---------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Nerima Graveyard, sometime in the 21st century]
Though the night is dark, and the deep clouds hide any glimmer of the
moon or stars, I see the kanji clearly carved upon the marker. Slowly,
carefully I run my finger over each indentation, savouring the reality, the
permanence of the stone.
Ironic.
He is gone, and yet his name remains, for all to see, and touch -
though some who care the most for it must do it carefully.
I too, remain; unchanging as the rock that stands before me, not by
fate or circumstance, but choice. I could change my own appearance, grow
and age (though never die again). In fact, the society of which I am now a
part has urged me many times to do so, saying I should take my place as the
leader that they have made of me, in body as well as in mind. I always
refuse.
It... Wouldn't be right.
Once in a while, I allow my hair to lengthen to my waist, or for
convenience change my clothes, but apart from that... Apart from that... I
remain as on the day on which he left. Short, dark hair framing a face
only sixteen winters old, and below, a body covered by a pale dress in
pastel shades of yellow and blue. I couldn't imagine feeling comfortable
in any other form. My own unlife is a memorial to his death, to OUR
stillborn life...
For more than ninety years I've kept this feast. Every twelve months
I'll bid farewell to all the other ghosts, insisting that I have some time
alone, to think, to meditate...
And to remember.
More tears pour from my eyes, infused with my life-essence and shining
a pale yellow. By their light I take in the name and pronounce it, symbol
by symbol.
"Ra... N... Ma..."
"You knew him?"
A voice from behind me. I turn, but see nothing except vague, shadowy
outlines surrounded by a faint red glow, next to a generic obelisk.
"I... Yes. A long time ago."
Silence. The wind blows softly through the trees, wet and heavy. It
presages rain in the morning.
"Is he your unfinished business, then?"
I start. That is the one unspoken rule, the one taboo that's never
broken by the Dead. One may comfort, sympathise, or try to help - but to
ASK, to directly ASK without the information being volunteered, is the peak
of crassness.
This shade's either new, or troublesome.
"Who were you?" I growl. I summon up my anger and will my aura to
intensify, that I may see better.
I can gradually make out features...
A woman. Young, with long arms and legs covered in a jet-black black
body-suit. Her skin is as pale as her ebony hair is dark, save for a
streak of pure white running down its middle, and at her side...
The Assassin holds up her triangular-bladed dagger, which glows a
brilliant green.
"My name is Gosunkugi Skeride," she says, "but you may call me Death."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
/
____ ___ _ ___ /
| \ | \ /\ | | /\ /\ | \ / /\
| \ | \ . | \ | |. / \_/ \ | \ \ / \
| __ \ | _ \ | | | | | | | _ \ /\ \/ /
| | \ \ | | \ \ .| | | |.| | | | \ \ / \ \ /
| | / / | |__\ | | | \| | | |\ /| |.| |__\ |/ /\ \/
| | / / | | | |\ | |.| | | |.| | | |\ / \
| |/ / .| ___ |.| |.| |.| |.| | | | | ___ /\ \/ /
| |\ \ | | .| |.| |.| |.| |.| |.| |.| | ./ |\ /
| | \ \ .| | | |.| |..\ |.| |.| |.| | | | /| | \
|_|. \__\ |_|. .|_|.|_|...\/..|_|.|_|.|_|.|_|. \|_| \
/\ \ /
Written by Christopher Willmore. / \ \ /
4cw6@qlink.queensu.ca / / \/
Based on a story by Rumiko Takahashi and /
Developed by C. Michael Schumacher / /
[Kensu: cschumac@waun.tdsnet.com] \ /
R2096 pages: http://qlink.queensu.ca/~4cw6/ \/(Logo:Armakuni)
==========================================================================
SKERIDEXTREMES, PART I: MORE THAN KIN
==========================================================================
written by
Christopher Willmore
with additions by RpM
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"A little more than kin, and less than kind."
-William Shakespeare, 'Hamlet', Act I, Sc. 2
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was unique in her situation
in that she was often able to talk to herself, and have a reasonable
conversation while she was at it. This was because she was a Gosunkugi,
and members of her clan had managed to cross the barriers of time and
space to make for one of the most unusual family gatherings of all times.
At the moment, this particular girl was talking to herself again.
Skeride winced as the acupuncture needle dug into her arm, jetting
through the flesh until it touched her bone.
"Just a little bit more, Nutkin, then we'll be finished."
The girl nodded and watched enraptured as the needle began to glow -
first a sky-blue, then a navy shade which deepened into something close to
indigo and spread into her limb. She could feel her ki pathways realigning
under the doctor's expert manipulation, rearranging themselves in response
to the mental commands carried by the spiritual energy. After only a few
seconds, the rod began to dim, and was finally removed by a gloved hand.
"There. All done."
"Thanks, Ske-chan!"
The woman with the white streak in her hair smiled.
"You're welcome, Nutkin."
"Am I..."
"Yes, your magic's back to normal, and so's your skin, but about your
eyes..."
"My eyes?"
The doctor handed little Skeride a mirror.
"Your eyes."
"They're... They're purple!"
"The colour of your aura," nodded the elder Ske-chan, "and I'm afraid
they'll stay that way. Now, tell me, Skeride, _what_ were you doing? There
must have been a tremendous magic backlash for that to happen! Were you
playing with your bubbles again? Did you try one of them on yourself?"
"N... No..." The girl was hesitant.
"Well? You can trust me. I'm you." Another smile, mirrored in the
youth.
"Hai! Well... It was..." Skeride twiddled her thumbs and looked away.
"It was..." The doctor made a rolling motion with her hands, urging her
'little sister' on. The girl only blushed.
"Ah... I know that expression far too well. I've used it more than
once, myself." A short pause, then the elder Skeride looked her younger
self in the eye. "It was a boy, wasn't it?"
A nod.
"Which one?"
"Reiraku," mumbled Skeride.
Her double blinked.
"Hibiki? Black hair, likes bandannas, could get lost in a closet?"
Another nod.
The doctor shook her head in disbelief.
"Honestly, I still can't believe how different a person can be from
herself. Hibiki Reiraku... I would have thought you would be going after
his _brother_, if you were after anyone in that family."
"He only has a sister."
"Ah. That explains it, then." An arched eyebrow. "I take it you
_aren't_ going after his sister."
"Onee-san!"
The elder Skeride raised her hands.
"Just asking!"
"He's... I don't know, onee-san... He's so sweet, and so nice, and when
I see him, I feel-"
"...you feel like you must be with him, just as much as you must
breathe, yet every time you try to talk to him-"
"...I freeze, and my head is full of all these thoughts, all these
things happening at the same time, so I can't think clearly, or
concentrate, and anything I say-"
"...Ends up coming out wrong, so instead you stay silent, and simply
look, and feel." The doctor smiled. "I told you, Skeride. You can hide
nothing from yourself. I can't say I particularly _approve_ of your choice
of boyfriend..." Little Skeride blushed. "...but trust me - if he's the
one, there'll come a day when your mind will suddenly clear up, the fog
will lift from your eyes, and you'll be able to communicate, to let him
know how you feel, just as much as you have always wanted to - and you
won't mess up, you won't stammer, it'll just be-"
"Onee-san! That's what I was trying to do!"
"Nutkin?"
Little Skeride sighed.
"I... I decided that maybe if I... Maybe if I linked our minds - you
know, like 246 was talking about in class... Maybe if we shared our souls,
we could..."
"You shouldn't have tried that."
"I know. Now. When I tried to join with him, the energy I sent... It
just..." She closed her eyes. "It just bounced back, straight at me. His
spirit rejected me."
"You're lucky you got off with misaligned pathways and coloured eyes!
You could have been killed!"
"I know, onee-san! I _know_!" Nutkin collapsed into tears, and her
'sister' wrapped her arms around her, comforting her.
"It's all right, little one. I know what you're going through. Trust
me on this. The time will come when you won't _need_ magic or tricks to
talk to him. If all goes well, HE will come to YOU."
Little Skeride looked up from her crying.
"Like you and Tofu-sensei?" she asked.
"Hai," smiled the doctor. "Like me and Tofu-chan."
"How did you..."
"Meet? He was one of my... Patients. Back home I take care of the
Dead, you see..." The girl frowned. "Not all of them are bad, Ske-chan! I
was sorry to hear about the hospital, and you KNOW I loved our tutor, but
those are exceptions! Just like there are good and bad people, there are
good and bad spirits."
"Do you help the bad spirits?"
"If they're hurt," admitted Skeride. "Like any other doctor, I can't
let my own morality interfere with my work." A pause, then the elder
Skeride continued with her story. "Tofu-chan was doing pretty badly. Some
cemetery renovation and new construction in his old neighbourhood had led
to a misalignment of his ki - not too different from yours, actually - and
since ghosts ARE ki, he was in pain. He heard about me from someone else
and came to my door. I was fixing dinner, but when I saw how bad he was I
dropped everything and rushed to treat him. He stayed with me a week, that
time, while I worked on healing him, and by the end of it... By the end of
it, he didn't want to leave."
"Did he?"
"Patience, little one! He... I... Well... To tell the truth, I didn't
want him to leave, either, but... I didn't know how to tell him."
"You were like me?"
"Just like you. I tried to talk, but instead of saying what I felt,
I'd drift onto acupuncture. We were both knowledgeable in that area, and
it provided an easy escape from awkward moments. It didn't make it easy
that HE was shy, too. Even as a spirit, his eyes would fog up whenever I
was kind to him," Skeride giggled at the memory. "But yes, he eventually
told me how he felt. And then _I_ told him. We've been together ever
since."
Little Skeride hmph'd.
"What's the matter, Nutkin?"
"Your stories are lousy. 28 tells much better ones."
"Aren't you a little young to be reading the kind of thing that 28
writes?"
"Well... If you can read it, so can I!"
The doctor laughed.
"Point taken."
"And..."
"Yes?"
"Well... His stories all have romance, and things, and..."
"Go on?"
"He's dead! How can you two-"
The doctor smiled.
"Love is independent of the body, little one," she said slowly, then
winked. "But when the mood's right, emotions can work miracles on ghosts!"
* * * * *
Though it was late, not all was quiet in the Nerima graveyard. A
feminine figure decked in a long white dress with flowing folds glided
across the cemetery paths, hovering, turning and gracefully melting through
the monuments, its feet never touching the ground.
At length, it arrived at its destination, and stopped.
Before it was a marker. A very old one, but well-kept, and at its foot
sat a cloaked bundle.
For some time, nothing happened. The shade stood still and let the
moonlight shine through its etherity, shedding some little illumination on
the ragged encysture in front of it.
More moments passed. Then, seeing that it would have to take the
initiative itself, the spirit spoke.
"Ryouga," she said, "Akane's dead."
The rags jostled slightly, but no face looked up.
"Aren't we all?" he answered softly.
"Not THAT way, we aren't. Not by her."
"Her?" This time, the man _did_ turn his head, and when he did his face
was only half-illuminated by the moonlight. For one who could look as he
wished, who could choose whether or not he was affected by the physical
laws of optics, that meant much. He shed tears, but they were to be felt,
not seen.
"The Assassin. Who else would I be speaking of?"
Ryouga looked back at the inscription on the marker, and touched it
lightly with his fingers.
"Fate."
"Fate?" The woman's copper face contorted itself with controlled anger.
"Ryouga, she's DECIMATING us! She slaughters us like... Like..." She
struggled for a simile. "Like game birds in a biodome!"
"And brings relief."
"She obliviates. Nonexistence is not a relief."
The man's eyes looked sadly into hers.
"It is, from an unlife such as ours."
"Speak for yourself." Silence. "How many more must fall? Tofu?
Reiraku? ME?"
"Reiraku lives-"
"But for how long? She's killed the living once; she can do it again.
We can't let this go on, grandfather."
Ryouga shut his eyes and turned to face the monument.
"There is nothing we can do."
"There _is_." The Wanderer flashed his grand-daughter a look of
disapproval. " _I_ can do nothing, and neither can _they_, but with YOUR
abilities, with YOUR siphon and THEIR strength, we-"
Ryouga stood and whirled violently to face her.
"The Three want Gosunkugi Skeride alive and well. I can do NOTHING," he
said, waving his hand in emphasis and looking the other spirit in the eye.
"You're just going to let us all die a second death?" she asked. "Is
that your wish? To destroy the society which you've helped found? To allow
the Assassin to remove its foundations, so that it collapses, and those who
remain are back to being lonely, desperate _wanderers_?"
The suitability of the last word was not wasted on Ryouga, and he
winced.
"I am the _Envoy_, Zannen. How can I possibly-"
His grand-daughter interrupted him, putting a finger to her temple and
looking up at an angle in mock realisation.
"Oh, that's right," she said. "You're the ENVOY... I'd almost
forgotten. You received that post - AFTER THE ASSASSIN SLAUGHTERED
GRANDMOTHER!"
A blue aura flared around the Wanderer as he looked down and clenched
his fists.
"How DARE you mention that!"
"How dare you sit there and tell me you'll do nothing against Skeride
when she did THAT to you? To US? Hm?"
"I have my orders!" he barked. "I must think of the good of the
_world_! The Three-"
"SCREW the Three! While they're sitting up in their otherworld, safe
and sound, we're being FULMINATED. Don't you get it? Not killed,
FULMINATED. We cease to exist."
Silence. The battle aura dimmed and Ryouga turned away from her, his
head still hung low.
"And it's not just Ukyou," continued Zannen, "there's Childra, Kasumi,
Minnako, and now AKANE. I thought she MEANT something to you,
grandfather."
"She did."
"Then why-"
He waved her into a silence which he too kept, unmoving.
"You're right," said Zannen after a few moments, her voice soft and
calm. "Maybe you really ARE dead."
She pivoted and headed back the way she came.
"Wait!"
The woman stopped, and spoke without turning back.
"We strike her room tonight, at midnight."
A flash of orange flame, and she disappeared.
Ryouga watched the spot where she had been. Nothing was there now
except for an obelisk or two, and in the distant background the city
lights.
It was his internal lights that he saw, though, it was his inner flames
that now blinded him, that now put his duty into question.
When there were many honours, which was one to fight for?
When there were many honours, for which was one to _die_?
He raised his right palm before him and concentrated, willing a flare
of blue ki to appear. The jet danced on his hand, morphing under his
direction, first expanding, tapering at the base until it formed a
miniature spatula, then re-molding itself into a mallet.
The shape exploded in a violent burst as he closed his fist over it.
The Wanderer swirled his cape about him and melted into the shadows.
He had to be elsewhere tonight.
When she was sure he'd left, Skeride stepped out from her hiding place
and knelt by the base of the Tendo memorial. She picked up the single
black rose which she found there and held it to her face. The Hunter was
now the Hunted, and she had to plot her first escape.
* * * * *
A lonely sheep wandered the halls of the Gosunkugi Collective's
citadel, blissful in its solitude. For once, no black-jacketed man was
hunched over it, calling it pet names and chanting magic rites; no pale
figure with black-ringed eyes was stroking it, or using unprintable methods
to try to get it to teleport across dimensions. A day or two ago, there'd
been an awful accident involving Doctor Sam Gosunkugi and an accelerated
Quantum Sheep, and since then the Collective had slowed down on its
alternity jumping...
The Collective was, of course, the Gosunkugi Collective, a gathering
of the most magically-talented Gosunkugis across several realities. There
were some where the Gosunkugi name was generally trod upon (this was,
actually, the majority of the worlds they'd sampled so far, much to their
alarm), and one or two where having the name Gosunkugi was much akin to
having a death wish. However, there were a few worlds where they had been
well-respected, well-liked, and once or twice, revered. These particular
realities were plagued by Gosunkugis wanting a vacation (and a place to
get a date), but that's another story.
What, one would wonder, would sheep have to do with quantum theory and
time travel? Well, not all Gosunkugis had traveled via sheep, but the
early pioneers of dimensional travel did, and quite a few of the 'old
school' of Gosunkugi stuck by the method out of habit. They later found
out that a hankerchief, ketchup, and an item of jewelry also did the job
just fine.
The _actual_ theory behind sheep and time/reality travel is quite
complicated and involves runes and theorems that cannot be demonstrated
properly by non-mages. However, in layman's terms, the whole matter of
time/reality travel and sheep had to do with a) the inherent magical
property of blood b) cotton c) static electricity and d) the theory of
wholistic universality, which states that everything is linked to
everything else.
Hence, the 'home base' of the Gosunkugi collective tended to be
populated by statically-charged, baffled, and disoriented sheep named
'Fleecy'.
However, for Fleecy 986, today would be different. At long last, she
would be free to do sheepish things, like munching on grass (not that there
WAS any grass on this planetoid - astroturf would have to do), and staring
blankly ahead, sleeping when night fell... Oh, yes, she would enjoy this
vacation.
What a pity that her respite didn't last long. Not twenty seconds after
she'd laid down for a nice, well-deserved nap, she was burnt to a crisp by
a sudden explosion of red ki-flame.
Skeride looked down at the freshly-barbecued sheep below her and
wrinkled her nose in disgust. She liked lamb, but the smell of mutton was
so... strong. She sighed. When would the Collective ever learn? This was
the _third_ time she'd landed on one of their... pets? (She didn't know how
they used the sheep, and didn't WANT to know.)
<Oh, well. At least 212 knows how to make a good stew.>
Skeride lowered her arms, took her cufflinks apart and looked at her
watch. A few brief mental calculations, converting between the time flow
rate differential between this reality and hers, let her know that she had
only about a half-hour left.
<It'll be enough.>
She looked around her. Her cufflinks had worked as accurately as
usual, and she was only a few doors away from her 'sister's' office. She
STILL couldn't believe how different a person could be from herself. It
made her sick to her stomach to think of that goody two-shoes, that
self-righteous _harlot_ who thought herself so high above herself, and
yet... And yet sold herself to _them_, _willingly_ consorted with the bardo
- and her intercourse with them was not just verbal!
Any guilt or remorse which the Assassin might have felt at what she was
about to do were washed away by the sudden wave of nausea and disgust which
swept over her.
She looked herself over.
Too clean. Far too clean.
<Must mess myself up. But how?>
She ran her hands through her hair, making it look wild. Better,
according to the reflection off her watch, but still not perfect. What
could she...
<Ah. of course.>
Skeride took a piece of charred skin from the deceased sheep and
crumbled it in her hands, turning the fat and ashes into a thin, greasy
black paste which she rubbed over her face and hands.
She looked again at her reflection.
<I look just like I'm back from the Hunt.>
A noise. She couldn't let herself be seen. Not yet.
She dragged the sheep (and herself) into a flying-broom closet and shut
the door, leaving it just slightly ajar and hoping no one would notice the
trail of cinders on the floor.
No one did.
No sooner had she settled into a comfortable stance than she saw the
door to her double's office open, and her remaining 'sister' leave. They'd
had a consultation, apparently. Those two were getting along well. TOO
well - the Healer was gaining too much of an influence. If Skeride didn't
watch it, Nutkin would end up just as demented as the ghost-lover.
The Assassin would not let that happen.
Skeride watched until the little one had bent around a corner and out
of sight, then mussed her hair one last time and bolted through the
infirmary door, into her double's office.
* * * * *
Skeride sighed as she put away her acupuncture equipment. It was a
pity about her 'sister'. To be obsessed with someone was fine; it was
almost a Gosunkugi's DUTY, but... Hibiki Reiraku?!? If the boy in the
little one's reality was ANYTHING like her own's...
Still, that wasn't the worst of her problems. She would NEVER have
tried that stunt on her own; she was sure of it. Someone must have put her
up to it, and she had a nagging feeling that she knew who that someone
_was_.
It _scared_ her to look at the final member of their trio. It was like
looking into a fun-house mirror, where every detail was recognisable, and
yet grossly distorted and mis-shapen... And the Assassin had been taking
it upon herself to spend extra time with little Ske-chan - time which
_she_, as a doctor, couldn't afford.
THAT was the problem. The little one was learning to trust the
Assassin, to revere her, and if Skeride didn't watch it, Nutkin would end
up just as demented as the ghost-killer.
The doctor polished her needles furiously.
She would NOT let that happen.
She didn't know how, exactly, but she would find a way to lessen that
termagant's influence and-
A wild-eyed, dirty figure with matted hair burst through the door of
the infirmary.
"What's the matter, Skeride?" asked the doctor.
"It's Zannen."
The Healer quietly put down the bottle she was holding, and looked her
in the eye.
"Zannen?" she asked calmly.
"Yes."
"Isn't she... dead, in your reality?"
"Yes."
"And she..."
"Is in trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"She's hurt... Fading... I... I don't know what's wrong with her!"
The doctor scowled. Oh, she knew, all right.
"You tried to exorcise her." A statement, not a question.
"I didn't! Honest, I..."
"You kill ghosts. They call you the Assassin."
"Not all of them! I just kill... The ones who deserve it!"
"How do you judge that?"
"I..." she lowered her eyes and calmed somewhat. "I'm not sure I do."
"Enough with the theatrics, Assassin. Cut to the chase. Why do you
want my help?"
"She's hurt."
"So you've said. You should be happy. It's not like you to abandon one
of your hunts."
The Assassin sighed and waved her arms about her, trying to grasp for
words that wouldn't come.
"I... I never MEANT for her to get hurt! I was after another spirit.
A... A murderer... And... She got in the way. Please, Ske-chan! You HAVE to
help her!"
And with that, the ghost-killer began to cry.
The doctor bit her lower lip. This was NOT what she had expected. From
all reports, her 'sister' was a merciless killer of the dead, just as
surgical in her strikes as she was in her own procedures. Then why...
Her thoughts flew back to her earlier conversation with little Skeride.
She'd teased her about going after Reiraku's sister, and then they'd spoken
of her own life-and-a-half with Tofu-chan, and here...
Could it be?
It... It was unlikely, yes, but she had the evidence before her. And...
People DID change. This WAS a version of her, after all, so if she could,
then maybe... But it was just so... So...
Could the Assassin be in love with the ghost of Hibiki Zannen?
A Hibiki and a ghost - it combined the traits of two of their other
selves, and she DID say she was now killing only those who 'deserved it'...
"She's hurt, you say?"
The other Skeride looked up from her sobs and nodded.
"How long would you say we have, Assa- Skeride?"
Her double smiled weakly as she checked her watch. The correction had
not been wasted.
"With my reality's time flow rate, only a few minutes, at most."
The doctor drew a deep intake of breath. For her, a trip was a large
event. In an emergency, she might pull off a jump in an hour, but...
"You know that my travel magic is far from perfect, Ske-chan. Maybe
we'd better get 115 to help."
"There's no need. Just hold on to me."
The doctor raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you going to use a sheep?"
"I DON'T NEED SHEE-" The other cleared her throat. "I mean, I don't
need sheep." She grinned, and held up her wrists. "I made these cufflinks
myself. They'll take me between my room and the Citadel."
The doctor nodded, grabbed a few items from her cabinet and wrapped her
arms around the other's waist.
The Assassin touched her wrists together, and they vanished in a flash
of crimson flame.
* * * * *
Near midnight. The full moon shone through wispy clouds upon the
University of Tokyo quadrangle, illuminating late-night revellers and
hover-bikes that made their way through an unseen assembly.
Unwittingly, the blushing couples walked through a horde of shades to a
conveniently empty residence room; the deliverymen did not notice the forms
through which their vehicles sped and even the moonbeams chose to ignore
the presence of the spirits.
But for all their incorporeality, they were there.
They crowded around by the thousands, melting into walls or trees if
they had to, forming an unliving blockade of souls, all facing Kurenai
Hall.
These truly were the restless Dead. Once, they had been lonely, then
had come the Assembly with its organisation and camaraderie. That worked
well; it united them and gave them comfort and hope in an otherwise
hopeless existence.
Until the advent of the Assassin. Since then they had lived (or not?)
in fear, snatching at snippets of joy, not daring to be happy for too long,
lest _she_ should find them, and annihilate them.
She always seemed to know just where to strike; where their heart lay.
How, they knew not, since no bardo would dare collaborate with Skeride.
Whatever it was, be it insight, spy-work or divine inspiration, she always
dealt a killing blow, destroying their leaders and knocking down the
foundations of their society, which would each time be painfully and
carefully rebuilt, only to be destroyed again as soon as it had been
re-established.
Tonight, the cycle would end. It was for that that they had gathered
here, leaving their tombs, their houses, their rounds or groupings, it was
for that that they had trekked through the domain of the Living, using
their ethereality to full advantage as they took the shortest route to
their destination, be it through buildings, landscape or people. Akane's
death had been the final straw, a sobering shock. She had been slaughtered
at her worship, proving that NOTHING was sacred to the Assassin. There was
no haven. They could stand it no longer; they had to attack now, or risk
losing their collective being to the same oblivion to which their comrades
had been committed by the Killer's knife.
"Some of us will die," said Zannen, floating a foot in the air at the
head of the congregated ghosts. "There is no prize without a sacrifice.
To gain life, we must be willing to risk a second death. We all know the
Assassin will not yield without a fight." There were a few murmurs in the
crowd, and the collective aura of those gathered darkened a few shades. A
'fight' could prove quite costly, when Skeride's weapons needed less than a
second to effect a kill. "It is almost inevitable that a few of us will
perish, but the vast majority of us will SURVIVE! I would not ask any of
you to take this risk - in fact, I haven't; you've all come willingly - but
the time has come when we can wait no longer. _One_ MUST fall, but that one
is not among us, but in the building before us! _Hers_ is the only death
of which we _must_ be certain. The others take a chance. Which, I ask
you, is worse? To have a few of us destroyed, or our joint soul?" No
answer from their mouths, but the expression of the shades made their
intention plain. "After this," continued Zannen, "we will be _safe_.
Finally. For ever. There'll be no more hiding, no more fear, no more
guarding of one's words - THAT is what our sacrifices will be for." Her
eyes glinted. "And for revenge. How many of us here have not lost one we
cared for, loved, or _more_ to Skeride's hand?" Silence. "I thought as
much. The pain she has caused will NOT go unavenged. The reason you are
here, the reason I have asked for your support is that I will need you to
lend me... To lend US your strength. All of you will play a part in
bringing her down; a bit of each of you will be in the hit that splits her
soul from her body. The time for waiting is past. The Gosunkugi dies
tonight, and when she does..." Her mouth curved upwards in a wicked smile.
"Her shade will wish that it had gone to Hell."
Zannen quickly silenced the ensuing roar with a wave of her hand.
"Save the rejoicing for _after_ the deed. She can hear us as well as
she can see us, and though her room is on the opposite end of the
building..." When there was perfect quiet, she continued. "Now for the
plan. At great risk, a few of our comrades have been observing the
Assassin. We know that she stays in her room from nine to midnight on
weeknights, studying and preparing herself for her hunts, then she leaves
her room at the stroke of twelve by her clock. I intend to intercept her
on her way out."
"You, Zannen?" A voice from the crowd.
"Yes. I will enter first, to draw her attention, and while she's
focused on me, I want the rest of you to filter in by the sides. That way
we might confuse her."
Shouts of protest went up. She was an important part of their
community; she was a leader, a role model - she should not risk herself!
Hands sprung up, and many shouted offers of going in her place, but she
waved them all aside.
"I've brought you here," said she. "It's my plan, my responsibility,
and so it's only fair that I should bear the brunt of the danger. I'll
enter through her room's door, with the Doctor remaining behind it until
the time comes for him to play his part."
"You'll be his shield?"
"Yes. We cannot risk his loss, since he's our weapon. It is on him
that you must concentrate; when you've all gathered close as I've told you
to, I want you to focus your energy on him. When Skeride appears and goes
for me, he will then step forward, through the door, and channel the ki
into a narrow beam, delivering the killing blow."
"No, he won't."
The crowd turned to see who'd challenged Zannen's authority. At first,
no one was found, but then a cloaked figure near the back began to glow a
strong blue, knocking spirits aside to make room for itself as it made its
way forwards.
When he was directly in front of Zannen, he rose to her height and
lowered his hood.
"No, he won't," repeated Ryouga. "_I_ will."
"Grandfather... I thought..."
"That I wouldn't come?" He looked away. "I had to. You're right,
Zannen. There's too many gone, and no end in sight. I thought we could
wait, sit it out until she died on her own, but at this rate... I have my
duties, but sometimes it seems like the Three are just-" His head snapped
back up, and he glared at his grand-daughter. "What kind of plan was that,
anyway? You were drawing fire to yourself from both ends! If Skeride's
dagger didn't get you, Tofu's beam would have dissipated you just as
surely!"
"I... I..."
"This is no time for heroics, Zannen. We're doing this to save
ourselves, not lose more of our people."
"I understand."
* * * * *
"I don't understand," said Skeride, looking around the room. Plush red
carpeting, oak shelves filled to the brim with ragged tomes, candles,
bones, herbs, a desk littered with drafts of spells, but not a ghost in
sight. "I thought you said your friend the Hibiki was hurt. Where's
Zannen?"
"She... Should be here soon..." said her counterpart, looking at the
grandfather clock in the far corner.
The Healer glanced at the small rectangles of parchment tacked up all
around the room.
"With all these wards set up, I don't see how any ghost's going to-"
The wards burst into flame.
"That must be her right now," said the Assassin. "If you'll excuse me,
I'll leave you two alone."
"Wait! Where are you going? I don't-"
"Oh, yes," interrupted the Killer, as she tossed a golden dagger to her
other. "You might need this. Ta-ta!"
That said, she raised her arms above her head, touched her wrists
together and vanished in a flash of crimson flame.
==========================================================================
TO BE CONCLUDED...
==========================================================================
___________________________________________________________________________
Christopher Willmore
4cw6@qlink.queensu.ca
http://qlink.queensu.ca/~4cw6/2096a.htm
Impius Ecclesia Ukya * Interfector Beluam Ecclesia Ryougis
* Custos Tabula Nomina Franca Ecclesia Azusis *