Waters Under Earth

A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Alan Harnum - harnums@hotmail.com

All Ranma characters are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, first
published by Shogakukan in Japan and brought over to North
America by Viz Communications.

Homepage at:  http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Bay/9758

Commentary and any other response welcomed.

Chapter 21 : The Truth of Power (3 of 3)

     "You were chosen," Kima said.  "With your brother.  You have
such power, so great a power--"

     "My brother and I were chosen to battle the Ravager," 
Samofere said.  "Not to rule.  We had been chosen as rulers
before then, both of us.  We led the mountain, but because we had
been chosen by the people.  Power does not give me the right to
decide the way in which another's life should go."

     "But--"
     
     "Hear me out," he said quietly.  "Power can be an end unto
itself, if that is what you wish.  The purpose of power can 
become the retaining of power, an endless cycle.  But that way
leads to any evils that we may think of.  Power can be used to
dominate, to rule by fear, by force.  I do not wish to rule like
that."

     "But you will not rule like that," Kima said.  "I know you
will not."

     Samofere laughed softly.  "You say that now.  What if I
change?  Can I not change, for the worse?"

     "You waited for four thousand years," Kima said.  "How much
did you change in that time?"

     He laughed again.  "You have no idea."
     
     He stood up from where he sat on the bed, facing her.  His
eyes shone strangely.  "Did you not wonder, Kima, if I truly did
as much as I could while I watched us fall?  Do you think I did
everything in my power to help my brother, to help my people?"

     Before she could speak, he swept his arms wide, and turned
his back to her, wings half-spreading for a moment.  "I did not.
I did not do one-hundredth of what I should.  Because I was a
coward, and because I was afraid."

     "Samofere..." Kima said, taking a step forward, reaching out
a hand.

     He whirled and stared at her, mouth half-twisted into a
grimacing smile.  "Kima, go and kill Ranma while he sleeps."

     "What?" Kima said, taking a shocked step back almost as
quickly as she had stepped forward.

     "Go and kill him," Samofere said, smile growing broader.
"Cut his throat while he is helpless."

     An intense, sick horror spilled through her, a sense of
disbelief.  "My lord..."

     "You see!" Samofere shouted triumphantly.  "You see?  This
is what a king is!  This is what a king is!"

     "Samofere, I don't understand," she said helplessly.  "What
is wrong?"

     "You thought about it," Samofere said.  He closed his eyes,
and he trembled as if he were on the verge of breaking down.  
"Even if only for a moment, you thought about it.  Though you
knew it was wrong, you thought about doing it because I told you
to.  Because I am your king."

     "But you would never have told me to do that," Kima said,
shaking her head.  "Not truthfully."

     "But what if I had?" Samofere asked.  "What if I had 
insisted?  Would you have done it, Kima?  Would you have done 
it?"

     And she could only stand in silence, watching him, watching
his shaking hands, the deep, sad depths of his eyes, and she
could not speak.

     "Please," she said finally, bowing her head, closing her
eyes.  "Do not talk of this.  Why do you talk of this?"

     Samofere took a long breath, and drew himself up straight.
"What I am going to tell you is not known by any who now live.  I
think that I will tell Cologne, in time, but it is the first time
I have... ever spoken of this to anyone."

     And Kima felt a terrible feeling rise in her, and realized
that she desperately, desperately did not want to hear what he
was going to tell her, and yet had no way in which to stop him
from telling her.

     "In the final battle between the Ravager's armies and those
arrayed against him," Samofere said, "it fell to my brother and I
to combat him.  His strength was beyond anything ever seen before
upon the earth, anything that has been seen after.  He was
stronger alone than Saffron or I, and both of us were far 
stronger in those days than now.  He was stronger alone even than
Saffron or I together."

     He stepped back to the bed, sat back down on the edge of the
enormous mattress.  Reaching down, he picked up the Phoenix
Crown, torn from his brother's essence and made material by Galm,
and cradled it in his hands.  "We nearly lost that day.  Would
have lost, but for the Ravager's own arrogance.  Every ounce of
power my brother and I threw against him, every spell cast by the
mages of either side, he gathered that energy in, waiting.  And
when he was ready, he tore open the barriers and let the Dark
come.  He released entities bound at the beginning of time, of
which Galm was only one.  He let absolute malice and pure chaos 
into the world through the rents in the air, and it began to 
kill.  Everything.  His armies, our armies, everything.  Everyone 
began to die."

     His face was a mask of grief, his eyes half-closed.  "And he
stood there, and laughed.  He laughed, and kept on killing.  My
brother and I tried to fight him, and those on our side who could
work magic tried to repair the damage he had done.  The Ravager
ripped Saffron apart, hurt him so badly that even he could not
immediately repair the damage done, and then he began to kill me.
He was on the verge of ripping out the source of my power, as
Galm did to Saffron, the only thing that could have truly killed
me."

     And now he bowed his head, and closed his eyes, and tears
began to leak silently from beneath his shut lids.  "I loved a
women in those days, Mei Ming.  She was a member of the great
warrior nation that lived in the area around Jusenkyou, the
people who were scattered after the final battle; the last and
most true remnant of their culture is Cologne's people, the 
Joketsuzoku."

     He drew a deep breath, held his forehead with one hand.
"Mei did the bravest thing I have ever had the honour of seeing
done, an act whose equal I do not know if I shall ever see.  She
came, as if from nowhere, and attacked the Ravager as he was 
about to slay me.  He never saw her coming, and though he could 
have destroyed her in a second, he did not have a second then, 
because she threw both of them through one of the portals, 
clinging to him and driving them through, and gave both of them 
to the Dark."

     "She must have loved you very much," Kima said softly,
feeling an ache in her heart.  

     "You have no idea how much," Samofere said softly.  "She did
more than sacrifice her life, she sacrificed her very being.  Her
soul, her mind, all of it.  She gave herself, freely and
willingly, to a fate truly worse than death.  She went to the
Dark, to a place of absolute unlight, absolute evil."

     "I am sorry," Kima said, sitting down on the bed beside him,
surprised at her own grief, for the death of a woman dead four
thousand years before her birth.  

     "That is not the worst, though," Samofere said.  "As the
portals began to close, the Ravager's death cutting off the power
that had kept them open, I _heard_ her.  Screaming, in torment, 
in agony, in pain beyond anything I had ever thought possible.  
The Dark had her; her mind, her body, her soul, the very essence
of her.  And it was taking vengeance on her, ripping her apart
and piecing her together, again and again and again, and it would
do so until the end of time, because she was with it, now, no
more than a plaything, hated beyond human comprehension of hate."

     He seemed to be having trouble speaking, and was still 
weeping, in absolute silence.  "It had her then, and it still has
her, some tiny, wounded fragment of her, suffering for all
eternity, because she loved me enough to do this for me, loved
the Light enough to give herself to the Dark to slay its greatest
champion."

     "Oh, Samofere," Kima whispered softly.  She could say no
more than that; she could not possibly imagine the depths of his
grief, had no right to think she could understand.

     "That is the worst of it," he said finally.  "But it is not
why I do not wish to be king.  That Mei died for me is a great
weight upon my soul, but it is not the greatest of my sins.  
What I did when I heard her scream, I did something of such evil,
such a serving of the Dark, that I can never be forgiven.  I
reached out with my power, and I tried to bring her back."

     "What is wrong with that?" Kima asked.  "What is wrong with
an act of love like that?"

     "Because as I reached through into the Dark, it reached
through into me," Samofere said, barely a whisper.  "And it drove
me mad, and I began to kill, with all the power given to me.  
Nine-tenths of the army that went against the Ravager died that
day, and I was responsible for many of those deaths, before my
brother and the magic-workers of our armies managed to bring me
down, drive the Dark from me, and leave me little more than an
broken wreck, insane."

     He gave a soft sound, as if with the confession of this
awful thing, he had finally found some measure of relief.  "And
for a thousand years I lay in madness and darkness, and my 
brother died and was reborn again and again, and forgot that I
existed, and in time, the rest forgot as well, and still I lay
mad.  And when at least I woke to find that I was no longer mad,
everything had changed, and I could not change it back."

     Kima could not speak.  She could find to words to say, no
words that would allay this guilt.  They were not within her;
perhaps they did not exist.  Sorrow for a sin four thousand years
past went coursing through her, filling every fibre of her being.

     "And the madness is still there," Samofere said finally,
sounding almost peaceful.  "Still inside me.  I can feel it
waiting, patient, gnawing like a worm.  I can hold it back, but
it is so hard, so hard.  And if it ever claims me again, I 
cannot imagine what will happen."

     He laid a hand on her shoulder.  "That is why I did not wish
to be king.  Do you understand now?"

     "Yes," Kima replied softly.  "I understand.  And I am sorry
that I did what I did in the Hall of Speaking."

     "No," Samofere said softly, taking his hand from her 
shoulder and gently brushing white hair away from her forehead to
look into her eyes.  "Do not be sorry.  Perhaps it is best this
way for now.  We shall see.  This is the path we walk now, for
good or for ill."

     He turned away, gazing at the Phoenix Crown held in his
hand, the remnant of his brother.  "You should go now.  If you
would tell Cologne I would like to see her, I would be grateful."

     "Of course," Kima said, rising and going to the doors.  She
opened them and stepped out onto the bridge, walking past Loame
and the vigilant Order of the Raven with a curt nod, gazing down
over the sides of the bridge into the swirling tendrils of mist
that hid the ground below.  For once, looking into the empty
vastness of the space, she did not feel any grief, any thought of
flying.  There was too much grief weighing upon her already, too
much sorrow.

     She went to her quarters, and stepped in to find Cologne
sitting in one of the chairs, chin resting on one small fist.

     "He's awake," she said softly, looking up at Kima with tired
dark eyes.

     "What?" Kima said, knowing who she meant all the same.
     
     "I said, he's awake."

     "Can I talk to him?" Kima asked hesitantly.
     
     "I suppose," Cologne said wearily.  "He's very weak, and
will be for some time.  Try not to upset him."

     "I will," Kima said.  "Samofere wants to see you."
     
     "Oh," Cologne said, rising out of the chair and going to the
door.  "Alright."

     After she was gone, Kima stood alone in the room for a
moment, then walked to the door leading into Ranma's room, 
opened it, and stepped through.

     The ravens perched upon the headboard turned their heads to
look at her as she entered, solid black, blind white.  Ranma's
eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep.  The glow of lamps
on the walls confined the shadows and the darkness to the corners
of the room.  

     Ranma opened his eyes and shifted his head slightly to look
at her.  "Hey," he said weakly.

     "Hello, Saotome," she replied, sitting down in the chair.

     He turned his head back and stared up at the ceiling.  
Shiso made a soft, sad sound, and preened one of his wings, 
purple highlights glinting on his inky feathers.  

     "How are you feeling?" she asked quietly, adjusting the
skirts of her robe as she sat.  The garment was white silk, cut
up on one side of the legs to allow manoeuvrability, high-necked, 
and with  the hem and sleeves trimmed with scarlet thread.  The 
chest was sewn with a stylized image in gold and scarlet, two 
golden phoenixes supporting the sun upon their heads.  It was the 
ceremonial garb of her position, what she generally wore when not 
in her fighting uniform.  Her sword hung at her waist, on a belt 
of threaded silver links.  

     "Why're you dressed like that?" Ranma asked, still gazing up
at the ceiling.

     "You thought I wore the same thing all the time?" she said
quietly, leaning back slightly in the chair.  "My fighting
uniform is a bit sparse for everyday wear, though it is much
easier for..."

     She trailed off, leaving the words incomplete.  Easier for
flying in.  "So, how are you feeling?"

     "Tired," Ranma said.  "And sore."
     
     Kima looked at her hands, folded in her lap, and tried to
think of something to say.  "Tarou left."

     "Oh," Ranma said.  "Probably a good thing.  That guy's a lot
of trouble to have around."

     "And you aren't?" Kima mused.
     
     "Point," Ranma said, and laughed harshly, without amusement.
"So what happened while I was out for three days?"

     "Well," Kima said, "Samofere is now king, and you and 
Cologne and Tarou have been credited with helping to save my
people from being ruled over by a power-mad usurper."

     "You miss so much when you're unconscious," Ranma said, and
closed his eyes, the barest smile upon his face.

     Kima smiled briefly, feeling some of the dark feeling that
lay upon her heart since talking to Samofere lift.  "I suppose."

     "Kima?" he said softly, questioningly.
     
     "Yes?"
     
     "What would have happened to those guys with the guns if
they'd been taken alive?"

     She was silent for a moment before speaking.  "They would
have been executed."

     "Oh."
     
     He laughed again, a cold sound, like ice cracking, like
something delicate shattering into thousands of fragments, jagged
as glass.     
     
     "I thought if it was that, it would make it better.  But 
somehow, it doesn't."

     He rolled over, put his back to her.  His hair was matted
and tangled at the back from three days of lying on it, his
pigtail scrunched and frazzled.  "I think I'd like to sleep now."

     "Ranma," she said softly, almost wanting to reach out and
touch him, offer him some comfort beyond words.  "It was the only
way."

     "That's what Cologne said," she heard him say.  "And I keep
on telling myself that.  But it doesn't make me feel any better.
It doesn't make me feel any better at all."

     His shoulders shook slightly.  "I'd like to sleep now.
Please."

     "Alright," Kima said, rising slowly from the chair, looking
away from him, looking into the dark eyes of Shiso where the
raven perched, oddly silent, on the headboard of the bed.  "I'll
see you in the morning, then."

     "Yeah," Ranma said.  
     
     "Sleep well."
     
     "Uh-huh."
     
     His voice was half-choked.  Kima stepped out the door and
closed it, leaving him alone in the light and the darkness.  For
a moment, she leaned back against the door, the cool metal-banded
wood, resting for a few seconds.

     Muffled, through the door, she heard the sound of soft,
lonely weeping, barely audible, and felt a deep pain inside her,
a sadness for the evils that are done by the good, the mistakes
made along the road that people walk upon that cannot be undone, 
and for the darkness of the path that some must walk in service 
to the Light.

     No matter what the ends, there was always a price to be paid
for them.
     
     But sometimes, oh, sometimes, it was so very great a price.
     
**********

     Xande huddled in the crag of the mountain, watching as
another winged patrol swept past.  He had been hiding out here
for three days, ever since he'd escaped from the Hall of Speaking
in Phoenix Mountain, ever since his plot had failed.  

     The patrols had been so thick in the first two days that he
was surprised he was not found; he had barely managed to escape
from the mountain after his spell had transported him to his
quarters from the carnage and the killing in the Hall.  The
effort of that magery had left him drained and tired; 
transporting himself even that short a distance was extremely
difficult, even for someone with his skill in sorcery.

     He was powerful, but not invulnerable, and he had not
survived for nearly a century, working as the most trusted
servant of the king while secretly plotting his downfall, by
being impulsive.  He would wait for the patrols to die down
before he made his way further out.  

     In time, he would find a way to have revenge.  Not a one
would be spared; not a one.  At first, he had considered using
his crows to attack, but the range of his control shortened the
greater the number he dominated; to have enough that they would
be a true threat and not a nuisance, he would have to be right in
amongst them.

     Seemingly at that thought, a half-dozen of the 
dirty-feathered carrion birds landed at the entrance of the tiny
cave in which he had hidden himself, yellow eyes gleaming.

     <The patrols,> he silently communicated.
     
     <Many many, but far far,> the dull, avian minds of the birds
called back.  

     Xande sighed.  He had been in here too long already.  He had
to gather his things from the place he had hidden them.  They
would have searched his quarters already; he knew they would have
found nothing.

     <Spread out,> he called, to the dozens of crows that lurked
in the area.  <Watch for patrols, warn me if they get near.>

     <Yes yes,> the minds of the birds said.  <Yes yes, good 
good.>

     He snorted as he stepped out of the cave and spread his
wings to fly.  Stupid things, but useful tools.  Like Helubor had
been.  He knew the prince was dead; the fact that the people of
the mountain still lived was testament enough to that.  He
wondered if he had managed to kill any of them before he died; he
hoped so.

     He hoped Kima was still alive, though.  He had plans for
her.  Many of them.

     Carefully skulking in the shadows of the mountains, he made
his way north, until he came to a dipped valley that lay nestled 
in the mountains, a fertile, pleasant land of rolling hills, the
thin blue streams of rivers running through the green rises
snaking ribbons in the approaching darkness.  Hundreds of feet
overhead, crows flitting around him in shadowy silence, he gazed
down at the small villages that passed by, until finally he saw
below him a wide circle of land that lay even lower than the rest
of the valley.  Mist-shrouded, buried in the belly of the
mountains, hundreds of pools of water were scattered across the
landscape, tiny and glittering like the stars in the sky above
his head as he flew.

     He landed on the edge of the pools, his crows settling on
the lush ground around him, or perching on the bamboo poles that
rose like sentinels from the water, gazing about with cold yellow
eyes.

     He stared out across the pools for a moment, then turned and
walked towards the small hut that lay on a hill a hundred feet
from the pools, a strand of sparse trees rising behind it.  

     He tried the handle, found it locked, then calmly knocked.
     
     "The Jusenkyou Guide office is closed till morning," a thin,
frightened voice called back.  A child's voice.  "Please go away,
honourable customer, come back tomorrow."

     Xande smirked, raised a hand, and slowly gathered in the
power.  A rippling darkness began to seep out from his skin, 
slick and cold like oil from his pores, writhing around his limbs
like black flame, running along his wings.

     "KIYOKARASUKAMINARIKAZE!" he shouted, sweeping his arms
outward and his wings forward.  The door was torn open, the lock
breaking, and he heard a small shriek of fear from inside, and 
the frantic scrabbling of tiny feet across the floor.

     He reached down and snagged the child by the back of her
shirt as she tried to run by him, dragging her to her knees on 
the ground before the door.  She screamed and hit at his legs
with her hands, and began to cry.

     "It's okay, little one," he said softly, smirking cruelly.
"You don't need to be afraid of me."

     "Why can't you stupid bird-people just leave father and I
alone," the girl said, and then broke off into jagged weeping.
"Please let me go.  I won't tell anyone."

     Xande yanked the girl to her feet, then cupped her small,
trembling face with his other hand.  "Now then... Plum, isn't 
it?"     

     The girl nodded, and closed her eyes.
     
     "Do you remember me?" 
     
     "No," the girl said fiercely.
     
     "Good," Xande said.  "You weren't supposed to."
     
     He leaned down, put his withered mouth to her ear, and
gently whispered a few words.

     As he drew back up, he saw the girl's eyes go slightly
glazed, then clear again.  "How may I serve you, master?"

     He smiled.  The surikomi eggs lasted a long time.  "You have
some things that are mine."

     The girl nodded.  "You hid them behind the sacks."
     
     "Yes," he said softly.  "Such a good child."
     
     The girl smiled and nodded.  "Thank you."
     
     He walked into the crude hut, the girl following, and knelt
down to pull several sacks of grain out of the way.  Behind, 
there was a smaller leather sack, which he picked up and checked
the contents of carefully.  He smiled; it was all in order.

     "Is there anything else I may do to serve?" the girl asked
from behind him.

     He stood up and looked down at her.  A pity she wasn't
older; she would be a pretty thing in the years to come.  Even he
had his limits, however.  "No.  I am going to say 'ashes' soon.
When I say that, I want you to go to sleep.  And while you sleep, 
you're going to forget I ever came here.  You're going to forget 
that I'm your master.  You'll wake up in an hour, and you'll have 
had a nice nap with lovely dreams."

     The girl nodded.  
     
     "Ashes," he said softly.
     
     She crumpled to the floor, snoring instantly.
     
     "Such a good child," Xande said, closing the door behind him
as he stepped outside into the night.  The pools of Jusenkyou
glittered in the starlight, reflecting image upon image of the
waning, nearly-full moon.  

     The dozen or so crows accompanying him flapped down from
their perches atop the poles in an inky mass to land before him.

     <We go now,> he said silently to them.
     
     <Go, go, go,> the birds mimicked cheerfully.
     
     And then, softly, silently, a stinking shape landed on his
shoulder.  It was a crow, huge and reeking, bigger than he had
ever seen.  He was used to the birds being dirty, but this one 
was beyond even that.  The bird smelt as if it had been a week 
dead, the carrion scent making him feel like retching.

     <Get off me,> he ordered silently.
     
     "No," the crow said out loud, in a soft woman's voice.
     
     Xande paused his hand in mid-strike.  "What?"
     
     "You will come with me," the bird said, a light soprano,
elegant.  "We have far to fly."

     "Where?" he asked quietly.
     
     "East," the filthy bird said.  "To Japan.  To Kagoshima,
specifically."

     "Who are you?" he said suspiciously.
     
     "I am greater than you will ever be, little winged worm,"
the bird said.  "And if you do not come now, I will have these
birds tear your withered body to pieces.  Slowly."

     Suddenly fearful, he reached out and felt for the minds of
the crows.  It was like trying to climb glass.  The bird laughed
in its woman's voice.  "Fear not.  We serve the same master, and
we desire many of the same things.  Do exactly as I say, and I 
will let you live."

     "Who--"
     
     "No more questions," the bird said, raising one wing like an
admonishing finger.  "I am called Fuhaiko.  You will be of use
to me when we meet in person, little worm."

     "I will need to rest many times if I am to fly that far,"
Xande said.  

     The bird seemed to smile.  "We shall carry you when it is
needed.  Come, now."

     Xande licked his lips, and reached for the crows again.
     
     On his shoulder, the crow's head flicked forward, almost too
fast to see, and the sharp beak stabbed into his cheek, right
below his left eye.  He shrieked in surprise and pain, raising a 
withered, taloned hand that came away bloody.

     "Try that again and it will be an eye," the crow admonished.
     
     Xande nodded.  He knew when he was beaten.  "I will come."
     
     "Good," the bird said shortly.  "But you will return later,
of course.  As shall I.  We shall reclaim what is rightfully our
lord's, reclaim it all."

     And it laughed, lightly, amusedly, and flapped up into the
air.  A single white carrion worm writhed out from somewhere
within the filthy folds of its wings, and dropped to land on his
shoulder for a moment before he disgustedly brushed it away.

     The crows leapt upwards from the ground, beating their
wings, circling the huge, filthy bird that spoke with a woman's
voice.  After a moment, Xande joined them.

     As they headed to the east, beneath the light of the moon
and stars, Xande stared to the south, towards Phoenix Mountain.
He would have vengeance, in time.
     
     Time was on his side, after all.
     
     And, he thought, looking at the massive carrion bird about
which the other, smaller birds orbited, it seemed that other
things were as well.

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