Very tired, it's 4:30 in the morning, here.
C&C, please.
Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only
swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds
cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the
Trolls.
*Summer Lightning* and "Thanksgiving Eve" are copyrighted by
Garnet Rogers; if you haven't encountered him before go out
and buy his CDs, he sings lots better than I write.
"The Haughs of Cromdale" is a Traditional Scottish Melody.
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
Release 0.2 (Oct. 19, 1999)
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Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences
Part A: The Night Before the Morning After
------------------------------------------------------------
There are certain ways that things are supposed to go.
Take, for instance, the case of waking up in someone else's
bed. This is _supposed_ to involve long drowsy dalliances
and breakfast in situ, served by dedicated servants.
Alternatively, romantic melodrama may easily be obtained by
hasty dressing and tearful, secretive goodbyes.
When, on the other hand, the other whose bed you are waking
up in is an Other whom no-one, including the other, may be
allowed to suspect _is_ the Other then things are supposed
to be managed for maximum embarrassment for all involved.
(Yes, it _is_ a complex sentence. Read it through a couple
times, it means what it says.) Fortunately for Ranma, the
sensation of Akane breathing into her ear woke her alone and
unobserved.
This precipitated what should have been the type of
convulsive jerk that knocks over the bed, wakes the
bed-mate, calls the attention of the house, and otherwise
results in complete higgelty-piggelty.
Alas for the devotees of the Right and Proper Order of
Things, however, Ranma's well-honed reflexes and hard-wired
skills were in full working order; and she removed herself
from complete (if, sadly, clothed) entanglement in Akane's
embrace to a position standing upright in the middle of the
room without much more than a mild heart attack.
This should not, however, be construed as to mean that the
forces of Dramatic Righteousness were entirely cheated of
their due. The human body is a complex collection of
muscles, bone, nerves, joints, ligaments, and other such
items. Ranma's collection chose that moment to send her a
wide array of bitterly-complaining messages, relaying their
utter dissatisfaction with her current state and accusing
her of criminal incompetence at the top. She also noted the
pounding pain of a massive migraine headache, foretelling an
impressive hang-over.
Action was clearly called for, and she exerted her trained
will and knowledge of Magic and martial lore. Pushed back
the pain and stiffness. Adjusted a wide range of inner
balances. Attempted to move. Whimpered, very faintly.
Consulted a hard-won store of homeopathic medical lore. And
immediately prescribed herself a long soak in a hot bath and
some serious reconstructive meditation. Which would require
walking all the way out the hall and down the stairs, not to
mention _another_ hall at the bottom of the stairs. Truly it
is said that the life of a Martial Artist is fraught with
peril.
It would be a good idea to wake Akane, however. Particularly
since, unless she was seriously mistaken, Akane's lingering
effects of the day's adventures would be even more extreme
than her own.
Ranma felt a renewed pang of grief shoot through her as she
took in Akane's profile, following the new lines of scars
that spread out in a web around her left eye, easily visible
as she lay on her right side.
She locked the sensation deeply inside, however; even if
revealing the extent of her sorrow were not far too
dangerous to the carefully constructed masquerade she must
now live, it was horribly disrespectful to Akane. She had,
after all, followed along of her own free will, and must be
regarded as a warrior capable of knowing her own honor and
what it demanded.
Honorable action required what it required, after all, and
cost what it cost. Had she, herself, not born up under
wounds as great? To rail against the necessary costs of
one's actions was to cheapen them; and to cheapen Akane was
a thing which she could never do.
Akane's slumber proved more than a match for Ranma's
somewhat lessened resources, and Ranma finally decided
simply to let her sleep. Summoning her ferocious will and
inexhaustible endurance, she strode out the door and down
the stairs towards the furo and a long, hot soak with all
the grace and power of an octogenarian tortoise.
------------------------------------------------------------
The furo, generally speaking, was an institution and object
of which Tendo Nabiki thoroughly approved.
It was not merely sanitary and relaxing, she felt, but good
for the mind and will as well. A long soak relaxed the body,
which gave the mind time and space in which to think
unhindered. Most of all, it provided a protected space. It
was so often necessary to impose control on one's self, on
one's expressions and actions. Any opportunity to create a
time or space in which that control could be relaxed,
however briefly, was to be treasured.
Moreover, it was an easily secured space as well, especially
a private furo, like the one in the Tendo bath. Even a
public furo was far more private than it would appear at
first glance, since custom imposed a veil of imposed
indifference over the lack of physical privacy. A veil that
was actually far more effective insurer of privacy than most
would believe, as long as one was discreet. But a _private_
furo ....
Not only did it share in the custom-imposed veil of the
public furo, but it _had_ physical privacy, too. Also, if
one suspected that one's privacy had been imposed on, one
could take any actions necessary to regain it, _without_
alerting anyone to the presence of something out of the
ordinary to be protected in the first place.
All in all, Nabiki was very fond of finding a good furo and
settling in for a long soak whenever she was feeling out of
sorts. That afternoon she soaked for as long as she could
stand. She was thinking. Thinking as hard and as
strategically as she had in a long time.
It could be managed, she felt. Mind, her sister was still an
idiot. But it _could_ be managed. There was no real hope
that the news would not get out, but if she managed the
grapevine just so .... She supposed that was 'spin', or
whatever the current set of idiots currently running the
Western Media were currently calling it.
But any Japanese (really, any truly _civilized_ person, she
reflected) knew instinctively that it was the consensus of
community opinion that mattered. All she had to do was swing
that consensus a little. It should be even easier than might
be expected for her own skill and position, too.
This consensus directly affected Ranma, after all. Not only
had she, herself, _demonstrated_ an advanced grasp of that
skill; but even more, a denigratory consensus might well
cause her to become ... annoyed. Since she strongly
suspected that no sane person in Furinkan would actually
wish to see that happen ....
So, all she _should_ have to do was drop a few subtle hints.
And make sure that no random putatively _in_sane person
upset the boat. Not difficult, if she was any judge, as long
as she kept things vague enoguh that people could agree
without having to confront what they were agreeing with
directly.
The last thing she thought before relaxing fully into the
lassitude brought by the delicious warmth of the water was
that she was glad that she lived in a society where allusion
made arranging things like that no more difficult than
necessary. She didn't really feel up to doing anything
difficult right now anyway.
------------------------------------------------------------
After finishing her bath, she was inclined to talk over a
few things with Kasumi, just to make sure that they were
both on the same page as regards her dear little sister's
idiocy and its probable cause. A moment's hesitation alerted
her to an approaching spectacle however, and she silently
took refuge in the Tendo Family room to await it.
The spectacle in question did not disappoint. Ranma,
jacket-less, de-scarfed and carrying her shirt in her hand,
limped vaguely down the hallway, around the corner and into
the furo.
Briefly, Nabiki exerted her control and forbade herself to
make any noise. She had heard from her rumor sources that
Ranma was scarred beneath her usual enveloping clothes, but
she had not expected.... And _some_ of those scars were not
old; were not fine, white lines but rather angry, red welts.
Nabiki felt her eyes fill, briefly, with tears. She would
have to remember this sight, she thought, whenever she
doubted her sister's lover. Ranma might be overly heroic and
possessed of something resembling a death-wish, but there
could be no doubt that she knew the cost of the actions she
took. In some ways, she mused, Ranma must be very like
herself; must, at all times, have one eye on the cost.
Shaking her head she turned from the closing door and went
to talk to Kasumi.
------------------------------------------------------------
She woke up.
This, she decided, was her first mistake.
She was not immediately sure what had awakened her, but she
_was_ immediately sure that she wished it hadn't bothered.
Her hair hurt. And that was not even considering the mad
kamikaze air molecules that were attempting to flay her skin
off.
Now that she whimpered it, how _had_ those tribes of mad,
jack-hammer wielding dwarves gotten inside her skull,
anyway? And what had she done to piss them off so badly?
Couldn't they have written her a, a letter or something?
She'd have apologized, really.
Also, she really had to talk to someone about putting dead
rats in her mouth. It just wasn't civilized, and whoever had
done it ought to have known better. She tried to summon up a
sense of righteous outage, but all she could manage was a
dull throb, and it immediately got lost in all the other
aches and pains.
Attempting to discern where, exactly, she was, she opened
her eyes.
Mistake number two, instantly taken advantage of by the
roving hordes of nomadic photon warriors, who used the
opening in her defenses to invade down her optic nerves in a
howling wave and set her brain on fire.
Attempting to quench the flames, she curled into a foetal
ball and threw her arms around her head.
Mistake number three.
It was really fascinating, she thought distantly, that a
sufficient amount of adverse sensory stimuli could not only
induce unconsciousness, but could immediately negate it.
Well, she had obviously screwed up _somewhere_, big-time.
Now the question was: where was Ranchan when you really
needed her?
Ranma. Didn't she have a vague memory of Ranma saying
something?
Something ... about ... about ... getting up? ... and going
... to the furo. Or she'd stiffen up.... Ah.... So that was
it.
Well, she could see that the rest of the day promised to be
unpleasant.
Yep.
But she had a plan to outwit it.
Just as soon as she took her bath and got a little control
back, she was going to die. Yep. That'd show it. You bet.
Now all she had to do was, get to the furo.
Which involved ... taking off her clothes ... and going ...
all the way down the stairs. Oh dear.
Shortly, a shambling figure tackled the complex challenge of
walking down a flight of stairs without toppling over. It's
progress was not eased by its apparent difficulty with the
dim hallway light, which was causing it to move in a series
of flinches.
Exerting supreme self-control, it avoided a lunging attempt
to descend the stairs in a single moment, outracing light
itself. Which was a good thing, really, because the photons
hanging around were sufficiently annoyed as it was, and the
figure was in enough trouble.
Stumbling down the last stair risers and shuffling painfully
around two corners and down the hall, the figure had nearly
attained its hoped-for sanctuary when fate cruelly
intervened.
A firm, decisive footstep was heard, and Tendo Soun entered
the hallway from the garden outside and came face-to-face
with his daughter. And, for a brief moment, nothing
happened.
Then Akane feebly attempted to placate the looming disaster
by waving her hands at her father, and whimpering. Alas, in
vain; slowly started but rapidly rising then came the vessel
of ultimate horror (at least to anyone with a killing
hangover), a full, all-out Soun Tendo Wail.
(#2516: My daughter went to Hell and lost her eye, now
she'll never get a husband and I'll be alone in my old age,
aiieeee!)
The noise went through Akane's already shot nerves like a
buzzsaw and she collapsed to the floor in a foetal ball.
Naked and dripping from the tub, Ranma was at her side two
seconds later. Kneeling at Akane's side, Ranma gently coaxed
her out of her curled up misery, leveling a glare at Soun
that sent that worthy backwards in a dead faint.
Nabiki, drawn by the *thud* of Akane impacting the floor,
managed a gasp before Ranma cut her off. "Nabiki-san, please
ask Kasumi-san to get Acchan a glass of hangover cure, I
believe that she knows one or two." Smoothly, Ranma picked
Akane up and took her into the furo. Nabiki gaped briefly at
the closing door before running back to fetch Kasumi.
------------------------------------------------------------
Timidly, Kasumi knocked on the door to the bath. "Ranma-san,
may I come in?"
"Please do."
Kasumi carried the large glass into the furo, and likewise
restrained a gasp. It was bad enough to see such extensive
scars on Ranma-san, reminding her of the cost demanded of
those who walk Bushido, but to see such scars in turn on the
smooth flesh of her younger sister; that was almost more
than she could stand.
Akane was huddled against the edge of the tub, with her face
turned down and her eyes shut as Ranma gently probed her
acupuncture and shiatsu spots from behind. At Kasumi's
approach, Ranma leaned back in the tub, and Akane turned
around, looking up at Kasumi in thankfulness and reaching
out for the glass she was carrying.
Seeing the new web of faint scars around her sister's eye
and the changed nature of the orb itself caused Kasumi to
fall to her knees, extending the glass with shaking hand.
Akane almost snatched the glass away from her, and drained
it with a single, long pull before putting it to the side
and coming up partially out of the tub to gather Kasumi into
her arms and hug her fiercely.
"Kasumi! Kasumi-oneechan, it's all right. It _looks_ awful
but the eye still works just fine."
Ranma raised an eyebrow and dryly said, "I say again, it
looks _rakish_. Not awful, _rakish_."
Kasumi made a mighty effort and came back on balance. "I
don't want to contradict you, Ranma-san, but I'm afraid it
does look awful. Just a little."
Akane released her hug and turned back toward Ranma,
sticking out her tongue, "See? I _told_ you so!"
Ranma settled back in the tub and spread her arms along the
rim, "Acchan, look this way. Now raise your left eyebrow.
No, a little higher. Yeah, like that. Now show Kasumi-san."
A short pause. "See? Rakish."
Akane sighed and stood up, saying, "Please excuse me,
Neechan, I have to kill ..." as she reached her full height
she paused, her eyes going wide in shock as an alarming
cracking sound made itself known, "... er, that is. I have
to get right back in the tub here and have Ranchan do some
more shiatsu on me. Yeah, that's it."
Ranma sighed, "Doesn't listen. Over-exerts. Rushes in where
angels fear to tread. Domineering. And now she wants
shiatsu, too. Oh dear. What a pity. Never mind." Winking at
Kasumi's mildly alarmed look, Ranma slid forward in the tub
to kneel behind Akane.
Akane looked up, alarmed, "Ranchan! I need ... ooooh!" As
Ranma's hand reached the first shiatsu spot, Akane's eyes
slitted in relief, the left flashing a solid gold.
Kasumi smiled slightly and silently slipped out.
------------------------------------------------------------
"Ranma-san! I will not permit you to run off without dinner.
It is getting late and you _must_ be tired, you should eat
with us and sleep in the guest room tonight."
Ranma blinked, backing away from Kasumi and frantically
waving her hands, "Ahhh ... of course, Kasumi-san, whatever
you say. I'll just go into the Dojo and, ahh, maintain my
equipment, yes?" Grabbing a confused and yukata-clad Akane
by the shoulder, Ranma hastily retreated from the main house
to the Dojo.
"Geeze! Your sister is _scary_ when she's like that!" Ranma
peeked cautiously around the edge of the Dojo door. "Anyway,
I'm serious, Acchan, you need to go get your stuff and get
it back in order right now, before you forget and then don't
have it next time."
Akane nodded muzzily and wandered out of the Dojo and back
upstairs. Ranma occupied herself with seeing to the good
condition of her weapons, being occupied with cleaning the
barrel of the Desert Eagle when Akane timidly reappeared,
holding a sword in an ill-fitting scabbard away from her
body with obvious reluctance. "Ranchan?"
Ranma looked up and raised an eyebrow. "This sword," Akane
continued, "it's not my sword. And I don't have _any_ of the
other stuff and I've never seen this sword before ... I
don't even know what _kind_ of sword it is ...."
Ranma stood up and gingerly took the sword away, laying it
flat on the portable table she was using to hold her
cleaning gear. "Taiken. It's a taiken."
She withdrew the sword from its scabbard and turned it over
and around in her hands. It was slightly longer than a
katana, straight bladed and double-edged, but still
chisel-pointed. It was made of a dull, gray steel, better
polished in the middle of the blade, which sank into a
blood-groove accented by the yakiba-mon, the wavy pattern
that indicates the different steel composition used in the
edge of a blade.
It was elaborately hilted in black, non-reflective steel, a
two-handed, wire-wrapped grip rising from a heavy thorn
pommel to a wide crossbar that flared out into hilt-loops to
protect its wielder's fingers as they might be looped over
the hilt. The side-bars of the hilt flared out into an
almost-basket that provided a fair amount of protection to
the upper hand of a wielder, and even a casual inspection
woke amazement at the magnificent balance and liveliness of
the cold, gray steel. "It's a _good_ taiken."
Ranma withdrew a small tool from jacket-space and placed the
blade on the table, beginning to disassemble its hilt.
"These are usually tang-marked ... like ... so ...." her
voice faded off into a long whistle.
Akane drew closer and leaned forward to see, but could not
read the strange, curling letters. Ranma held the blade up
to the light and read something off the tang in a language
that Akane likewise did not know.
Indicating this with a slant of her eyebrow, Akane caused
Ranma to flush briefly and then translate aloud into
Japanese, "'Forged was I, of iron heaven born. Ulean made
me. I am Isileth.'"
"How, ah... how did you manage to pick this up, anyway,
Acchan? I saw you waving it around when you, ah, came to get
me, but ..." Ranma slowly and cooly put the hilt back
together.
Akane stammered something inane about how she had needed a
sword and it had just been lying there and she'd just put
her hand on it, and....
Ranma shook her head sadly. "Outnumbered. Injured. Back to
the wall. And you 'just happen' to put your hand onto
Isileth Widow-maker. Give it up, girl. You are _so_ doomed."
Then, suddenly, she grinned, "But at least being around you
won't be _boring_. I hate _boring_," she winked.
Akane grinned weakly and blushed. Then she indicated the
sword still lying on the table. "Ummm ... you seem to know
it ... her? What's the story?"
"It starts a couple millennia back and about a dozen
universes ... _that_ way. The land is called Alba and it has
a number of similarities to Tokugawa era Japan. For samurai
say 'kailin-eir', for katana say 'taiken'. I had heard a
rumor that there was an Art called Taiken-ulleth involving
'perfect swordsmanship', and that there was a master left
living in Alba. So I used the amulet to go look about a year
or so back, but I never found him. Along the way I picked up
a fair bit of kailinin lore, one bit of which was the story
of the 'most perfect sword', Isileth.
"Made from 'star-metal' from a fallen meteorite, refolded
three hundred times, too tough to bend, too strong to break,
an edge that was sharpened once and hasn't dulled since,
quenched in blood, polished by fire and water. Used by
heroes and villains for two thousand years or more. Rumored
to be evil black as the pit of night, rumored to be good
bright as the sun itself. Rumored to be neither one, but
nothing more than, simply, a sword.
"What she was doing on a slope just outside of Hell I've no
idea. Here," she handed the sword-hilt to Akane, "do a kata
or two and get to know her. Maybe she'll tell you."
Akane took the sword silently and stood, momentarily at a
loss, as Ranma took up the ill-fitting scabbard and began
preparations to modify it to properly receive its new
resident. After a minute or so she shook her head dazedly
and turned back to the center of the Dojo, moving with a
slight wince for abused muscles and joints and focusing
inward, preparing a pain-blocking mantra to aid her
concentration. Then she pressed the sword's blade to her
forehead in salute and sank into the slight trance she used
to invoke Othersight. Instead of focusing it on anything,
she deliberately defocused it and began a basic sword kata,
extending a welcome to any insights the blade might offer.
>From behind her as she danced her kata she heard Ranma begin
to sing lowly and distractedly as she worked on the
scabbard. And as the song continued, low and dark and
couched in some dialect of English that she could barely
even determine _was_ English, her defocused Sight began to
gather sounds and images. Images of blood.
As I came in by Auchindoun,
a little wee bit frae the toun,
When to the Highlan's I was bound,
to view the haughs of Cromdale.
I met a man in tartan trews,
I speir'd at him what was the news;
Quo' he the Highlan' army rues,
that e'er we came to Cromdale.
Right hand highest on the hilt (a voice whispered, "One hand
only girl, until you apply force to the cut, keep your other
hand free. And put a finger over the hilt, it increases
control, and the hilt-loops will guard it."), arm rising for
jodan-no-kame morote uchi kiri otashi kudashi, the most
basic of strikes, the two-handed vertical downward blow to
cleave head and chest together ("the pearsplitter ..." the
voice whispered).
And her mind sank into a receptive blankness and she stopped
the cut at the level of the lower chest and transmuted its
force into a bouncing return to guard, left hand dropping
away and right hand blurring in withdrawal to hasso hidari
gamae, left foot leading as she cocked the sword by the side
of her head in preparation for ...
We were in bed, sir, every man,
when the English host upon us came,
A bloody battle then began
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
The English horse they were so rude,
they bath'd their hooves in Highlan' blood,
But our brave clans, they boldly stood
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
... jodan-no-yoho giri kudashi, the high horizontal cut,
right to left as the body uncoils and the left hand comes
around to grip the hilt and put the whole force of that
uncoiling behind the decapitation stroke ("... to the cross,
inverted ..." the whisper said), and the left hand let go
again as the body whirled around into right-advance guard
and the right sank the blade into chudan-no-kame, middle
guard, and the blade sank into darkness until only a
gleaming tracery of blue-silver fire marked its edge and her
body faded away ...
But, alas! We could no longer stay,
and o'er the hills we came away,
And sore we do lament the day,
that e'er we came to Cromdale.
Then the great Montrose did say,
Highlan' men show me the way,
For I will o'er the hills this day,
to view the haughs of Cromdale.
... and the blade angled left and thrust up and forward,
left hand flickering forward to propel the body of the blade
in a thrusting cut to the back and side of the neck of the
dark, faceless figure that attacked from that side and,
still faceless, faded as it fell and left only the great
spray of blood from its severed carotid and jugular, bright
red and wet as it fanned out from the massive slash and her
left hand fell away again ...
They were at dinner, every man,
when great Montrose upon them came,
A second battle then began,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
The Grant, Mackenzie and MacKay,
soon as Montrose they did espy,
O then, they fought most valiantly!
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
... and her right hand brought the blade down a foot and
began the mirror-image thrust-and-slash to the right and her
left hand floated up (so fast) and she thrust right and past
the target and her body twisted back as her left hand pushed
forward and her right drew back and the back edge of the
blade cut through the target's throat in the strike Ranma
had taught her earlier in the week ('This move was designed
for a two-edged blade,' she thought) and the fan of blood
arced out wide and scarlet as she completed
kongou-no-souseii (and the whisper said, "...
twin-thunderbolts ...") and the blood-sprays blew past and
behind her view and the fallen bodies faded like mist and
...
The MacDonalds they returned again,
the Camerons did their standard join,
MacIntosh play'd a bloody game,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
The MacGregors fought like lions bold,
MacPhersons, none could them control,
MacLaughlins fought, like loyal souls,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
... she faced an opponent across ten feet of open ground and
the circle of watchers were tense as the Marshall dropped
the wand to begin the duel and she advanced chudan and
feinted outside and knocked his sword off-line *scrape*
along the top of the opponent's blade, shock of heavy
resistance as she cut through the neck and her horse kicked
into a gallop as she put up the great bow and the sword was
in her hand and she extended it forward, wrist cocked as the
point turned a little down, making a small lance as they
galloped toward the enemy in his array and the heavy, wet
shock as the blade went home ran up her arm and she galloped
across the field cutting down her foes and they faded into
mist, gray and fading except for the bright scarlet of the
spraying, running, dripping blood and the blood sprayed back
and forth but none of it clung to her or to the blade but it
seemed to spray off a figure hanging in front of her in the
heavy air and she ran through the dark stone halls striking
target (only targets, gray, fading and gone) left and right
and the flowing blood outlined and then filled in another
opponent ...
MacLeans, MacDougals, and MacNeils,
so boldly as they took the field,
And make their enemies to yield,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
The Gordons boldly did advance,
the Frasers fought with sword and lance,
The Grahams they made the heads to dance,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
... tall and massive, armored in an alien style in full
plate-and-chain like and yet unlike a samurai in its
blood-red armor and taiken like her own and she fought with
it back and forth across a hearth a field a forest clearing
and she brought the blade around kasumi kiri age, arms
crossed, right hand sliding out low to join the left hand
and come up hard and diagonally to the left across the body,
and her opponent opened out along the line of the cut and
there was nothing inside but blood and it sprayed out and
covered her but there was no smell of blood, no remembered
iron tang but only a stale, sweet, sad hint of roses and the
blood hanging in the air turned black and fell like rain,
and she met and destroyed another gray warrior and another
and another but their blood did not spray out bright wet
scarlet but black and heavy and it fell back upon them and
they twisted and where a man had stood a black rose now hung
in midair and the air was full, overpowered by the smell and
something small and bright and blue fell out of the sky and
the gem hung before her, glowing and she swung the sword
kiri otashi kudashi again and it flared with blue fire so
intense that it blinded her and the rose was burned away and
where the jewel had been crouched a figure twisted and
huddled over, almost invisible except for the crippled,
twisted claw that was its right hand and her hands went back
for the stroke but then she brought the blade down and
grasped it with both hands and _snapped_ it and it was whole
again and the twisted figure faded and she stepped past it
and the blade flared brighter and higher and she attacked
the alien, horrible form that rose above her, slobbering,
and she cut it across and it divided in half and fell away
and she dropped the blade, casting it aside and the dust
covered it and her eye flared with pain and she fell and
twisted as she rolled in the dust and she grasped the hilt
and came upright ...
The loyal Stewarts with Montrose,
so boldly set upon their foes,
And brought them down with Highland blows,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
Of twenty thousand Cromwell's men,
five hundred fled to Aberdeen
The rest of them lie on the plain,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.
... and settled into perfect chudan-no-kame as the kata
ended and she saluted the Dojo and flicked the sword around.
And she turned back to Ranma where she knelt near the Dojo
wall and asked, "Does the name Talvalin mean anything to
you?"
"Not a thing," Ranma said cheerfully and handed her the
remade scabbard and she sheathed the sword.
And from the main house Kasumi called, "Ranma-san,
Akane-chan, dinner!"
And they went in to see.
------------------------------------------------------------
Akane's room was dark and still in night's embrace. Akane,
however, was not.
Shadowy dreams of loss and pain lurked just beyond the
border of the waking world, and a pit of darkness vast
enough to suck her down forever awaited her least little
lowering of defense. This she knew.
What she did not know was how to fight the encroaching dark.
If she could only find a target, something to hit with her
fist or her sword. If it were only an external threat that
she could face head on. If it were only an obvious weakness,
something even in herself, but something she could come to
grips with. But what could she do with dreams in the dark?
Lost in her silent, failing struggle, she did not hear the
quiet opening of the door, nor did she note the form that
ghosted across her room until it actually sat upon her bed;
and by then, of course, it was too late. Ranma had already
heard her faint whimper, already seen her toss and turn.
Numbly she turned her head to look at Ranma, and was again
surprised by the serene concern in her friend's sapphire
eyes.
In some sense, Akane had always lived her life in a
continual state of insecurity; always convinced that the
next day, the next challenge would prove her painfully
gathered skills inadequate, would leave her bereft and
lacking in worth. It was not that she did not appreciate her
own skills as a martial artist; indeed, in some ways those
skills were themselves the source of the problem. She was
good at martial arts, but, she felt, _only_ at martial arts.
For all of her girlhood, Kasumi had been the perfect female
figure. When their mother had died, she had stepped into the
role of alpha female with barely a hitch. Nabiki had become
skilled in manipulation, using her mind and her skills at
sneakiness to get things accomplished; for the benefit of
the Dojo itself, mostly, it was true. Denied primacy in
these areas, Akane had specialized in the Art, taking up the
family school that neither of her sisters had expressed an
interest in, and in that pursuit she had established a
primacy of her own.
What she had not established was that her primacy was real.
Always, in the back of her mind, came the thought that her
sisters had _allowed_ her that primacy, because it did not
matter. That no-one contested her in it, because no-one
cared. That all that her effort had bought her was ...
nothing.
In the bright light of day she could look around herself and
see her strengths. In the light it looked like she had made
of herself a warrior who could overcome any challenge she
attempted. In the light it looked like the paths she had
turned aside from offered little in the way of real
challenge. In the light it looked as though _she_ had taken
the harder path, the path of greatest growth, and that the
necessary parts (Oh, not _all_ the parts, no. But you don't
need _all_ the parts to get by.) of the others would be ...
easy. Mostly. In the light.
But things do have a tendency to look differently in the
dark.
And if you were lying on your back looking up at the
ceiling, and if you were somehow to relax the guards you
normally hold that keep you from thinking unpleasant
thoughts like that, then, having thought one unpleasantness,
you might go on to think others. You might begin to think
that the path that you had chosen, far from being the path
of greatest growth, was instead the path of least result.
You might begin to think that you had traded the ability to
make cookies for the ability to nearly get the woman you
have just realized you love killed.
Or, you might begin to question just how much all this
practice you have been doing in your chosen field has
actually bought you. You might begin to compare the things
you had learned on your own to the things that, let's say,
Someone had taught you, and conclude that you had learned
nothing of value yourself at all. You might begin to think
that you were ... lesser, ... second rate. And you might
begin to wonder what use you, yourself, actually were. A
second rater moreover, you might begin to think, who has had
the great idiocy to fall for a first rater in the same
field.
And you might begin to wonder just what use there is in
saying, for example, "Ranma and Akane".
"Ranma and Kasumi", you might think, makes some sense;
"Kasumi" can cook ... and clean ... and ... and be Kasumi.
"Ranma and Nabiki" allows "Nabiki" to be sneaky and make
money.
But if all "Akane" is good for is fighting, and if "Ranma"
already has the fighting part of "Ranma and Akane" covered,
then what use in "Ranma and Akane" is ... "Akane"? And if
"Ranma and Akane" is a thing that you are coming to believe
is the thing that makes being "Akane" worthwhile, but there
is no use in "Ranma and Akane" for "Akane", then what use
_is_ "Akane"? Or ... _is_ there any use for "Akane" ... at
all?
And these are the sorts of thoughts that have a tendency to
cause theoretical thinkers Deep Distress, and, on that
count, to be relegated to the far background and never
allowed out into the conscious portion of the brain. And
this in itself can cause certain problems.
For instance, when confronted with the aforesaid "Someone
first rate in the same field", and the occasion to meditate
on silken scarlet hair and sea-deep sapphire eyes, and the
opportunity to ask the question "Is there room in 'Ranma and
Akane' for 'Akane'? Or, indeed, is there any reason to
entertain the concept of 'Ranma and Akane' at all?", then
thoughts like these might cause you to wimp out.
F another instance, even if you _are_ the "Someone, etc."
and even if you _know_ that there is indeed very good reason
to entertain the concept of "Ranma and Akane", and
furthermore what role "Akane" should play in it, it does not
necessarily follow that you _also_ know whether there is any
reason to consider the concept of "Akane and Ranma". And in
this case similar thoughts can not only cause you to wimp
out, but also to pay less attention to subtleties of
interpersonal conversation than might otherwise be the case.
To summarize the summary of the summary: people are a
problem.
And this goes a long way towards explaining why, when Ranma
said, "Problems?" Akane did _not_ say, "Yes! I'm tired, I'm
sick, I hurt and I'm so confused and overwhelmed that I
can't think. I need to bury my face in your hair for several
years to clear my head. Make love to me 'til I pass out!"
but rather (in a much smaller voice), "Can't think. Too
much." And why Ranma did not, quite, hear what she meant,
but only what she said.
And also why, when Ranma knelt on the bed and drew Akane up
into a reverse embrace, so that Akane was sitting in front
of Ranma with Ranma's arms folded beneath her breasts and
the top of her head beneath Ranma's chin, and said, "Maybe I
can teach you a technique to help. Do you trust me?" Akane
just said "Yes," instead of "With my honor, my life and my
soul. And, incidentally, if you wanted to move your hands up
a bit I'd be perfectly happy to trust you with my body,
too." And Ranma, of course, missed that, as well.
Even world class martial artists, gifted with the perception
to track another person's motives and intentions in the heat
of mortal combat have their occasional off days. Which is a
shame, it's true. But it just isn't time for this story to
go lemon yet.
------------------------------------------------------------
"Okay, Acchan," Ranma murmured, "this is called 'the
Rainbow', because the way you begin requires you to picture
one in your mind. What I am going to ask you to do is to
close your eyes, and then to impress upon yourself a vision
of each of the colors of the rainbow, one by one.
"As you visualize each color, you will attach to it all of
your tensions, unhappiness or pain and imbalance in a
specific area. Then, when you release the visualization of
the color, you will also release all the negative chi that
you have just collected.
"The order and rhythm of the colors will allow you to
completely rid yourself of negative energy and to achieve a
focused and receptive mental state. Then, when you have
passed through all the colors, you will find yourself
standing on a darkened landscape, where you will encounter a
stairway leading down.
"If you choose to descend the stairway, you will then
encounter a well-built, solid door, to which, you will find,
you hold the only key. Behind the door, if you choose to
open it, you will find your Library, or Study, the
metaphorical center of your intellect.
"This technique employs a mixture of focused meditation and
self- hypnosis, and I repeat that you may _choose_ to
descend the stairway, and you may _choose_ to open the door
to impress upon you that it is _your_ door and _your_
stairway, and that _you_ may and must decide when, and
whether, to proceed in each and every case. I will be here
to guard you, this first time, and I will show you the way,
but it is your will that must impel events. If you decide to
reverse the exercise, all you need do, _at any time_, is
open your eyes. Okay?"
Akane nodded, silently.
"Then begin with the first color of the rainbow," Ranma
said, quietly, "think about red, soft, warm red ..." Ranma
kept her voice in a soothing, lulling murmur, just loud
enough to hear at close range, and began to enter into the
rhythms and pauses of a hieratic chant.
"All there is is red ... red is the color of physical
relaxation ... let the red fill every corner of your body,
let it pick up all the pain and fatigue and tension and then
let it flow away ... red flows away and is followed by
orange ..."
Ranma's low contralto voice flowed over Akane's weary mind
and soothed her deeper and deeper into a trance state,
taking her through the colors of the rainbow, and also
through all the stages of release of care and tension, "...
violet is the color of union with the Tao, the Tao is
everything and nothing, become part of the color and let the
color become part of you ... drift down with the color as it
gets darker and darker ... closer and closer to the dark ...
less and less color ... less and less of everything ...
everything going away until you are alone with yourself and
the Tao ... don't be afraid ... I'll be just out here ...
nothing will get by me to harm you ... tell me when you are
ready to go on."
Akane seemed to drift down, through a slowly fading violet
haze, down to a gentle landing on her feet. All around her
she sensed a darkened, empty plain stretching far away.
Though in looking around she could not see any sign of
Ranma, her presence still nestled close about her, warm and
comforting. "Okay," she said, "now what?"
"Turn around," Ranma replied, "Do you see the stairway?"
"Uh-huh. Should I go down?"
"Whenever you're ready."
Akane slowly walked down the stairway, feeling very secure,
as though she were following an old, familiar pathway, to a
well-beloved destination. At the bottom of the stairs, she
came to a small landing, seemingly cut out of the living
rock. It was filled with a sourceless illumination, and
could be exited in only two ways: the stairway up, and a
large, forbidding door made of iron-banded oak. The door did
not open to a touch, and the keyhole exuded a definite
impression of impregnability.
"Ranchan? I'm at the bottom, but I can't get the door open."
"Look in your pocket. You're carrying the key."
"I don't remember any key that looked like that ... hey!
You're right Ranchan!" Akane unlocked the door, and opened
it upon wonder. "Ranchan! It's a library alright! Wow! There
must be _millions_ of books and things, there's Mangas all
over the place, all my favorites ..." Ranma assumed a pained
look, "... the paintings on the walls, they're beautiful ...
Kamis! Look at that desk! Thing's big enough for planes to
land on ... ooohh! Nice, comfy chair too! Ahhh! This is
really nice, Ranchan. Are you sure it's mine?"
"All yours, Acchan," Ranma chirped, "Let me give you a
present?"
"Ummm, sure. What is it?"
"Look on the desk, it may be under something. It's a small
book, leather binding, thin pages ...."
"I see it! Ranchan! It's really expensive .... are you sure
you can afford to give it to _me_?"
"Trust me.
"Now if you open the book, you will see that I've written a
word on the first several pages, right? The first page says
'Akane', the second says 'study', the third says 'focus',
the fourth says 'sleep', the fifth says 'dream' and the
sixth says 'return' right? And the rest are blank."
"Yep. So?"
"So if you pick up the book and concentrate on 'Akane' you
will then concentrate on who you are and why. This will let
you more fully integrate new skills and experiences into
your Tao.
"Likewise 'study' will focus your subconscious on making
sense whatever the last things you have just learned are,
'focus' will let you concentrate on one specific thing that
you are thinking of, 'sleep' will let you do just that,
'dream' will give you the ability to direct and explore your
dreams, and 'return' will bring you back.
"You can do more than one thing at once, and if you open
your eyes without concentrating on 'return' part of you will
keep, for instance, studying everything you have been
learning that day; even while you are asleep, or eating
dinner, or whatever."
"Gotcha. Pretty cool."
"Glad you like it. Now concentrate on 'return' ...."
Akane opened her eyes and looked around, blinking. She
noticed that Ranma had somehow moved from behind her,
holding her up, to sitting on the foot of the bed. 'Awwwww.'
"Ohayo, Ranchan, what now?"
"Do me a favor."
"Okay."
"Go back under and hit 'Akane' and 'sleep'. I'll see you in
the morning."
"Spoilsport."
"Slacker."
Akane stretched and yawned, laying back into her covers
before Ranma's folded arms stance as colors whirled around
her. Soon, the beautiful walls of her Library opened around
her. Walking over to her desk she picked up the book Ranma
had given her and thumbed through it.
For a few moments she stopped on the first blank page and
stared at it intensely, then she picked a fine quill pen off
the desk and dipped it in the ink sitting in the small ink-
stone. Poising the pen over the page she used the best
calligraphy she could muster to write the word 'Ranma' on
it.
Holding the book open in her hands, she sank down into the
chair and got comfortable. Then she focused her will on the
pages 'Ranma', 'Akane', 'sleep' and 'dream'. On the last
word she closed the book and put it down on the desk,
letting her arms out wide in an enormous stretch and
cracking all her vertebrae, before settling backwards to go
to sleep.
Outside the library, Ranma looked down fondly on Akane's
sleeping form and ghosted out the door and back to the guest
room.
And had there been anyone around that night who was able to
see the rising ghosts of dreams on the night air, that
someone might have spied the columns of such rising strongly
and fully from two separate rooms of the big old house,
remarked on how similar to each other they were, and been
astonished.
But there wasn't, and so, no-one did.
------------------------------------------------------------
Next:
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences
Part B: The Morning After the Night Before
Tomorrow,
Yours very respectfully,
Eric Hallstrom, CC, PhD, UBIP,etc.
--
www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html
www.kawaiikunee.com
hallcon@mindspring.com
kawaii@kawaiikunee.com