Waters Under Earth

A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Alan Harnum 
-harnums@thekeep.org
-harnums@hotmail.com (old/backup)

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

Waters Under Earth at Transpacific Fanfiction:  
http://www.humbug.org.au/~wendigo/transp.html
http://users.ev1.net/~adina/shrines2/fanfics.html

Chapter 30 : The Figure In the Shadows

     Fang Shi of the Joketsuzoku walked heavily up the rough dirt
road that led to her home on the outskirts of the village,
supporting herself with her huge polearm as she walked.  Right
now, she felt very old and tired.  The arts of the Joketsuzoku 
preserved the vitality of the body, if not the appearance, but 
sometimes even the arts of the Joketsuzoku could not counter the 
weight of more than a century lived.

     Her great-granddaughter walked beside her, skipping back and 
forth nervously from one side to another of her older relative, 
occasionally trying to make small talk in the native tongue, and 
ultimately failing to raise Fang Shi out of her black mood.

     "" she said, rubbing her hands together and
licking her lips.  ""  She gave a nervous little laugh.
     
     Fang Shi snarled and lashed out with the haft of her weapon,
knocking Bai Ling tumbling to the ground to the dusty ground with
a startled cry.  ""

     Bai Ling rolled with the blow as she'd been taught and came
smoothly to her feet.  "" she 
murmured, casting her eyes to the ground.  ""

     "" Fang Shi chided.  They stood outside the
house now, an aged but sturdy two-story structure.  Fang Shi 
shoved the door open and stepped inside into the front hall, Bai 
Ling following.

     Feeling every ache and pain of her ancient joints, the
matriarch leaned her weapon against the wall, and turned to look 
up at her great-granddaughter.  ""

     Bai Ling nodded and left without a word.  Fang Shi shuffled
wearily into the richly-decorated living room and opened the
doors of the small, ornately-carved cabinet in one corner.

     She blinked, and searched through the bottles.  It should
have been right near the front.  She was interrupted by an
unfamiliar voice.  ""

     With a start, she turned towards the source of the voice.  A
tall man sat in one of the room's straight-backed chairs, sipping 
from a glass.  On the table beside her, the translucent green 
shape of the bottle Fang Shi had been searching for glistened.

     Fang Shi narrowed her eyes.  ""
     
     ""

     Her lip curled in a sneer.  Impudent male; she would teach
him respect.  With an almost blinding burst of speed, she darted
across the room, arm curled back to deliver a blow.

     The tall man rose with flowing grace and kicked her solidly 
in the stomach, knocking her flying across the room to crash into 
another chair.  It, and she, tumbled over in a heap.  A moment 
later, a hand seized her throat and dangled her off the ground.

     Helplessly, she stared into the sky-blue eyes, chillingly
cold and dead of any emotion.  The man was huge; sitting in the
chair, he'd seemed only tall, but now she saw that he was 
massively built and powerfully muscled as well.  His short hair 
was a pale golden.  A foreigner, hard-faced and brutally 
countenanced.

     "" he asked with a sneer, shaking her once.  He had an 
accent, unplaceable, that lent a harsh, mechanical quality to his 
speech.

     Eyes wide, half-choking, she tried to give reply.  It came
out as a thin, strangled whimper.     

     He shook her again.  ""
     
     "" she managed to croak at last.  ""

     He dropped her then, and walked away, his back turned
contemptuously.  Despite the urge, Fang Shi was not stupid enough
to attempt retaliation.  She picked herself up off the carpeted
floor, and followed shakily behind him.
     
     The man sat back down in a chair, and bid her to do the 
same.  He poured a second glass from the green flask, and walked
over to hand it to her solicitously.  Fang Shi drank, and let the
soothing fire of the liquor spread through her ancient body.

     In his chair again, the man steepled his hands and looked at
her intently.  ""

     She drained her glass, and stared at the man through
narrowed eyes.  ""

     He smiled.  ""
     
     ""
     
     The powerful shoulders shrugged.  ""

     Slowly, she nodded.
     
     ""

     Fang Shi scowled, and bit back her wrath.  ""

     ""
     
     ""
     
     "" the man commented without a trace of
sympathy.  ""

     The only thing that kept her from striking him down was the
knowledge that she would fail.  Clenching one withered fist, she
glared at him fiercely.  ""

     He shrugged nonchalantly.  ""
     
     Fang Shi was silent.  She wished she had more to drink.  
""

     "" the man said.  ""

     "" the elder murmured.  ""  She stared into the bottom of her empty glass, at the few
drops of dark liquor that still clung to it.  ""
     
     The old woman listened vaguely as the man spun out the
details of his plan.  She occasionally nodded.  Halfway through,
he poured her another drink, all courtesy and cooperation at that
point, almost enough to make the elder forget how easily he had
dealt with her attack, or how cold his eyes had been at first.  
The plan was admirable, she decided after her guest had left.  
She had another drink, and then left herself to pass word of the 
plan to several of her associates.
     
     Had Fang Shi known what the purpose of the plan truly was, 
she would have been horrified.  Which was precisely the reason 
that her guest didn't tell her all of it right away.  Fang Shi 
was old and subtle, but he was older and subtler by far.
     
**********

     Akane carefully folded the final dress, smoothed it out, and
tucked it into the drawer.  "Well," she commented to the empty
room, "unpacked at last."

     The guest room she was sharing with Rouge was 
well-appointed, and not at all cramped.  Beams of light from the
recently-risen sun poured in through a wide rectangular window
opposite the door, and some of it sprayed across the room in a 
broad fan of colours where it passed through a carefully-worked
panel of geometrical stained glass hung above the window.  A 
souvenir from one of Cologne's travels, Shampoo had said, though 
only after Akane had asked.

     There had not been time to unpack before now.  Not time to
do anything.  Now her clothing was put away, and there was
nothing left to do but wait.  Akane was not very good at waiting;
patience was a virtue she had never mastered, or even really
approached.

     She sat down in a light wooden chair by the window; crossing
her legs at the ankles, she intersected the sunlight, and the
stained glass cast a jagged rainbow across her blue skirt.

     Carefully, she shifted the cardboard box on her lap, and
then opened it, dropping the lid casually to the floor.  Photos
lay inside, all of Ranma, sometimes alone, sometimes with others.

     She brought one forth, a shot taken at the beach, Ranma in
his female body in a yellow one-piece.  Haltingly, she traced the
photo with her fingers, and slowly closed her eyes.

     Promises, half-made, before this nightmare had begun.  There
had been a change in him, and in her, and a change in what lay
between the two of them.  And then another change; gone, gone, 
gone.

     And now she was thousands of miles away from home, following
the vaguest clues.  Nothing else to do; no other hope.

     Mechanically, she put the photo back, closed the box, and
hid it in the dresser under some clothing.  A knock on the door
made her jump, and she quickly closed the drawer and turned.
"Come in."

     The door opened, and Genma stepped through, his expression
calculatedly neutral.  "A moment, Akane?"

     She slowly nodded and folded her arms.  "What do you want,
Mr. Saotome?"

     "Just to talk," Genma answered, coming to stand in front of 
her.  "I know that things have never been particularly close
between us, Akane--"

     "Really?" Akane replied sarcastically.  "Whatever makes you
say that?"

     Genma's shoulders slumped.  "You know that I care for my 
son, Akane."  Almost, but not quite a question.

     She snorted.  "You've never shown much sign of it, then."
     
     "Ahh, yes," Genma said with surprising bitterness.  "And you
have always been completely open with your feelings towards
Ranma."

     Despite the speaker, the words still stung.  Akane winced.
"Ranma and I had a lot of things to work out still.  That's 
why--"

     "That's why we have to find him," Genma interrupted.  "So
that the families can be united."

     "Now hold on a minute!" Akane snapped.  "I never said..."
     
     "Hear me out, Akane," he said, holding up his hands in a
peacemaking gesture.  "Right before this started, Soun and Nodoka 
and I asked Ranma and you to come to a decision about your
engagement."  He paused.  "I don't know what you and Ranma
decided, but I think I can guess.  You were willing to marry my
son."

     What, she realized, was the point of lying anymore, even to
Genma.  "Yes," she said quietly and sincerely.  "I was."

     Genma nodded.  "One more reason to find him.  Right now, the
master is going through Cologne's things, the ones that she left
here when she came to Japan."  He looked suddenly contemplative,
not speaking for a few moments as he gathered his thoughts.  
"Akane, the master and I have talked about this at some length,
and we have come to a conclusion.  Wherever Ranma is, we think it
likely that he is not a prisoner.  My son is too resourceful, too 
good.  It is quite possible he is wherever he is because he wants
to be there."

     "No!" Akane said vehemently.  "He wouldn't just run away
like that.  Cologne--"

     "Cologne is the hinge in this," Genma said.  "I'll tell you
the truth, I never liked or trusted that old woman.  But the
master knew her a lot better than I did, and he doesn't think
that she would have done what she did without some hidden 
reason."

     "What?" Akane demanded.  "What reason?"
     
     Genma reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, 
adjusting the position of his glasses.  "Protecting Shampoo,  for
one.  The master knows Joketsuzoku law fairly well; it is only
the exceptional circumstances of things that have let Shampoo off
as lightly as they have."

     "Lightly?" Akane said.  "Taken to..."  She trailed away,
shuddering.  Her own ordeal at Jusenkyou and Ranma's story of her
very body's shape stolen had taught her the true terror of the 
place.  

     "Lightly for the Joketsuzoku," Genma said.  "More than that,
though.  Those two women who were there are an unknown factor.  
We cannot but guess at their purposes."  He frowned.  "Happosai
believes there is some connection between them and the 
Joketsuzoku.  If there is, and Cologne was interested in keeping
Ranma out of their hands, she could not even trust all of her own
people entirely."

     "Than where?" Akane asked.  
     
     Genma shrugged.  "I have absolutely no idea.  It's mostly
the master's thinking, and he hasn't gone much further than 
that."     

     Akane growled.  "We have to find him."
     
     "Stating the obvious will do nothing," Genma pointed out.
"Once Shampoo and the others return we can figure out what to 
do."

     Grudgingly, Akane nodded.  "I guess you're right."
     
     Genma nodded in turn and moved to leave.  As he opened the
door, he paused and looked back.  "We're going to find him,
Akane."  There was no note of uncertainty in his voice, only a
fervent belief and hope.  

     Before she could respond, he had closed the door and left.
     
     Akane stood in thought for a moment.  She stared at the
sheet of colours cast across the floor.  She wanted to believe
Genma was right.  But somehow, inexplicably, she got the feeling 
that time was running out.

**********

     Cologne's library, while not huge, had still occupied a
single, medium-sized room in her house.  It had been quite dusty 
as well when Happosai had entered; it appeared that no one had
come in since she'd gone to Japan.

     Finding the most frequently perused books had been easy.  
The faint traces of Cologne's powerful and distinctive ki clung
to them still, like a faint mist; four of the books that he'd 
found had been very important to her.  They were all ancient, 
the youngest a good century old.  All of them were handwritten in 
the same neat, precise style.  They were in Chinese, of course, 
but he read the language almost as well as he spoke it.

     Sitting down at a small table that stood huddled in one
corner amidst the shelves, he carefully adjusted the shade of the
antique electric lamp and opened the smallest volume, a slim work 
of about fifty handwritten pages, bound in leather.

     He thumbed through it carelessly.  The first few pages
introduced it as a record of interviews with various members of 
the Musk Tribe; he vaguely remembered hearing of them before.  In 
the margins, there were notes in Cologne's crabbed, familiar 
script.  

     One page seemed particularly tattered, as if from very
frequent reading.  He coughed suddenly, silently cursing the dust
in the room, and read through it:

          When She Who Must not wake rises, the vault of the
     heavens will be given a second sun, and the mountain will be 
     consumed in fire.  The seas will swell, and vomit forth
     their ancient corruption.  And the Unmaker, the oldest one 
     of all, will come forth from the tomb where he lies dead but 
     undying, and the Awakener shall have brought the reign of
     Dark in the serving of the Light.
     
     Scattered notes in Cologne's hand dotted the margins.  
'Inevitability of awakening'; 'Necessity to control'; 'Dead but
undying: ressurection, rebirth, reincarnation?'.

     "What wondrous obliqueness," Happosai muttered.  "It's just
like having a conversation with you, Cologne."

     He moved to turn the page, and then the world exploded.  His
seated body convulsed; his hand lashed out, not under his control,
and sent the lamp tumbling to the floor.  The bulb shattered in a
tiny detonation of glass and light.

     The chair tipped over and he fell back, not even feeling the
pain as his head hit the ground.  Images flashed through his 
mind;  high cliffs, white sand like powdered bone, the yawning
maw of a cave beyond which blackness lay in almost physical
manifestation, gardens of surpassing beauty, long and empty 
hallways, a wooden gate, light flickering on stone faces.  
A face; hard and beautiful, scarred and cruel.  Something very 
terrible behind the dark eyes, a hunger.  Great fear.  A 
location; an absolute knowing of direction and distance.

     Happosai lay on his back.  He took a deep breath.  He took
another.  Then he opened his eyes; dark spots swam before his
vision for a time, and then slowly began to fade away, one by
one.

     The ceiling came into focus, the broad, cramped beams that
crisscrossed overhead.  His eyes traced the grain of the wood.
Everything seemed sharper, more details there than before.  That 
impression soon began to vanish as well, though, and he lay on
his back, breathing softly, too drained to move for nearly a
minute.
     
     At last, he sat up, drawing a knee up and resting his arms 
on it as he carefully took a breath.  He suddenly felt old again,
old and tired as he had ever been, in this young man's body.

     "I really did not need to have to deal with this on top of
everything else," he said softly to himself as he shakily stood 
to his feet.  He carefully pushed the larger pieces of the broken
lightbulb into a pile in the corner with his foot, and put the 
bulbless lamp up on the table again.  Then he knelt down and 
began to carefully pick up the stray shards that he'd missed.

     A knock on the door outside made him turn his head.  "Who's
there?"

     The soft voice of Shampoo's father echoed from beyond the
door.  Happosai realized he didn't even know the man's name.  
"The others have returned, honoured guest."

     As he rose to leave, a stab of pain lanced through his 
finger, and he stared with something almost like surprise at the
shard of glass that had cut him, and the blood slowly trickling
down his finger.  "Ouch."  Popping the cut finger into his mouth
and sucking on it, he walked towards the door.

**********
     
     The sun rose a few hours ago over the village of the
Joketsuzoku.  Now, it hangs at the mid-point of dawn and noon.
The sky is almost entirely blue, a few wispy strands of clouds
trailing like fingers across the curvature.  From the chimneys of
the houses, smoke rises in billowy wreaths, the mark of the 
cooking fires started for breakfast.

     In the centre of the village, the morning market is set up, 
an entirely self-contained thing amongst the Joketsuzoku, 
where the farmers sell their crops and the herders their meat and 
the artificers their creations.  The gossip is here too; the 
return of the village's finest young warrior in the company of 
outsiders precludes the discussion of anything else.  Theories 
are exchanged, the seeds of rumours are planted.  Bai Ling of the
Joketsuzoku walks there, trying to gauge the feeling.

     In one of the houses, there is a minor celebration going on.
Judgement was passed, and somehow, by some twist of chance or
fate or luck, the judgement was a blessing, of sorts.  They sit
around the table, sharing a meal.  There is a tempering of the
celebratory mood; an unexplained and unexpected arrival.
     
     That unexpected arrival lies still and asleep in the bed of
another house.  His eyes are closed.  He breathes once.  A span
of time that seems too long passes before he takes another
breath.  Lang Bei sighs.  She reaches out and touches her
grandson's face; once upon each closed eye, the brow, each cheek,
the curvature of nose, the turn of mouth.  Mousse breathes again.
He says something too quiet to be heard.  Lang Bei sighs again.

     In a third house, a discussion is finishing.  The two
speakers rise.  They go their separate ways.  Both have work to 
do.

     And finally, down to the south, past the invisible border
that protects Jusenkyou from almost all who might seek to harm it
or the people, a small hot spring facility stands, recently
repaired after an attack by what came to be called an onsen
devil.

     A few customers lounge in the bubbling spring, the steam
curling into the air.  Suddenly, an enormous shadow falls over
the pool.  The customers flee screaming.  A short while later, a
lone man walks out of the pool, his gait weary and slumped.  He
heads to the north.
    
     Moments of transition.  A pause between scenes.  The players
take their places on the darkness of the stage, and in the wings 
stand the figures in the shadows.  

     There is calm, for a brief time, before the storm.  The true
storm this time; all others have yet been preludes, distant rolls
of thunder.  Now the true storm is coming; silent, creeping, 
inexorable, it moves towards the Valley of the Waters, so long
building and soon to break.  Pulling the players slowly, one by 
one, gathering them in.
     
**********

      Shampoo hesitated for a moment, and then knocked on the
door of Lang Bei's house.  Akane stood a few steps behind her
with Ryoga, staring at the boards of the porch.  Lang Bei's home 
was a short distance beyond the sprawl of houses that packed the 
central areas of the village, standing alone on the upper slopes 
of a hill.  Thick risers of cut logs supported the wide porch 
that jutted out before the front door of the house, and a short 
flight of stairs led up to it.

     The interested crowd of villagers that had followed Shampoo,
asking questions that Akane couldn't understand, had gradually
dispersed as they'd approached Lang Bei's house.  There was, 
Akane noted, a rather solemn and depressing air about the place.

     Shampoo knocked again.  Akane looked at the thick wooden
door of the house; a half-dozen strange characters were lightly
carved into the wood.  They didn't look like Chinese or Japanese; 
too angular, not flowing enough.

     "I wonder how Mousse got here?" she asked Ryoga quietly
     
     Ryoga shrugged.  "I wish I knew.  It just doesn't make any
sense, but..."

     "Mousse hard to get rid of," Shampoo muttered, glancing over
her shoulder.  Her father had given her shorn hair a trim; it was
half the length it used to be, and lacked the tails of hair that
had hung in front over her ears before.  "Just when you think he 
finally gone, he back again."
     
     The words held no particular callousness in them; a sense of
sadness, even.  Shampoo turned her attentions back to the door,
and pounded on it hard.  "Lang Bei!"

     The door opened slowly.  Lang Bei looked down at the three
young people on her porch, blue-grey eyes hard and piercing.  
"Yes?"

     "How is Mousse?" Shampoo asked.  
     
     "He's asleep," Lang Bei answered shortly.  "It is probably
best not to disturb him."

     "Please," Shampoo said, casting her eyes to the ground.  It
was about the closest Akane had ever heard her come to actually
pleading.

     Lang Bei's expression softened.  "Just a short time."
     
     She stepped back from the door to allow them to enter.  They
passed through a small but well-appointed living room, dominated
by a large stone fireplace.  Over the blocky mantle, a long 
wood-shafted spear, the bladed head broad and viciously barbed, 
rested on a pair of hooks sunk into the timbers of the wall; the 
make was unfamiliar to Akane, and she liked to think she had a
good knowledge of weaponry.  "Where's that spear from?"

     Lang Bei stopped walking and looked back.  "I'm not sure.
It's been in the family for centuries.  European, I believe."

     "Funny," Ryoga commented, "it doesn't look that old."
     
     Lang Bei shrugged and herded them up a narrow, steep flight
of stairs that led to the second floor of her house.  She led 
them to a door at the end of the hallway, opened it, and stood by
to let them inside.

     Beyond the door, the only light was a small lamp burning on
the table, the flame of the wick sputtering and throwing 
flickering shadows across the room.  Mousse lay on his back in 
bed, his eyes closed, his long hair spread out evenly on the 
pillow.  

     "How is he?" Akane asked.  
     
     Lang Bei moved silently beside the bed and reached down to
touch her fingers to her grandson's forehead.  "He has not 
awoken.  He occasionally says things in his sleep.  I have seen
such a state after head injuries, but there is no such wound I 
can find on him."

     Ryoga sighed heavily.  "What I want to know is how he got
here in the first place.  He was behind in Japan when we left."

     Lang Bei glanced to Shampoo.  "I had wanted to ask you about
that, child.  Speak to me alone for a few moments, would you?"

     Shampoo nodded mutely.  She looked almost guilty as she
followed Lang Bei out of the room, closing the door behind her.

     Akane came to stand with Ryoga beside Mousse's bed, looking
down at him.  His breathing was slow, disturbingly so, his skin
unusually pallid.
     
     "Ryoga, do you know what happened between Mousse and 
Shampoo?" she asked.

     Ryoga looked uncomfortable, and spent a moment in thought
before answering.  "It's their business, not mine."

     He hadn't answered the question, really, but Akane let it
go.  She reached out and took one of Mousse's hands where it lay
upon the covers; his flesh was cold.  "Mousse, can you hear me?"

     To her shock and surprise, his eyes opened.  The shock grew
when she saw what lay beneath his eyelids.  His gaze was milky,
the formerly vibrant colour of his eyes clouded and obscured.  He 
was, Akane realized with a terrible sadness, truly blind now.

     "Oh, Mousse," she whispered quietly, taking his hand in both
of hers.  Behind her, Ryoga drew a deep inhalation of breath as
he saw Mousse's eyes, and realized the same thing she had.

     Mousse raised his head, and half-sat up.  His eyes, blind as
they were now, seemed to focus upon her.  "He is close.  You will
see him again."  A long pause, as a heavy silence fell in the
small room.  "They are in danger.  Terrible danger.  The darkness
draws nearer to them, perhaps, than to any others."

     Akane could not speak.  Mousse's voice was calm and strong.
His blind eyes seemed to turn to Ryoga.  "The shadows will take
her."

     He fell back.  His eyes closed.  Ryoga stepped forward and
grabbed his shoulders where he lay.  "Who?  What are you talking
about?"

     There was no response.  "Answer me, Mousse!"
     
     "Ryoga..."  Akane laid her hand on his shoulder.  "He's...
he's just talking in his sleep.  Nightmares, maybe..."  She
smiled, trying to convince him, to convince herself.

     He stepped back and stared in anguish at his hands.  Then,
slowly, he seemed to relax.  "You're right.  Just babbling.  I
wonder what happened to him?  How he got here?"

     Akane shook her head.  "What explanation can you come up
with?  He's here, that's all we know.  I hope he wakes up soon."

     "Yeah," Ryoga muttered.  "Me too."
     
     The door opened, and Lang Bei and Shampoo stepped through.
Lang Bei looked angry and sad at once.  Shampoo's face was 
downcast, as if she could not bear to let her eyes meet anyone
else's.

     "There is a Council meeting to talk about what happened this
morning soon," the older woman said shortly.  "I need to prepare.
You can all visit him later."

     Shampoo opened her mouth, and then closed it without saying
anything.  She stared at Mousse's still form, and then turned and
walked out the door of the room.  Ryoga and Akane, a moment 
later, followed.  

     Lang Bei waited until she heard the front door close, and
then walked over to the bed.  Slowly and with great care, she
ran her fingers over Mousse's closed eyes, lightly and gently.
     
     Then she walked to the small chest in the corner and opened
it, and stared in silence at object inside, carefully wrapped in
smooth black cloth.  
     
     "I had hoped greatly," she said softly, "that it would not 
fall to you, grandson."
     
**********

     "So I guess you're cured now as well?"
     
     Rouge looked up from where she sat in the chair, a page of
the book she was reading half-turned.  "Yes.  After Shampoo fell
into the pool, it seemed the right thing to do."  She looked up 
at the ceilng for a moment.  "I will have to get used to living
without Ashura's power, but the sacrifice, I believe, was worth
it.  Better free and weak than a powerful slave to something you
cannot control."

     Happosai nodded slowly, then settled down in a chair across
from her.  The sitting room was located near the rear of the
house, dominated by a large window that let in the sunlight to
spill across the carpeted floor, and the sight of the mountains 
that cradled the land on all sides.  "What are you going to do 
when this is over?"

     Rouge smiled softly.  "Will it ever be over?"
     
     Happosai rested his hands on his knees.  "I hope so.  We'll
go back home, Shampoo will stay here, and you'll..."

     She looked lost in thought for a moment.  Happosai studied
her; very beautiful, a passing resemblance to Cologne in her
youth.  Had he been what he had been, he could not have resisted
her.  A change, though; he was Rikuichi, not Happosai.  Happosai
had to be dead for now, lost to the world.  Once this was over,
perhaps he could go back to being what he had been.  There was
not room for that, though, not in the face of all else.

     "I suppose I will see if there is a place for me here,"
Rouge answered finally.  "It is not as if I can go back to my
parents."

     She looked troubled.  Happosai wondered about her past, but
did not enquire.  It was not his business.  "Akane told you why
we're here, didn't she?"
     
     Rouge nodded and said nothing.
     
     "It might get very dangerous," Happosai continued.  "In 
fact, I'm quite sure it's going to get very dangerous.  You don't
have your powers anymore, so you be careful."

     Rouge smiled.  "I will be.  Thank you for worrying about 
me."
     
     Against all his nature, Happosai was embarassed.  It had
been a long time since a woman had thanked him and meant it with
real sincerity.

     "It's nothing," he muttered, looking at his feet.  "I can't
let a lovely young thing like you be put in danger."

     Rouge laughed.  "Lovely, I shall take.  But you're not that
much older than me."

     Happosai blanched.  "Err..."
     
     "You are a strange man, Rikuichi," she stated, shaking her
head.  "But I like you all the same."

     The temptation rose in him almost instantly.  There was a
chance here, he realized.  He was young again, though not by any
means handsome.  And she was beautiful.

     He forced the temptation down.  No distractions.  No
temptations.  Control was key; let it be a further incentive to
finish this all.  If finished it would ever be.

     "You seem like a smart girl," he said at last.  "Can I ask
you something?"

     She finally closed the book, marking her page with one
finger.  "What?"

     "A philosophical question," he explained.  "Just something
I've been thinking about.  Let us consider a situation where
someone is in a difficult position; they have to make a choice
between helping someone they know to be in trouble, or not
helping in the hope that they'll be able to do more good for more
people where they are."

     Rouge looked at him intently.  "I'd need to know more about
the situation.  Is it a friend?"

     He thought for a moment, and then nodded.  "Yes.  And they
asked for help."

     "Then how could you even think of refusing them?"
     
     An uncomfortable silence hung for a moment.  "Because 
helping them might possibly hurt a lot of other people in the
process."

     "Might, or would?"
     
     "Might," he said softly.  "Quite possibly might."
     
     "That's the key, then," Rouge said.  "If there's only a
possibility, no matter how great, that the sacrifice will do 
more good than harm, you cannot make the sacrifice."  She said
nothing for a moment, then continued.  "Perhaps not even if it
would definitely do more good than harm to make that sacrifice.
I don't think it's right to sacrifice those who are unwilling, no
matter how much good it may do in the end.  The ends may explain
the means, but they don't make them right."

     Happosai slowly nodded.  He smiled.  "I was right.  You are
smart."

     Rouge blushed faintly.  "I don't often get a chance to talk
like this.  I didn't have many friends when I was growing up, so
I read a lot."
     
     He pulled out his pipe, tapped a plug of tobacco into it,
and lit it with a match from his pocket.  "You're absolutely
correct, of course."  Inhaling, he blew out a succession of smoke
rings.  "I have to go.  No other way."

     Rouge gave a slight smile.  "I thought this was a purely
philosophical question."

     Happosai was silent for a moment.  "I've accomplished what I
came to do here.  I tried to make right the wrong my grandfather
did a century ago as best I could."  Another set of smoke rings
joined the first, bobbing in the air as their substance slowly
drifted apart.  "I can only do what I can."
     
     Rouge nodded.  Happosai waved his hand, and the smoke rings
floated down to circle around her head.  She coughed, and then
yawned.  Slowly, her eyes closed.

     He got out of his chair and walked over to stand in front of
her.  The book she'd been reading had slipped from her hand and
fallen to the floor.  Carefully, he picked it up and set in her
laps.  Stirring a finger through the gathered smoke, he watched
as it twined around his finger.

     "We had a nice conversation about nothing in particular," he
said slowly.  "Something forgettable and unimportant.  You 
choose."

     A gesture of his hand, and the smoke faded away into tiny
puffs that soon disappeared.  He walked to the door, then paused
and looked back at where Rouge dozed in the chair.

     "Sorry," he said quietly.  "But I can only be what I am."
     
     What was there left for him to do, really?  He was Happosai,
the old lech, the trickster.  He was Rikuichi, trying to cleanse
the stain upon his family's honour.

     He was a man very frightened of what he saw coming.  Perhaps
what he had to do now was a sort of escape, but he didn't want to
think of it that way.  He had promised, after all.

**********

     They stepped through the immense doors of the king's 
chambers together, only relaxing their stance when they at last
closed behind them.
     
     "They're going to drive me insane," Samofere murmured 
without a trace of humour.  "Constant demands.  Petty squabbles
over power."

     Cologne said nothing.  She felt as weary as he looked;
sighing, she took a seat on the edge of the immense bed, folding
her hands in her lap.  

     Samofere came to sit beside her, saying nothing.  After a
time, he put an arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head
against his shoulder, still in silence.  One wing came up and 
cradled her body against his with astonishing gentleness.

     Cologne felt small and safe like this, yet also incredibly
vulnerable.  A century of longing finally fulfilled, or as much 
as it ever would be.

     "They only want you to lead them," she said softly, finally
breaking the quiet.  "They are scared, Samofere.  Their entire
way of life, everything they had ever known, revolved around
Saffron.  Ask, and they will follow you to the ends of the
earth."
     
     She felt him stiffen slightly, and then slowly relax.  She
rubbed the small of his back with one hand through the fine black
silk of his robe.  A king's robe, ornamented with gold and 
jewels, newly-made only a few days ago.

     "I never wanted to be king again," he said.  "Truly, I
didn't.  I am not suited to it."

     Cologne smiled.  "You are more suited than many who desire
leadership with all their heart.  You speak as if you are unsure
of what to do, yet you have never wavered in these last few days.
You have given into none of the nobles' demands for a guarantee
that the hierarchy will continue the way it is.  You have given
the common people a voice."

     She was attending all the meetings between Samofere and his
people now.  She realized perfectly well that it made the others
uncomfortable, but it also kept the rather contentious nobles 
off-balance.  

     Kima's absence had been explained as a special mission for
the king.  It was close enough to the truth; it had been 
something of a gamble, what they had done, but their expectations
had been fulfilled.  She had gone with Ranma, of her own free
will.

     Cologne was broken from her thoughts as he shifted, and laid 
his head against hers.  "I would like to believe you are right,
Cologne.  I have always considered you the light to my darkness,
from the first day I met you."  The words disturbed her, though 
she could not say precisely why.  "These days, I sometimes think 
that you are all that keeps me going."

     "It's because I love you as much as I do," she explained
softly.  "I can tell you when you're absolutely and completely
wrong."

     He laughed.  It was good to hear him laugh these days.  "I
love you too, Cologne."

     Cologne was silent.  It was the first time he had said it to
her; she had hoped it was in him, ever since what had happened to
them in the caverns between Phoenix Mountain and Jusendo.  Now
the words were said, and she was glad.  It made things easier
between them, if only a little.

     "Were there others before me?" she asked suddenly.
     
     He said nothing.  "Samofere?"
     
     "Jealous, Cologne?"
     
     Stung by the tone of his voice, she pulled away and stood
up.  "Just tell me.  I know how old you are, I can understand."

     "One," he answered softly.  "Only one before you who I felt
the same for."

     "What was her name?"
     
     He looked pained.  "I would rather not speak of this now."
     
     "Later?" 
     
     He nodded.  "Later."
     
     Cologne took a few steps away, to stand by a tall, delicate
vase painted in gold and blue, birds on sky.  White flowers were
placed in it, dispersing their mild scent throughout the enormous
chambers of the king.

     She had no right to be jealous.  It was not as if there had
been no others for her; even a marriage within the Joketsuzoku, 
of convenience and politics rather than of love.  He had been a 
good man, and he had loved her, given her children, but she had 
never felt anything for him beyond an affection grown of time.

     It happened very suddenly.  There was a ringing in her head,
a roar like the ocean, and she was falling, crumpling bonelessly
to the floor.  She half-caught herself with one arm, skinning the
palm of her hand mildly on the polished stone of the floor.
Blinking, she tried to push back the darkness threatening to
engulf her vision.

     Hands on her shoulders.  Samofere's voice, from far, far
away.  Her name, once, twice, a third time, fear in his tone.

     "I'm fine," she managed to say at last.  "Just a dizzy
spell."

     He helped her rise.  She shook her head, and felt the last
of the ringing fade, as quickly as it had come.  A deep breath,
and she truly was fine.

     "You need to rest," he said gently.  
     
     "No more than you do," she retorted.  Raising an eyebrow,
she smirked at him.  "And I am in a good position most nights to
know how little sleep you get."  Still leaning against him for
support, she ran the fingers of one hand lightly down his chest,
tracing the firmness of his muscles.

     Samofere gaped at her for a moment, and then laughed.  "I 
don't need to sleep, Cologne.  It's pleasant enough at times, but 
I can go without it without any ill effects."

     There came a knocking at the door then, soft but repetitive.
     
     "Can't they leave us alone for even an hour?" Samofere
muttered sourly, letting her go and walking to the door.  
Cologne followed behind him, walking slowly and wondering despite
her own assertions about what had brought on the dizzy spell.

     He gripped the heavy handle of the immense door and pushed 
it open. Beyond was the view of the long covered bridge that led 
across the gap between the mountain peaks to another building, an 
entrance to the upper complex of Mount Phoenix.  

     Loame stood on the other side of the door, two of his
black-armoured men standing behind him.  And behind them stood a 
slumped, dishevelled, hollow-eyed and very tired Pantyhose Tarou.

     "Hi," he greeted flatly.  "I've got some news for you."

**********

     Akane lifted a tangle of noodles to her mouth with the
chopsticks and slurped them up.  The broth was warm and
flavourful, lightly spiced.  She put her bowl back down on the
low round table that sat in the centre of the spacious room that
served as living and dining room in Shampoo's house.

     "So," she began, glancing around the table at the other
eaters, "this is the first time we've all really had a chance to 
sit down and talk since we arrived."  Not entirely true; there 
had been the meal after Shampoo had returned this morning from
Jusenkyou, but no talk of Ranma then.  The mood had been too good
to talk of that.

     There was silence.  In the kitchen, she heard Shampoo's
father singing softly in Chinese; his voice was melodious, high 
for a man's.  

     She silently prompted Genma with her eyes.  After a moment,
he put his bowl down and coughed.  "Akane is correct.  The issue
at hand now is my son."
     
     "Most specifically," Happosai interjected, "where to begin
looking."

     Again, there was a long silence at the table.  They stared
at their food.  Akane glanced to the faces; Genma, Happosai,
Ryoga, Rouge, Shampoo.

     "He's close," Akane finally said.  "I know that."
     
     Shampoo snorted.  "How?"
     
     Mousse speaking, his eyes blank and blind.
     
     "I don't really know," Akane answered at last, unsatisfied
at the lack of conviction in her words.  "I just do."

     "Much as I dislike to raise the point," Rouge said quietly.
"Is there not the possibility that you are entirely wrong, Akane?  
That Ranma is nowhere near here?"

     Akane closed her eyes.  "I guess there is.  But I don't want
to think about that.  This is... our only hope."

     Ryoga's hand fell upon her shoulder.  She turned her head to
gaze into his dark eyes.  So much sadness there.  "I know we'll
find him, Akane."

     "He is close," Happosai said.  "I'm sure of it.  I can feel
it.  Sense it."  He shuddered.  "In every bone of my body."

     "Wherever Cologne is, that where Ranma is," Shampoo said
bluntly.  Her gaze smouldered as she spoke the name of her
great-grandmother.  "Blame falls on her for all this."

     Akane wasn't sure, but she thought she saw Happosai wince
slightly as he spoke.  "That may not be entirely fair, Shampoo.  
We still don't fully understand Cologne's..."

     "I understand just fine," Shampoo snapped.  "She lose her
mind.  That what happen."

     "Did you ever consider that it might be something else?"
Happosai queried.

     Shampoo's face twisted uglily.  "Cannot be anything else."
     
     "You are quick to cast aside your previous feelings for
her." There was a slight trace of anger in his voice, genuine,
unfamiliar.

     "You watch mouth, 'Rikuichi'," Shampoo snarled, pronouncing
Happosai's assumed name with a sarcastic edge.  Akane saw Rouge
look confused, and reminded herself to tell the other girl at
some point about who 'Rikuichi' really was.

     A fist crashed down on the table lightly.  Dishes jumped and
clattered.  "No fighting."

     Akane blinked.  "Ryoga?"
     
     Ryoga glared around the table.  "I know coming from me it
may sound a little hypocritical, but we don't need it right now.
No fighting.  Hasn't there been enough fighting already?"  He
paused.  "We need to think for once.  If Cologne's here, and
Ranma's here, where are they?  Why are they here?  What changed
that would have made Cologne need Ranma to come here, that would
make her do anything to bring him here?"

     "Getting him away from whoever or whatever those two women 
represented could have been her intention," Happosai said.  "But
why was it now?  Why not earlier?"

     Silence fell a third time.  Meals forgotten - except by
Genma, who was still picking at his distractedly as he thought -
they pondered.

     Shampoo was the first to speak.  "Saffron!"  It was said
suddenly, and with shock.  Akane almost thought she saw Happosai
give a small nod.
     
     "What about Saffron?" Ryoga asked.
     
     "When I was little, I used to hear stories," Shampoo said,
excitedly, speaking quickly as if struggling to get all her
thoughts out at once.  "Mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
all used to tell.  Saffron... they say he very powerful demon--"

     "Not too much of a stretch," Akane said softly.
     
     "--who only be defeated by strongest warrior ever!"
     
     "What else?" Happosai said, subtly leaning forward.  "What 
else did they say?"
     
     Akane could see the struggle to remember on Shampoo's face.
When at last she seemed to do so, she went slightly paler.  "Only
hear once.  Very young.  Never even think of it till now."  She 
hesitated.  "When the Phoenix dies, so dies Jusenkyou, and all
her peoples."

     She shook her head as if in denial.  "But Saffron not die.
He come back.  Is not... cannot be that.  Is only story."

     Ryoga grinned ruefully.  "Don't you remember what you said
last night, Shampoo?  There is a truth behind all the stories,
somewhere."

     "That's it," Happosai concluded.  "Somehow, because Ranma
defeated Saffron, Cologne had to do what she did."

     Shampoo shook her head.  "Can't be sure."
     
     "Ask yourself this truly, Shampoo," Happosai said.  "Which
is more likely?  That Cologne did what she did because of 
madness, or necessity?"

     "What necessity?" Akane snapped, feeling her anger rise.
"Taking him away from m-- from us, not telling us anything.  What
necessity?"

     "He was watched," Happosai said.  "Those two who followed us
up the mountain.  Would he not have been watched as well before
that?"

     "Then why she not tell us anything?" Shampoo whispered,
staring at the table.  Her hair, half its former length, hung
about her face and hid her expression.  "Why she just leave?"

     "I can think of a lot of reasons," Happosai said.  "First of
all..."

     There was the sound of footsteps; Happosai paused.  
Shampoo's father came into the room, followed by two old women in
robes.  Akane recognized them from last night - Council members.  
In the heat of their discussion, they hadn't even heard the front 
door opening.

     One of them spoke to Shampoo in Chinese, fixing her with a
dark, glittering gaze.  Shampoo blanched, and then answered back
in her native tongue.  The other Council member spoke harshly.  
Shampoo opened her mouth as if to protest, then slowly nodded.

     She rose and glanced around the table.  "I go.  Must see
Council.  Very urgent."  A moment later she was gone, with her
father and the Council members, before anyone else had a chance
to say anything.

     Akane closed her eyes for a few seconds, and drew deep
breaths.  When she opened them, Genma was busily inhaling the
bowl of ramen Shampoo had left behind, Happosai was smoking his
pipe in the corner and staring out the window, Rouge was humming
as she tied her hair back into a long ponytail, and Ryoga was
looking at her intently.
     
     "Damn it all," Akane muttered, closing her eyes again.
     
     "Don't worry about it," Ryoga said, touching her shoulder.
"We're closer than before."

     "Damn it all," she repeated.  "We better get to where we 
need to be in time."     
     
**********     
     
     As the man walked down the narrow trail, he glanced up at
the sun.  Nearly noon; he would have to hurry to accomplish this
by the set time.  Carefully adjusting the burden on his shoulder,
he followed the trail that led through the bottom of the ravine, 
a great cleft in the land that dead-ended at the base of a 
mountain.  Ivy and creepers ran in a tangle up the stony slopes 
of the mountain and the near-vertical sides of the ravine.  The 
place lay an hour from the village of the Joketsuzoku.  If he cut 
things close, he would be back in time to witness the beginning 
of the end of Jusenkyou.

     He paused, shifted his burden, and lit a cigarette.  The
flame sparked from the silver head of the dragon and the tobacco
began to burn.  A trail of smoke rose into the air from where he
clenched the cigarette in his teeth.

     It was cold down here in the ravine.  The sun was high in 
the sky, but the temperature was unnaturally cold, almost winter
chill.  The cold did not bother him, of course.

     Across his shoulder, his burden gave an involuntary shiver.
     
     "Peace now, young one," he said gently, and caressed the
unconscious girl's face.  "Soon, it will be over."

     He reached the end of the narrow trail, and stood before the
thick cover of vines that lay tangled about the mountain.  
Casually, he began to rip them away, exposing a tiny cave
entrance.  He spat the cigarette onto one of the piles of torn
vines, and knelt down.

     He was forced to push his burden ahead of him, wriggling
flat on his belly like his namesake.  Mutable as he was, he could
only change his form so much, and the tunnel was narrow and 
cramped.  The girl woke up halfway through, and screamed in the
lightless earthen tunnel; a swift blow of his fist to the back of
her head rendered her unconscious again, though no one could hear 
them here anyway.

     After nearly a hundred feet of crawling, the tunnel began to
widen, and soon emerged in a small underground cave, dry and
without light, twice as tall as he was.  He did not need the 
light to see by, but all the same, he sparked the lighter and 
gazed around in the dim illumination of the flame.  Walls of 
solid black rock, smooth and hard.  In the centre of the dry 
cave, a single pillar of the black stone rose from floor to 
ceiling.

     He bound the girl to it with rope, gagged her with her 
shirt.  She was young, just coming into womanhood, with a face
that would have been strong and well-shaped if never truly
beautiful.  It had been her misfortune to be hunting alone a 
little too far from the village.

     He waited patiently until she woke up, flicking the lighter
to life each time it went out.  When she at last came to, he
smiled and watched the firelight dance, reflected in her dark
eyes.

     She did not try to scream this time, but simply glared at
him hatefully.  She said nothing at all.  The Joketsuzoku had
pride; that had not changed.

     He reached out with his free hand and gently touched her
face.  She did not try to move away, but the hate in her eyes
grew.  Pride, and fierceness.  

     "Little one, do you share her blood, I wonder?" he asked
quietly.  "Perhaps only a little.  I see a touch of her in you.
Then, of course, I see a touch of her in all of you."  He 
stared into her eyes.  "You are the first of your people to pay 
for what she did to me.  It is an honour, of sorts."

     Quite casually, he took her nose between two fingers and
broke it.  She screamed then.  He brought the flat edge of a hand 
down on her left shoulder and shattered part of her collarbone.  
The screams bounced off the walls of the small chamber, and 
seemed to echo too many times.

     She struggled.  He had bound her well and tightly, though.
After a time, he finished working on her face and shoulders and
ribs, and unbound her to work on the arms and legs.  Under other
circumstances, he would have simply killed her immediately.  He
was what he was, but a torturer was not one of them.  The 
torture was necessary.  Pain summoned them.
     
     After a time, he let what remained of her drop to the floor.
The girl had not strength enough left even to weep; instead, she 
made a dry sound deep in her throat as the tears rolled silently
down her ruined face, almost a hissing.  

     The walls were glistening as if covered in some clear slime
now, almost pulsing.  He reached up and dug his nails into the
skin of his face.  Pain, unfamiliar to him for some time, was not
so bad as he remembered.

     He ripped down, tearing his face open, feeling cold blood
spilling.  Lowering his hands, he looked down upon the girl.  
"Gloried was I with the blood of the master, that I shall not
bleed but at my own desire."

     He cupped his hands beneath his own wounds.  Raising his
arms, he held his hands up like a brimming chalice.  "O you who
glory in blood and pain, I offer blood foul and blood innocent,
pain foul and pain innocent.  In the name of the Dark, all the
names of the Dark, come."

     He opened his hands.  His blood fell upon the girl.  A great
sigh seemed to shake throughout the tiny cave, as if the mountain
it lay beneath had settled deeper into the earth.  

     The girl gave a tiny whimper.  He reached down and broke her
neck.  The walls heaved.  There was a sound like wind.  Once,
twice, again, three times a heavy booming like a drum.  

     Then a voice.  Like darkness it was given speech, a slick, 
viscous sound.  Hungry.  "You."
     
     "Shouzin," the Serpent answered.  "Such a long, long time
it's been."  He laughed, and the walls shimmered as if melting,
shaking in silent laughter along with him.

**********

     It was a half-hour after Shampoo left that her father
returned.  Excited, out of breath, speaking rapidly in Chinese to
Akane and Ryoga, who he came upon sitting together in the living 
room.

     Realizing a moment later that they didn't understand, he
switched to his broken Japanese.  "Come quick!  Ceremony is
beginning!"

     "Ceremony?" Akane and Ryoga chimed confusedly.  Shampoo's
father ignored them and ran past, calling out in Chinese again.

     "I wonder what this is all about?" Akane said, glancing at
Ryoga.  They walked down the hallway to the front door and out 
into the streets of the village; a large crowd was gathering in 
the large field where last night's meeting had taken place.  

     A half-dozen girls their age ran by them, chattering 
animatedly.  One stopped as the others went on, and spoke to them
in halting, heavily-accented Japanese.  "You Shampoo's outsider
friends, right?"

     Akane nodded.  The girl smiled.  "You come quick.  Shampoo 
being initiated."

     "Initiated?" Akane asked - but the girl had already ran 
ahead to catch up with her friends.  Ryoga and Akane glanced at
each other, and then hurried into a run.

     They found a place in the gathering crowd, trying to see 
around the people ahead of them to the platform.  Akane ducked
her head back and forth, but everyone in front of her was taller
than her.  

     "Want a boost?" 

     She nodded to Ryoga.  He carefully put his hands on either
side of her waist, and lifted her up onto one broad shoulder.
Akane smiled, seeing him flush slightly.  Ryoga was still the
sweetest guy she knew most of the time.

     Shampoo stood in the centre of the wooden platform, the 
members of the Joketsuzoku Council standing to either side of 
her.  Lang Bei and Fang Shi flanked her on either side; both of
them held small clay pots in one hand and a dipper in the other.  
Shampoo looked as if she didn't quite believe where she was; 
somewhere in the time she'd been gone, her clothing had been 
exchanged for a simple yellow robe, and the ornaments she had 
still worn in her hair had been removed.

     The crowd milled excitedly; a hundred voices speaking in
Chinese crossed back and forth around them, a babble that would
have been unintelligible even if they had understood the
language.  The villagers were very excited, even more than they
had been last night.

     Fang Shi stepped forward and spoke, and at her voice, the
talking of the villagers ceased.  She gestured with the dipper to
Shampoo, and a loud cheer rang out from the crowd.

     "Damn it, what's going on?" Ryoga muttered.  "She sounds too
happy for this to be good..."

     Fang Shi reached into her pot, and ladled a small amount of
water over Shampoo's head.  Akane could see the steam rising into
the crisp autumn air.  The water streamed down Shampoo's hair and 
face and trailed down her shoulders and chest, darkening the 
yellow robe in streaks.  Even from here, Akane was able to see 
her shiver slightly, though the water, it seemed, was warm.

     Fang Shi called out again to the crowd.  Another cheer.  
Scattered murmurs of conversation ran like wildfire through the 
crowd.  Excited faces, the press of bodies all around.

     Fang Shi poured another dipper of water over Shampoo.  The
water spilled down her hair, and it glistened like a wave of the
sea in sunlight.  Shampoo shivered again; she was smiling,
looking confused but happy.

     Akane tried to figure out what was going on, but couldn't.
She silently cursed her own ignorance of the language.  Fang Shi
poured a third dipperful of water over Shampoo - the robe was
slowly becoming soaked and clingy - and spoke a third time.     

**********     
     
     When Tarou came into the village of the Joketsuzoku, the 
crowd was almost fully-gathered; a few stragglers hurried to join
it, mostly men and young boys.  The talk was of ceremonies, 
initiations.  Tarou scowled and hurried his walk, feeling very 
tired and irritable.  He hadn't slept in over a day.  How was he 
supposed to find Akane - or anyone else - in this mess?

     As he came to the edges of the crowd, he caught sight of a
familiar face, a girl lifted up on someone else's shoulder.  
Serendipity; Akane.  He murmured a silent thanks to whomever
might be listening, and prepared to force his way through the
crowd if necessary.

     An old voice rang out over the heads of the crowd, speaking
Chinese.  ""  There were
cheers; he struggled to remember what he knew about the 
Joketsuzoku's traditions, failed to put anything together.

     He put his hand on the shoulder of the nearest person, a
girl with long dark hair tied in a high ponytail.  ""

     The girl turned.  
     
     ""
     
     "" he cried, surprised.
     
     "" Rouge countered, eyes widening.
     
     ""    
     
     An ugly anger rose in him.  He'd never settled things
properly with Rouge.  ""

     Rouge gave a little cry of fear and stepped back from him.
Instinctively, Tarou raised his fist.  Rouge held up her hands in
a pathetic attempt at defense; she was, Tarou remembered, quite
helpless out of her cursed form.

     ""
     
     Tarou realized vaguely he should just leave Rouge alone.
She wasn't important in the scheme of things; any vengeance he
might have here would only be petty and small.  But he was tired
and angry, and not quite thinking clearly.

     He took a step forward, reaching out to take hold of Rouge's
shoulder; the crowd took no notice of the confrontation playing 
out in its midst.  

     A hand snapped out, seemingly from nowhere, and caught his 
wrist in a grip of iron.

     "Don't do it, Pantyhose."
     
     He looked at the unfamiliar man holding him.  Very short,
slimly built.  Young, but with his dark hair already thinning.
Dark eyes, ancient and slightly familiar.  The way he said the 
name was what did it; Nabiki had told him who had come here, and 
he remembered Cologne, youth regained.

     "Happosai!" he snarled.  He lashed out with his free hand;
Happosai twisted out of the way and turned the force of the blow
against him, spinning him away and nearly taking him off his 
feet.  Tarou collided with what felt like a wall of stone.  With 
hands.

     Someone turned him around; there was an enormous strength in
whoever held him.  He stared at the tall, elderly man.  "" the man said in a cold, quiet voice, young
man's voice from old man's lips.  He was unbelievably strong; 
Tarou couldn't even move.  The man gripped him painfully by the 
shoulders, then shoved him back and turned contemptuously away.
Tarou nearly tripped over his own feet.

     Tarou's temper broke.  With a growl that could barely be 
heard over the cheering of the crowd, he leapt for the man's
retreating back.

**********

     Happosai watched Pantyhose Tarou spring for the back of the
tall man.  He threw a quick glance to Rouge; she looked confused 
and scared.  
     
     By the time he glanced back, Tarou was crumpled on the
ground, doubled over and gasping for breath.  The old man looked 
down at him and smiled slightly.  ""

     The crowd of Joketsuzoku were focused completely on what was
taking place on stage.  Happosai looked at the man who Tarou had
collided with.  At the edges of his senses, a raw apprehension
began to grow; Ryoga bumping the same old man when the train had
stopped, apologizing.  The man raised his head.  Happosai caught 
his eyes.  Pale blue, cold as winter.  

     The eyes seemed to pin him like an insect.  He stared, then
shifted his focus slightly; seeing auras was simplicity for 
anyone with even the slightest control over their ki.

     The man had no aura.  The air around him was a horrible
blankness, a dead zone amidst all the weave and tangle of life.
     
     He was hiding it, then.  Happosai pushed harder, probing 
through the air towards the man with invisible tendrils of his
ki.  The ki slid off him like water, vanishing before it touched.

     The man didn't even seem to notice the attempt at 
penetrating his concealment.  He turned and began to walk away.  
Happosai strode after him and reached up to grab his shoulder.  
"Hold it, you."

     The man spun round and slammed a flat palm into Happosai's
chest, right over his heart.  Happosai gasped; all the blood
drained from his face as he crumpled to the ground, unable to
draw breath.  Darkness swarmed over his vision, the blue sky
filling up with patches of blackness as he stared.  His eyes
closed; wheezing, he tried to draw air, but couldn't.

     "Master?"
     
     He blinked.  Looked up.  Genma and Rouge were standing over
him, and a half-dozen members of the crowd who had noticed his
fall.  A short distance away, Tarou was sitting up, shaking his
head and coughing.  
     
     "Which way?" he asked, forcing the words past the dryness of
his throat as he took cautious breaths of air.  "Where'd he go?"

     Rouge pointed east, to where the mountains rose that they
had passed through to come here.  "That way.  He's very fast."

     "I noticed," Happosai muttered, shakily standing to his 
feet.  Without another word, he half-staggered over to Tarou.  "I
don't care what you're doing here, just come on.  Genma and I are
going to need help with this one."

     Tarou glared up at him hatefully.  "And why," he said, 
loathing raw in his voice, "should I do anything to help you?"

     "Because I can give you what you want," Happosai said 
softly.  He smiled, with just the right edge to it.  The boy was
clever, certainly, but he could be played like an instrument if
one just knew the right techniques.  "Come on."

     Tarou stared at him.  Then, slowly, he nodded.

     "Master Happosai, I really don't think that I should-"
     
     "Shut up, Genma," he snapped, turning fiercely on his former
student.  Then he looked to Rouge.  "Rouge, tell the others when
this is over that we may not be back for a while.  Be careful;
this is even more dangerous than I thought."

     "Why did he call you Happosai?" Rouge asked quietly.  "You
said he was your grandfather.  You said he was a terrible man."

     "He was," Happosai answered, turning away from her.  "Come
on, you two."  As he headed to the east, he felt Rouge's eyes on 
his back, long after she was long out of sight.

**********

     Fang Shi finished the third anointment of the warm water,
and stepped back.  Shampoo felt in a daze; it did not seem to be
happening.  The honour was too much; Council Maiden, for a
punishment that had become a blessing.  The judgement of 
Jusenkyou rendered.  A sign from the gods.

     She stood there for a long minute, as the crowd stared at
her and the waiting gathered in a small pool around her feet.
Another minute passed; the crowd was still cheering.

     The yellow robe, bright as gold, was clinging damply to her
body.  Lang Bei stepped forward now, the time required between 
the two different anointments passed.  ""

     She gestured, as Fang Shi had, to Shampoo.  The cheering
rang out; in the middle of the crowd, Shampoo could see Akane on
Ryoga's shoulder, but none of the others.  ""

     The water was cold, not unpleasantly so.  Shampoo shivered
again, though not entirely with excitement this time.  The feel 
of cold water on her human skin was still so alien, so 
delightful.  She longed to swim again, in the cold mountain 
streams near the village, like she had as a child.

     ""
     
     Soaked to the bone by now, a tiny part of her caught on to
the ridiculousness of her situation.  Dressed in wet clothing in
front of everyone.  But that was overwhelmed beneath the pride,
the great honour of what she was being given.  She realized she
would come down from the feeling in a few hours, as the reality
of the situation hit her, but for now she could only bask in the
adulation of her people and the glory of their tradition.

     The names of those who became Maidens from being judged at
Jusenkyou were legendary among her people; those whose judgements 
had exonerated them of crimes or had become blessings.  Ji Yan, 
accused of murdering a rival and exonerated by a fall into one of
the uncursed pools, exposing the true killers the same day as her
judgement.  Bao Jian, who a thousand years ago had refused to 
kill an opponent who had challenged her to a death match; the
Spring of the Drowned Tiger had taken her, and she had become the
greatest warrior the Joketsuzoku had ever seen, though it was 
said she had never taken the life of another human being.

     A third splash of cold water.  ""

     And it was over.  She was the Maiden, the youngest member of 
the Council.  No vote, but it was she who broke ties, who made 
the decision when one could not be reached by the older members.  
A great honour; such a great honour.

     Fang Shi was speaking.  There had been an odd turnaround in
Cologne's most powerful rival that Shampoo did not entirely
trust.  Lang Bei had said that it was Fang Shi who had put her
forward as a candidate for Maiden.  Shampoo suspected that the 
wily old woman was trying to salvage the best of a bad situation,
a power play gone wrong, and perhaps make an ally of her.  Let 
her try; let her try.

     "" Fang Shi said,
addressing both her and the crowd.  "

    Source: geocities.com/tokyo/pagoda/4361