I'd say something here, but it's 4:30 am, here and I've got a dentist appoinment in the morning.
Bed. Now.
C&C please, 9 obeisenses and 13 kowtows, etc.
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
Trolls.
"Media Vita" ("In the Midst of Life") and "A Sto'r Mo
Chroi'" ("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 story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
Release 1.0 (Sept. 20, 1999)
------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 4: Tapestry of Shadows
Part A: Requiem for Solo Voice
------------------------------------------------------------
The memorials had taken six days to organize. Formalities
like autopsies and such would have been enough difficulty
for any reasonable person; unfortunately, this was Furinkan,
and reasonable people were thin on the ground.
The details had been worked out, finally, by Nabiki -- the
school's 'consensus' had turned to her more or less by
default -- who had drawn Ranma, Akane, and Kasumi deeply
into the planning.
One of the biggest problems had been a simple question of
protocols. The Furinkan district of Nerima was 'blest' not
only with more than ten times the percentage of practicing
or committed Christians than that normal for Japan, but also
a substantial minority of persons for whom Shinto must serve
in death as it had in life. Under normal circumstances, of
course, Shinto is not consulted about the impure and
ritually polluted concerns of death and the dead. But this
_is_ Nerima, and Nerima is a weird place.
The only things that everyone _could_ agree on was that,
one, the students who had studied and played together should
be remembered together, and, two, that the business should
be taken care of as quickly as possible lest the hanging
ill-luck should reduce the chances of those still lying
injured in the area hospitals.
Past that, the factions and sub-factions were locked in a
state of very un-Japanese disunity. Nabiki explained to
Ranma that Nerima was noted for the degree to which its
inhabitants tended to fixate on their pet obsessions. Ranma
noted that fanaticism made accord difficult, and speculated
on methods of conflict resolution.
Eventually, Nabiki simply decreed a compromise. Since Nabiki
was well-known at Furinkan, and since Ranma had been
spending time frowning ferociously, the decree was assented
to with remarkable speed.
Due to the widely disparate nature of the religious
obligations involved, Nabiki had decided that the actual
services for each victim should be held privately.
Furthermore, since actual burial would not, of course, be
possible, that there would be a mass memorial held instead,
during which priests or monks of the various orders would
observe certain basic rites. Fortunately, there was a local
Shinto shrine priestess, one Sakuranbou Sakura, who was used
to weird requests.
There would also be music from the Furinkan Choir, and
memorial displays for each of the deceased would be
proffered for reverence and remembrance. This was to be done
during a procession of grief, which would be held in some
appropriate public place.
At that point Kuno Tatewaki had surprised the whole ward
with an unexpectedly generous offer. Nerima (very unusually
for a Japanese city, not to mention a ward of Tokyo) has a
public cemetery. It is limited in space of course, and
normally requires both a significant fee and a significant
lead time to reserve a plot there. The Kuno family, as it
turned out, possessed a moderate piece of it as an ancestral
holding. Tatewaki ordered a medium-ish piece of this holding
set aside to hold permanent memorial markers for his fallen
schoolmates.
Not even a medium piece of the Kuno holdings at the cemetery
would be enough for the bodies actually to be _buried_
there, of course, but the prospect of having a permanent,
public marker filled the school as a whole with a most
unaccustomed warmth for the once-annoying young man.
Akane was so pleased that she broke down and kissed him on
the cheek on the spot. This reduced him to a gape-mouthed
shock, which induced Ranma to kiss him likewise, which sent
him into instant unconsciousness. Which caused Ranma to
tease Akane for the next several weeks. But you can't have
everything.
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 rites by Shinto,
Buddhist and Christian priests, it had been decided to use a
Christian hymn, but adapt and translate it to a more
Japanese mien. This had been done.
It had also been decided that Akane and Ranma should escort
the bearers of the memorial displays to their resting place,
but not carry any 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 , under a steady, moderate rain. The
first seventeen pairs held between them a line of seventeen
fine wooden chests. Each chest held one of the memorial
displays that the school and the victim's families had
hurriedly assembled.
To the left Akane, in black vest, shirt and pants, and
wearing a black trench coat 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.
------------------------------------------------------------
"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 officiating priests (and priestess) finished the
rites 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, I'm
glad you weren't injured."
"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 conclusion 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 sto'r mo chroi', 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 sto'r mo chroi', 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 sto'r, to the eastern shore,
And the ones that you're leaving behind you.
A sto'r mo chroi', 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 ru'n, a ru'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.
------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 4: Tapestry of Shadows
Part B: Sunday Service
------------------------------------------------------------
It is 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 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 turning 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 shake, 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."
------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 4: Tapestry of Shadows
Part C: Sonata for Flute
------------------------------------------------------------
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 screen *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 screen 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 screen again; followed by a *thump*
as the screen was sucked off its track 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
screen 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 screen 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
irritation, "Well ... what's wrong with it?"
She was answered by a sound as of flowing sand as the concrete
gave up its bondage to solidity 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 that part quite 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 shoulders
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, suddenly, 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
disruption. 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 concentration 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 target, 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...."
------------------------------------------------------------
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 proper
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, overlaid 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, brightening 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 furo, 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 bath-water 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 unconcerned 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
already got girls hanging off his arms, drooling. 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 exhibitions
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, Ranchan? 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
surface 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 blink-
blinked. "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 bath-water 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, Kami 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 techniques 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
incapacity 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 coolness, 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, enthused, and Kasumi smiled
distractedly, 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 rhythm 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-scarfed 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.
------------------------------------------------------------
Next:
Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi
Part A: Hateful Life
------------------------------------------------------------
Author's notes:
Ahh. Young Love. Gets ya right *here*, no?
The original funeral scene was too western, so I have added
some explanation of why it turned out that way.
Plus, I might need a good grave-side scene later, and this way
I'll have an excuse. Waste not, want not.
A Sto'r Mo Chroi', 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
for those who survived, there would be, essentially, no
returning.
Why Ranma sings _that_ song as opposed to another, and where
she learned it, can be seen if you look closely at the next
chapter.
I'm trying to keep an eye on Ranma's progress in spiritual
matters along with Akane's. Also, I like the present tense
form.
I've removed the old talking heads part again, and I will try
to keep them to a minimum thenceforth. The information
formerly imparted therein has been moved to the Side Arc:
Training Sequence.
For some reason, very few fanfics take advantage of the
remarkable wealth of visual spectacle that Ranma provides. I
don't know why that is, but I'm perfectly willing to take
advantage of it.
Yes, I am going to torture both of them mercilessly, but
that's no reason for them not to have fun along the way.
Yes, _that_ Sakura.
Yes, that _does_ mean what you probably think it does.
Next: Today, Side arc 2, Training Sequence.
Tomorrow: Chapter Five. The Big Bada-BOOM
Yours very respectfully,
Eric Hallstrom, CC, PhD, UBIP,etc.
--
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