#nenimeme

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Nenime: The Shadow of Iybraesil, Corsair Princess of the Heg Ravens, Emissary of Yvraine

Cenedril: A vender of curios, once a ranger of Os’Tara

Y’pollea: Ward and confidant to Nenime, rightful heir to the Kabal of the Falling Moon

Lala: Of the Children of Mathlann, a mercenary Voidscarred in service to Nenime

Nonna: Of the Children of Mathlann, a mercenary Voidscarred in service to Nenime

THREE Heg Ravens Corsairs

THE MIRROR

~

Gaze shuns mirrored past,

Innocence’s fading breath,

Time’s somber embrace.

~

NENIME

Well, racing through the streets of the haven-spire had been fun, but it was time to put some work in.

My beat-up Traveler skidded to a stop in front of the shop, a small dwelling with a tiled dome, one of many lying across from the Epiphany gardens.

“Alright girls,” I said, thumbing out the music. “I want a clean job. We take our places. We do our tasks. We’re gone before day-cycle. Have I made myself understood?”

I glanced at my rearviewer. Nonna and Lala gave me a firm nod. My three girls, sat further back, went so far as to give me a round of ‘yes lady’s.

Very good. I gave them a trusting smile. “Let’s do this.”

The doors of my hover car swung up and we filed out.

Y’pollea, who had sat next to me, hoped out and met me at the shop’s door with her arms crossed. “Are you sure we can’t do this the easy way?”

I shook my head. “I want her to come willingly.”

She made a little noise. I knew she was skeptical of my sentimentality, but I felt compelled to make amends with the woman we sought, Cenedril.

“Truth be told, I can empathize with her.” I admitted. “Her current predicament may very well be my fault. We’ll sort it out though. You’ll see.”

I’m a sucker for small gestures.

I could’ve come armed and armored. Instead, I merely wore my old void-shippers gear and my mother’s jacket. I was unarmed, the same was probably true of Y’pollea.

It was a show of good will.

Admittedly, the same was not true of my girls and guards.

Like I said. Small gestures.

As a precaution, I sent my girls around the house with a twitch of my nose. I could not let this former ranger slip my grasp, after all.

I glanced away as Nonna and Lala took their places beside us.

My Traveler, a yellow model I’d used to ferry fellow service-cleaners in my youth, lingered by the road. Past that, trees in the park bowed and waved in the gloom. The sight stirred happy memories within me, and I wondered if Cenedril had indeed managed to find a measure of peace here.

I doubted it.  

Y’pollea shrugged, “Whatever the case, sign says shop’s closed.”

“I know that.” I reached for the door chime and rang it liberally. That was considered extremely rude in most craftworld societies. Thankfully, I wasn’t possessed of that perspective.

My subtle tactic had the desired effect. Gaps opened in a floral pattern on the door.

Cenedril appeared. “Are you blind? The store is closed.” She said, with dark rings around her eyes. “Come back in the morning.”

“Forgive us, my friend.” I said, drawing closer. “We are about an urgent matter that could not wait until morning.”

Cenedril seemed to notice my guards with some alarm. “These men are armed. What is the meaning of this?

Lala and Nonna were clad in form-fitting plates of silvery armor. They wore long blades. The crowns of their tall helms bore finely cut jewels. I suppose they didn’t exactly seem like casual company.  

“My vocation is to ply the void with gun and saber, which can be hazardous to one’s health. So they keep me safe. They won’t trouble you. I’m on a search, you see.”

Cenedril narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

“Nenime,” I replied. “Like the month.”

She began to move away. “You corsairs are all the same. Wait till morning like the rest.”

“Wait!” I pleaded. “I know you have the mirror.”

That stopped her cold. “What?”

“The mirror. I know you have it. I want to help you. Please, might we speak within?”

Cenedril hesitated. For a moment, weariness and sorrow played across her features, and I could’ve wept for this stranger. Then the moment passed. Her expression hardened. “I do not know of what you speak. Begone.”

She made as to withdraw and close the door, but Y’pollea already had her foot in one of the gaps.

With all the confidence of someone who knows that locks, unlike walls, are merely polite deterrents, Y’pollea suddenly shoved hard against the door, straining and breaking its inner mechanisms.

To my horror, all that was left to do was to roll the door aside.

“I’m so sorry,” I told the retreating form of Cenedril.