had to fight through both of them, not really knowing who was on our side. Anyway, they were from two different factions: Asher's, and whoever else. The dispute? To figure out what to do with Noir."
"Us," said Audriane flatly. "Children?"
"So we're in the crossfire of some gang war?" said Riki bitterly.
"For a long time, many wanted to use Noir in different ways. They interpreted Noir as many things."
"What ways? What is the enticement?" asked Audriane.
Kirika looked at her. "Big words for the Japanese you know. Very good."
Audriane's eyes flashed with pride, yet remained stern with the matter at hand. "I worked hard to get to Japan . . ."
She trailed off, her voice ghostly. It pricked Kirika with sympathy, who shook the guilt off. Laying the boundaries and their safety were top priority now.
"To answer your question, Audriane," said Kirika. "Noir is a complicated, incomprehensible shadow. It's more than just a highly trained assassin raised from a young age, maybe even birth. Noir is chosen for many things . . ."
Kirika paused, as if for dramatic effect. The children looked to Mireille to see if she would add anything, but the blonde looked out at the darkness pressing against the windows.
Riki and Audriane thought about everything just said. It all sounded like nonsense coming from a Grimm fairytale to scare them—but they noticed how the assassins regarded the mention of "Noir" with dazed expressions. There was a sense of feared respect for it. And yet, to them, to a bunch of kids, all they saw was a giant black fog. Hard to see, hard to understand. It was a jumble of meaningless noise.
To Audriane, it was like listening to a bunch of fanatic crusaders.
To Riki, it meant nothing.
"All this rant still makes no sense," said Riki. "It doesn't explain who you are, or why a bunch of cults are after children."
"It doesn't matter who we are," said Mireille. "What matters is that you survive."
"Yes," agreed Kirika solemnly. "Fight through this. Survive—no, win. Let us train you to become stronger against men, like the ones that killed your friends. Let us help you. To take down anyone who tries to hurt you. Think of it like that."
"Stop saying things like that. It's creepy," said Riki.
She glanced at Mireille for reassurance against the disturbance she felt, only to be met with a dark expression. She followed Mireille's gaze back to Kirika, who had brought her hands half-way up and contorted her fingers into the shape of gun: the index and middle finger together, her thumb out, placed loyally against her chest.
"Kirika," began Mireille, almost as if to stop her.
"Noir," said Kirika in a dark, steady tone, "it is the name of an ancient fate. Two maidens who govern death. The peace of the newly born . . . their black hands protect."
The teenagers squinted—freaked out, confused, unsettled.
"Blacker than black, burdened by sin, reaching out with mercy," finished Mireille. Her tone was flat in contrast to Kirika's poetic, monotonous recital.
The assassins seemed frozen in place, surrendering to darker times. They didn't care if Riki and Audriane were curious or disturbed—until, after a few minutes, Mireille looked back at them.
"Noir . . . its very lifestyle, its actions and purpose, and love, revolved around that damn quote. You will probably live around it, too."
The girls didn't know how to respond. What did one say to that? It was like out a movie. You could feel and see the event unfold, but you sat there, detached, with nothing to do but watch. Riki and Audriane felt a tangle of unease and curiosity.
"Etxarren," said Mireille reflectively, as she looked around them. "To preserve the Soldats' beliefs. Humph. Bastards."
Despite the grip of denial on her, Riki asked, "Why does it sound like something you dread to do—training us? Why do it, then?"
"In this world," said Mireille, stringently, "in THIS world—you do what you must."
Mireille and Kirika looked at each other. Even in the dim orange glow, the freshmen saw something painful. It was gone as Mireille stood up, ushering them to take to their beds upstairs.
…..
Mireille sat on a wide boulder that slanted into the lake. She kicked her bare feet in the water; there was a cold surge, a refreshing sensation. Ripples bobbed the surface. The faint sound of water brushing against the rocks added a comforting hum in the darkness. Kirika joined her from behind, adjusting her eyes to the darkness. Together, they admired the fortress of mountains that curved around the lake. They sat in comfortable silence. And yet, it tingled with the heat of past wounds.
"Mireille . . ." repeated Kirika, as if struggling to confess.
"Yeah," whispered Mireille. "I'm sorry you have to recite that stupid thing."
"We're horrible. We agreed to Asher's contract. We're just as bad as all of them—," began Kirika, but Mireille nearly shouted, startling her.
"We are not Soldats!" Without looking, Mireille slid her hand over her friend's. "If this saves us from the title Noir, then so be it. Even if it means destroying those girls."
Kirika felt like someone punched her in the gut. She wanted to throw up. "They . . . aren't much younger than I was—."
"It's not them I care about, Kirika," snapped Mireille, voice dropping to a delicate whisper.
Before all of this, Kirika would have rejoiced to those words. Now, she only felt guilty.
"We stole them," murmured Kirika. "We may have 'saved' them—but we stole them from their lives. Just like the Soldats. Just like how they stole us from ours."
"They're alive because of us, that's all that matters," said Mireille. "And because of that, so are you. Once they are fully trained, this will be over for you and I. We'll be free."
"But someone doesn't like the idea those two becoming the new Noir," said Kirika. "I wonder who sent those other men at the school. They were after Noir, too."
"Who can say. Everyone wants a piece of Noir power these days. It really shouldn't be that surprising."
Something loud—a shrieking, almost foreign—bayed from the barn. It startled them, how inhuman it sounded.
"The horse," said Kirika, looking back to the Etxarren.
In the silver-blue air, Mireille smiled. "First that cat . . . now this."
"We should ride it."
Mireille paused, thinking about the girls sleeping in the Etxarren. She found herself grinning, despite the weight in her chest. "We will. Tomorrow."
"I look forward to it."
Kirika leaned against Mireille, went limp on her shoulder, with serenity on her face that Mireille thought she'd never live to see.
….
Mireille opened the small shutters, and greeted the cool morning air sweeping in. It seemed to wash out the musty smell of the dusty bedroom. She glanced at the bed where Riki laid, snugged under her layers of weathered woolen blankets.
Mireille put her hands on her hips, glaring. "Rise n' shine, beautiful."
"NO!"
"It's a cheesy expression—now wake up. Breakfast."
"You wake up!"
"Enjoy the benevolent morning greetings while they last."
There was no response, save for the papery shuffle of sheets as Riki tossed in bed. Her hand lazily stuck out. Mireille walked up to the side of the bed, and with Riki's hand, pulled her whole body out. The young girl crumbled to the floor, head-first, her legs arching over her back.
At the doorway, Audriane flinched, but grinned, entertained.
"I promised my partner we'd horse-ride, so hurry up," said Mireille, dragging Riki a couple more feet before letting go and walking out the door. She disappeared, her footsteps thudding down the creaking staircase.
Riki glared at Audriane giggling in the doorway. "Some training," she growled.
Audriane's expression fell. "At least they're feeding us."
They weren't quite awake yet—in the sense that, waking up to a sunny, peaceful morning felt surreal to them. Even as they galloped down the steps, it still didn't feel like last night had been a bleak discussion around the haunting fireplace. This morning felt oddly Christmas-y, the way their bacon and eggs greeted them. It was like the massacre never occurred, that they never trekked aggressive terrain just to live for who knows how long in desolation. The chirps and warm breeze outside was almost like paradise.
As they attacked their meal without pause, savoring every bite, every lick, every trickle of flavor down their chins, they looked around the same living room once tainted by last night's shadows. It was small that it could have been a master bedroom. Nothing but earthly smell, with a big table in the center and a flowerpot on its shelf carved into the wall, and two paintings of farm landscape.
They finished their breakfast fast, eager to officially explore. As they stepped outside, something hard hit Riki. Audriane nearly yelped, hopping, as if on hot lava.
Riki burst, "DA HELL!"
Mireille walked up in those fashionable knee-high boots, a hand on her hip. "Be a doll and get some fresh water from the spring down that trail?" She pointed to an opening into the trees that snaked along the mountainside behind the Etxarren.
Riki gestured wildly. "What happened to that big puddle of water right there we call a LAKE?"
"The horse just shat in it."
The girls looked to the lakeshore and saw the silhouette of a horse, shaking its mane to scare off flies. Its rear faced the water, tail flicking up and down. Kirika stood there, brushing her hand over its velvety neck.
"Oh god, ewe!" exclaimed Riki.
"I don't think it matters—," began Audriane, but Riki had already grabbed the bucket by its thin, wiry handle and picked it up.
When Riki walked by Mireille, she faked to throw it at her. The blonde flinched just a bit, but not enough to bruise her dignity.
"Other way," shouted Mireille.
Without a word, Riki switched directions. She marched past Mireille and Audriane and disappeared into the woods—leaving the two alone.
Audriane looked up at Mireille, everything from the days before gradually washing over her. It was slow, at first. She still had yet to wake up from what felt like the heaviest sleep she'd had since . . . whenever that was. It had been long and sweet, floating. She had felt nothing but exhaustion and the fulfillment of erasing that exhaustion.
But the scarring memories dug their blades, making Audriane's mind race with terror, sending her heart squirming like prey in the mouth of a lion. It was a slap in her face as she remembered the blood, the cries, the bodies, all she knew, gone just like that. What she thought was humanity. Gone. The hope for new friends, starting a new life. Gone. The excitement for life in Tokyo—the excitement for life. Gone. Then, the song of bullets—unforgettable.
And the ones responsible, right there.
Audriane didn't look at them as she forced herself after Riki.
….
"Riki, wait!"
Without even showing signs that she heard, Riki kept on walking, dragging the big tin bucket behind her. Audriane caught up, evening her pace with Riki's as they took in their first morning in the mountains.
Patches of weed and grass lined the long dirt path, nothing but green for a few miles. Morning dew defined every blade of grass crying from last night's drizzle. Hard to believe this world was the same as the one of school massacres.
They found the spring Mireille described off the side of the trail. A stream hissed from a hole gaping in the side of a grassy mound. Riki slammed the bucket into the shallow ditch collecting with springwater.
Audriane admired their scenery beyond the spring. Up ahead, she saw a dirt road breaking up into two paths. One continued on out into the open, while the other seemed to wind up higher into the mountainous forest, a gate separating them.
Riki followed her gaze, ignoring the overflowing bucket.
This was the first time they have truly been alone together. They had only shared Chemistry and P.E., for what turned out to be their last semester. Riki dragging an subconscious Audriane around, Audriane taking care of an unconscious Riki, being forced out of the country, and finally sleeping in their shared bedroom in the Etxarren—those didn't count as "quality time". This was it, their first human connection. Audriane wanted to feel it, whatever it was these "Soldats" wanted, but couldn't.
"One path is you and I," murmured Riki.
Audriane blinked, trying to absorb her words.
"The other is the path of Noir . . ." Riki abandoned the bucket and ran toward the path winding up. Audriane expected her to run for it, but Riki turned around to look at her. "I don't walk paths of murderers."
Riki's eyes were fierce and rich like fresh syrup, yet warm like fire. And the way they looked at Audriane . . . it was like a wall slamming into her. She didn't know why, but she really needed someone. She really needed Riki.
Audriane felt a downpour of emotions. Her face scrunched up as she sniffled, wiping away tears with the back of her hands. Everything finally felt real. The mountains, the vast sky, being alone except with Riki. This was her world, now.
This was THE world.
But Riki said it didn't have to be.
So why, with her feet planted into the ground, couldn't Audriane just run?
…..
Author's Note: for Basque mountain ambience, listen to watch?v=_HJx29yGEOM
They sat on top of the edge of the bowl, overlooking their lake. If they turned around, they'd be looking down a sheer drop. They could have ski right here, right now. There were teeth of rock down below, gradually dipping steeper and steeper, with risky paths carved in between them.
Riki and Audriane looked up and there were the real giants. The mountains were massive green gods; they almost looked fake and flat against the sky, as if an artist painted the perfect scenery. Bulgy, like a spine, made up of smoky rocks with green skin stretched across them, with a dab of trees.
A flock of sheep dotted the valleys below to their right. The animals grazed next to a river, a thin line winking with sunlight.
"Must be a farm nearby," whispered Audriane, more to herself than to Riki.
"We're out in the wild, remember?" retorted Riki. "So they must be wild sheep."
Despite the mixed feelings they were experiencing, staying out here was the best decision they've made since leaving Japan. Mostly because it felt like it wasn't a man-made environment full of man-made horrors. It was liberating and peaceful. All sadness was gone, just like that. Well, almost.
Tears lined Riki's cheek.
Her classmate didn't seem to notice. "It's so open and beautiful out here."
They stood in silence so sublime, their hearts ached. It was hard not to associate such beauty with the word "freedom", from a darkness they never knew existed. The gunfire and screams all seemed like something they merely saw in a horror film. Like they just walked out of the dark movie theater into the sunny day bustling with crowds around them . . .
They fell in love with the touch of itchy grass against their skin, the hot breeze, and a sight they knew they'd cherish forever. They let the loud hum of summer insects overpower the sound of gunshots in their minds. Surrendering to the wind, they wished it'd carry with it everything they endured.
"How could you do that?" blurted Riki, watching Audriane smile and stretch her arms, greeting the passing breeze; when it was right, it seemed to roar and echo like traffic in the distance.
Audriane understood what she meant. "Well. We safe. Now."
Riki felt a sting of loathing for Audriane. "We won't be for so long."
"That's why I will love these mountains forever."
Riki said nothing. She didn't know what to say.
…..
About forty-five minutes passed since they abandoned the bucket at the spring. They expected Mireille and Kirika to come running after them in a storming fit, but no one ever followed them. So they passed the time wandering the valleys, taking in every rock, every patch of dirt or stream. It felt so easy, so natural to just get lost. The more they explored, the farther from Etxarren—nothing but another bunch of mountains, growing farther and farther away.
Both felt it—the way they looked back over their shoulders every now and then.
They could just run.
So why did they keep looking back?
It was a strange anticipation. It was as if they'd already gotten used to people chasing them, even if it was just Mireille and Kirika. Who weren't even their friends. Not even acquaintances or partners. Not even friendly strangers. They didn't know how to regard their saviors, people who didn't seem from this world, yet felt so normal—so normal, they were like wolves in sheep's skin, that it didn't feel right . . .
"I haven't seen any . . . Soldats spying us, so they claim," said Riki. "Wonder if that was all lies too, to mess with our heads."
"Maybe," said Audriane. "Messing with our heads, I mean. By not showing themselves. The Soldats, I mean."
After who knows how long of lying in the grass, walking through streams instead of alongside them, and hopping from rock to rock, they finally came across a monastery.
Riki could care less about a "pile of rubble", but Audriane insisted they check it out. She led the way as they traced along its exterior, feeling every inch of the scratchy, lumpy stone, looking up to the orange shingles, tempted by the building's enthralling mystery.
"You believe in God?" asked Riki from behind.
"Yes. I respect all religions."
"That's nice of you."
They continued to sweep the perimeters. They passed a graveyard guarded by low stonewalls and a black ebony gate that led into it. It wasn't till they walked all around that they found the entrance. A speckled stone path led to smooth steps, then a large wooden double-door. Stained-glass windows stared at them like eyes judging to let them in. Riki stayed outside and waited for Audriane, trying to figure out where they would go from here.
Audriane finally came back out. "I wonder if anyone around," she said.
"What, no one was in there?"
"No."
"Well, you were in there. Did it look like anyone been living in there or something?"
"Not sure."
"Great," said Riki. "I was hoping someone would be able to point us around."
Audriane paused, then added, "What about the Basques?"
"Who?"
"Kirika said 'Basques'."
"You mean the forgotten?" joked Riki.
"Uh, yes?"
"Why are you asking about that, of all things right now?"
"Maybe . . . after this all over, I visit them. Mingle with another culture."
"Japan wasn't enough for you? You were barely there."
"Look how that turned out—."
Bang. Bang. Fwip. Fwip.
It was faint, but it was familiar. They stared back down whence they came, looking at the begging mountains—that looked like any other mountains—that led back to the Etxarren. Far off in the distance, far form their concern.
They stared at the woods for a good while, without looking at each other. It was as if they were waiting for the other to make the decision for them—to go back, or run for it.
Audriane moved.
Riki grabbed her hand. "They could care less about us."
"They saved us," reminded Audriane. She didn't know why, but all she could think about was the expression on Mireille and Kirika's faces. "They not telling the whole truth, but . . . they not bad people."
Those last words hung in the air like an annoying thread in Riki's face.
As Audriane side-trotted down the hill, Riki roared, "Why would you save people like them!"
Her partner stumbled and nearly tripped on her way down, but she managed to shout back, "Why would you not?"