Sorry for the wait. Real Life(tm) is pressing again. Revised and concatenated
with part B. C&C on any errors remaining, please.

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on
the monkey bars.  Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found 
them and please don't feed the Troll.

"Media Vita" ("In the Midst of Life") and "A St�r Mo Chro�" ("Darling
of my Heart" or "The American Wake") are Traditional. I'm using
them as such. "The Enfolding" is copyright by Garnet Rogers; "Annie's
Song" is John Denver's, and John Denver's alone. (Of course he's dead,
but ...).

*This is a sound.*
'This is a thought.'
_This is emphasis._
{This is a sign.}
<This is Chinese.>

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Stars and Shadows
Part A: A Requiem for Solo Voice

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   The mass funeral had taken three days to organize. Formalities like
autopsies and such had been cleared away quickly; but simply contacting
the families of everyone involved and finding out what kind of service
to hold had been a grinding task. The details had been worked out, 
finally, by Nabiki -- as much by default as for any better reason -- 
who had drawn Ranma, Akane, and Kasumi deeply into the planning. Between
them, they had determined the details of date (as soon as possible),
time (early, around nineish), dress (black, formal), music (the Furin-
kan Choir), type of funeral (burial), location of graves (together, 
those families so inclined could have their relatives moved later, it 
was determined), and whether it would be a good idea to wait to see if 
any of the injured died first (a definite _NO_). 

   Ranma and Akane, although not part of the choir, had consulted with 
it to aid in choosing appropriate music. Since it had been necessary to
schedule services from Shinto, Buddhist and Christian priests, it had
been decided to use a hymn that originated with Christianity, but adapt
and translate it to a more Japanese mien. This had been done. It had
also been decided that Akane and Ranma would escort the pallbearers, 
but not carry any coffins themselves. Finally, the weather service had
been consulted to select a day free of the sudden constant rain; but
Ranma had advised them that no such day was likely until the whole
business was over, and so the time had been set.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   "No, Kasumi-san," Ranma said, "I understand your concern. Indeed, I
share it. The only problem is, Jei-san has never been squeamish about
involving other people than his 'targets'. In fact, he has taken hostages
to force a confrontation before. So I do not feel that simply being
elsewhere is sufficient to assure Furinkan or Nerima's escape from his
further attentions. More the reverse, actually."

   "I understand, Ranma-san. Still, I feel that _something_ must be
done. It is unharmonious to simply await possible catastrophe."

   "I agree completely, Kasumi-san. I have already begun to apply myself
to the creation of various weapons and wards against such evil. Also,
I have created several of these." Ranma offered Kasumi a small origami
goose. Kasumi accepted the item and examined it closely, observing the
kanji inked in many colors by a neat, precise hand onto the paper of 
which it was composed. To her untutored eye they appeared to be of a 
protective or spiritual nature, calling on the Amida Buddha and a 
selection of beneficent Shinto deities for aid.

   "Is it a ward, Ranma-san? A protective influence?"

   "Only in a manner of speaking, Kasumi-san; it is, more precisely, an
alarm. If Jei-san or any equivalent evil impinges on Nerima again, this
charm and the others like it will give warning; firstly by reacting
physically to his approach, and secondly by transmitting a warning to
their creator, i.e. me. The pattern of warnings I receive should alert
me to the location of the problem, hopefully before it gains its full
strength."

   "I shall pray and sacrifice for your success in this matter, Ranma-
san. Please also try to protect my younger sister."

   "I shall do so to the limits of my capability and her honor, Kasumi-
san, I assure you."
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Now a double column of Furinkan students marched up the hill towards
the cemetery, holding between them a line of seventeen coffins, under
a steady, moderate rain. To the left Akane, in black vest, shirt and
pants, and wearing a black trenchcoat and hat, paralleled the line with
a slow, sad, steady pace. To the right, Ranma, identically dressed except
for her ever-present white silk scarf and lack of hat, did likewise,
her scarlet hair darkened by the rain, which ran off its end in a steady
stream down the back of her coat. Behind them all, Furinkan's one decent 
drummer was beating a slow, mournful *tap tap tap*, barely audible
over the patter of the falling rain.

   The grave-side service was, necessarily, abbreviated. Those families 
who felt it necessary had arranged for more extensive services earlier,
but in most cases shock and pain had merged into a feeling that it was
better to regard the slain as members of the same family, and treat
them, in some sense, as one. Perhaps it merely served to reduce the
perceived cost, but it seemed to be nearly universal, regardless.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   "Your sister is worried about you. She seems to feel that you're 
going to start going out monster hunting and get yourself hurt."

   "Well, I don't have any real interest in _hunting_ monsters, Ranchan."
Akane said mildly. "Just as long as they keep to themselves and don't
come around and try to kill my classmates or the like."

   "But what," Ranma assumed a whimsical tone, "if they come around and
only try to _maim_ your classmates instead?"

   "You know perfectly well what I mean. Now hush, you."

   "Yes, Acchan. Of course, Acchan. Don't hurt me, Acchan."

   "Unprincipled bully."

   "Uncommitted slacker."

   "One of these days, I'm going to _get_ you."

   "Promises, promises. On another topic, we need to keep track of the
wounded. See how they're doing and if they're healing well. Particularly
Sayuri-chan and that girl who kept you from getting spitted."

   Akane shuddered, "Yeah, I owe her big-time." She chewed her lower lip
meditatively for a few moments, "We ought to talk to Dr. Tofu, I bet
he can get us the info, or at least get us access."

   "Dr. Tofu?"

   "He's our family doctor; both GP and chiropractic. I had a huge crush 
on him last year."

   "But you're over him now and not disappointed at all, ne?"

   "Well ... mostly; but everyone knew he was completely gaga over 
Kasumi-oneechan anyway, so .... Hey! Wait a minute... why, you...."

   Her only answer was Ranma's silver laughter as the redhead retreated
around the corner faster than Akane could follow. In laughing pursuit,
Akane pounded down the street yelling, "Come back here, you!"

   Rounding another corner she was surprised by a flying sneak tickle
attack that quickly rendered her hors de combat, with Ranma lounging
beside her and smirking, "And the lesson for today, Acchan, is?"

   "Make your combat stance your everyday stance and your everyday 
stance your combat stance." To Ranma's raised eyebrow she sighed, and
added, "And my sensei's a bully." Ranma raised a hand in preparation for
another attack, "Alright! Alright! 'And don't sass the sensei.'"

   "Exactly."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   As the three officiating priests finished their prayers there came
a hush, filling the cemetery with a silence that the ever-present rain
merely intensified. The combined student body seemed to hover, as though
they wished to put out a hand and pat their fallen comrades on the
shoulder, or urge them on to class one last time. Then the hush was 
broken by the voice of the lead singer of the Choir.

		Media vita in morte summus,
		Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine?
		Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris.

		Sanctus,
		Sancte fortis,
		Sancte misericors Domine,
		Amarae morti ne tradas nos.
		In te speraverunt patres nostri:
		Speraverunt et liberasti eos.

		Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine,
		Et lux perpetua luceat eis.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   "Why hello, Akane-chan. I didn't see you at Furinkan, did you escape
uninjured, then?"

   "Only a few scrapes and bruises, Tofu-sensei. This is my sensei in
the Art, Bushiko Ranma." 

   Ranma and Dr. Tofu shook hands. "We had wondered, Tofu-sensei, if
you had any information on the status of the injured, especially
Asano Sayuri-san, and Kuno Tatewaki's sister."

   "Yes, Ranma-san, I have been keeping up a bit; particularly on the
patients I attended. Most are healing nicely, at the moment, but Kuno-
san was very badly hurt; it will take her several weeks just to recover
enough to leave the hospital. As for Asano-san, the last I heard, she
was healing nicely from the physical trauma, but has shown no signs
of coming out of her coma."

   "Do you think we might obtain permission to visit them, Tofu-sensei?"

   "I can't see why not, Ranma-san. They're in Nerima General...."   

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Then the second singers came in on descant, leading from basses to 
sopranos as the second set of verses went by in rounds. Finally, the 
third singers chimed in , in Japanese, as the seconds combined their 
rounds into a single, blurred chorus.

		Media vita in morte summus,
	{[Media vita in morte summus,]}
			In the midst of life we are in death,
		Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine?
	{[Quem quaerimus, adjutorum nisite Domine?]}
			Whom do we seek for aid unless You, Lord?
		Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris.
	{[Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris.]}
			Who because of our sins are justly angry at us.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Kuno Kodachi stirred weakly in her hospital bed, and pressed her 
brother's hand. Real life had turned out to not work like she had thought
it did. She wondered how many other things she had been mistaken on.
Then the door opened, and two girls came into the room. The first, she
saw, was the redhead who had kept the monster from skewering her; the
second she knew as Tendo Akane, and seemed to recall a blurred impression
of her also protecting her and her brother from death. 'Such a great
mistake to make,' she thought regretfully, 'it's embarrassing.'

   Ranma walked to the bed and surveyed Kodachi's visible injuries. Her
face was marked by a bandage covering the left side, beneath which
Ranma sensed a burn, which seemed to have been caused by a mingling of
fire, acid and something poisonous. She nodded in confirmation of her
suspicions, 'Yin shih charged spirit fire. That's going to _hurt_.'

   Ranma grinned crookedly at Kodachi and accepted a weak smile in 
return, "A piece of advice, lass. _First_ you take them down; _then_
you rant at them. Timing is important."

   Kodachi managed a breathy chuckle, "I shall follow your advice most
closely, Ranma-san. Assuming I ever again get the chance."

   "Oh, I think that between us we can get you up and functioning again.
Akane-san and I both owe you a debt after all. Have they given you a 
schedule of rehabilitation exercises, yet?"

   "No, Ranma-san, I believe they have yet to complete their schedule
of surgery, and...."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

		Sanctus,
	{[Sanctus,]}
			Holy one,
		Sancte fortis,
	{[Sancte fortis,]}
			Holy powerful one,
		Sancte misericors Domine,
	{[Sancte misericors Domine,]}
			Holy compassionate Lord,
		Amarae morti ne tradas nos.
	{[Amarae morti ne tradas nos.]}
			Do not hand us over to bitter death.
		In te speraverunt patres nostri:
	{[In te speraverunt patres nostri:]}
			In you our fathers placed their hopes:
		Speraverunt et liberasti eos.
	{[Speraverunt et liberasti eos.]}
			They placed their hopes, and You freed them.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Ranma drew Tatewaki aside from where Akane was visiting with Kodachi
and lowered her voice. "You understand, Tatewaki-san, that even under the
best of circumstances your sister will have to totally rearrange her
life?" Tatewaki nodded, solemnly. "Akane-san and I will assist her, of
course, but the primary burden will fall on her family."

   "We have no family save each other," Tatewaki said grimly, "I shall
...." Suddenly he looked down at his folded hands and bit his lip. 
"Ranma-san, you enjoined me to mend my soul ere I again called myself
a Samurai." Ranma raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I feel that ... this
challenge to my house requires the services of a Samurai, and I ....
You enjoined me to mend my soul, Ranma-san, but I do not know how. Will 
you ...?"

    Ranma caught his eyes with her own for several seconds, looking deep
within as though to see the state of his soul for herself. Then she
nodded contemplatively, "Well, I don't suppose that it's much harder to 
heal two than to heal one. We will endeavor, in one way or another."

    "Thank you, Ranma-sensei." 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

		Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine,
	{[Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine,]}
			Rest eternal grant them, Lord,
		Et lux perpetua luceat eis.
	{[Et lux perpetua luceat eis.]}
			And perpetual Light shine upon them.

		Media vita in morte summus,
	{[Media vita in morte summus,]}
			In the midst of life we are in death,
		Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine?
	{[Quem quaerimus, adjutorum nisite Domine?]}
			Whom do we seek for aid unless You, Lord?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   The hospital room was quiet. Ranma stood by Sayuri's bedside and 
placed her hand, palm down, on her forehead. She frowned meditatively
for a moment, then stepped aside and waved for Akane to try. Akane
assumed the same position and concentrated. She did not reach a conclus-
ion with anything like the same speed, and spent several minutes locked
in struggle with her perceptions. Finally she frowned, stepped back,
and spoke. "Ranchan, her body ki feels like it's in good shape; but I
can't find her mind or spirit at all. It's like there's a fog, or a 
wall, or something."

   Ranma nodded, grimly, "Yeah. I get that too. My guess is that either
she retreated into herself to escape whatever Jei-san did to her, or 
that she's being chained."

   "Chained, Ranchan?"

   "Yah. Jei or Somebody could have, err, locked up her mind's ki, so
to speak. And in that case she won't get better unless somebody goes
and rescues her."

   "Somebody."

   "Somebody, for instance, who is not you. On account of you are Not
Yet Ready."

   "Oh, of course not. I wouldn't even dream of it," Akane replied in
a bland, even voice.

   Ranma, preoccupied, missed the signs completely.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   After the choir had finished, Ranma stepped forward. Akane had wanted
to assist her, but had proven incapable of learning the song quickly 
enough -- couched as it was in a mixture of Gaelic and English -- and
so Ranma had diffidently asked if she might give the dead honor on
her own. The request had, of course, been acceded to, by acclamation.
And so Akane stood solemnly behind her teacher and, along with the rest
of the crowd, was swept away.

		A st�r mo chro�, when you're far away
		From the home that you'll soon be leaving,
		'Tis many the time, by night and by day,
		That your heart will sorely be grieving.
		For the stranger's land it is bright and fair,
		And rich in treasures golden,
		But you'll pine I know for the long, long ago,
		And the love that never is olden.

		A st�r mo chro�, in the stranger's land,
		There is plenty of wealth for the willing.
		Where jewels adorn the great and the grand,
		While our faces with hunger are paling.
		Yet the road may be toilsome, and hard to tread,
		And the lights of their cities may blind you.
		Then turn a st�r, to the eastern shore,
		And the ones that you're leaving behind you.

		A st�r mo chro�, when the evening mists,
		O'er Mountain and Sea are falling,
		Then turn aside from the throng and list'
		And maybe you'll hear me calling.
		For the sound of a voice that I sorely miss,
		For somebody's quick returning,
		Ohh! A r�n, a r�n, won't you come back soon,
		To the love that always is burning?

   As she sang, Ranma gathered power to herself; building an aura of
blue and gold light that flared and grew, until at the climax of her 
song she seemed as a pillar of living flame. When she finished her 
requiem she stood momentarily motionless, burning like a star against
the unceasing gray rain; and then she flared her aura and sent it out
and up, like a great cry of rage against the dying of the light. And 
then the undertakers stepped forward, and lifted their spades, and the 
first clods of earth pattered down on the coffins, the sound muffled
by the flowers that still bedecked their tops. And the mourners turned,
and slowly walked away, Ranma and Akane last. And in the skies above
Nerima the rain began to lighten, and the clouds began to part at last.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Next: It's Sunday. For some odd reason, a peace is upon the land.

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Stars and Shadows
Part B: Sunday Service: A Sonata for Flute

When we return....

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's notes: A St�r Mo Chro�, also called The American Wake, is the
song that was sung by relatives and friends on the way to the ship that
would take immigrants from Ireland to America. A voyage, they knew,
that claimed many lives. A voyage from which, even if the passengers
survived, there would be, essentially, no returning.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Stars and Shadows
Part B: Sunday Service: A Sonata for Flute

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Sunday morning ... _early_ sunday morning ... the sky still dark, in
the darkest hours before the light of the new day. Ranma's apartment, 
like all the others in her building, is dark; that should not, however, 
be construed to mean that Ranma is asleep. Contrariwise, she is wide 
awake, sitting seiza in girl form in the middle of her main room,
surrounded by a litter of books, papers, vials, beakers, boxes, racks,
small pieces of metal or wood or wire, and a great quantity of objects
which can only be classified as miscellanea.

   No diagram hangs in the air before the window, no mysterious liquids
drip in shadowed corners, no air of arcane secrets prevails. Nonetheless,
magic is being made. Magic of the best and most useful sort: prosaic
magic. In front of Ranma sits a pile of small pieces of rice paper; next 
to them is a set of inkstones, bearing ink of many hues, and a matching 
set of pens. To one side is a completed set of small origami geese, 
patiently waiting their time. Ranma's attention, though, is not on the 
geese; instead, she turns a small piece of jade over in her hands,
staring at it with a faint air of puzzlement. It is carved in the 
likeness of a nightingale, but this has been the case for centuries, and
would not seem to be cause for puzzlement.

   Casually, Ranma reaches her hand to the side and picks a scroll out
of a pile of similar writings. She places the jade nightingale carefully
in front of her and unrolls the scroll, skimming at first, and then
carefully reading one section. Then she moves on in the scroll, skimming
the rest before returning to several sections to scrutinize them closely,
rolling the scroll back and forth several time to cross-reference some
point or other. Then she rerolls the scroll and places it back into its 
place before rising quickly to her feet, rapidly gathering all the 
litter from the floor and replacing it in the foot-locker. The geese she 
puts aside, laying them on the table in the kitchen; the jade bird
remains sitting enigmaticly where she left it. Although, to be honest,
sitting where you leave it can not truly be considered enigmatic behavior
for a jade figurine; this is, after all, what they do all the time. 
Inanimation is a hard habit to give up.

   Ranma finishes her clean-up and returns to sit seiza before the
still immobile figurine. Then she reaches out and takes it into her 
hands, resting it in the valley of her cupped palms as she sinks deeply
into trance. And the minutes pass, fleeing like frightened minnows, as
Ranma adjusts her perception, looking Without, and then Within - Within
the jade bird cupped in her hands, and Within herself as well.

   Before her inward turned gaze she sees a tracery of fire, outlining
blocks of softly luminescent patterns; patterns that, for those with
eyes to see them, set out the precise details of the existence of any
given object. This one, for instance, tells of the details for the
jade figurine in Ranma's hand. See the patterns that mark out its shape,
and color; trace the lines that tell of texture, chemical composition,
mass and density; observe the lack of any pattern that would indicate
life, or growth, or change. It is not unusual for there to be such a 
lack; after all, the figurine isn't alive. And yet ... yet within its
structure it still possesses the energies of life. And yet within its
patterns it follows the living patterns of the bird which is its model.
And yet, somehow, locked in never-living stone, there still exists a 
living bird: awaiting life, longing for freedom, patient as a stone.

   Patient, as it has had to be patient, since the day so long ago when
it first was carved. Waiting, as it has had to wait since the day when 
first it coalesced from primordial ore and silicates. Longing, as it had 
longed since the first human hand had touched it, since its shape had 
taken form, since it had become like life, but not alive. And Ranma 
hears the longing in her blood, knows the waiting in her bones, feels 
the patience down all the endless years in nerves and heart and soul. 
And reaches out a mental hand, and presses a metaphorical button, 
because, sometimes, patience does have its reward. And a spring wound
by a thousand years of longing unwinds. And in her hand the nightingale 
shakes its carven feathers into place, and stretches and spreads its 
stony wings, and hurls itself into the waiting air, and raises its voice
-- at last, at last -- in song.

  For a moment Ranma follows the jade bird's ecstatic flight with a 
proud smile, but then she notes the music the joyful bird is raising to
heaven, a tune slower and simpler than expected, a tune, she suddenly
realizes, that she knows. And her smile turns wistful, and a golden 
contralto softly joins a jade fountain of song.

	Deep within this softly moonlit night we awoke, 
	to find our loves' sweet expression 
	unfolding of its own accord.
	A touch in gentle sleepiness, a fingertip, a pressing lip 
	The kindness of our bodies, speaking softly in the dark.

	Our love began so tentative; a smiling eye, 
	a voice soft-spoken
	Touching in a way our lives had never quite been met.
	The quiet grave acceptance of the truth within each other,
	The meeting of two people, man and woman for all time.

	So in this night our love unfolds, your body is akin to mine.
	Another half once left behind in generations long ago.
	To finally meet together, in a silent true immersion.
	The natural culmination of a love we can't define.

	And this loving is a drawing close, a tuning in, an opening
	Until one perfect moment; but how can it be expressed?
	A receiving, and enfolding as I cradle you in my arms.
	Within my heart, within my soul,
	You are my true love.

   The nightingale circuits the room and lands on Ranma's outstretched
finger, throat pouring forth a torrent of song. Ranma listens for a 
moment, still smiling wistfully, then chuckles. "It's all very well for
_you_ to say. You don't have to deal with it." Music. "'Man and woman 
for all time', _that's_ the problem." Music. "Because she's straight, 
you silly bird. And she thinks I'm a girl." Music. "Yeah, that _could_ 
be done, I suppose. But there's one problem. _I_ want 'man and woman' 
too, and if you say anything about Nannichuan I'll ...." Music. "Be her 
friend. What else is there?" Music: a sharp, brief stanza. "Love is ...
not a good idea. Besides, there's Oyaji, remember? If he hasn't found
an engagement for me I'll eat my hat. It'll be enough of a miracle if
she's at all suitable. Hell, it'll be something of a miracle if she's
_human_. Love is too much to hope for." Music. "Because _it won't work_,
damn it. It hurts enough as it is." Music: a rich tapestry of interweaving
harmonies. "Oh _well_. In _that_ case, yes, _then_ it would work. Of 
course, that won't happen ... but _if_ it did, then yes." Music: a 
joyous trill, fading into a sleepy purl. A stretching, a shaking, a 
nestling down to rest; and a small jade figurine, a nightingale asleep,
is cupped in the hollow of Ranma's palm. Patiently waiting for a spring
to wind itself again; content now, in a sense, but still longing for the
day when it can again unwind itself ... and fly ... and sing.

   And Bushiko Ranma looks down into the hollow of her hand, and says, 
very gently, "Silly bird."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Tendo Akane woke very early, just before sunrise. She quickly dressed,
intending to get in some practice before breakfast. Going out of her
room, she first stopped in the kitchen. "Ohayo, Kasumi-oneechan; I'm 
going to the dojo to practice; would you call me when breakfast is
ready please?"

   "Ohayo gozaimasu, Akane-chan. Ranma-san is already in the dojo.
She asked me to make you this snack, to eat before you train." Kasumi
gave Akane a small plate, holding a pair of rice balls and a small
filet of fish.

   *blinkblink* "Ranchan's _here_? _Already_? Augh! I'm late! She'll 
think I'm slacking!" A wind blew through the kitchen as the door 
*whooshed* with Akane's passage, leaving the plate hanging in mid-air.
It *whiished* as Akane reappeared, catching the plate and gulping down 
the food in a blur. It *whooshed* again as Akane vanished through the 
abused door leaving the now clean plate hanging in mid-air; only to 
*whiish* as she reappeared, catching the plate before it could fall and
placing it gently in the sink before *whoosh*ing out the door again;
followed by a *thump* as the door was sucked off its hinges and fell
over. A *shhhk* announced Akane's sliding stop, followed by a black-haired
head that slowly inched its way back into the picture. Akane gave 
Kasumi a nervous smile before picking the door up off the ground and
placing it gingerly back into place. She patted it timidly, then took 
several cautious, silent steps away before vanishing dojo-wards again
with a dopplered wail of, "Auugh! I'm Late!"

   Kasumi blinked at the door slowly. It somberly toppled over with
a somehow triumphant *thud* and broke into several pieces. Kasumi 
blinked again before lowering her face into her hands and shaking her 
head. "Oh ... dear."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   		We are brief Summer lightning,
		We are swift as swallows' flight.
		We are sparks that spiral upwards,
		In the darkness of the night.
		We are frost upon the window,
		We won't pass this way again,
		In the end only love remains.

   Akane skidded to a halt as she entered the dojo and dropped her jaw
in shock. The formerly empty practice floor was covered by piles of
cinder-blocks in a similar manner to those she had used to practice
with, (was it less than a week ago, or was it a lifetime?) the first
morning After Ranma. Ranma was stacking them into tall piles and had
apparently been at work on a number of the piles she had already stacked,
because they had been shaped in some manner into vaguely human form.
How she had managed it Akane couldn't imagine, but she supposed that
the trick of shaping cinder-blocks must be a fairly simple one after
some of the things she had seen Ranma do.

   Akane watched as Ranma finished stacking her latest pile and withdrew
her fan from her sleeve. Then Ranma raised her hand above the top of
the concrete pile and snapped the fan open.

	That pair in the corner,
	They're here every Tuesday
	They come when the market 
	 first open its stalls.
	And it's got so that lately
	I'll wait just to see them
	Their heads bent together,
	As they come down the hall.

	And her hair has grown whiter
	His has grown thinner,
	And their pace has slowed down
	As the years have grown long.
	But they keep step together
	'Mongst strangers who hurry,
	These two old companions,
	Walking slowly along.

   Ranma's fan flashed around and through the pile of blocks as she 
sang, and before Akane's eyes a pile of rectangular blocks was shaped,
flexed, carved and melted into another humanoid shape.

   "Ohayo, Ranchan. How are you doing that?"

   "Ohayo Acchan. Let me finish a couple more so we have half of them 
done and I'll show you."

   "Let me help stack."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   "Okay, now here we have a pile of cinder-blocks, right?"

   "Umm. Yeah. Looks like that to me, yep." Akane nodded happily, and
looked at Ranma with wide eyes.

   "Stop that. Besides, for the purpose of this explanation, you're
wrong. What we have here is a pile of patterns of energy. A set of shapes
defined by ch'i and, in this case, mostly free of shih."

   Akane squinted to slip into othersight, "That's the same thing though,
right, Ranchan?"

   "Not quite, no. See, if it was a pile of concrete blocks, then there'd
be no way to do anything with it. Concrete blocks are concrete blocks, 
ne? But! If it's a collection of patterns of ch'i, then I can use
_this_," she flourished the fan, "which is _also_ a pattern of ch'i, to
change what the patterns say. Now watch. I take the fan, and I feed 
shih from my ki into it, see?" Akane nodded. "Now, I use the shih to 
'spread' the ch'i of the blocks. And now that I've got them in shape to
be changed ...." The upper portion of the pile was quickly reduced to 
the shape of a crudely fashioned head. "Now you try."

   Akane dubiously took the fan from Ranma, and focused her othersight
on the concrete. Sinking into a trance, she sent shih rushing into the
fan, filling it with crackling tubes of light. She attempted to insert
the fan into the concrete but met with resistance. Withdrawing the fan,
she 'looked' at it, altering the shape and frequency of the power filling
it to something closer to what she had seen Ranma use and then tried 
again. A few attempts later, the fan began to sink into the concrete,
but stopped less than an inch in, having apparently run into something.
Frowning slightly, Akane flexed her fingers, preparatory to changing
the shih flow one more time. The flex caused the fan to open slightly. 
The pile exploded into dust, knocking her head over heels backward into 
the wall of the dojo.

   Ranma tapped her chin meditatively, "Well ... it's a start."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   *boom* ... *boom* ... *boom* ... Tendo Nabiki was a heavy sleeper,
particularly on Sunday. Nonetheless, repeated muffled explosions could
waken even her. Blearily she wandered into the kitchen, where Kasumi
intercepted her with a request to inform Ranma and Akane that breakfast
was ready. Not particularly in a good mood she wandered through the
house to the dojo and opened the door. Strewn about the once-polished
dojo floor her narrowed eyes observed a dozen or so piles of rubble, and
the accountant in her bemoaned the cost in cinder-blocks that rubble
represented. Meanwhile the sister in her was storing up a grievance, and
the observer was watching with dropped jaw as her sister went after 
another pile of blocks in a seeming frenzy with ... a fan??!!

   A most puissant fan, she noted; it was carving pieces of cinder-block
off the pile like a ginsu knife slicing tomatoes. Akane finished carving
concrete with what passed for a flourish, and stepped back from the
now human shaped pile with a gasp of exhaustion and a whirl of triumph.
"Ha!, Ha!, See, Ranchan, I told you I had it this time!"

   Ranma tapped her chin in silence and Akane turned to her in irrita-
tion, "Well ... what's wrong with it?" She was answered by a sound as of
flowing sand as the concrete gave up its bondage and dissolved into 
dust; a few small pieces of somewhat more resilient mien falling 
through the pile to *ping* off the floor. Ranma raised an eyebrow in 
silence. Akane flushed beet-red and slumped to the floor in a heap, 
putting her head in her hands.

   "I don't think you've quite got the 'form-the-chemical-bonds-so-it's-
all-one-piece' part down yet, Acchan." Akane *snff*ed from the floor.
"Still. it _may_ be that you'll do better after a rest, ne? And I think
Nabiki-san is here to announce breakfast." Ranma raised another eyebrow, 
at Nabiki this time.

   "Umm, yeah. Oneechan says it's ready, yes."

   Akane *snff*ed again and Ranma extended a hand to her. Akane grasped
the hand and pulled herself up. She started to walk after Nabiki, but 
raised her head to where she could see the remaining uncarved, stacked
cinder-block pile. Her head snapped up, her jaw firmed, and her should-
ers straightened. She raised the fan and said, "No! I'm on the verge, I
know it. Once more, and _this_ time I'm gonna do it right!" Then, sud-
denly, she grinned, "Hey, Ranchan, watch me pull a dummy out of a cinder-
block!"

   "Aw, Acchan," Ranma squirreled, "that trick _never_ works!"

   "This time for sure!"

   Akane strode purposefully up to the untouched pile and stuck the fan
an inch into the space where the head would be. Then her shoulders 
hunched and she gathered herself. The fan suddenly unfolded, and Akane
seemed to go into a frenzy of fan blows; blurring about the pile, now
to the left, now in back, as she stripped and melted concrete with each
strike. After a minute of frantic effort she stepped back, panting in
exhaustion and glaring at the shaped concrete, daring it to move in
any way.

   Ranma stepped forward and flicked the dummy with her finger, nodding
when it failed to immediately disintegrate. "Yep, I think that's got it."
Then she pivoted gracefully, and caught Akane by the waist as the taller
girl fainted with exhaustion, swinging her up into her arms. She carried
Akane to the door and shrugged at Nabiki, "A little stubborn, maybe."

   Nabiki shook her head and walked ahead of Ranma into the dining room.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   After breakfast Ranma and Akane returned to the dojo. Ranma considered 
the dummies scattered about the room for a moment, and then turned back 
to Akane, putting her back to the dojo wall. "Well, you've proved that
you can do basic ki movement, and also basic manipulations of other's
chi. Now we move on a little. Using these skills, you can extend your
capabilities in several ways. The first thing we'll talk about is an
extension of what you just did with the fan. It's called ch'i disrupt-
ion. When Jei attacked, did you notice what I did to the wall of the
classroom he was in?"

   "Yah, Ranchan, I'd been meaning to ask you about it. You sort of ...
waved at the wall? And it fell apart, is what it looked like."

   Ranma held up her right hand, outer fingers veed and inner fingers
curled. "It's called The Butterfly's Kiss. What you do is send out a
shih pulse from your hand. The pulse is set in a manner that disrupts
the ch'i of any inanimate object that it hits. And once you've disrupted
its ch'i of course, it falls apart."

   "What about living things, Ranchan?"

   "A good question, Acchan. Living targets are harder to affect. First,
because their ki will tend to resist you messing with it; and second, 
because they have souls, which will keep them mostly intact even if
you _do_ manage to mess with it. That said, however, there are versions
of this move that will do nasty things to people, too.

   "Now you hold your hand like this ... and you feed shih from your
ki like _this_ ... and you've got to keep in mind what the ch'i of the
thing you're trying to affect looks like, cause you have to send a pulse
that disrupts it, like so ...."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   "Now the next thing we're going to look at is called shih-sheathing.
This is a method of creating a sheath or shroud of moving or 'fluid' 
energy from your ki, and having it exist _separate_ from your ki for
some period of time. Now you've already done a variant of this with the
fan, but the essence of the technique here is to be able to apply a 
sheath not only to yourself or something you're holding, but to things
you've let go of, or even to non-physical things like a ch'i structure.
And also to get the sheath to _last_ once you can't feed shih to it
any more, of course."

   "You want me to use this set of throwing knives to practice on, right,
Ranchan?"

   "To start with, yes."

   Akane concentrated on the knives in her hands, turning them over and
over and watching the reflections. Slipping deeply into trance, she 
concentrated on the task of covering the blades with a 'web' of shih
that did not immediately disintegrate when she released it. After several
minutes of effort she had determined that the most important step was
insuring that the outer web was both self-contiguous and anchored to
a stable object and was attempting to work out a method for doing so.
Abruptly, a warning instinct she hadn't previously known she had went
off, sending her rolling sideways, away from the concrete fist that
*thudd*ed into the dojo floor where she had been standing.

   Akane rolled to her feet in automatic reaction and slid sideways,
dodging the blocky attacker's forceful rush and flicking a knife into
its throat. The knife *ping*ed off concrete and Akane cursed herself for
a fool, evading another cobra-quick attack by the animate statue and
jumping for increased fighting room. She desperately reached for concen-
tration to empower a better weapon and felt time slow as a sudden gestalt
clicked into place. All at once she _knew_ the feel of a properly made
sheath, knew the sight and sound and taste of it, and a sheath of shih
set to penetrate solid rock snapped down over two of her remaining 
knives.

   These then flashed across the rapidly decreasing distance to her
attacker, thudding into its throat and heart and sinking deep.
Unfortunately, as her attacker was made of concrete instead of flesh
and blood, this accomplished nothing.

   Akane threw off two butterfly's kiss strikes set for stone to no
effect before she skidded sideways from a combination strike that would
have pulped her like a rotten grapefruit and jumped over the return
stroke, pushing off from her opponent's back into a long dive that
staggered the towering bulk and won her twenty feet of space. Coming up
from her dive into a forward roll, she stood and  whirled, mind still in
overdrive as she sought a way to deliver a ch'i disruption attack that
would destroy her foe without making the fatal mistake of coming into
its reach.

   Her racing thoughts quickly pruned her decision tree to the only
possible solution and began to implement it as her opponent regained
its balance and turned to the attack again. Akane wove the sheathe
around the disruption pulse and anchored it to the knife, then set the
knife to throw. Dodging forward to close past the range at which her
opponent's speed would allow it to dodge, she threw the knife from just
outside the reach of its arms. 

   The knife flew straight to its target and sank deep into the concrete
chest, but the desired result did not obtain. 'Shit! Ranchan _told_ me
you couldn't do that to a living target! What was I thinking?' Akane
folded into a forward roll under the closing arms, her mind still in
hyper. 'I need to set the disruption-ch'i off, but how do I alter ...?
I'll have to get close.' Akane came out of her roll inside the reach of
her opponent's arms and launched herself immediately into a jump that
put her in a position to be crushed by their rapidly closing grasp; but
also in a position to touch the hilt of the knife, into which she channeled
all the shih she had, funneling it directly into the disruption-web
which drove the animating shih before it as it expanded. And then the
web collapsed inward into the creature's chest, exploding it with
sufficient force to knock Akane back into the wall of the dojo, smacking
herself on the suddenly disconnected arms as she went by.

   From the side of the dojo, Ranma chuckled, "Well, that's _one_ way to
do it ...."

   Limping slightly, Akane moved to the crumbled remains of the practice
dummy and retrieved her knives. Giving the redhead a glare, Akane 
replied in a dangerously mild voice, "What were you expecting?"

   Smiling, Ranma put a hand on the dummies to either side. As they
rumbled into life, she said, "Look at these two. What do you See?"

   Akane looked at the lumbering figures, and tried to see what Ranma
might be referencing. All she saw was a tracery of shih. layered and
interwoven, providing the energy necessary for the dummies to move. 
Suddenly she saw what her friend meant, and sent a knife winging into
each dummy, hitting, and cutting, the 'knot' of energies that anchored
the shih-web in stability. The loosed energies fled back into Ranma's
ki and the suddenly inanimate dummies stopped moving.

   "Very good, Acchan. Now we'll try that a couple different ways...."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   "Now," Ranma said, after lunch, "I think we ought to go into the more
spiritual side for a while. To keep your balance, as it were. First, a
philosophical question; what would you say was the most powerful force 
in the universe?"

   "Oh, Kamis. Philosophy. I knew there hadn't been enough Zen yet. I
could just tell. Well ... philosophically I'd have to say Love."

   "Well, you _are_ young, ne? But did all your father's love for your
mother save her from death? Could it bring her back now? Could my love
for Kai-oniichan save him? And love itself is often pretty fragile, too.
Sometimes one word will kill it. It's _a_ powerful force, true, but ...."

   Akane narrowed her eyes. "Are you making a case for Death, then? The
old 'Everything Ends in the End' koan?"

   Ranma slouched over to the open dojo door, looking out on the yard
and its garden. "I don't think that actually qualifies as a Koan, 
Acchan." She extended a hand and sent a delicate thread of shih wafting
into the yard and carefully drew a butterfly to light on her hand. "And
as for 'most powerful'," she turned to Akane, extending her hand, "even
something as fragile as this butterfly can defy it. Does defy it, every
second of every day. Most _patient_ maybe...."

   "Ki, then? No, wait, that can't be right. Honor?"

   Ranma simply raised her eyebrow.

   "Alright, sensei, this humble student awaits your most wise clarific-
ation."

   "Trick question." Ranma shrugged. "There is no 'most powerful force'.
Power does not reside in force; power resides in the relationships 
between forces. Nothing has power in isolation, only in relation to the
rest of the universe."

   Akane blinked slowly. "O ... Kaaay. Which means what?"

   "When I 'opened your eye' the other day," Akane scowled in rememb-
rance, "did you feel something like a blanket? Like something wanted to
protect you, and when it did, you saw ghosts?"

   "You know I did." Akane said crossly, "You were there. You got me 
out of it. After putting me into it, I might add."

   Ranma grinned at her crookedly. "That 'blanket' was you invoking sight
in the celestial plane. What you could call 'spirit vision'. What you
were seeing was a visual representation of the meanings and relation-
ships imbued in your surroundings. That is, the spiritual environment of
the dojo itself."

   "Explain the part about 'meanings and relationships' please, Sensei.
Whose meanings, _what_ relationships?"

   "Anybody's. Everybody's. Take the dojo. In here," she waved her hands 
around at the surroundings, "people have learned the art, made friend-
ships, made enemies, changed their lives, lived their lives, done their
jobs, laughed, loved, lived, for what, fifty years, a hundred? And all
that is still here. Everything that has ever happened here has had 
meaning, everything has left strands of itself -- and all the thing it 
was related to -- in the spiritual structure of the dojo itself. 

   "Now, what that means. First, everything that ever happened here is
still here, in some sense. So there's a link, if you're good enough.
Second, all that meaning has given this place a meaning of its own. The
old texts would say that it has become a Word. Call it 'Tendo dojo'.
And that word has relationships of its own, too.

   "For instance, 'Tendo dojo' is a subset of 'Dojo' isn't it? So this
place has a relationship with the _idea_ of a dojo itself, you see, and
through that relationship it also relates to every other dojo that's 
ever been built. _And_ 'Dojo', as a word, is related to the larger word
'Training place', isn't it? And 'Training place' is related to 'Training',
which is related to 'Wisdom' as the state of being trained, and so on.

   "Up at the top, you get a small group of concepts that have a _lot_
of things related to them. These concepts have a lot of power, _because_
so many other things draw on them for _their_ power. And _your_ ability
to access that power is determined by A) how pure and uncluttered you
can make a call on that power, and B) how closely related to it you are."

   "When we talk about 'accessing their power'," Akane said, scratching
her chin, "just what do we mean?"

   "Well, for example," Ranma replied, "take the dojo itself. Now, just
on the most basic level, you can See things that went on here in the 
past. Or that are likely to happen in the future. Or you can See what 
the dojo means to someone, and what relationships it has attached to it.
At a little higher level, you can Imbue something with the spirit, and 
the power, of the dojo; cause that thing to exhibit some of the charact-
eristics of 'Tendo dojo'-ness, so to speak. Or increase the characteristics
already manifest in the dojo itself. A little higher again, and you 
could Manifest 'dojo'-ness directly on the world, and, let's say, make
yourself a roof and walls and floor in the middle of the wilderness.
Finally, at the highest level I know about, you could Transform something
to be more 'dojo'-like. Change its nature permanently.

   "Now, just what happens with any of this depends a lot on just how
good you are at embodying the virtue of the word you're trying to call
upon; which is why having a soul that's uncluttered enough to do that is
so important. _But_ ... the other thing that determines what happens
is how much relation _you_ have to what you're doing. You, for instance,
are closely related to this dojo; _which means_ that anything _you_ do
about it, or to it, will be easier _for you_. And the more of you there 
is in it, the more you can do, and the easier it is. And also, the more 
that things that happen here will reflect _in_ you."

   "So," Akane said worriedly, "if someone tore down a wall, say, it 
could hurt me?"

   "If they did it right, yes. This is _another_ reason to have a simple
soul: it simplifies the things you have to keep track of."

   "So, how do I look and see what relationships might be that strong?"

   "Well, first you go back into trance and empty your mind. Now you 
invoke that feeling you had, and you Look to See what's there. Remember
that you're not going to See anything you're not looking for, so keep
you're intentions focused."

   "Okay, now what?" Akane mumbled absently.

   "Now, Look at something. Then See what it relates to strongly, then
Look at _that_. Then look at _that_ thing's relationships, then ...."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   "Okay, now let's look at the basics of Imbuing and Manifestations.
First, what you're doing in both of these cases is taking the essence
of a Word and imposing it on the world. In the first case, you put it 
on top of something that's already there, and in the second you just 
call it directly. Now I said earlier that Imbuing was easier than
Manifesting something, but that's not exactly true. More precisely, it
is easier to Imbue the complex, and easier to Manifest the simple. That
is, simple concepts -- like, say, Fire -- tend to be difficult to over-
lay on complex things like real life, but they are easy to just call
up and let go. On the other hand, complex things like 'Tendo dojo' don't
really have enough relevance to affect anything else _unless_ they have
something to anchor to, as it were."

   "So, what do I start with?" Akane queried.

   "Let's start with your element, Acchan. First, remember that you've
got to clear your mind and spirit. Then slip into Sight and think about
Fire. Don't try to get it to _do_ anything yet. Don't push it, just
relax and call, like it was a friend."

   Akane relaxed, as she was already practiced in, and tried to empty
herself while contemplating Fire. Warm fire, crackling in the fireplace,
leaping from the wood yellow and white, giving off heat and light, 
flickering and dancing, you can see anything in the fire, she'd always
liked fire, loved the smell of smoke, the crackle and pop of the flames,
she could hear it now, smell it like a breath of Autumn in Spring, see
the dance of the flame in her hand ... in her hand? "Hey! Ow!" Akane
jumped up shaking her hand violently to put out the fire held there.

   Ranma put her face into her hands and shook her head. "Why me?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   As Kasumi walked toward the dojo she worried, briefly, about cleaning.
The training activities Nabiki had described sounded very messy to her,
and she concerned herself with the question of just who was going to 
clean the result. It was important that the dojo show itself in good 
condition, after all; it reflected on the face of the dojo. And hence
on her own honor. Not that she was eager to have to expend _yet more_
time in keeping up the condition of the Dojo and its constituents, mind
you, but .... Honor was honor, after all. Still, it might be that there 
was _some_ help to be had from ... other sources. Like Nabiki and Akane,
for instance. Or even Ranma-san. It is part of a sensei's duty to insure
the good condition of the dojo, after all.

   Walking in through the door to the dojo proper she stopped abruptly
and gaped. The alteration in the dojo's countenance had been ... extreme.
A half-dozen concrete or stone statues loomed menacingly around the
dojo wall. A wide selection of dark spots, scorches, dents and holes
now decorated the dojo's walls and floor. And a large pile of dust and
debris was growing in the center of the floor where Akane and Ranma
were sweeping it with brooms. Well ... Akane was sweeping with a broom;
Ranma was ... shooing the debris along, _and it was moving!_ 'And to
think,' she despaired, 'all these years and _I've_ been doing it the
_hard_ way!'

   "Ohayo, Kasumi-san," Ranma chirped, "we're almost finished here. I'm
just giving Acchan a lesson in practical magic." Ranma crossed her arms
and leaned against the dojo wall next to the door to the house. Akane
finished sweeping the floor and turned to Ranma questioningly.

   "Okay, Acchan, now we have two things to do to return the dojo to
good condition. First, we must remove that pile of trash. Second, we
have to fix the walls and floor."

   "Umm, yeah." Akane flushed guiltily and looked about at the damage.
"I guess we did kinda trash stuff didn't we?" She looked at the pile
of concrete shards. "I dunno about this pile, though, Ranchan. I could
disrupt it piece by piece, but there's gotta be thousands of pieces in
there."

   "No problem. Watch what I do, here. First you treat the pile as a 
single thing, with a single meaning. Then you use the butterfly kiss on
that one thing." The pile dissolved into a looming cloud of fine dust;
Ranma waved her other hand at it, fingers rotating. Kasumi's eyes went
wide in shock. "Then you take the dust cloud and gather it together and
run it off." The cloud was sucked into a small tornado that formed on 
the former location of the pile and blew out the outside door into the
yard.

   "Now, for the next problem we rely on the fact that the inner meaning 
of the dojo is not particularly related to holes in the walls. That is,
the natural state of the dojo is to be in good condition. What you need
to do is find the dojo's 'right state' and Imbue reality with it."

   "Fffff." Akane blew out her cheeks, dropping into seiza in the center
of the floor. "Okay, I _think_ I can do that. Let's see." She knelt 
forward onto her knees and put one hand onto the dojo floor, almost
caressing it before stilling herself completely, almost ceasing even to
breathe. A hum began to resonate throughout the dojo as Akane concentrated
and began to glow herself, faintly. Then the walls and floor of the dojo
began to blur, to seem as if seen in double-vision, overlayed by an
image similar, but not exactly the same. The hum fell in pitch and
rose in volume and Akane's glow shifted quickly towards the red, bright-
ening as it did so and giving off heat. Then the walls seemed to snap
into focus as the hum peaked in a sudden squeal of high-pitched sound.
Akane's glow faded and revealed, when the light level had stabilized,
a dojo not merely repaired, but polished 'til it shone.

   Ranma tapped her chin. "Not exactly the way I'd have done it, but it
worked nicely."

   Akane wobbled to her feet, and put her hands on her knees as she 
gasped for breath. "How'd *gasp* how'd I do, Ranchan? *Pant* Harder
than I thought. *Wheeze*"

   Ranma gave her a thumbs up, and turned to Kasumi. "You did great, 
Acchan! What's up, Kasumi-san?"

   Kasumi heard herself say something about dinner, and furos, and heard
Ranma's reply. Internally, however, she was focused on one thought only,
here was a product of the martial arts that _she_ could use. Domesticity
Martial Arts. Plans and half-formed wishes volleyed back and forth in
her head as she wandered away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Akane leaned back into the heated bathwater and considered her friend.
Ranma had delayed a moment to speak to Nabiki which gave Akane a chance 
to watch her undress and wash, a chance she was making the most of. From
an aesthetic standpoint, she mused silently, Ranma's body left something
to be desired. Oh, her _form_ and _figure_ were certainly acceptable
enough, in an abstract sense; not quite as 'developed' as hers, but
certainly acceptable. But the overall presentation ... while not ...
uncomely ... nevertheless was distinctly lacking. 

   Partly, she thought, due to the sheer unconventionality of it. 
Conventional standards, after all, definitely emphasized smoothness. 
Skin should be soft, or else taut and tanned, muscles sculpted and well-
defined. Body fat should cover and enhance to sleekness those areas 
possessing it, and some areas, particularly those most feminine, _should_ 
possess it. Eyes should be large and expressive, and open to the world. 
The structure of the face should be smooth and sleek, flowing in curves 
strong or heart-shaped as circumstances indicated, defining that feature 
regarded as the emblem of the soul. The whole structure and carriage of 
the body should harmonize into the presented image, blending the soul
and the body that carries it into one, unitary whole.

   Another part was carriage and attitude. 'So much of how you perceive
a person comes from how they move and are still,' she thought. A woman
may mince, or skip, or even prowl or strut, but nonetheless she moves
in a certain manner. With grace and style, or at least with an attempt
at them. Forever conscious of how other will see her. A man may move
forcefully or timidly, claiming the limelight or evading it, but always
dealing with the space to be seen _in_. A normal man, a normal woman, 
she thought. But not Ranma.

   Muscles like steel cable and whipcord. Skin seamed with thin white 
scars and tanned into a semblance of well-cured, soft leather. Face
close-laid over strong bones, but without more than a pittance of body
fat, eyes as often half-closed as open. Attitude most of all. Ranma, she
thought, rather than being concerned with seeing or being seen, more
often exuded a combination of complete relaxation unconcerned with its
surroundings and utter steel-spring readiness for action that you would
ordinarily have to be a mongoose to pull off. Lastly, and that which
was first noticed, movement; no concern there with being seen, no concern
with space. Ranma simply moved from one space to another, utterly uncon-
cerned with what might be going on outside the spaces she was moving _in_.

   Idly, Akane wondered if she would end up looking like that, and how 
long it would take. Idly, she thought that Ranma wasn't conventionally
pretty, but was certainly beautiful. Idly, she wondered why she had 
thought that, but lost the thought amidst heat-induced relaxation. Then
she remembered another idle thought, and acted on it. "Hey, Ranchan! 
Tell me about the other one."

   "Which other one, Acchan?" Ranma replied, slipping into the tub.

   "The other one who used to call you Ranchan."

   "Huh? Oh! Oh, sure, Ucchan. Ukyou that is. Ko-something Ukyou, my
first friend. Ucchan lived in Osaka when I was six; still does, I guess.
His dad owns an Okonomiyaki shop there. He and I always used to scuffle
over food. Well ... that's not _quite_ right. What happened was, Ucchan
would make a couple of Okonomiyaki, I would 'steal' them, then I'd give
one back and we'd eat lunch."

   "Made you lunch every day, hmmm?" Akane teased, "Sounds like _some_-
one liked you a lot."

   "We were _six_, Acchan." Ranma said wryly, "Don't construct a great
romance from nothing, here."

   "You mean to tell me," Akane arched an eyebrow, "that you never 
thought about it before? Not even a little? No dreams of going back to
Osaka and, you know, looking him up?"

   "First, we were _friends_, Acchan. Not boyfriend and girlfriend. 
Second, he's a well-favored guy who stands to inherit a restaurant of his
own; maybe more than one. So he's got girls hanging off his arms, drool-
ing. He may be engaged already, in fact. Third, and most prominent, _he_
cooks Okonomiyaki. _I_ kill people. There is a severe disconnect in job
prospects here. I mean, what is he supposed to do, sell food at exhibit-
ions or something? Or does he need,  you know, armed guards and 
assassins to protect his Okonomiyaki Empire? No, it'd never work."

   "Oh well, it was a thought."

   "Ha! You can't get out of getting beat on by interfering in my love 
life either, slacker!"

   "Hmmmmf. Baka! You would think that." Akane focused her eyes dreamily
on the scarlet braid floating free past Ranma's shoulder. Another thing
different, she thought. Normal people's hair stayed where it was put, or
flowed with the person's movement. Ranma's braid as often moved _against_
the motion of her body. And then there was the ring; made of ivory, 
carven into the shape of a pair of dragons biting each other's tails, and
set with glittering gemstones, it was not the type of hair ornament you
would typically see. "Why do you always wear that hair ring anyway, Ran-
chan? Don't you even take it off to bathe?"

   Ranma grinned slightly and unfastened the ring from her braid, placing
it on the edge of the tub. 'Yes!' Akane enthused internally, 'I'll get
her to unwind yet!' Then her mind began to gibber at her. Ranma's hair 
was unwinding of its own accord! Spreading out from its braid into a 
floating fan even as she watched, (Ranma unconcernedly sank her head
beneath the water momentarily) tapping and touching the side of the 
tub, reaching out in all directions. And _growing_ she noted in amazement,
lengthening visibly as she watched, stretching out to run along the sur-
face of the water like a million tiny, questing snakes. Reaching, she
noted with distant concern, towards her as well; it would cover the
short distance in less than a minute. "Ah, ah, ah ... Ranchan? Ah, your
hair ... ah ...."

   Ranma rose up from the tub momentarily, shaking her head; her hair 
whipped about briefly, then was returned to its braided state by a 
twist of her neck and blurring hands. She returned the ring to its place
of honor, about a foot up the now-extended braid, then her hand briefly
flashed light and she sat back down in the tub and handed Akane a neatly
braided foot-long length of her hair.

   Ranma grinned crookedly as Akane looked up at her and down at the
braid several times in shock. "Once upon a time, I was in a position to
help out a dragon," she said, reminiscently. Akane blinked at her. "He
had this problem with an infestation of parasites."

   Akane blinked again. "Dragon fleas?"

   Ranma raised her right leg above the water of the tub and regarded it
pensively. "Yeah, sorta." The leg was patterned with scars that looked, 
to Akane, like something with a bunch of sharp claws had climbed up it
and then  dug in and tap-danced around the calf. "By the time I'd dealt
with them I was pretty chewed up and one of the damn things had eaten
off my hair."

   "Your hair, Ranchan? But why ...?"

   "Well, Huan Huang Hu Hu Ti Shen Sheng Long-Wang isn't such a bad guy
for a dragon, and he Owed me for the help anyway, so he fixed up a bowl
of soup. I don't know what all it had in it, but after I drank it, I
started healing a lot faster and my hair ... well, you saw. Now I have
to keep this ring on to keep it from doing that."

   "Huan Huang Hu Hu Ti Shen Sheng Long-Wang?!" Ranma nodded. "Jolly
Yellow Fierce Tiger Emperor Spirit Scholar Dragon-King???!" Ranma 
shrugged. "Yeeesh. But why does it work?"

   "'Cause its carved from one of his teeth." Akane blinkblinked. "Like
my knives."

   "He gave you his _teeth_?"

   "Well, the original offer was 'half my horde and my daughter's hand 
in marriage' and his daughter already _was_ married and a dragon without 
a horde is a truly pathetic thing, so-ooo ...."

   "Oh." Akane sank back into the bathwater again. "My sensei, the 
weirdo."
  
   "Biiidah!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Tendo Soun was not, contrary to popular opinion, entirely incoherent.
It was true that his nerves were broken from the stress of his life and
its many tragedies, but he did work towards his daughters' well-being.
He worked all the time, actually, though it might have been more useful
had any of the work consisted of more than dreams, schemes or tears. 
Lately he seemed to have been especially pressed, he felt. First, there
had been the reluctant realization that the long-held dream he had based
most of his hopes on would never come to fruition. No doubt the vagaries
of a martial artist's life had overwhelmed Saotome; just the thought of
Genma and his son's sad last moments could bring a renewed wail of grief.

   Yes, the realization had been hard, but he must face facts. It had 
been more than 12 years and he had no word for the last eight. No, he
had to be realistic for his daughters' sakes; Genma would never return,
and his son ('What had been his name, now? Lan-something?') would never
marry one of Soun's precious children. He must forget the dead past; he
must go on. But it was hard.

   He realized that he, himself, was almost useless now. He had almost 
been destroyed by Kyuumu's death; and he still could find no joy in the
martial
arts that he had put so much of himself into. They had not been able to 
save her; his skills had failed him in his supreme need, and he had done 
no more than teach desultorily since. It was a sad pass for a master of 
the Musabetsu Kakutou Tendo-ryu to come to, but there it was. Still, 
he was not _entirely_ dead yet, and the news that his beloved daughter 
Akane had nearly been killed fighting a monster, that many of the 
students at her school _had_ been killed or injured, _while he could do 
nothing to aid them_, had undone him entirely. 

   Even days later the thought of what might have happened brought him
almost to collapse; but he knew he must not dwell on it. He had a more
pressing responsibility, one so urgent as to even overshadow his many
fears and griefs. Akane was in training under another. In itself, this
was no bad thing, Kamis knew _he_ could no longer instruct her properly.
But the fate of the school was at stake! He must assess _for himself_
the skill at the Art of her new sensei, this Bushiko Ranma. Not that he
had any reason to distrust Ranma-san, no. But he must appraise her skills
for himself; in the end, the responsibility was his, however inadequate
his ability to meet that responsibility might be.

   At dinner, therefore, he had raised the question. Most properly,
Ranma-san had immediately agreed, and so now he must do something he had
not done in ten years. He must spar, all-out, with an opponent that he
was uneasily coming to be aware might well his superior. He based this
assessment partially on the relaxed flow of Ranma's movements as she
evaded his attacks and insinuated herself past his defenses. It was the
hardest sparring he had done since he and Genma had dealt with that old 
pervert Happosai, he had pulled out every trick he knew, and he was 
losing. But mainly he based the assessment on the fact that Ranma, 
moments after the match had started, had kicked him gently in the
head. From behind. And he hadn't even seen her _move_.

   Akane watched the match intently. This was only the third time she
had had the opportunity to observe Ranma in action without interference
and the first where her sensei had been sparring rather than actually
fighting. Ranma was obviously spending energy in performing her tech-
niques rather than going for the win; Akane did not fool herself into
thinking otherwise. Yet sparring also teaches an observer much about a
fighter's style and Akane was almost in a trance as she drank in what
the two in front of her were teaching. 

   She had erred, she realized. She had assumed that her father's incap-
acity was due to inability. The match was disabusing her of that notion. 
He was still a great martial artist; rusty though he might be his moves 
were fluid and correct, his attacks precise and powerful, his defenses 
firm. Yet, even so, she could see the difference. Precise as Soun's motions 
were, each spent a small portion of effort achieving that precision; 
Ranma's did not. Powerful as were his attacks, firm though his defense
might be, each took effort to achieve, attention to complete, focus of
mind and body to continue; Ranma's did not. Ranma simply _was_: grace in
motion, calm in mind, composed in mien, as though she had found satori,
not in the stillness, but rather in the storm. 

   Deep in her heart and soul, Akane could feel the storm-winds blowing.
Far off she could hear the thunder, far off she could smell the rain.
At the core of her heart a fire was building, flickering from candle-flame
to campfire, rushing from campfire to bonfire, roaring in its power as
it grew to an inferno that would consume her whole. An inferno that 
sought the storm and the rain it brought; that would run before it, and
delight in it, and grow stronger by it; that would give back to the storm
that would rise up into the rain, and make them greater and richer in 
their own turn. As from afar off and faintly she seemed to see from
the corner of her mind's eye a sword, traced out only by its edge, limned
by fire, defined by sea-wrack, born up on the wind. Farther yet she could
sense the presence of a mighty tree; the storm-winds ruffled its branches,
the rain nourished it, the sword warded it from harm. And the fire would
blaze upon it, would leap from branch to leaf, would run up and down
the trunk till all was ablaze, yet did not burn, but grew and thrived
and was warded from harm by friendly flames.

   And she saw that she had wronged her father yet more; she saw how he
loved the art, how he gloried in its practice even now. 'How much he
must have been hurt,' she thought, 'to give it up.' She resolved to be 
nicer to him in future, and to appreciate him more. Appreciate him, as 
she appreciated the match before her. And she stood back and drank it in
like pure water in the desert, that quenches thirst in delight and cool-
ness, and reignites it again. And her muscles began to twitch minutely
as she committed everything she could to muscle memory, and her eyes
went wide as she desperately strove to see everything she could. And 
within her a voice began to chant, 'That! That, I want that! That! Just
like that! Just like her!'. And Soun strove to give a good account of
himself and Ranma flowed by, calm as a summer breeze, ferocious as the
storm.

   At last Soun called a halt and admitted defeat. Ranma smiled and
bowed to him. "Good match, Tendo-san." Akane and Nabiki nodded enthus-
iasticly, and Kasumi smiled abstractedly, her mind far away.

   "Yes. Yes it was, Ranma-san. Almost like the old days. If only ...."
And he sighed, and said no more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

   The sun was setting in a blaze of fire and light. Ranma sat on the
porch of the dojo and watched it. After a time she drew a rude-looking
bamboo flute from jacket-space and began to play. Akane stepped to the 
edge of the house behind her and listened. "That's a shakuhachi isn't
it, Ranchan?" Ranma nodded and continued playing. Shortly Nabiki and
Kasumi appeared from the interior of the house, drawn by the music. Then
Soun turned from the place where he had been sitting, watching the TV, 
to regard the porch as well. After a few moments more Akane chuckled,
"Hey, I know that one ... that's Bach. The Art of the Fugue. Do I want
to ask how you learned it?"

   Ranma shook her head and continued to play, and Akane began to see a
weave of shi passing with the notes of the flute out into the yard. Then
the threads began to draw up butterflies from their resting grounds in
the bushes and trees surrounding the koi pond. The butterflies began
to dance to the flute notes, turning and fluttering in time to the rythm
of the song Ranma was playing (she had shifted from the Bach to another
tune - one Akane did not know). At the climax of the tune Akane saw a 
thread dip gently into the pond and bring up a koi, which leaped high 
into the air as the last gleam of the setting sun illuminated it in a 
flaming shroud of gold.

  Kasumi laughed in glee and clapped her hands. Nabiki surreptitiously
wiped away a tear. Ranma turned to Akane and winked casually. And the
sky boiled up into violet and scarlet glory as the Sun went down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Nerima after sunset is a quiet place, normally. Except for the Ginza,
there is very little activity late at night, and most of the people who
live here at least pretend to keep normal hours. From the window of
Akane's bedroom the streets seem empty and still as she watches a red-
headed, white-scarved figure turn a corner and disappear from sight. 
Emptier after she is gone, certainly, she thinks, as most places are. 
And she prepares for bed and smiles in affection, she will see her again
in the morning, there is no reason to worry. Already the thought of _not_
seeing her seems absurd for some reason. And as she moves quietly from
one place to another in pursuit of the goal of 'ready-to-go-to-sleep' she
begins, also quietly, to sing. A song she remembers from somewhere, that
seems for some reason to remind her of Ranma. Though just why, she cannot
now seem to bring to mind.

	You fill up my senses like a night in a forest,
	Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,
	Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean,
	You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

	Come let me love you, let me give my life to you,
	Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms.
	Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you,
	Come let me love you, come love me again.

	You fill up my senses like a night in a forest,
	Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,
	Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean,
	You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

   'Now why is it,' she thinks sleepily, 'that Ranma always makes me 
think of love songs?' And she rolls drowsily into sleep. Briefly. Then
she sits bolt upright in bed. It couldn't be! ...Could it? No! She
wasn't ... she didn't ... well, she just didn't, that was all. But it
seemed very hard to get to sleep suddenly, and she knew that she would
spend a lot of time tonight laying on her side, and looking out into the
dark.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Hmmm. Don't know about the ending. Maybe still needs something.
What you think, hmm?

Next, Sayuri's in _Bad_ trouble. Gee, I wonder who's going to have to
get her out.

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Stars and Shadows
Part C: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

Coming in what will hopefully be less than two weeks this time, to an FFML
near you.



Eric Hallstrom  hallcon@mindspring.com