Waters Under Earth

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

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

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

Commentary, as usual, is welcomed and appreciated.

Chapter 32 : That Which We Destroy (2 of 3)

     She nodded.  "Better."  She slipped off the bed and grabbed
her schoolbag from the floor.  "Thanks, doc."

     "No problem," Tofu said with a smile.  "You're not really
used to injuries like Akane, are you?"

     The best she could give him back was a weak grin.  "Guess 
not."     

     "She used to come around here all the time," Tofu said with
what might have been a sigh.  "Kasumi, too.  Then they both
stopped visiting."

     "Uh-huh," Nabiki said as she took quick, though slightly
limping, steps towards the clinic door.     
     
     "Goodbye, Nabiki."  Tofu turned away from her and began to 
pack away his medical supplies.  
     
     "See you around, doc."
     
     She walked out of the clinic and through the gate, glancing
warily at the sky and hoping to make it home before the rain 
came.  In the end, she did.

**********

     "It is not the why I am interested in.  It is the how."
     
     Seated on the couch, Yamiko shrugged and hissed something in
her grotesque parody of a human voice.  Yoko frowned, thought for
a moment, and then shook her head.  "Possible, but unlikely."  
The thin wood of the chair creaked as she shifted her weight on
its thin cushions.  It was the latest style, and grotesquely
flimsy in appearance, all curves and struts.  Yamiko toyed at her 
braid with one black-nailed hand, then shrugged again.  Then she 
leaned back and put her feet up on the glass top of the coffee 
table, only to remove them a moment later when she got a look at 
Yoko's face.  Both women were tense, and the source of most of 
that tension lay on the table between them.  The note was on 
clean white paper, unfolded, and had been on the shoe mat inside 
Yoko's apartment when the two of them had arrived.  What was 
written there, in a neat and large hand, was this:

          I will set events in motion tomorrow here.  By the
     morning of the day after, Ryugenzawa must be under your
     control.  Do not fail in this.
     
     It was signed with an ornate English letter R.  A moment
after Yamiko took her feet off the table, Yoko picked it up and 
read it again.  With an annoyed snort, she crumpled it and tossed
it to bounce off the rain-streaked glass doors leading out to the
balcony.

     "Well, how far are you capable of moving with that 
shadow-walking of yours before you get exhausted?" she asked,
turning her head to glare at the wetly-chuckling Yamiko.  Yamiko 
thought, then grated an answer.  The chair creaked again as Yoko 
banged one arm with her clenched fist.  "No.  I can't believe 
he's that powerful, and he's male as well.  It has to be some 
other explanation."

     A gurgling laugh was Yamiko's reply.  The rain hammered on
the windows and the balcony doors as Yoko stood and began to pace
the room.  "I suppose it is not important.  If he says it, I
believe it will be done.  Fortunately, things are already in
place there, and I have the property deeds in my hands."  
Yamiko's questioning hiss made her pause by a tall bronze floor 
lamp.  "Yes, that is important, believe it or not.  It is a form
of contagion, one of the most fundamental laws in these things; 
you should know that."  Yamiko, in fact, did, but was hoping to 
get more of an explanation.  Yoko did not feel like giving it, 
however, and resumed her pacing.  "I will tell them to begin 
preparations.  In the meantime, we will obtain those of use to 
us."  She paused again as Yamiko gave a low, inquisitive growl.  
"The strong are only as strong as the weakest thing they cherish, 
Yamiko dear."
     
     Yamiko rose from the couch and walked with flowing grace to 
stand in front of the balcony doors.  Outside, a single bright 
arc of lightning cut across the sky, illuminating the tall 
office buildings of downtown Tokyo.  Osaka was much nicer, in 
Yamiko's opinion.

     As if reading her thoughts, Yoko spoke.  "Do you trust
whoever you've left in charge at home?"  Yamiko shook her head, 
and Yoko laughed.  "Of course you don't.  I won't trust whoever I 
leave in charge either.  But none of that will matter once 
Jusenkyou is ours, Yamiko.  None of that at all.  If they unleash 
terror that makes the Aum Shinri Kyo look like children, it will 
not matter in the slightest."

     Suddenly thirsty, Yoko walked towards the kitchen, then
paused again as Yamiko asked another question.  "No.  Not them
this time.  One does not easily capture kings with pawns, even
unprotected kings.  We shall send a knight instead."  She stood
silently for a moment.  "We'll handle the mother ourselves.  She
deserves a certain delicacy.  There is another, but I have not
yet foreseen if she will be convenient."

     Rain left serpentine trails down the glass as Yamiko leaned 
back against the cool sliding doors of the balcony and snarled 
softly.  Yoko nodded.  "In the morning.  We have other things we 
must do this night."  A half-step into the kitchen she looked 
back, her hand on the frame of the open door.  "Do you want 
something to drink?"  

     In droll silence, Yamiko pointed to her mask.  
     
     Yoko chucked softly.  "Of course you don't.  How silly of 
me."
          
**********     

     Kuno sipped his tea and watched the rain falling on the 
green grass of the lawn through the large picture window of the 
sitting room.  Steam from the blue-tinged china cup drifted in 
lazy spirals as he set it down upon the saucer atop the grand 
piano.  Lightly, he drifted his fingers across the keyboard.  
Seldom had the hinged cover for them even been opened since his 
mother had died, but the tone was still perfect.

     "Do not lay this burden upon me, my dead," he said to no 
one.  "I have not the strength to bear it."  He had begun to
regret his words to Nabiki Tendo this morning.  Had he been able
to save his sister?  No.  What good could he do her?

     He envisioned a serpent, a great and devouring beast,
lurking under the surface of the earth for untold centuries.  
Consuming and turning lesser creatures into its own body, until
it had so many thousands of heads that it could never be killed.
Such was what his grandfather served.  How could you fight
something like that?

     What, he wondered, had they been behind?  How many wars went
back to them?  How many mothers and daughters dead?  How many
children left alone, how many fathers driven mad?  The monstrous
size of it was almost too much to contemplate - it seemed unreal,
something from a nightmare.  

     Perhaps flight, then.  But where?  Where would be safe?
     
     "I cannot do this thing," he whispered, closing his eyes.
"Entreat me not.  Let it pass from me.  Let it end.  What does
any of it matter, in the scope of things?"

     Something drew his body up from the piano bench, and he
crossed to the large single pane of the window that overlooked
the yard.  Off in the distance, he saw his sister's greenhouse,
the lights within illuminating row upon row of plants.  He had
given up trying to care for them himself, and they were slowly
dying.

     The glass was cool under his palms, and against his forehead
as he leaned forward and rested it there.  Grief was too great in 
that moment, it seemed, to bear.  "Sister mine, mother mine, do 
not ask these things of me."  The masquerade was finished, long 
over.  Nothing they could be done - he, Nabiki Tendo, all of them 
were dead.  The foe was ancient and vast.  Outside, the rain fell 
down gently.  He stepped back to draw the curtains closed, and 
saw that the rain was falling up the window.  Hypnotized, he 
stared.  The drops beaded upon the glass, and each time a drop 
hit, it flowed up the glass rather than down.
     
     "I do not understand," he said, the curtains dropping
limply from his grip, whispering softly against each other as 
they half-obscured the impossible sight beyond.  "What does this
signify?"  He closed the curtains, and turned away.  At the
piano, he closed the keyboard cover, and then turned to leave the
room.  In the hallway where stairs led between first and second
floor, he stopped.  There was a tapping at the front door.  
Frowning, wondering who it could be, he went and threw it open.

     Rain fell down on the empty front stoop.  "Who is there?" he 
called into the night.  A gust of wind blew rain through the door 
and spattered a hundred wet droplets upon his face and hair.  
Next to the stone walkway that led to the front gates of the 
estate, a cement birdbath overflowed, and a steady trickle of a
waterfall spilled over the sides.  Upon it perched a dove.  The
plumage was white as snow, though dampened by rain.  

     Kuno stared.  Two images seemed to overlay.  One, a small
white dove.  The other a larger bird, greater than an eagle, 
every feather pale as alabaster.  The night wind and the rain
were coming in through the door in almost solid sheets now,
washing over him, but he cared not.  Layers on layers - truths
upon truths.  The bird took wing, tiny, vast, into the sky.  So
huge the storm, so small that which flew.  Wind battered it, rain
hammered it, but upwards, ever upwards striving.  He watched it
go, felt as if it carried his heart with it.  Up it travelled, up
and up, until it seemed but a star against the night sky.  West;
to the west it flew.

     "I see," he said softly.  "I see."
     
**********     
     
     Morning, grey and dull.  Alarm clock ringing on the desk.  
Stumble out of bed, then discover that your right leg doesn't 
work.  Not the best way to wake up.
     
     "Kasumi!"
     
     The door opened, and Kasumi stepped in, a laundry basket
tucked under one arm.  "Oh, Nabiki.  Why are you on the floor?"

     "For my health," Nabiki snapped with a gesture at her limp
leg.     

     Kasumi nodded.  "All right, then."  Humming cheerfully, she
turned to go.

     "Kasumi!"
     
     "Did you want something, Nabiki?"
     
     Nabiki sighed and motioned with her hands.  "There's
something wrong with my leg, Kasumi."  The alarm blared still 
upon her desk, until Kasumi stepped over and switched it off.

     "Oh my," she said as she knelt down.  The laundry basket was
laid aside, and she began to massage Nabiki's calf with her
hands.  "Do you feel anything?"

     Nabiki shook her head.  "Nothing."
     
     Fingers travelled up along her leg, stopped when they 
reached the knee.  Kasumi pursed her lips.  "Did you fall
yesterday, Nabiki?"

     "Yeah.  Outside Tofu's clinic.  He patched me up."
     
     The purse moved a fraction closer to a frown.  "Oh."
     
     "You don't think that he's got something to do with this, do
you?"

     Kasumi shook her head vehemently.  "Oh, no, never.  Never."
     
     Suppressing the urge to frown was difficult.  In hindsight,
Tofu had been acting strange yesterday.  It just hadn't hit her 
at the time - Tofu was always so good-natured, except where
Kasumi was concerned.

     But he wouldn't do something like that.  It would go against
everything she knew about him.  Or maybe he'd done something to
her knee by accident.  Even if it hadn't been showing up in his
behaviour as usual, Kasumi had undoubtedly been on his mind.

     "Well, you certainly can't go to school with this," Kasumi
concluded, breaking Nabiki's train of thought.  "Let's get you
back into bed."

     With a little help from Kasumi, Nabiki returned to bed and
propped herself up against the headboard.  Kasumi fussily 
adjusted the sheets and fluffed the pillows, then stepped back
with her hands on her hips.  "There.  Is there anything else 
you'd like?"

     Nabiki pointed.  "My schoolbooks."
     
     Kasumi retrieved them from the shelf and put them on the 
bedside table, within easy reach.  "I'll bring your breakfast up 
to you after I call the school."

     "Call Tofu as well," Nabiki said.  "He should probably have
a look at this."  Even if the doctor was responsible, he could
fix this easy, as long as he wasn't around Kasumi.

     Kasumi shook her head.  "Oh, my, no.  I wouldn't want to
bother him for something this little."

     "Little?  My leg doesn't work, Kasumi," Nabiki said with a
sigh.  "That's not little."  She didn't feel like arguing with
Kasumi right now - she had the feeling it would be futile.

     "I'll see what I can do later," Kasumi said evasively,
picking up the laundry basket and stepping out into the hallway.
"In the meantime, you rest up.  Maybe it will get better on its
own."  Before Nabiki could respond, the door closed and Kasumi 
was gone.
     
**********

     Her pen ran dry after the first hour of writing.  A scowl,
a sigh, and a few shakes did nothing to bring forth any more ink.
Resigned, Nabiki was preparing to hobble out of bed over to her 
desk when someone knocked on the door.  

     "It's open."
     
     The door swung open and her father stepped in, his hands
clasped nervously in front of them.  "Not feeling so well, are
you Nabiki?"

     Nabiki rolled her eyes, and indicated her bedridden,
pyjama-clad state with a wave of her hand.  "Whatever gave you
that idea?"

     Looking vaguely hurt, Soun was silent for a moment.  "I just
wanted to see if you needed anything," he mumbled at last.

     Nabiki hid her usual disdain.  A grown man, unable to talk
coherently to his own daughter.  "You could get me another pen
while you're here," she directed.

     Soun stepped up beside the bed and looked down at her notes.
"School work?"

     "Something like that," Nabiki replied, covering most of the
writing with what looked like a casual movement of her arms.  
"Get me that pen, would you?"

     As her father stepped over to the desk, Nabiki put a blank
page on top of the others.  It was not school work; she was,
rather, writing down everything Kuno had told her and any other
conclusions she could draw from that.  It would have gone faster
by computer, but she preferred handwriting when she really needed 
to think things through.

     A pen was offered, and she accepted it.  "Thanks, Dad."
     
     "You're welcome."  He hesitated.  "Can I sit down for a few
minutes?"

     "Be my guest."
     
     Soun did not sit, but rather stood and fidgeted.  "Has Akane
called?"

     An exasperated sigh escaped her.  "I'll tell you when and if
she does.  Western Qinghai is not exactly the most developed area
in China."  Flippant she might be, but the lack of contact from
Akane was worrying her.  The last they'd heard had been a quick
call from Xining, and then nothing.  That had been days ago.

     "Oh."  Soun's face was downcast.
     
     "Is that it?" Nabiki asked.

     "Err... no."
     
     She sighed again.  "What else?"
          
     The wheels of the desk chair squeaked as Soun pulled it over
to the bed and sat down.  "Do you think Kasumi's all right, 
Nabiki?"
     
     Nabiki touched the end of the pen to her lips, unable to
write anything as long as her father was here, and annoyed by
that fact.  "Yeah, as much as she ever is."

     Soun frowned.  "And what does that mean?"
     
     "Oh, come on," Nabiki responded.  "A grown woman whose
ambition in life is to be a housewife for her father?"

     Her father looked as if she'd just slapped him across the
face.  "But... but..."

     Nabiki winced inwardly - she'd hit a nerve she hadn't been
aware existed, apparently.  "Sorry, Dad.  I didn't mean it that 
way.  But you've got to admit, it's a bit weird."  Her father 
mumbled something, so faint she couldn't make it out.  "What's 
that, Dad?"

     "Nothing," he said, shaking his head.  "What about Tofu?
She's interested in him, isn't she?"

     "I don't even know any more," Nabiki said.  "She seems
really hesitant, but..."  She tapped the pen against her lips.
"If I didn't know Kasumi, I'd think something happened between
them, around the time she stopped visiting."

     Perplexed did not even begin to describe her father's
expression.  "What do you mean?"

     Nabiki arched her eyebrows.  "What do _you_ think I mean, 
Dad?"
     
     Soun laughed weakly.  "Ridiculous.  Kasumi's a good girl."
     
     Suddenly, Nabiki wished she hadn't mentioned it.  "Yeah.
You're right."  A pause.  "Daddy, I'd really like to do this
work, okay?"

     Soun nodded.  "Sorry for taking up your time," he said
morosely.     
     
     "It's okay," Nabiki said dismissively.  "You want to do me a
favour?"  Eagerly, her father nodded.  "Bring me up the papers?"
     
     "Certainly."  Outside the window that framed Soun as he 
stood from the chair, drops of the night's rain clung to the 
glass.  The day was drear and grey, promising more rain soon.
He looks so old, Nabiki thought suddenly, and dismissed the
thought almost as quickly.  "Thanks, Dad."

     "Anything for my little girl."
     
     The words were sincere, as sincere as her father ever was,
but sounded so silly that Nabiki had to fight back the urge to
laugh out loud.  "Whatever."

     After he left, Nabiki waited until she heard the stairs
creak under his footsteps, and then resumed her work.  Outside,
thick dark clouds began to drift across the face of the sun.

**********
     
     The floor tile was cool under Soun's bare feet as he stepped 
into the kitchen.  It was slightly damp as well, and glistened in
the muted sunlight coming through the window over the sink, 
obviously recently washed.  Water ran from the faucet and into 
the sink, and Kasumi stood, back to him and sleeves rolled up to
her elbows, before it.  Soun noted that, oddly, there were no 
dishes - clean or dirty - by the sink.  
     
     "Oh.  Hello, father."  Kasumi turned and picked up a
dishtowel to dry her hands.  "Would you like something?"

     Soun scratched his head.  "I can't seem to find the papers."
     
     Kasumi rolled up her sleeves and hung the towel back up on
the rack by the sink.  "Oh dear, I already put them out in the
bins.  Did you want them?"

     Soun shook his head.  "Not me.  Nabiki wanted them, but I
can just go dig them out."  To his shock, he saw that Kasumi was
hanging her head, a shamed expression on her face.  "Kasumi,
what's wrong?"

     "I'm sorry, father.  I should have thought Nabiki would want
the papers.  She always reads them.  And I just threw them out
like that."

     Soun started to laugh, then cut it off when he saw the shame
deepen on his eldest daughter's face.  "Don't be ridiculous," he
said soothingly.  "It's okay."  That drew no response, and he
stepped over and put an arm around his daughter's shoulders.  
"Kasumi, no one can be perfect.  Not even you."

     "But I have to try," Kasumi murmured, twisting her hands in
the yellow fabric of her apron.  "I have to try."  Something
about her hands caught his eye, and he reached out to take one of
her wrists.  Kasumi's arm was limp in his grip as he drew her 
hand away from pulling at the cloth of the apron.  Her fingertips 
were red and the skin looked too dry.  

     She must have realized what he was looking at.  "I've just 
been washing my hands a lot lately.  Sometimes it has that effect 
on my skin."

     Soun studied his daughter quizzically.  "Kasumi, are you
feeling all right these days?"

     A vehement nod.  "Of course."
     
     "Maybe you should go see Doctor Tofu.  I don't think..."
     
     "Father, it's okay."
     
     "I was thinking of calling him about Nabiki's knee anyway,
and it wouldn't be too much trouble for him too..."

     Kasumi tugged her wrist free of his grip, so fast she 
stumbled back and almost lost her balance.  "Father, I said no!"

     Soun blinked.  This was hardly normal behaviour from Kasumi.
"Now listen, Kasumi.  I'm your father, and I believe that Tofu
really should do a private examination of--"
     
     "NO!"
     
     And then, of all things, she was trying to run by him.  He
moved in front of the door to stop her, and gaped as she shrank
back, holding her arms up defensively before her face as if she 
feared she would be struck.  What he saw in her eyes shocked him 
to his core; a mad fear, the look of an animal caged.

     If there was one thing Soun would have said in his own
favour, it was that he knew, to some extent, his own weaknesses.
One was his inability to control his emotions; another was the
fact that he was not the quickest at picking up on subtle things.
When he did, however, they often struck him all at once.

     As slowly and carefully as he could, he reached out and 
touched Kasumi's shoulder.  She shook like a leaf in strong wind
under his hand.  "What is it about Tofu, Kasumi?" he asked
softly.  "Why are you so frightened of him now?"

     "I have to clean the bathroom," Kasumi said mechanically,
shrugging free of his hand.  The control in her voice was 
brittle, like ice about to crack.

     Soun took her by the shoulders.  Not too hard, but firmly
enough she couldn't escape.  "Kasumi, tell me."

     Her eyes were wide and frightened.  "Please, father," she
whispered disconsolately.  "Please.  I have to clean the
bathroom."  Let her go, something whispered in him.  You don't 
want to know this thing.  So do not.  Let her go.  

     "Tell me."  He made his voice as demanding as he could 
without being too harsh.  

     The reflection of the kitchen lights swam in the tiles of
the kitchen floor.  Head bowed, Kasumi would not meet his eyes.
She wasn't trembling any more; now she was tense as the string of
a violin.

     And then, as Soun listened, the horror came out in a few
short words.  Like a dam cracking.  "He touched me for the first
time when I was sixteen."

     "What?" Soun asked in a whisper, blood draining from his 
face.  All of a sudden, he couldn't seem to keep his body 
upright.  His hands slipped bonelessly from Kasumi's shoulders
and fell to his sides.

     "He said he loved me," Kasumi said.  The dullness and
flatness in her voice were painful to hear.  Still she would not
meet his eyes.  "He said we'd get married when I was older.  But 
he lied, Daddy.  He lied."

     Soun could not speak.  Somehow, he managed.  "Kasumi..."
     
     "After Ranma came, I told him that... that it would have to
stop.  That he'd have to marry me or I'd stop letting him touch
me.  You know what he said, Daddy?"  She stared at him almost 
accusingly, as if he somehow might.  "You know what he said?"

     A dry desert, his mouth.  Oceans roared in his ears.
     
     "There's always Akane.  That's what he said."
     
     Some things are so against everything that we have known and
believed that we do not want to believe them, Soun thought.  But
this was his daughter, his beloved Kasumi, who was telling him
this.  Now speech truly was beyond him, and he could only stand 
and listen as horror after horror spilled from her mouth as if 
from some dark oracle.

     "So I let him keep on touching me, even though I didn't want
him to.  I let him keep up his little game, so that we could be
alone more often.  And then when Akane stopped going to see him, 
and she started liking Ranma, I went and told him it was over.  
And you know what he did then?"
     
     There was silence, empty of the sound as the cold void of
space, between them.  For a time, it seemed as if they might 
stand there forever, frozen in time like statues.

     "He _made_ me," Kasumi wailed, voice suddenly breaking from
dead calm to hysteria, like clear sky to storm or still sea to
maelstrom.  "He made me and I tried to stop him but he was too
strong and he hurt me and he wouldn't let me go and finally he
did and he said no one would believe me and if I told anyone--"

     "I'll kill him," Soun said.  No heat in it, none of the 
usual fire of his frequent rages.  Absolute and deadly 
conviction.  
     
     He turned, and now it was Kasumi who held him back, as he 
had held her.  "No, father, no, please..."

     A twist of his body broke his shoulders free from her hands,
and he walked out of the kitchen, Kasumi following, pleading for
him to stop.  He did not listen.  Out the back doors and heading
for the equipment shed.  The swords, the weapons, he pictured
their locations in his mind.  Sickness; his throat was filled 
with bile.  That any man would do this to one of his daughters...

     But it was beyond that.  It was a man he'd trusted, who he'd
entertained notions might join the family some day.  A man who'd
bandaged his youngest daughter's injuries and sat down at his
table for dinner and had done... this _thing_, this violation.

     Oh, he would kill him all right.
     
     Kasumi had her arms around his waist now, saying words he
couldn't hear.  The grass was damp and slick under his feet.  He
was, he realized, dragging her.  She would not let go, would not
be quiet.

     "Why?" he snarled.  He pulled free, spun, and grabbed her by
the shoulders.  "Why should he live when he has done this?"  
Kasumi opened her mouth.  No sound came out.  Not even realizing 
it, he began to shake her.  "Why?"

     Kasumi said nothing.
     
     "WHY?" 
     
     Her head snapped back and forth as he shook her.  The fear,
the terror in her eyes, was awful.  After long seconds, he
realized it was of him.  Fear and self-loathing burning in him,
he let her go and stumbled back.  There were tears in Kasumi's
eyes; she sank to her knees before him, head bowed, weeping into
her hands.  

     Shame had replaced the rage.  Soun knelt on the wet grass;
nearby, the pond lay.  Raindrops caught in the leaves of 
overhanging trees glistened like jewels, and fell every few 
seconds, disturbing the glassy calm of the water.

     "Oh, Kasumi," he said softly, such an agony in his heart 
that he was not sure he could bear it.  "Why didn't you tell 
anyone?"

     "Because I liked it, father," she whispered, raising her
head from her hands to look at him.  "At the start, I liked it."

     Soun reached out.  Wordlessly, he gathered his daughter into
his embrace.  His Kasumi - the one he'd always secretly thought
was the most beautiful of his three beautiful girls, even though
a father wasn't really supposed to make a choice like that.  He
held her, stroked her hair, murmured words that meant nothing in
any human tongue.  Whenever she'd had nightmares as a little 
girl; she'd always come to him.  Never to her mother, whom she 
went to for everything else.  To him.  And he'd made the 
nightmares go away.  Failure, he realized.  When it had really 
mattered, he had failed.

     "Touching."
     
     In disbelief, Soun looked up.  All the rage came back in a
rush.  In the shadow of a tree, Tofu idly scratched his heel with
the toes of one bare foot.  He grinned, eyes bright and merry 
behind his glasses.  "It's time to go now, Kasumi," he said 
softly.  Kasumi said nothing, eyes squeezed tightly shut.  

     Soun rose, left his eldest daughter kneeling on the ground.  
His hands balled into fists at his side, he stalked towards Tofu.
"Get out," he growled.  

     Tofu shook his head.  "Kasumi and I have business."

-Continued in section 3


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