The characters of the Ranma 1/2 universe are
the creation and possession of the brilliant
Rumiko Takahashi. They belong to Rumiko
Takahashi and her licensees (Shogakukan Inc.,
Kitty-Fuji TV, Viz Communications Inc.) No
copyright infringement is intended.
I would like to thank my pre-reader Angel, without
whom this would be a much poorer story, if it existed
at all.
This is a much expanded and revised version of a
story originally posted to FFML and submitted to
AnimeFEST as Chapter One, Yellow Dragon, Black
Tiger. The original Chapter One is _now_ Chapter
Two and contains an additional 1500 words.
Chapters One, Three, prologue and epilogue are
entirely new and never before seen on FFML.
The original, {award winning ^_^}, version of
Chapter Two YD, BT may be found on:
http://www.iguild.com/homes/kazama/
We soon hope to have _all_ of the winning stories
from AnimeFEST posted on this site. Currently we
have permission from two of the authors to post or
link their stories and are searching for the last two
authors.
Please sign the guest book. ^_^
Please? ^_^;;;;
****************************************************************************
*******
Chapter 2
Splashing knee deep through the frigid water
Akane pulled the small Zodiac ashore. She was only
about fifty kilometers from Kausu and less than ten
from Kunashir. Or Ostrov if you spoke Russian.
Fortunately visibility was poor even this early in the
afternoon. Low dark clouds lumbering in from the
north and west filled the air with fat wet flakes of
snow.
Shivering in her heavy coat as the wind cut
through her wet trousers Akane tugged and heaved
the small boat into the sheltering rocks. After making
it this far she didn't want to be found by carelessness.
Since she didn't have a motor license she'd had to
. . .borrow the Zodiac. That was bad enough.
Entering disputed territory was another thing entirely.
Actually it wasn't disputed. The Japanese claimed
Kunashir and Russia claimed Ostrov. It just happened
that they were both the same place. Just because she
was in a stol----borrowed Zodiac with no passport
. . .panting Akane shoved the awkward craft deep
into the rocks, piling scrub brush and drift wood over
it.
Nope, no problem at all. After all Ranma and
his father hand roamed at will through China for ten
years and the baka had never heard of a passport.
Yanking angrily at a small scrub pine that had
survived storm, drought and disease only to succumb
to Typhoon Akane, she continued to camouflage the
small boat.
"If HE can do it," She muttered to herself, "I
can do it. At least there aren't any bears----"
Something skittered out of the brush. A spider. Not a
fat, lazy, civilized Tokyo spider. This was a
_SPIDER_, the size of a child's hand . . . with a
muscular looking articulated body. And a head. This
sucker was a carnivore.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"
******************************************
"Ivan," The coastguard man whispered to his
mate. "Ivan . . .what the hell was that?"
Falling and rising the shrill cry cut through the
heavily falling snow."
"Just the wind, Uri," Ivan crossed himself,
surreptitiously lest the political officer be watching.
He turned the wheel a few points north, away from
the awful sound. "Just the . . .wind."
******************************************
Deciding there were quieter meals elsewhere
the spider vanished into the rocks, leaving Akane
panting, spider-bashing-stick still firmly in hand.
After a few moments Akane lowered her stick. A
little proud at having triumphed over the forces of the
wild Akane shrugged into her pack and started
hiking. This place wasn't much more than a dot on
the map, a few square kilometers of volcanic rock
with a little bit to scrub and moss to cover the naked
stone in places. How hard could it be to find the
training ground?
There was only one possible path through the
twisting nightmare of volcanic rock. Where centuries
of flowing water had softened some of the razor
edges to make a hair thin passage. Sloshing over the
water covered stones was a little like sawanobori.
With the addition of sheets of ice that weren't usually
encountered in mountain-stream-climbing. The felt-
bottomed shoes normally worn to provide purchase
on water slick stone were useless against ice and
volcanic glass. Which was why Akane was barefoot,
trusting to training and discipline to carry her around
the slick knives of obsidian. That was the theory,
anyway.
Three hours later Akane was a mass of small
cuts and slashes. Stumbling through the frigid water
she could no longer feel her legs below the knees.
And she was too tired to even shiver anymore. Her
foot slipped on an ice covered rock. Akane twisted
to miss a spear like outcropping and ended sitting
waist deep in ice water.
Fumbling to her feet Akane looked around,
trying to find the trail in the rapidly fading light. She
had to be close . . .she had to be. This was just a
small rock . . .she could jog around the whole thing in
a few minutes.
"In the dark," a small voice whispered. "Up
hill, in the dark? Through ice water?"
It had to be close. Or she was going to die.
Exposure. She'd heard it on the news. They died of
exposure. Now she knew . . .knew the little needles
that stabbed. Little needles that grew into knives.
Until you couldn't feel. Anything. Except your
strength, and will and thoughts as they bled away into
the cold. Until you just lay down and----
In a sudden burst of anger Akane pounded
her fists against her numb legs. She wasn't going to
die here. She wasn't going to die. Not here.
Stumbling and cursing she slogged through the icy
stream in a shambling run. Gasping and grunting,
ignoring the dull pain as rocks tore and slashed her
skin. Ignored the blood that flowed sluggishly to stain
her jacket red. Ignored the frozen rock that turned
her feet into raw ground beef.
She went down again, a fireball exploding in
her head as it cracked into the rocks. She tried to get
up, tried and failed. Weighed down by cold and
exhaustion; to tired too cry, almost too tired to live
she slumped down in the shallow stream. She was
going to die after all. She hadn't even made it to the
training ground. A thought came to her cold numbed
mind. Slowly, like and old sick woman, she fumbled
for the switch to her head lamp. Blindingly useless in
the falling snow and reflective ice while she was
moving ----but she wasn't moving now. The small
electric lamp flared into life and she blinked tiredly as
the light bounced painfully off the snow and ice.
Blinked again, as she realized where she was, and
began to laugh. A hoarse grunting sound like a rusty
hinge.
Rolling over onto her hands and knees she
crawled painfully from the icy stream. Tiredly Akane
pawed at the buckles of her pack with hands she
couldn't feel, fingers that wouldn't work. Finally
grabbing the strap in her teeth and yanked, filling her
mouth with the copper taste of blood as the nylon
strap ripped her gums and lip.
Upending the pack she pawed through the
scattered mess until she found the small orange
packet. Fumbling the packet between her useless
hands she ripped it open with her teeth. Waterproof
matches sealed in a plastic bottle and a bundle of
tinder fell onto the rocks. Using her cold numbed
hand like a broom she pushed the bottle and tinder
into her left hand as if it were a dustpan. Shoving her
hand against the ground she forced her fingers closed
around the matches she couldn't feel and shuffled on
her knees till she reached a cone of wood. Even with
the falling snow it was still mostly dry. It should be.
It had been drying for ninety years.
She knew she couldn't open the sealed bottle;
she didn't even try. The strong plastic resisted briefly
before splintering between her teeth. Lifeboat
matches, guaranteed to light and burn even in a gale
fell onto the damp stones. Akane reached for them
with hands that felt like they'd been amputated----
she couldn't pick up the matches!
Pounding her hands against the rock she tried
to get some feeling back . . .just a little . . .just
enough . . .She could see her hands hit the rock with
enough force to break bone. She might as well been
watching a movie for all the feeling she had.
She was going to die because she couldn't
pick up the damned matches. Tears of frustration
came to her eyes and almost immediately froze on her
cheeks. Growling in frustration she pushed against a
pile of matches with the heel of her hand, scraping
them across the rocks.
Nothing. Nothing? What was she doing? She
was so tired. Just a little nap. That's all. Just a little
. . .Akane's head slipped down. As she slumped
forward her hand dragged matches along the stones
--- a sudden burst of light and flame shocked her
awake. Igniting the tender she pushed it into the
stacked wood. Having exhausted her small store of
energy Akane slowly collapsed against the damp
stones. Dully she watched the tiny flame flicker and
dance in the wind as it ate into the stacked wood.
******************************************
The stolid grey clouds that typified the
weather over the Sea of Okhotsk had blown away,
revealing a crystal blue sky by the time Akane awoke.
Muttering curses that would have gotten her mouth
washed out by Genma she had a hurried breakfast of
cold rice and pickled vegetables.
Moving stiffly she stripped off her torn, damp
clothes and shuffled over to the swiftly moving
stream. Looking at the ice scum on surrounding
rocks she shuddered in anticipation. She _really_
didn't want to do this, she thought, before plunging
into the frigid water. But she couldn't go before the
shrine covered in dirt and blood. Scrubbing furiously
she hurried to finish her ablutions before she turned
into a girl-sicle. Finishing her bath with chestnut-fist
speed she headed for her pack.
Moments later she knelt before a small shrine,
naked save for a rokushaku of rough linen. Pulling a
sliver flask, tarnished with age, from a silk bag she
poured a measure of sake into a stone cup sitting
before the alter. Carefully purifying her hands and
mouth with the sake she refilled the cup. Clapping
three times she placed the cup before the alter. From
the bag she brought out a silver dish of tiny cakes
she'd had Kasumi make for her. By tradition Akane
should have made them . . .
Placing the dish in front of the alter the
clapped three times.
. . .but she needed the spirits on her side.
Once more she dipped into the bag and pulled
out a pendant on a silver chain. Opening the locket
she took a last look at the picture of her mother
before placing it in front of the alter. Clapping,
slowly, three times she bowed low before the alter.
Sitting upright she pulled a plastic cylinder
from the bag. This was another break from tradition,
but the contents were too precious to take any
chances. The man at the sport shop guaranteed the
tube would withstand anything short of direct fire or
explosion. She'd bought four of them.
Sliding back the hidden door on the shrine she
paused a moment, contemplating the polished jade
hemisphere rising out of the raw matrix. Reverently
she traced the names delicately inscribed there;
twelve names. Twelve, in six hundred years. Tears
filled her eyes as she read the final name, written by a
young man in 1896. Tendou Yau, her great-
grandfather. She'd always wondered why he'd
changed his name to Night-rain. Maybe after she
finished her training she would understand. If she
finished.
Unscrewing the top she slid the scroll into
her hands. Unrolling it on her knees she began to
read aloud.
"You have perceived the root of the Way of
The Yellow Dragon. It is said, 'Stand in the midst of
the four corners and eight directions, horizontal and
vertical, up and down, and pierce them all!' The
patriarchs of our school realized that state and
transmitted it. Heaven is yang. Yang continually
descends to earth as yin. Yin develops and births
yang which rises to heaven. This can never be
obstructed; it permeates all the worlds. Three scrolls
cataloging the techniques and codes of our school
have been presented to you. Your entreaties have
been sincere, your pledges sound and your petitions
granted. Do not neglect the traditions of your
enlightened predecessors. Guard them well! Guard
them well!"
Reverently she rolled the scroll and replaced it
in the tube. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath
to compose herself.
"Forgive me, masters of The Yellow Dragon.
Tendou Yau was my great-grandfather. It is he who
should have read those words; should have
determined if I were worthy to present myself for
training. But he died when I was a child. And my
need is great." Licking suddenly dry lips she searched
for the proper words. Trying to explain to these
ancient masters why she had invaded this sacred
place.
"One of great-grandfathers students . . .one
he cast out of the doujou . . .has returned. He has
perverted the techniques of the Yellow Dragon, using
them for theft and murder. And he has . . ." Her
throat tightened suddenly, "he has challenged the
master of the doujou. My father." Pressing her hands
together she pressed her forehead to the stones in
front of the alter.
"Grandfather died before he could train me.
But I have his scrolls. He told me of this place. And
what I must do. I am the Tendou heir, and my
father's senior student." She didn't think it necessary
to burden the spirits of the patriarchs with the fact
she was, at present, her father's _only_ student. "It is
my place and privilege to defend my family. If I do
not defend the doujou then R . . .other people will
have to fight. But as I am now, the outcast will
certainly kill me. Please allow me to train here."
Akane remained in place, her head bowed,
waiting for a sign. And waiting. And waiting. Fifteen
minutes later she rose and backed slowly away.
"Ummmm. Thank you for listening to me."
She would take silence for assent. "I promise to . . ."
"Ghi-ghi, ghi-ghi." The sudden bird call
startled her.
"Ke. Ke. Ke." Answered another bird.
"Ghi-ghi"
"Ke."
"Ghi-ghi . . .Ke . . .Ghi-ghi . . .Ke . . .Ghi-ghi
. . .Ke, Ghi-ghi . . .Ke."
"Jenkei?" Akane thought about it. "Well, I
suppose I am being a little rash." That wasn't the
most comforting thing the spirits could have said.
Still, a sign was a sign. And at this point she would
take what she could----
"Je!Je! . . .emmou, Je!Je! . . .emmou . . .Je!Je!
. . ."
"JajaUMA!" Her face flushed as two new
birds started calling. "I am NOT a bitch. Who said
that? I'll pound---" She broke off suddenly as she
remembered where she was. "Heh . . .ummm.
Anyway. Thank you for letting me train. I will do my
best." Bowing she left quickly, before there were any
more signs from the spirits.
******************************************
The Plum Blossom poles. Akane looked at
the poles stuck in the ground in a complex pattern.
She'd been doing the Cotton-needle-set since she was
three years old. This should be pretty easy----she bit
her lip pensively. It _should_ be easy. But something
was . . .it came to her then. This was a rock . . .ALL
rock. How had they mounted the poles in the rock?
And how had they lasted all this time exposed to the
weather?
Iron . . .iron covered with lacquered bamboo.
She could see the pitted metal where some of the
bamboo had peeled away.
Kneeling she unrolled the first scroll of
instruction labeled simply 'Body'.
If your mind
is not projected
into your hands
even 10,000 techniques
will be useless.
Below that was a kata and the number one
hundred. That seemed pretty simple . . .until she
noticed that this was the form to practice for the
_first_ day. That couldn't be right! A quick look at
the rest of the scroll showed her that it was indeed
correct. There were kata, koan and further
instructions covering . . .twenty days.
Akane looked at the scroll . . .looked at the
poles . . .looked back at the scroll. One _hundred_
repetitions. In a _day_? Twenty minutes per kata was
average. A good time was fourteen or fifteen
minutes. She could do it in twelve. But a hundred----
a tiny notation in the corner caught her eye. She
looked at it. Looked at it again. Slowly, one eye on
the scroll, as if hoping she were wrong, Akane
stretched out her hand toward a small stone cairn.
Her blindly searching fingers touched ----
Sighing Akane committed the kata and the
koan to memory. She had to repeat the Zen poem
while she did the kata . . .she dropped the contents of
the cairn at her feet with a metallic clank . . .wearing
weights. She clipped the padded sacks of iron sand
around her ankles and hefted a small iron ball in each
hand. Hopping onto the poles she settled into a
'Stone Horse' stance.
"If your mind . . ."
<Climbing monkey stance.>
" . . .is not projected . . ."
<Eagle claw strike.> Her hands shot forward
in a quick one-two motion, fingers locked like a
raptor's talons.
" . . .into your hands . . ."
<Crouching leopard.> Her hamstrings
complained a little. She should have warmed up first.
" . . .even 10,000 techniques . . ."
<Swooping dragon.> She stumbled a bit as
the wide sweeping motions with the weights over
balanced her.
". . .will be useless . . ."
<Spitting cobra.> She winced internally. That
one always gave her trouble.
"If your mind . . ."
<Swallow fights tiger.> Her shoulder muscles
complained at the rapid complex motion. The weights
were more of a problem than she'd thought.
" . . .is not projected . . ."
<Crane fights viper.> It was going to be a
loooong night.
" . . .into your hands . . ."
******************************************
Akane stared dully into the small fire as she
scraped the last of the rice and pickled plums from
her bowl. Mechanically she washed it down with
strong green tea. She thought about adding some
honey as a treat . . .but the jar was on the other side
of the fire. A good meter distant . . . She sat, staring
across the fire, trying to solve this problem. Looking
down, she noticed the cup in her hands and wondered
what she should do with it. Slowly the thought
seeped through her fatigue clogged mind that she
should finish her tea and get back to work. More
minutes passed while she tried to remember how to
drink her tea. Finally solving this conundrum she
turned her vast mental powers to another problem
. . .getting to her feet.
Mounting the poles in the absolute blackness
of the cloudy night wasn't a problem. After nineteen
days of continuous kata, broken only by two meals a
day and hurried naps, the Plum Blossom Poles had
been burned into her soul. Gripping the iron balls she
began.
Spirit swift;
<Golden needle> She stabbed the Stone Man
with her hardened index finger. The iron ball
remained firmly locked between her thumb and little
finger, unlike her first time there was no danger of
it's dropping free.
mind, calm;
<Tornado palm, iron knee> The rapid
combination slammed into the stone man, right side,
then left, with stunning force.
body, light;
<Five poison hand> The quick, twisting
blows appeared deceptively light. Their true power
was evident as layers of stone came free as if they'd
been shaved with a razor.
eyes, clear;
<Eagle claw> Fingers forming talons around
the iron balls she raked the stone man quickly, right-
left-right. Without pause the combination was
repeated, left-right-left.
technique, decisive!
<Mountain palm> Both hands slammed into
the practice dummy, jarring it on it's foundations.
This was just the warm up. She had to do one
hundred repetitions each of the Stone form, Iron
from and Drunken form of each set.
The exercise cleared a little of the fog from
her brain. A little.
I am not struck
nor is my opponent hit;
unobstructed I move in
and attain the ultimate.
These dumb koan's were driving her crazy.
Why couldn't the patriarch's just say what they
meant?
Her legs were already burning and she
couldn't lift her arms above her shoulders. Those
damn weights . . .her back spasmed. As she started
the next set, a hot iron stabbed into her belly. Gritting
her teeth she kept on. She could do it. Just a few
more hours. Just until dawn. She wasn't going to
give up.
I am not struck;
<Drunken horse > She projected her center of
gravity below the surface of the rock. It was an
awkward looking stance but supremely stable.
nor is my. . .
Stabbing pains in her legs made her stumble,
almost throwing her off the poles. She recovered and
continued.
. . .nor is my opponent hit;
<Jade whip> Just a little more. Just until
dawn. Dancing in the dark, on narrow iron poles she
couldn't see, fighting a stone man she couldn't beat.
unobstructed I move in
<Bamboo leaf hand> There was no beginning,
no end. She leaped and whirled, twisted, struck and
leaped again. Suspended in a sea of night . . .
and attain the ultimate.
<Wind palm> A golden warmth expanded in
her belly, expanding to fill her body to bursting. She
felt invigorated. She was getting her second wind.
After death
<Jade Cloud> There, on the horizon!
you go to hell
<Autumn fist> Dawn! It was the dawn!
but die again
<Lotus palm> She'd made it. She----
Between one breath and the next her abused body
collapsed. She was already unconscious before her
body hit the ground like a broken doll, there to lie in
the cold dark hours before dawn.
******************************************
Akane pulled the second scroll from its
protective container and weighed it in her hand. Even
after sleeping around the clock and well into another
day she still felt tired. Twisting at the waist while
rotating her shoulders she was amazed that she felt as
good as she did . . .only a little sore. And amazingly
light on her feet. She was stronger and faster than
she'd ever been.
It was silly to be afr----concerned . . .silly to
be concerned about what was in this scroll. Quickly
breaking the seal she unrolled the scroll . . .and
sighed in relief. This didn't look too bad. The sets
were longer, but simpler. And it looked like they
concentrated on speed and flexibility drills. Well, she
could stand to be a _little_ faster.
Reading down she grimaced. More of those
damn koans. She'd repeated the koans from the first
scroll until she dreamed about them . . .and they still
didn't make any sense. Skimming the directions for
kata, interspersed with Zen poems she came to a
more detailed set of instructions on breathing. Biting
her lip in concentration she slowly read the careful
brush strokes.
"Ch'i . . .intrinsic energy is . . .original
power." Muttering to herself she went down the
page, line by line.
" . . .Yin ch'i and Yang ch'i are self balancing
. . .three levels . . .body . . .ch'i . . .shen, highest level
. . .spirit . . .power generated by ch'i is nei jing.
Internal power . . ."
Damn. Her lips tightened in anger. More of
this stupid ch'i stuff. Stupid mumbo jumbo. What
good had it done great grand-father. What good had
it done mama. They believed in ch'i. In this stupid
spirit energy stuff. They believed . . .and they died
anyway. Face twisting in anger Akane wanted to rip
the scroll into pieces. Into tiny, tiny pieces and scatter
them to the winds. Trembling, she brought herself
under control. She wanted----needed ---secret
techniques. Nerve strikes, pressure points . . .
something to beat that bastards Black Tiger
technique.
"Cultivate your ch'i," She read out loud.
"relax the entire body . . .inhale directly into the tan
t'ien," unconsciously she placed her fingers three
inches below her navel as her great grand-father and
her mother had showed her years earlier. ". . .when
you sense the flow of ch'i . . .condensing breathing
. . .feel ch'i transform into jing . . ."
Stupid . . .stupid . . .she wanted to throw the
scroll into the ocean. She needed a way to break
bones, pulp internal organs. Not this touchy-feely
stuff. A thought came to her. Ranma used this ch'i
stuff. She'd never seen him meditate or condense his
breath or any of _that_ stuff. But he, and Ryouga and
some of the others did some impressive things.
Maybe you just had to get past all the mumbo-jumbo
to find the good parts. Maybe she could learn
something . . .maybe. Quickly she committed the
first lesson to memory and strapped on her ankle
weights. A new set, heaver than the last. And the
hand weights were connected by a carrying strap.
Snatching up the hand weights in one hand, the scroll
and her water bottle in the other she headed briskly
for the second training area.
Winding her way through the maze of
volcanic rock she came to a second set of Plumb
Blossom Poles. Almost identical to the first, with the
addition of two more stone men, connected by
articulated counter weights that allowed for realistic
counter strikes when they were hit. Otherwise they
were identical. . .except this set was at least twenty
meters high.
Licking suddenly dry lips Akane continued
into the training area. OK, it was bigger . . .no
problem. Akane tried to banish the vision of crawling
back to her boat, on her belly like a snake. Dragging
her shattered legs----she slowed to a stop. She didn't
have to worry about broken legs. The patriarchs had
thought about that. Clustered thickly about the base
of the poles were dozens of rust pitted iron spikes,
each as thick as her forearm.
Akane gazed up at the poles for a long, long
moment. This was crazy . . .dancing on top of those
stupid poles was bad enough. But those spikes ----
She hadn't fallen off the poles since she was six. And
the last few weeks had made her even better. There
was no reason to risk her life against a gust of wind
or something stupid like that. She was going home.
Akane turned . . .toward the poles. Well,
she'd try it without the weights. She dropped the
hand and ankle weights to the ground. It couldn't
hurt to just climb up. She'd just climb the first pole.
Get a feel for what it was like.
She rubbed her sweating palms against her
rokushaku and grabbed the pole as far up as she
could reach.
She'd see what it was like . . .then she could
go do these exercised back on the low poles.
Pressing the soles of her feet against the pole
she started up.
That was it, she could do all these stupid
breathing and ch'i exercised and stuff on the low
poles. What possible difference could it make?
Half way up she paused and looked down.
The ground looked really far away. And those spikes
looked . . .she tightened her grip on the pole and
continued climbing. She'd made the right decision. It
was stupid to risk her life -----the pole telescoped in
on itself just as she reached the top. The spring
loaded section burst the hidden bladder, deluging
Akane in a mix of oil and pepper ----blind and
helpless she plunged down toward the deadly iron
teeth.
Her body twisted, without conscious thought,
and her feet kicked her hard away from the pole.
Tucking her legs in tight she spun hard, trying to
stretch her thrust away from the pole. Still blind she
oriented herself to the ground by instinct just as she
hit . . .hard.
Rubbing the oil from her face with the edge of
her rokushaku Akane opened her eyes to find a
jagged iron fang less than a fingers width from her
cheek. Falling forward on her hands she spewed her
breakfast on the cold stones.
She couldn't do this . . .she wanted to go
home. She----a vison came to her. Ryouga. Lying
small and broken in front of the doujou, blood
pouring from his mouth. Akane shook her head in
denial and Rouga vanished. Replaced by another
figure; sightless eyes and blood soaked pig-tail----
Slowly Akane rose to her feet. Strapping the weights
around her ankles she slung the iron balls over her
shoulder and grabbed the pole as high up as she
could.
******************************************
Akane stretched her stiff limbs as she
prepared for the last day, or night, she thought,
looking at the gathering darkness. She still hadn't
gotten anything from those stupid koans . . . What
the hell did "Moonlight pierces the depths of the
pond, leaving no trace in the water" have to do with
fighting. Or anything? And those stupid ch'i
exercises---- Tiredly she pulled the last scroll from
her pack and read it by the flickering firelight.
"Shen" was all it said. Puzzled she unrolled it further.
At the very end was a Wing Chun kata, perhaps the
simplest martial arts form. And one last koan.
Your ancestors lie in the ground. The corpse
is here; where has the person gone?
When you know this answer you will have a
rootless tree, ground with neither sunlight nor shade
and a valley that does not echo.
Akane flipped the scroll over and looked at
the back. She rolled and unrolled it, pulling off the
end cap and shaking it to see if there were something
hidden inside. Nothing.
Damn. Her shoulders drooped in resignation.
She was stronger, faster than she'd ever been. But
she wanted . . .more. She wanted what her great
grandfather had. What her mother . . . That spark.
That inner strength. She remembered her great
grandfather, ten years into his second century still
vigorous and vital.
Her mother----She pushed aside the pain that
had been with her so long to remember . . .
how graceful and strong her mother had been. How
she finished the last day of her life as if it were any
other day . . .tucked her into bed, read her a story.
And then, as the cancer ate away her stomach and
she hemorrhaged to death, wrote a poem of leave
taking, sat in meditation and left the world, still
smiling.
Akane could bear to remember . . now. Then
she'd hated them both for leaving her. For teaching
about this wonderful power and then leaving her. A
little misty eyed Akane trotted toward the final
training ground. One good thing about the training on
the high poles, at least she'd never be afraid of
anything----
Stopping so suddenly she almost fell over her
own feet Akane stared blankly at the Spirit training
field. Plum Blossom poles. Carefully she edged her
way to the cliff edge and looked . . .down. Two
hundred feet down----where the waves swirled and
crashed against the rocks. Scooting back on all fours
she stared out at the Plum Blossom poles, swaying
like a basket of cobras. The nearest was an easy ten
foot jump from the cliff. Akane clenched her jaw
against sudden nausea. An . . .easy jump.
Trembling in fear Akane tried and failed to
command her rubbery muscles. She could see herself
leaping for the pole . . .slipping on the icy surface
. . .the long, long drop to the cold dark water. The
wind and waves smashing her against the rocks again
and again----
Wrapping her arms around her knees Akane
sat, rocking back and forth. It was dark when she
finally raised her head. Thunder rumbled through the
air and Akane blinked in surprise as flashes of
lightning lit the sky.
The Plum Blossom Poles, clothed in
streamers of blowing snow were like Bon-dancers
. . .inviting her to join the dance.
She was going to die. With a great sense of
relief Akane got to her feet. If she danced on the
poles she would die. If she fought the 'outcast' as she
was, she would die. If she didn't fight, Ranma would
fight in her place . . .and die. And she would follow
soon after, by her own hand if necessary.
Moving to the cliff's edge she watched the
Plum Blossom Poles dance, as thunder played and
lightning lit the scene.
But, if she died here . . .if she never came
back . . .Cu Lon would keep her promise. To guard
her family. Keep Ranma safe.
As calmly as if she were stepping into the
doujou Akane leapt into space.
Ranma would like China.
It was almost is if the swaying pole reached
out to catch her.
He'd forget her after a while . . .
Arms moving in a graceful arc Akane spun
atop the pole, then slid across to the next as if she
were not inches away from eternity.
She imagined his children . . .his and Shan
Pu's. She grinned a little, knowing they'd be little
terrors.
The wind increased in strength, driving the
snow against her bare flesh like icy needles.
As long as she was here she was going to
solve that last koan. She wouldn't leave, she vowed,
until she understood the damn thing. Her mind
turned inward . . .ignoring the crashing waves that
hammered the rock face . . .the howling wind that
ripped the wave tops off the churning black water . . .
nothing existed except that enigmatic zen poem as
her body danced and tumbled through the storm.
Embracing it as if it were her lover she accepted the
storm's fury.
Aware of nothing except this last riddle
Akane withdrew more and more into herself.
It felt as if there was a ball of hot iron in her belly,
strangling her. Gritting her teeth she pressed down on
the iron, determined to drive it out. Lightening
flashed, illuminating a huge snowflake. Akane could
see the sharp crystal purity of the infinitely repeating
shape . . .Suddenly her body expanded to fill the
universe and compressed to the size of a dot. A
heavy sweat covered her entire body as the iron ball
dissolved and vanished.
The rock face, rotten from centuries of storm,
began to crumble.
Akane laughed in delighted understanding.
Lightning flashed . . .like weary dancers the
Plum Blossom poles fell, twisting, turning, tumbling
into the sea.
Lighting flashed . . .Akane twirled like a
delighted little girl . . . head thrown back to catch a
snowflake on her tongue.
Lightning flashed . . .
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C&C always appreciated. ^_~