Any commentary, as usual, is much appreciated.
-AH and CW
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue - Musk Empire, 653 C.E.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The mid-day sun drew curls of mist from the pools in the valley.
Nearly half of them bore bamboo poles as memorials for the creatures
who had met their end in the springs, and warnings for those who would
think of following them.
The Musk were never known for giving heed to warnings. A select
group of them meandered down the rugged mountain paths and sliced
through the crisp fall breezes with their presence.
First came the Empress, wearing a mantle of albino tiger fur and
piercing its whiteness with her sky-blue gaze. The Emperor and his
long cape flowed alongside her. Next were two burly warriors dressed
in bear-skins, who carried a drugged and weakly-struggling tiger
trussed to a pole upon their shoulders. Last in the small procession
came the bridegroom, a young man walking stiffly upright to disguise
his nervousness.
But then, what bridegroom isn't nervous on his wedding day?
The Emperor was silent, but his grey eyes betrayed a careful
inspection of the springs around them. He called the train to a halt
a few steps from one of the pools.
"Release the bride."
The warriors set the pole upon the ground and, with their curved
blades, cut the ropes which bound the animal to it. The tiger lay
insensate, breathing raggedly with striped sides heaving. Her pink
tongue lolled out upon the grass, and her great eyes were glassy and
unfocused. The Emperor nodded his approval, while next to him, the
Empress smiled thinly and tugged the hood of her mantle down from her
glossy black hair.
The bridegroom knelt and lifted the tawny form of his bride into
his arms, grunting softly as he did so. A weak growl was the tiger's
only show of resistance as he staggered towards the pool.
He paused at the edges of the spring and risked freeing a hand to
rub at the half-healed slash on his cheek. His fate-sent mate had
been far less submissive before her capture. The groom shifted the
animal's position slightly in preparation for the next step.
"Careful there," one of the warriors called. "If you get
splashed with even a few drops, you won't be needing _her_ for a
bride."
His hearty laugh was skewered by the Empress' piercing glare.
"Do not disturb this ceremony with your jokes," she purred, "or I
shall feed you your own manhood." The Emperor chuckled softly, not
turning, and ran his fingers lightly down the Empress' back, as one
might stroke a favoured cat. She responded with a feral smile and a
narrowing of her eyes.
Fear for his manhood had frozen the bridegroom into place. An
impatient wave of the Emperor's hand thawed him. He set the tiger
down at the edge of the pool and gave a few judicious pushes
with his foot to send her to the very brink. Finally, he gave an
especially hard shove, and leapt back as the tiger toppled into the
water with a splash.
A bestial snarl melted into gurgles and a woman's scream, and
limbs once furry came up slender, pale and hairless. The bride's
thrashing at the surface of the water sent the company a few feet
farther from the edge from fear of being splashed.
"Come from the pool."
The voice of the Empress caressed the air and stopped the water's
agitation by fondling the broken surface of the spring. Hand and arm
grabbed the bank, and a naked woman walked on shaky newborn legs upon
the earth. Damp hair flailed about as she shifted her panicked gaze
from her bridegroom, to the Emperor, to the Empress, and then back
again. Her hands came up, and the fingers curled into an imitation of
claws.
"Be calm," the Empress whispered lovingly. "You are no longer
beast, but woman. Your groom awaits you."
Coldly, the Emperor spoke. "The ladle."
The Empress stepped forward, holding bucket and ladle in hand.
The bride made a hesitant noise within her throat, and gazed at the
Empress adoringly. Nearby, the bridegroom watched the heaving
undulations of his bride's body as she breathed, his eyes wide and
mouth hanging open. A splash of the water from the bucket, and the
bride was fully human in body.
"This is your new mate," the Empress said. "Your life as a beast
is over now. You shall obey him in all things. Do you understand?"
For a moment, hesitation. And then speech, a grown woman
speaking with the uncertain tones of a child, and a lingering
undertone of a bestial growl.
"Yessssss..."
The bridegroom stepped forward, took off his cloak, and laid it
about the naked, shivering shoulders of his bride. The Emperor
lowered his hand, and the mists began to descend again, falling cold
about the attendants of the wedding.
"You are married now," he said simply, as the dropping mist
turned him into an indistinct figure in white and green, with two eyes
burning like dim fires.
The Empress smiled, licked her lips, and said nothing.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
W A T E R F A L L S
a mystery
by
Alan Harnum
and
Chris Willmore
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Based on characters and situations created by Rumiko Takahashi
and used without permission.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 2 : Lamia
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Fruits fail and love dies and time ranges;
Thou art fed with perpetual breath,
And alive after infinite changes,
And fresh from the kisses of death;
Of languors rekindled and rallied,
Of barren delights and unclean,
Things monstrous and fruitless, a pallid
And poisonous queen.
-Algernon Swinburn, 'Dolores'
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Eyes open, but see nothi-
Black, all black. A reflection off to the side, maybe
Naked. Unclothed and - bound? Chains at sides that
Slime. His foot slips and slides he's going to touch the ground his
head
Not there. Smaller, now, try to run but
Choke. A collar. He grabs at it. Pull. Tug.
Hooves, now. Too small, no thumbs. Can't hold. Wh-
Why? Back. Hands, fingers-
Water.
*drip*
Water.
*drip*
Cold
*drip*
Hot
*drip*
Me
*drip*
Back to the pig-
Drops along his side
back
nose
snout
paws
fingers
Tail and legs.
Can't think can't hear
What? Can't focus concen-
On my head along my sides oh kami wha
See high
Drop low
All fours
On his belly, tastes the floor it's salty, dirt, tears, his?
"Bweeeeee!"
Cry.
Try. Depression. Focus.
Sizzle. Nothing. For a buildup need stability and in this constant
change
Dark.
Akane.
Dark.
Bosom.
Dark.
Ranma.
Constant Dark.
"SHISHI HOU-"
"BWEEEEE!"
*drip*
Cry.
Cry.
Collapse.
* * * * *
The call came after dinner. Akane went to answer it, and Ranma
heard only her voice as he watched television.
"Oh, hi. How are you?" Pause. "No, I haven't seen him since
the... wedding." Pause. He was interested now, wondering who it was
on the other end of the line. "It was kind of spur-of-the-moment. And
it didn't go very well... yes, actually, I'd really rather not talk
about it." Pause. Change channel. Eavesdrop. "Maybe he just got...
well, you know how he is, I guess." Pause. "A map... Want me to ask
Ranma?" Pause. "RANMA!"
Ranma got reluctantly off the couch and walked down the hallway
to the phone. "What?"
"Akari wants to know if you've seen Ryouga lately."
He took the phone from Akane's hand and put it to his ear. "Hey,
Akari. No, I ain't seen him. Why?"
*"Well, we were supposed to meet for a date. I sent him a map
and everything... months ago. I have to do that with Ryouga-sama...
very careful planning."*
Ranma scratched his chin. "Hmm... well, ya know... he was kinda
upset after the wedding." Akane gave him the Death Glare, but he
ignored her.
*"Why?"*
"Uhh... well... 'cause it went so badly for us. Umm..." Akane
was, for some reason, looking more and more annoyed each minute. "I'm
sure he's just lost. Maybe he forgot the map, ya know."
*"Oh, no. Ryouga gets lost, but he doesn't forget things. He's
very careful like that. He... he wouldn't break a date with me...
would he?"*
"Nahh, he wouldn't." Ranma frowned; Ryouga _was_ in all
likelihood lost again, but Akari was sounding a little upset. "He
likes you, Akari. A lot."
*"Oh, I hope so. Do you really think so?"*
"Well, yeah."
*"I suppose you'd know. You are his best friend, after all."*
"Huh?" Ranma blinked. Him and Ryouga, best friends? No way.
Too weird. Although... hmm...
*"You're always looking out for each other, after all."*
Yeah, they did... back when Happosai took his strength away, and
with Herb, and Phoenix Mountain...
*"Ranma? Are you still there?"*
"Uh... yeah. Look, I'll get him to call you if I see him, okay?"
*"Thank you, Ranma. Goodbye."*
"Bye, Akari."
Click. He turned away from the phone, and almost bumped into
Akane.
"So," she said, mock-pleasantly. "Do you intend to share the
details of our so-called wedding with _everyone_ who calls?"
Ranma shrugged. "Well, not unless they bring it up first."
"I can't _believe_ you," Akane said, with a sigh and a shake of
her head. "You're so dense about this."
"What?" Ranma was beginning to get annoyed. What the heck was
her problem?
"We almost got married, you idiot!"
"Yeah, so?"
"Don't you understand what that means?"
Actually, he did, thanks to the colorful magazines he'd found in
the old geezer's room, but any phrasing of his understanding would
earn him a slap from his fiancee, or worse.
So he played it safe.
"Uhh... we almost got married?"
Akane hung her head. "I don't know why I even bother." Before
Ranma could phrase an adequate (or even an inadequate) response, she
turned and walked back into the room where the TV blared.
* * * * *
The hallway's long and dark, and he's stalking down it. The
Woman told him to with the buzzing whispers, she said go and seek them
and find them and know where they live and when they wake up and when
they go to bed and oh the buzzing the buzzing
Cracks of light under doors; are they still awake, for it is so
late, or do they simply fear the darkness? He doesn't fear the
darkness anymore, he likes the darkness, because the Woman is there
and why, _why_ were there no silky treasures for him amidst the
buzzing of the insects and the candles?
So unfair, so very unfair.
He can hear them breathing behind the doors so many doors, the
boy and the girl, yes them my Champion you will take them too when it
is time, the girl so lovely such lovely breasts _oh_ buzzing buzzing
buzzing
Creak. A door is opening, a figure lit from behind as tiny as
he, it is her, his old adversary, no, _fool_ you are not _ready_ to
face her yet fool fool fool.
Run.
Out the window, into the night.
* * * * *
Cologne ran to the open hall window and glared out after
Happosai's retreating form. He turned the corner, and was gone
from sight.
"Old fool," she muttered as she closed the window. "Finally got
the courage to come round here again, after what I did to you last
time?"
There was an odd feeling to the air in the hallway, almost like a
mild electrical charge, except that it was within her as much as
without her. It felt more like... insects. Yes, it felt as if ants
were running up and down the fleshy anthill of her body through the
corridors of her veins.
She scratched herself.
He wouldn't be back, at least for a while. Not after she'd
almost caught him again; the last time, she'd proved quite adequately
that she was still his better in the Art, exactly as it had been when
they were younger.
But that was long ago. No need to think of such things now.
Behind her, she heard a door opening. Shampoo walked into the
hallway, wearing only a nightshirt and rubbing at her sleepy eyes.
"Great-grandma, what going on?"
"Nothing, child," she answered. "I was simply chasing away an
annoying vermin."
Shampoo nodded, yawned, and went back into her room. Cologne
perched on her staff at the window and stared off into the night for a
few minutes, and then went to her own bed. There she slept, and
dreamed of six-legged scuttlers until dawn.
* * * * *
The drops were coming down faster now, not allowing Ryouga time to
think. Though half a boy he felt all pig; his mind was gone, his
concentration and all he managed were fleeting, changing glimpses of
the life he thought he knew.
AkaneOkinawaAkariTokyoRanmaBreadfightsHerbLimeMintShampooSaffron
A pain in his chest. The metamorphoses were more frequent than
heartbeats now, and his blood-pump would shrink and expand twice in a
thump.
The pain was good, a constant, a fragment of solidity he could
hold on to through the changes and fixate upon to let him know that he
was still himself. At first it felt as if a million mouths were
rending him with quick and careful bites, but he got used to that.
One gets used to anything that stays for long enough, and now... what
else did?
His body flowed like a river, his flesh was no more substantial
than water and far less rigid. It'd collapse, then grow and shrink
again until with the increased frequency in changes there was nothing
left but an ethereal miasma halfway between being and the void.
He found a focus in the pain; it was his identity, it was all
that remained. He could no longer look at himself; his point of view
was changing too quickly for him to see anything other than a cataract
of throbbing crags and cracks that might be stone, and a light
transparency around the space his transformations occupied that was
perhaps the motion blur of his repeated metamorphoses.
And he could no longer cry.
It was comforting, in a way. No thoughts except a constant
background hum of consciousness, no emotions, no sensations, all was
deprivation except for that constant rigid stake of hurt which pegged
him to the earth. Was this a prelude to Nirvana?
And if he strained himself, he could almost hear a voice from
without, soft and tinkling like a temple chime, uttering words he
could not understand but which filled him with warmth and longing.
Was it a Divine one, welcoming him to the Heavens?
He didn't _feel_ enlightened. But then, he didn't feel anything
at all, except for the buzzing, and the pain... He liked this; he
liked being down here. It was safe and warm, like the straw bed, like
his mother's teats, like the tiny bodies of all his
brothers and sisters...
Teats?
No. No. He was _human_, human...
Dripdrop. Waterfalls. Dripdrop.
Human...
Now all sense of 'word' disappeared from the voice. It became as
a song... there was melody, yes... the occasional moan, like a hungry
animal feeding at last... so beautiful...
Soft mists spraying, bubbles, gurgles, the static hum of falling
water crashing against boulders... he was... safe... cool. No fear...
akari, I'm so sorry.
Stay here.
With me.
* * * * *
A red point spinning in darkness unfolds into a spiral with a
diamond at its centre. From the coil sprouts a mane of long black
hair, and from the diamond a white jewel body. Each of the three
lower facets of the gem yields a face with fierce expression and stars
for eyes. Below them the neck flows and solidifies into a trunk
complete with breasts, belly, navel and wombway. There are no limbs,
but the jewel body is marked with those of the thirty-two signs
appropriate to its incomplete state. A ruby and blue sapphire bud at
the tip of each shoulder, and an emerald at each hip socket. The
jewels radiate light-rays of clouds of minor deities, from which arise
four arms and two legs, diamond-hard and white in colour but with a
surface glow appropriate to the stone. The glow hardens into
clothing, loose-fitting and translucent, and the goddess touches your
shoulder.
The head monk frowned. <Touches your shoulder?>
He broke from his meditative trance, opened his eyes and turned
around.
"All right, WHO visualised the two EXTRA arms?"
* * * * *
Ranma's fiancee threw herself down on the couch, scowling, and
stared at the TV without any apparent interest. Ranma leaned against
one arm of the couch and looked down at her. "What's buggin' you,
Akane?"
She glared at him for a moment, and then her face seemed to
soften. "Nothing's changed."
"Huh?"
"Is it just going to be the same all the time, Ranma?"
"Well, Ukyou left."
Pause.
"What did you think about what she said in her letter?"
"Huh? Which part?"
"About... you know. Knowing what to do."
"About?"
"About all the..."
"What's that? Didn't hear the last word."
"...engagements..."
"Oh. Umm..."
Ranma tapped his fingers together uncomfortably.
Akane stared at him almost hopefully. "Well?"
"Umm... why _did_ you agree to get married?"
"Didn't we try to talk about this before?"
"Yeah, but then we kinda got distracted when Pop started runnin'
around with the Nannichuan, and Ukyou and Shampoo started throwin'
bombs, and we never really..."
"Did you say it, or didn't you?" Akane's voice had turned
suddenly sharp.
"Say what?"
"In China. Did you say you loved me, or didn't you?"
Shit. He didn't want to deal with this again; even thinking
about Jusendo, about nearly losing Akane, was like picking open a
fresh scab. "I dunno. I was pretty upset at the time."
"Why?"
"'Cause I thought you were dead, dummy."
That would be the end of it, then. She'd slap him and walk away.
She didn't. "Maybe I was, too. It was like I was at the bottom
of a pit... the deepest, darkest pit ever... and then there was a
light shining down from the top, and a voice... your voice... and..."
"And what?"
"Nothing. It's stupid."
Slowly, he reached out and put his hand atop hers. "No. Tell
me. Please. I ain't gonna make fun of you or nothin', I just
wanna..."
Someone sneezed. Ranma and Akane turned their heads with the
speed of glaciers, to see Soun, Genma, Nodoka, Nabiki and Kasumi
huddled in a pack in the hallway leading out from the living room.
"Don't mind us," Soun said with forced casualness. "We were all
simply... passing by the area at the exact same time, right, Saotome?"
"Yes, Tendo," Genma said with an absolutely straight face.
Nodoka sniffled, and dabbed at her eyes with a hanky. "It's so
beautiful, isn't it?"
* * * * *
And on her chest a radiant white Hilfiger, whose emanations are
matched by those of a blue Gap at her waist. A golden Tiffany rings
her neck, and her furry paws grab your shoulders and lift you off the-
Uh-oh.
Moist, steamy snorts pelted the back of the monk's shaved head,
adding further liquids to its thin covering of sweat. The undersides
of his shoulderblades were scraped clean by sharp fingernails reaching
deep within him. All his writhing and weak struggles only drove them
further into his body. Like a fish on a hook he floundered and tried
to see his assailant, but the first rushed glimpse of his murderer
came too late, after the wormy digits had found his heart and just
before he hit the shoe rack on the north wall.
All he'd seen were two glaring eyes, large, liquid and
pink-tinged like saucers of butter tea.
This final torture was surely punishment for having abandoned the
path of Truth for the new Revelation of Romance and Karaoke, and if
so, it was just and fair. With the last of his force he raised his
head through the mound of leather, heels and wooden stubs to see if he
could find a sign of what was in store for his earth-bound essence.
And he did.
He would be reborn as a bull, or perhaps an octopus.
* * * * *
Tarou tore through the monastery halls, knocking tapestries and
idols off the walls with his flailing tentacles and clutching hands.
She was here. She had to be.
He swatted another petrified monk into a wall with bone-crushing
force, and ground his companion's head into the belly of a stone
Buddha.
Where is Rouge? he wanted to ask, but his beast form only
howled, and the glassy eyes on the bald head before him only stared
into space while flies buzzed around the oozing wound at the back of
his-
Oh, he was dead.
Tarou bellowed with laughter, and the roof shingles tumbled
against each other like wind chimes.
He ploughed on, destroying as he went.
She had to be here. The microphones and shoes everywhere...
these weren't normal monk objects; monks were silent, chanting,
praying things that wore saffron robes not designer jackets and why
did he want the girl anyway?
Why was he doing this to himself? Why chase this-
Flies. Pretty flies, all around him, in his head, in his ears,
now his eyes. Born, breed, die in a day.
Die in a day.
Another monk squashed, and the roof-top shingle-chimes tinkled
again.
But that wasn't the only noise there was... A rustle, a woman's
huff? Where?
There. In that room at the end of the hall.
Lit by incense, and dark otherwise was a heavily-adorned
meditation chamber. A photograph held the main place in the central
altar, and around it in two rows leading to the entrance, statues.
Large ones.
Life-size.
All these statues with three eyes, three faces... Two, four, six,
a thousand arms, all seated, all enthroned on lotus cushions, staring,
blowing, squinting at the flies.
Lies. All of them lies.
Not alive.
He thrust a fist through a stone chest and felt the mineral dust
mingle with the half-dried bloody slime his hands were coated with.
Not real.
He broke off an arm.
Not. What. He. Was.
Looking for.
One the other side, the other row, more interesting. Tapestries
of women dancing naked, playing pipes, holding swords and holding
each other. Tightly.
More statues. Double ones of placid males hugged in spider
fashion by women with no clothes and her hands and feet upon his
back, her face to his face, her crotch to his and they stayed. did.
not.
Moved. One of them moved.
The top two arms of a six-armed goddess unwrapped themselves from
her consort's neck, then she turned and she saw and
He saw her.
Nude but for a necklace and a towel on the ground below her, she
dropped from the statue she'd been plundering and strode towards him.
The candlelight licked her curves, casting puddles of luminous warmth
across her taut skin. Light patches dissolved into dark patches that
shifted and clarified and, oh the sight as she hissed and glared and
swayed her way through the flies, her hips and breasts bursting
through the dotted curtain...
And then they were submerged once more by the insect tide, their
million wing-flaps stitching an imposed order into his mind.
'Attack', they said, so attack he did.
And he was beaten. Badly.
Quickly, too. With the mayflies gnawing at his brain stem, it
was hard to think, hard to respond in time. And the Asura was fast,
blindingly so, and powerful... that power _would_ be--
Idiot! Don't pass out!
"In my infinitely divine mercy, I will allow you the continuation
of your pathetic existence. For the deaths of my loyal followers,
however, you must be punished."
...flame, sun-bright, searing through the mayfly-clouds...
"Severely."
...pain...
"There is no vengeance in this. It is only the inevitable return
of your actions to your self."
For a long time, there was pain.
By the time the goddess left, all that occupied Tarou's mind were
the smell of his singed fur, the gentle hovering of the flies above
his oozing wounds, and thoughts of a comfort-filled return to somebody
else's home.
* * * * *
It had really been too long since he'd seen Nerima, thought Herb.
The books and maps open on the table tantalised him with their
descriptions of things he'd been foolish enough only to glance at
during his visit. Close-packed buildings of glistening white, people
wearing all sorts of colourful clothes, human-shaped holes in every
other wall and roof, and then there was the lake in the middle of...
what was the name of that park, again?
The Musk Emperor looked out the window and surveyed his realm.
Small. Barren. Pathetic.
Boring.
Yes, it was definitely time for a vacation.
"Cardamom!"
"Yes, Sire?"
"Pack my bags. I leave tomorrow."
* * * * *
Tarou stalked the Nerima streets, trying to see the bends and
curves of the sidewalk through the black dots in his eyes. Anyone who
was in his way moved out of it, or was shoved aside without a second
thought. If he couldn't swat the flies, he would swat the human
insects who blocked him. Fools; so many fools, always getting in the
way, opposing the plans... plans? There had been a plan, hadn't
there? Some reason he'd stopped chasing the bitch and flown back here
without rest... when _was_ the last time he'd slept? Vague memories
of collapsing from sheer exhaustion, of sleeping where he fell on a
rough mountain trail as insects nipped at him, stirred; the mayflies
devoured them.
A rough circle of pain settled down like an iron band around
his brow. The mayflies chewed on him contentedly. An old man didn't
move quickly enough, and was hurled into the gutter. People stared,
whispered angrily; Tarou swung his head back and forth, and they
backed away at the look they saw upon his face. Down the alley.
Left. Turn at the next block. Past the old woman tossing water with
her ladle; yes, avoid the splashing, don't attract any more attention
now. Why was he _here_?
Name.
Yes. Name. A new name. He had a plan to get a new name. If
only he could remember it... sit down and think? No. Move. Cross
the canal, following the swarmings of the insects. The happy
mayflies; live, mate, die. Simplicity; no need to worry about names,
or anything else. What was the plan again?
Up this street. Down the next. Night began to fall, the sun
went down, and the mayflies came out in droves, circling round his
head. The streets were empty of people; he was deep into the
industrial core and the docks now, and could smell the sea. Why was
he taking so long to find... to find...
Name. Happosai.
The hour isn't right yet.
In the doorway of a warehouse, he sagged down and curled his
knees up against his chest. The mayflies gnawed at his flesh, tried
to make him rise; he drew gasping breaths, and tried to remember...
remember...
Get up.
Remember... buzzing... a voice...
NOW.
Nearly weeping, Tarou staggered to his feet. Tiny jaws nipped at
his ankles until he went the right way. Cross the street. Left,
right. Left again; straight.
"There you are, boy."
Voice. Happosai. A tiny form crouched in the shadows of an
alley, with smoke curling from his pipe.
Hello, old goat. Cynical, knowing tone; I'm holding the cards
here. He knows I can beat him if I change. I've come for that new
name. Do I get it the easy way, or the hard way? Maybe the threat of
violence will make him give in this time. How about it, old man?
But all that came out was: "...name..."
"Yes, a name." Happosai drew on the pipe; the ashes in the bowl
glowed a bright red. "Follow..."
Me.
Down the alley. Up onto the roofs. Run. Quickly now; the moon
is nearly right. Jump, land, run, jump again. Buildings turned into
blurs, blurs into solid walls. The mayflies led the way, a chain of
black specks binding the two of them together. Walls fade; blurs
reconcile into coherency, into the borders of a park. A sign passes
by: Tai Park. Detour around the playground, the swings moving slowly
in the wind. Leap the bench. Past the pond; pleasant in the day, no
doubt, but a pool of solid black at night.
They came to a grove. There were twenty-four tall trees, all in
a ring; he knows there are twenty-four, and that they had taken a long
time to grow in the right manner. The air was filled with mayflies
here; they hovered all around the trees, turning vision almost
entirely black. Happosai was in the centre of the grove. Waiting.
Step forward. Past the trees.
Buzzing... what was the plan? The old man wasn't scared of being
beaten up... what was he thinking... he couldn't...
NOW.
Happosai backed away into the shadows of the trees as Tarou
stepped on shaky legs into the ring. Mayflies were everywhere; they
bit at everything, inside and out. He saw them flying into and out of
Happosai's mouth and nose, almost felt their tiny wings tickling his
own throat and nostrils as they burrowed down inside the old man's
body. Sight was a haze of dark buzzing, interspersed with glimpses of
trees or grass or night sky.
And suddenly, the winged insects ceased to buoy his limbs, or
gnaw at his brain. They vanished into nothing. Tarou screamed and
fell to his knees, tearing at his hair, raking his nails down his
face; it was the birth-trauma all over again, the release from the
safe womb of the buzzing and the directing voice into the terrifying
realization of what had been done to him. Hanks of hair, unwashed for
weeks, came away in his hands. Blood ran down his dirty cheeks, and
tears. He couldn't stop screaming.
Then the woman stepped into the grove, and he did. Instantly.
Blue eyes hammered his mind, and he froze like a deer before
headlights. Long dark hair seemed to flow off into the surrounding
night; her limbs were slender and beautifully formed, and except for
the jewelry at her wrists and ankles and throat she was naked as a
newborn child.
Take off your clothes. His hands moved, shrugging out of his
vest, pulling down his pants, until he was naked as her in the grove.
There was nothing here but he and her, _nothing_.
The woman regarded his body, and his erect sex, as if he were a
purchase considered at a market. Ruby lips frowned. "Such an
unfortunate waste, you know. If only you weren't so incompetent."
He began to open his mouth to ask forgiveness. Her gaze sliced
his vocal cords.
Don't speak. Lie down.
The grass was cool under his nude body, tickling like fingers and
slightly damp. The trees - there were trees, weren't there? - seemed
to lean inward, as though about to fall atop him.
With torturous slowness, the woman advanced. His lust was
primal, earth-deep, nearly unbearable. But he wasn't allowed to move;
his body was pinned by a force beyond mere physicality.
She took another step. Jewelry glinted in the moonlight, and
long hair brushed her buttocks and thighs. She was, he realized, the
most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
"A name..." she said softly. She smiled with white teeth, and
drifted closer. He could smell perfume on her now, and a deeper,
muskier scent than that. "A new name..."
Like a goddess, she loomed overtop of him now. Her slim feet
stood to the outsides of his ankles. Slowly, smiling all the while,
she bent her knees and lowered herself towards him. Tarou gasped,
finally allowed to breathe, move, speak. His hands came up and
clutched at her muscled thighs, trying to pull her down quicker; it
was like trying to shift a mountain.
"What _shall_ I call you?" she whispered. Her pink tongue
touched her lips.
Long fingernails stroked down his chest, opening shallow
scratches on his pectorals. A feather-light touch circled one nipple.
"Ah, yes."
She drove herself down abruptly, and Tarou cried out in ecstasy.
"Slave."
He pumped his hips frantically upwards, and she laughed.
"I shall call you 'slave'."
Under the branches of the tree, Happosai smoked his pipe, swatted
at the fog of flies and waited for his turn.
* * * * *
Cologne smoked her pipe and stared at the telegram.
All night, dreams of insects. Black clouds that stripped her and
her kin, everyone she had ever known, down to the bone, as if they
were merely wheat before the locust swarm. Then this, at sunrise.
Further complications:
AM RETURNING TO NERIMA STOP REQUEST AGAIN YOUR HOSPITALITY AND
WISDOM STOP WILL ARRIVE SHORTLY STOP BRINGING TRIBUTE OUT OF MY
RESPECT FOR YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE STOP FULL STOP
HERB OF THE MUSK
Cologne frowned, and blew smoke towards the sky.
======================================================================
END CHAPTER 2
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Acknowledgments:
We'd like to thank our prereaders for all the helpful commentary
and suggestions they've provided. Vincent Seifert went over the story
with a fine-toothed comb in record time, picking out most of the
awkward phrasings and inconsistencies. Realtime commentary by
Mercutio, Lara Bartram and Krista Perry proved invaluable for setting
the tone of the chapter, and Mike Loader was kind enough to give us
his opinion.
-AH and CW
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