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 39 : The Voice of the Rain

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
  And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
  I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
  The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the wind and sunbeams with their convex gleams
  Build up the blue domes of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
  And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
  I arise and unbuild it again.
-P.B. Shelley  

     He rode upon the back of the dragon from the caverns, and 
now he fell with her towards the earth.  Down below, it had 
seemed to be the answer: use the icy power of the Gekkaja and the 
heat that Rouge had left behind, to call the whirlwind and mix it
with light and free the bound prisoner at last.

     Thus, she had been freed.  The hurricane of wind and light 
had risen up through Jusendo, bearing them with it, and they had 
been free.  But the effort had been too great.  He had no power 
left, and the dragon was too wounded to fly.
               
     The landscape spread below him like a perfect tapestry,
mountains and rivers and valleys and tiny villages.  He could see
that Jusenkyou had been entirely destroyed, and the land all 
round made barren.  They fell together, towards the jagged peaks 
of another mountain.  Desperate and weary, Ranma tried to reach 
for some hidden reserve of strength, something that would let 
them escape this fate.

     Nothing.  The well was dry.
     
     They hit.  Delicate wing-bones shattered like spars, and her 
golden body tumbled down the mountainside with Ranma clinging 
desperately to her mane.  Over and over they rolled, until they 
landed in a heap at the bottom of a wide gully.

     She never made a sound as she died.
     
**********

     Nabiki saw the beautiful winged shape rising, and felt as
though her heart were being lifted with it, into the very sky
itself.  A choked sob burst from her, and she looked to her 
father to see that he was crying into his hands.  Nearby, the
Guide watched with tears streaming down his round face, his lips
moving soundlessly.

     She saw Kuno stand and walk unsteadily forward, and hurried
to take his arm.  Suddenly, Akari began to scream at the top of
her lungs.

     "AWAKE!  HE IS AWAKE, I HAVE SEEN HIM, I HAVE FELT HIS HAND
UPON MY FLESH, HIS TOUCH UPON MY BODY, I HAVE GAZED INTO HIS 
FACE, INTO HIS TERRIBLE FACE, THE MOUTH THAT SWALLOWS THE STARS,
THE EYES THAT ARE THE CRUCIBLES OF WORLDS!  AWAKE HE IS, AND WE
ARE DOOMED, DOOMED!"

      Her mouth snapped shut, and she ran for the edge of the
cliff.  Nabiki moved almost without thinking, grabbing Akari
around the waist and dragging her to the ground.  The girl
screamed and fought, and for a moment Nabiki feared she would
break free.  Then she fell limp, and ceased to move at all.

     Panting and dishevelled from the sudden exertion, Nabiki
stood up and looked around.  No one else had moved.  At her feet,     
Akari lay crumpled and still.  Kuno took a hesitant step forward;
Nabiki said his name, and he stopped.  She walked over and put
her hand on his shoulder.  His breathing sounded laboured to her.

     "It's okay," she said softly.  He nodded; a moaning,
pathetic attempt at speech escaped his throat.  It took her a
moment to realize that he had been trying to say her name.  
"Yes," she replied, "it's me."  

     Kuno reached up and sought blindly for her hand.  She
linked her fingers with his for a moment, squeezed, and let go.
The Guide and Nodoka were kneeling by Akari now; the girl's eyes
were open, but rolled back until only the whites showed.  The
Guide lifted Akari's arm by the wrist, and frowned as it dropped
limply to the ground when he released it.  Nearby, the Musk
soldiers left to guard them clutched their swords and spears as
they glared around suspiciously.

     "Is she okay?" Nabiki asked the Guide.

     "She is out of danger now."

     "Given time, she will recover."

     Nabiki turned to stare at Kasumi and Kodachi.  She could
not, and never would be able to, say who had said what.  

     "Nabiki!"
     
     Her eyes widened.  "No way..."
     
     Slowly, she turned at the familiar voice, and saw Ukyou
running towards them, closely trailed by Konatsu.  Was absolutely
_everybody_ Ranma had ever met going to show up?
     
     Kasumi said, "It is time now."
     
     Kodachi said, "It is given to him to send three."
     
     A cold chill fell over Nabiki at the words.  Something 
was...

     One of the guards screamed.  Nabiki whirled around, and saw
the... thing from Ryugenzawa, the malleable thing that had looked
like a crow, tear his head from his shoulders with a tentacle
formed from its seething body.  

     Even before she fully registered that, she was turning 
again, at the sound of Ukyou's scream.  What she saw made her
feel as though her heart was being crushed in a vice.  Konatsu,
smiling as he did it, had driven his short sword directly into
the small of her back.  Ukyou crumpled to the ground, and he 
yanked it free.  Nabiki watched, fascinated, as a thin trickle 
of blood ran from Ukyou's mouth and spread across the dusty 
earth.

     The former safety had become a panicked slaughter.  The
weapons of the guards were having no effect; even as they cut the
monster, it reformed itself.  Her father was standing as though
paralysed.  Nodoka and the Guide, still crouched by Akari, seemed 
to have no idea what to do.

     It probably shouldn't have been able to get any worse, but
when the shadowy hole opened in the earth and Yamiko rose up,
Nabiki realized it definitely could.
     
**********
     
     Even in the midst of the battle, she had heard the voice.  
Yamiko had seen the dragon fall from the sky, and realized in a
wild, heart-lifting moment of joy that it had all come to
fruition.  And hearing the voice made it all true; it was strong,
clear, without weariness or faintness.

     The master was free.
     
     The boy and the girl, complacent though they might be in
Denkoko's death, no longer mattered.  The command had been given.

     Yamiko vanished, and went to where she had been told to go.
     
     Three had been sent; she was the third.  There were many
others around, but only two had her attention.  They had to die;
there could be nothing if they did not.

     Kuronuma was handling the guards.  And Hako's pawn was
distracting everyone else.  The path was clear.  They were not
her enemies any longer; all allies now, in the service of their
lord.  Divisions had ended.

     So she thought.  But Kuronuma killed the last guard, and 
then Fuhaiko's damned pet was coming for her.  He nearly got her;
at the last second, she dodged the charge, and plunged her hand
into the seething, half-formed mass of claws and fangs.  

     She spoke three words, quickly, and ripped her hand back
before the toxicity did too much damage.       

     Kuronuma caught fire, and sank into the cracks of the earth
with a pitiful scream, leaving behind an acrid scent and a cloud
of smoke.  Yamiko turned away from the distraction, and went to
do the work she had come to do.
     
**********

     Nabiki stared in shock at Konatsu.  "What are you DOING?" 
she finally managed to scream.

     "Loose ends," Konatsu replied.  His smile was terrible as he
stepped over Ukyou's body as if it were a mound of filth in his
path.  Nabiki had no idea whether the other girl lived or not.
     
     Her father made as if to charge.  Konatsu threw out his 
hand, and a knife buried itself in Soun's stomach.  He fell
without a sound.

     "Konatsu!"
     
     "No," Konatsu said with mad glee, "I'm not."
     
     And he came for her, bloody sword in hand.  
     
     Kuno, though blind, moved.  As though he could see, see it
all, he stepped forward, into the arc of Konatsu's swing, and 
caught his sword-arm by the wrist.  As they fought for the sword, 
Nabiki looked back over her shoulder.  The guards were dead, all 
dead, and Yamiko was heading for her sister and Kodachi.  

     Who were not moving.  They stood, side by side, and watched
the slow approach of the black-clad woman without fear.

     "Run!" Nabiki yelled.  "Get away from her!  Don't just stand
there!"

     "I am ready to die, if that is how it must be," Kasumi said
softly.  And it was Kasumi, Nabiki knew that, with every part of
her - that only Kasumi, whatever else might be with her now, was
speaking in that moment.

     Kodachi nodded.  "I too do not fear death," she said, with a
small, peaceful smile.  "For we are brief candles in this."

     Yamiko was almost right in front of them now.  She seemed
hesitant, uncertain; it was obvious she had not expected them to
face her so calmly.

     But then she raised her hands, and Nabiki found herself
running.  She hit Yamiko from behind and wrapped her arms around
her waist, tackled her to the ground like she'd done only 
minutes earlier to Akari.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
Kuno and Konatsu fighting right by the edge of the ridge.

     Gripping Yamiko was like trying to hold on to greased ice,
and twice as cold.  One hand rose; Nabiki felt pain blossom 
across the side of her face, so immense that it went almost
immediately numb.  

     So much for my looks, she thought vaguely.  The blow had
ripped her cheek open; even air upon the flapping wound was
agony.  She hung on, and saw in disbelief that neither Kasumi or
Kodachi were moving.  They were watching.
     
     Yamiko kneed her in the stomach.  All her air left her in a
rush; she cried out.  Tears welled in her eyes.  Why didn't they 
move?

     As hard as she could, she punched Yamiko in the face, even
as another rake of the woman's hands tore open her shoulder.  
Bone cracked under her fist; Yamiko howled with pain.  

     "Run, you idiots!" Nabiki screamed.  Or tried to; the agony 
of moving her mouth was too much, and the salty taste of blood 
from her ripped cheek washed down her throat in a tide.
     
     "No more running," Kasumi said softly.
     
     "No, no more," Kodachi echoed.
     
     Yamiko ripped her stomach open.  Nabiki gagged, and nearly
vomited.  She drove her elbow into the woman's throat, but it was
weak.  Yamiko threw her off as though she weighed nothing.  
Nabiki flopped limply onto her back; she was dying, she realized.

     Yamiko knelt down and touched, lightly, a single finger to
her throat.  Nabiki could see that one side of the woman's face 
was already massively bruised.  The touch of the finger was 
almost gentle, but Nabiki could feel her skin dimpling under the 
light caress of the razored blade beneath the nail.

     At least I hurt her, she thought vaguely.  That's not bad.
And then Yamiko pressed down, drew her finger across, and Nabiki 
died.

**********

     Herb watched the sword descend as if in slow motion, 
well aware his death was in it.  Whoever - or whatever - he was 
fighting, the man was inhumanly fast and unbelievably strong.  
And he couldn't be touched by ki-blasts.  

     Even with the skill the Dragon's Blade lent him, he had 
barely survived this long.  His arms ached from parrying the 
hammering blows of his foe's much larger sword, and dusty sweat 
was running down his face to sting his eyes.

     Now he was on one knee, and the sword was falling, and
somehow, somehow he brought his own blade up to parry.  The
blades crashed together with an impact battling gods might have
envied.

     And the Dragon's Blade broke.
     
     Black flames licking the edges of the blade, his foe's sword
drove deep into his chest.  Herb gasped.  Reality seemed to fade     
around him, the sounds and sights of battle disappearing as 
darkness invaded the edges of his vision.

     The smiling, almost tranquil face of the man who had killed
him was the only thing he could still focus on.  The hilt of the
Dragon's Blade, a few inches of blade still protruding from it,
felt like a burning star in his hand, and a rushing sound filled
his head.
     
     With a yank, the man pulled the sword free, doing 
irreparable damage to the inside of Herb's body.  A tide of blood
exploded from his mouth onto the dust, and he began to fall
forward.

     Time seemed to slow down even further, until it almost
froze.  Drops of blood that had yet to hit the ground hung in
mid-air.  And the rushing became voices, hundreds of them.

     *son,grandson,descendant*
     
     father?
     
     *point.we shall do the rest.we have waited for this.*
     
     And he realized, in that moment, just what the Dragon's
Blade was.  Not only a weapon, but a reliquary; the souls of all
the kings, from the days of the Dragon Tribe to the Musk, were
held within it.  That was why he had been so skilled - they had
aided him.

     Now he pointed, aimed the broken blade at his foe, and felt
them rushing up through the earth, through him, through the 
blade.

     His father, whom he remembered fondly now, even with love, a
feeling that had never been there when the man was alive.  His
grandfather, a man he had no real memories of.  Others, so many
others, stretching back and back into history, passing out of 
history into legend, and from legend to forgetfulness.  

     Ganziao, free in death of the madness that had engulfed him
in life, hating the man before him as no other - somehow, Herb
realized that this was him, the one who had broken the Dragon
Tribe with his army all those centuries ago.  Jinlung, reconciled
with his father in death.  
     
     Individual personalities emerged, and sank back down within
the whole.  And, as time returned to normal, as Herb fell into 
the darkness, a blade of white-hot light shot forth from the hilt
of the sword, consuming the remains of the blade in its passage.
     
     The Serpent's eyes widened slightly as it pierced into his
chest, through his heart, and out of his back, and then he too
fell.
     
**********

     'The wise man's eyes are in his head; but the fool walks
in darkness; and I myself perceived also that one event happens
to them all.'

     Blind struggle; swimming through a dark ocean.  His arms
moved, his hands clenched, his body twisted.  He saw, but not 
with his eyes.

     'Then said I in my heart, as it happens to the fool, so it
happens even to me; and why was I then more wise?  Then I said in
my heart, that this is also is vanity.'
     
     Far beyond the sea, Nabiki Tendo shouted at someone to run.       
He tightened his grip and tried to wrestle the sword away.  
Distantly, he heard screams of pain and dying.  
     
     'For there is no remembrance of the wise more than the fool
for ever; seeing that which now is in the days to come shall all
be forgotten.  And how dies the wise man? as the fool.'

     Oh, God, he thought.  Oh, Christ, Buddha, ancestors, anyone
who listens to me, help me.  This one must not reach them, not 
yet.  He could not say how he knew that, could not even say who
'them' was, and yet he did know.  It was as if this struggle was
what he had been put upon the earth to do.
     
     'There is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat
and drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his 
labour.'

     Tiny, subtle shifts in the wind yet managed to make him 
aware that something had changed.  To the right, he could sense
the gulf yawning; he knew that they had climbed to come here,
judged from the distant sounds of battle below that they were
very high.

     The black walls seemed to be pressing down even tighter, and
they cut off words even more than the maiming of his body had.  
And yet, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he 
was truly without any fear.  All he could think of, beyond the
struggle, were the words turning over and over in his head - he
could not decide if he was remembering them, or if someone was 
speaking them.  Vanity of vanities; all was vanity.  There was
nothing better for a man than to make his soul enjoy good in his
labour.

     His strength was leaving him.  Since he had begun this 
fight, this last battle, his foe - he could not say if it was 
male or female - had been trying to kill him.  Tumultuous as his 
thoughts might be, the struggle had only been going on for a few
seconds.

     "Let go, fool."
     
     Now the foe's free hand had a knife.  Two quick blows--one 
into his stomach, the other up towards his heart.  The blade 
grated on his ribs, and stopped short.  He did not recognize his 
own voice crying out in pain.

     Open air to the right...
     
     He held on tight as he could, and leapt.  
     
     And, in a last agonizing moment, right before the sword 
sliced through his stomach and out his back, he felt his foe's 
wrist slip free of his grip.

     The laughter, neither male nor female, followed him down
until the darkness came fully upon him, in an explosion of agony
that rent the world apart all around him.

**********

     Akane shot, pushed sweaty hair out of her eyes, shot again. 
Nearly out of arrows now - she had to choose her shots carefully.

     Her fingers were beginning to blister from drawing the bow
so much.  It had been a long time since she had loosed so many
arrows, and even with all the shooting she and the other archers
had done, it seemed futile.  The battle in the air was over, and
now the Phoenix were merely cleaning up the survivors.  She had
seen Tarou as well, flying around in his cursed form, but the
heat of battle distracted her from wondering about just how he
had come here.

     On the ground, the foe still outnumbered the Joketsuzoku and
the Phoenix combined.  And though the charge of the allies she
assumed were the Musk had looked as though it would come close to
breaking the enemy at first, now they too had been absorbed 
within the melee.

     The rise of the dragon had made hope flare in her heart, and
in the heart of every one of them, and the subsequent fall had
dashed it all.  Even now, it was hard to aim and fire.  Grief
wracked her, and tears threatened to obscure her vision.  Ranma, 
and only Ranma, could have destroyed Jusendo like that.  

     An arrow arced from her bow into the seething mass of the
enemy below, and vanished like a pebble in the ocean.  Whether it
had any effect, she could not say.

     "Finish off arrows quick and get ready to move.  We help
better on ground than up here."

     Akane acknowledged the voice with a cursory glance.  She
didn't even know the woman's name - she was merely the one in
command of the group of Joketsuzoku archers on this part of the
cliffs.

     As she turned her gaze back, a distant struggle on the 
opposite wall of the pass caught her eye.  At first, it was
merely vague figures, but in less than a heartbeat, everything
seemed to focus, as though reality were narrowing down, all 
extraneous sounds and sights and smells disappearing until...

     Nabiki?  Kasumi?  How did _they_ get there?
     
     As if she stood mere feet away, Akane saw her sister die.
The blood seemed red as a rose.  There were other people near her
sisters, people she thought she recognized, but then the focus
narrowed even more, until the world consisted of her and her
sisters, one living and one dead, and a black-robed shape with
blood on its hands...

     Nabiki.  Sardonic, sarcastic, cruel, selfish Nabiki.  Who
she loved, who she had to love, because she was her sister.  

     Dead.
     
     The world turned crimson.  Everything vanished, except for
her, the scarlet void, the bow, the arrow drawn from the quiver.

     She didn't notice that it was the special arrow, the one
Lougui had given her, shaped from a single piece of wood.  The
world did not allow such information, because it did not matter.

     A bridge, no, not a bridge, a tunnel, a scarlet path little
wider than her arm, connecting her to the shadow of death that
stalked towards her oldest sister.

     Akane nocked the arrow, drew, and let it fly through the 
impossible expanse.

**********
     
     A dark place.  No, not dark, her eyes simply weren't open.
Even through her eyelids she could discern vague shapes moving.  
It all looked like a sheet of black cloth rippling in the wind.

     Some force was holding her eyes shut, and even opening them 
a crack seemed as much effort as holding a boulder overhead.  It 
grew easier with each passing moment, however, and soon her eyes 
were fully open.  Even before that, her throat had gone dry at 
the first sight of what was around her.

     If she had been made to describe it in words, she might have
called it a sea of pure and tranquil light, calm and without
motion.  And yet that was inadequate, for amidst the stillness
there was a sense of fluidity, and she had the impression that
beyond the range of her senses the movements of uncountable vast
objects took place.  There was also the sense that what she was
seeing was being filtered through so many layers of perception
that it bore no resemblance to the actual reality.
     
     Nabiki looked at her hands, did not see them, tried to 
scream, and found that she had neither throat nor voice to do it
with.
     
     I must have eyes, she thought.  If I can see, I must have
eyes.  Or maybe I simply believe myself to have eyes.  Maybe I'm
perceiving on some higher level of existence, but filtering it
through the preconceived notions I have from...

     Being alive.  She was dead now.
     
     So this was death.  No heaven, no hell - just light.
     
     Tugging sensations began to occur, as though her essence was
attempting to fly off in a thousand different directions at once,
each part to seek some individual destination hidden within the
light.
     
     "No!" she cried, suddenly panicked.  "No, not yet!  I'm not
ready yet!"

     It seemed she had a voice now.
     
     The pulling continued, in fact grew in strength.  She seemed
about to be dismembered on the atomic level.
     
     "No!"
     
     A shape detached itself from the light and assumed a 
semblance of solidity.  It was human, or at least human in 
appearance, clad from head to toe in flowing white, with pale 
hair that billowed about its face as though in gentle winds.  A
spear made of fire was gripped in one hand, and in the other it 
held a tarnished silver horn by a leather strap.
     
     Whether it was male or female, Nabiki could not say.  The
eyes in the slender, milk-pale face were merely pits, dark wells
stretching back into infinity.  Without a word, it held out the
horn to her.

     Without a word, Nabiki took it, and realized as she did that
she now had hands to do so with.  The tugging had stopped.  She
and the horn she held seemed the most solid things here.

     Despite its alien appearance, she could not shake the
feeling that she knew the one before her.  "Who are you?"

     It answered as though it hadn't heard the question, but
hearing the voice was enough.  "The Horn shall bring about the
end and the beginning.  Your breath shall be as the breath of 
life.  Your voice shall shake the heaven and the earth, and reach
even to the land of the dead."

     "What?"
     
     "But a living soul must bear the note.  Shall you blow the
Horn?"

     For a moment, Nabiki wavered.  Whatever lay beyond somehow
frightened her more than anything else.  In that moment, she
would have rather faced Tofu again than this.  At least she knew
what he was.

     But the fear passed in a moment, because two things occurred 
to her.  The first was that she was already dead, and if she
could face that, she didn't need to be afraid of what was beyond.
The second was that this truly was the way to make it all up.  To
everyone.  Even if they never knew it, the action would be
enough.

     Nabiki blew the horn.
     
     There was no sound.
     
     "It requires a mouthpiece," Mousse said.  Once she had
recognized the voice, she had begun to see his features emerge
from the being that stood before her.  
     
     "A mouthpiece?  I don't have..."
     
     Then she smiled, and pulled on the leather strap around her
neck.  The whistle popped forth from its concealment in her
clothing.  So she had clothing, now, and a body to wear them.  
Perhaps she was simply adjusting to this place.

     "So," she murmured, "it was meant to be this way all along,
wasn't it?"

     Mousse - or whatever it was he had become here - smiled.
"No.  It's just the way things turned out."

     After that, there really were no more words to say.  
Nabiki touched the whistle to the narrow end of the silver horn,
and they fused together as if they had been made to do so, so
that it was impossible to see where one ended and the other
began.

     She raised the horn to her lips, one hand near the 
mouthpiece and one cradling the curved body.  It was warm in her 
hands, perhaps even alive.  The patina of ages began to flake 
away, and rusty flecks disappeared into the light.  Silver shone 
the horn, so bright that the sea of light seemed dark by 
comparison.

     As she drew a deep breath, the horn began to flow and
change, so that in the space of a heartbeat she held a ram's horn
and a golden trumpet, and a hundred other instruments that 
changed so quickly she could not remember them.

     Mousse raised a hand, as though in farewell.  
     
     Nabiki blew the horn.  A single ripple blurred the sea of 
light, and the vast unseen dancers who moved just beyond paused
for a moment in their courses.

     Then she was falling away, perceptions disappearing, body
disintegrating as consciousness and sense of being vanished.  The
sea of light absorbed her, and she fell, only a vague concept of
her own being remaining now, more fragile than a spider's web.
Light washed over her as though she were bathing in it, and every
touch was a love-song.  You are loved, they said.  You are loved,
do not be afraid.

     I am Nabiki. 
     
     You are loved.
     
     I am.
     
     You are loved.
     
     I.
     
     You are loved.
     
     
     
**********
     
     Almost gently, the clouds of dust and debris thrown up by
the dragon's shattering fall down the mountainside settled back
down to earth.  She lay on her side, one broken wing folded
beneath the serpentine length of her body, the other stretched
out so that it appeared to be trying to climb the mountain.  
White bone, sundered and snapped by the fall, could be seen 
poking through the feathery golden scales, and a thin trail of
gold-flecked blood led down the mountainside from the point of
impact to the gully where she had come to rest at last.

     On his back beneath the shadow of the dragon's head, Ranma
blinked his eyes.  They stung with dust and the beginnings of
tears.  To have come so far, to have undergone so many trials,
only to see it come to this in the end.  

     The Dark had won, in the end.  He, supposed champion of the
Light, had done what Baazel had not been able to do - he had
killed the dragon.  

     He struggled to his feet, using the Gekkaja to support
himself, walked a few steps out, then turned to face the dragon.
Her eyes were open, but there was no spark of life in them.

     "I'm sorry," he said quietly.  "I did my best, but it was 
not enough.  Rest now.  The long pain is done."     
     
     Then, overcome by weakness, or perhaps by grief, he sank 
down to the earth and wept.  In that moment, he did not care for
the battle that he knew must still be going on; he had no room to
care for anything else.  Even if he had, he had expended all his
power in freeing the dragon from the depths of Jusendo.  He had
no fight left in him.
     
     What made him rise again was not, in the end, the thought
of his friends and those he loved, but the sound of wings.  He
looked up, and saw a raven dropping from the sky with a staff
clutched in its talons.  As it landed, it opened its talons, and
the staff fell at his feet.  He thought for a moment that it was
Shiso, returned from death, and then he saw the blind white eyes.

     "Kioku," he said.  "Haven't seen you for a while."
     
     Ranma put down the Gekkaja and picked up the staff.  The
raven nodded, as though in silent approval.  With the first touch
of his hand to the smooth wood, he felt a spark jump from him to
the staff, and from the staff to him.  Holding the staff was like
clutching a bar of fire or a rod of ice.  It seemed to sear his 
palm, and yet he could not imagine putting it down.
     
     It was a part of him, had been made for his hand.  And why
had he not realized this before, when Shampoo had first given it
to him?  If he had, he never would have left it below and taken
up the Gekkaja.  The Gekkaja had not been made for him.

     This had been.  He knew that it was ancient, and that it had
been shaped thousands of years before his birth.  But he couldn't
understand why he hadn't realized all of that before.

     You were not come into your power then, and neither was 
Tianzhu.
     
     Unsurprised after all that had happened, he looked at the
black bird sitting with folded wings at his feet.  "Is that you?"

     I am the memory.  I do not die.  My sibling is the thought,
and dies to live again.

     The bird spread its wings and leapt into the sky, and Ranma
heard the long, distant note of a horn.

**********

     Hako turned away as the boy fell, moving with fluid grace
towards the targets.  She ignored the woman in the ragged kimono
and the small, chubby man - they'd been trying to help the man 
who'd taken her knife in the stomach, and in any case were not
fast enough to stop her.

     Free again, and in this beautiful new body.  She'd forgotten
what it felt like, the sheer power in youth, the strength of the
flesh.  The body was male, of course, but she would grow used to
that.  After all this time, and so many different bodies, she had
really ceased to care about such trivial things.

     The time she had been forced to spend imprisoned in this
body because of the disrupted ceremony still filled her with
wrath.  She would still be locked in there now if things had 
continued as they were.

     But they had not.  The master was free - she had felt him
break his bonds in a wild surging of power that had rent her own
chains at the same time.
     
     There were still obstacles in his path, however, and she had
been chosen to deal with them.  A few steps in front of her, 
Yamiko was rising from the bloodied body of the girl who had 
tried to halt her path.

     The two who were the focus of the master's hate stood
resolute and seemingly unafraid.  She did not yet understand why
he hated them so much, or why it was so desperately important 
that they die - she only knew that they must.

     Yamiko began to take a step towards her, a guttural snarl
rising from her throat.  She hadn't yet realized their goal was
the same.  Hako brought another knife into her hand with a flick
of her wrist.  Her sword had gone over the edge with the boy.

     "It's Hako, dear sister," she said.
     
     Yamiko began to say something else, but never completed it.
The arrow took her straight through the left eye, an instant
killing shot, and she fell.

     At the exact same moment, somewhere, a horn was blown.  The
sound of it echoed in Hako's head like a klaxon, mingling with
the enraged screams of the master.

     The two women before her, the ones who had to die, took deep
breaths, and spoke.

     The older one said, "It is done."
     
     "All has come full circle," said the younger one.
     
     Hako froze, terrified.  Their words resounded with power.
Slowly, she began to back away.     
     
     The younger one, dark-haired and fine-boned, turned black
eyes upon her.  "You are an abomination upon this earth.  To all
mortal things are measured out a span of days, and you have long
surpassed yours."

     There was no gesture or word of power.  Such things were
ostentation at this degree of might.  Hako felt her soul, the
intangible essence of her being, detach almost gently from the
body of her host, and she was flung silently screaming into
whatever awaited her beyond this world.

**********

     Steel rang on steel, men and what had once been men died, 
and sorcerous bolts flashed back and forth.  Wiyeed sat 
straight-backed on her horse at one end, a solid column amidst
the tumult of the battle.  A dozen feet away, Yoko rode her
twisted steed, a matching column.  

     They struggled on a level where pyrotechnic phenomena had no
meaning.  Yoko's mind gave direction to the army, so that each
malformed creature moved as a part of one great whole.  Wiyeed
struggled to unbind that control, so that the beleaguered forces
of the three allied peoples might have some chance against these
vast numbers.  

     Wiyeed probed for weak spots, danced back as Yoko countered
and attempted to break her power, darted forward again.  She was
water, Yoko was an impenetrable wall.  The woman left no 
openings, spotted every minor slip.  She was old, far more
experienced than Wiyeed, and only the raw power inherent in the
bloodline of the Dragon Tribe was keeping the younger woman from
being completely destroyed.

     *You cannot match me,* Yoko sent, a cruel smile in the words
though her pale face bore no expression.  *I slew the Lady of
Ryugenzawa and I shall slay you.  I will break your mind like a
toy.*

     Wiyeed did not respond.  Oh, Lady, she thought, give me
strength, for she is so very strong.  

     The hate and bitterness in Yoko's heart echoed like a
melody in every attack or defence she made.  She could not
channel as much power at once as Wiyeed could, but her reserves
of strength seemed limitless.  Wave after wave of mental assault
battered at Wiyeed's barriers, and the battle began to turn.  The
fight was no longer for the control of the army, but for mere
survival.  Wiyeed held on, tried to push back, to reverse the
situation, but Yoko gave her no opportunity.

     Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother die,
saw the blade of light leap from his broken sword and slay his
killer.  She wavered for but a moment, but it was enough.  Yoko's 
laughter rang like dark bells, and she gathered her power for a 
blow that would shatter Wiyeed's mind.

     It never fell.  Scything through the protective circle 
around Yoko from the air, a monstrous shape, all wings and 
tentacles and shaggy fur, descended upon Yoko like the fall of a
hammer.  From his seat between the great horns of the beast, a
short man laid about himself with a crimson battle aura shot
through with black flame.  

     Yoko raised her hand, and the beast seemed to collide with
an invisible wall.  It went down in a crumpled heap, landing
heavily atop several dozen members of her army.  The rider 
jumped free, and she pointed her hand at him.

     Wiyeed struck.  There wasn't time to establish another
connection, and she doubted it would have worked anyway.  It was
merely a blast of raw power, one that flung Yoko from her steed
like a rag doll.  She landed amidst the surgings of her own
troops, and was lost from sight.

     For a moment, the army of the Dark stood confused, and then
it began to fight again with equal ferocity.  Wiyeed turned her
horse in the direction of her brother's fall, knocking any in her
way aside with sweeping waves of her hand.  Troops of the Musk
followed in her wake, protecting her back and helping cut a path
to their fallen king.

     When she reached her brother, she swung down from the saddle
and knelt at his side, as cavalry and foot soldiers formed a 
defensive ring.  The Dragon's Blade was a hilt and nothing else,
still clutched in his hand.  The terrible wound in his side was
bleeding merely a trickle now, but the dust all around him was
splashed with most of his lifeblood.

     "Brother," Wiyeed whispered, eyes almost closing as the
tears began.  Herb's eyes stared up glassily at the cloudy sky.
His face looked peaceful, accepting.  None of that mattered.  She
had spent her life in service to the Lady, to the bearer of souls
and the queen of the grave, and yet she could not believe that
this was true.
     
     His fingers were ice cold.  There was no life left in him.
Everything had faded away, and only the sensation of his cold
hand in hers remained.

     A horn-call bounced between the cliffs of the pass like a
note of thunder, and, in answer, rain began to fall, a gentle
trickle.  

     Wiyeed knelt in the rain, as the battle went on, and held 
her brother's cooling hand.
     
**********

     Nodoka felt the first few raindrops hit her hands and face,
and somehow she knew that it was over.  But at what cost?  More
people were dead than alive upon the ridge - all their guards, 
Nabiki, Ukyou, Yamiko... Akari wasn't moving and her breathing 
was slow, Soun's face was pale as the Guide tried to keep him
from getting up so that he could be bandaged, and Ukyou's killer,
whom she vaguely remembered from the wedding, had collapsed with
a scream after Kodachi had spoken.

     The Guide finished tightening the torn sleeve from his 
jacket around Soun's stomach.  Nearby, the bloodied knife lay on
the ground.  It had been, fortunately, a shallow wound.  

     Soun brushed aside the Guide's meagre attempts to restrain
him and stumbled over to where Nabiki's body lay.  He crumpled 
to his knees beside his fallen daughter and grabbed her tightly
in his arms.  A low, wordless moaning began to creep from his
throat as he rocked back and forth.  The rain was already washing
the puddles of blood away.

     "Please check on that girl," Nodoka asked the Guide, 
indicating Ukyou.  It was hard to make the words climb up her
tight throat, but somehow she did.  The Guide said nothing, and
moved away towards Ukyou.

     It took three steps to reach Soun and Nabiki, and each one
felt as though it were made through waist-high water.  Nodoka
didn't know why her legs were so weak.

     As she knelt down and tried to draw Soun away from the body,
she spotted Kasumi and Kodachi, watching as the rain fell and not
moving.  The looks in their eyes was identical, a sorrow that
held all the sufferings of the world within it.

     "Kasumi?" she asked haltingly.  Words seemed to be fleeing,
escaping every attempt she made to use them.  "Your sister... 
your father..."

     Both girls spoke in unison, identical words at identical
times.  "I am not yet finished with her.  Do not fear; she will
return."

     "What?"
     
     Nodoka realized they were fading like mist, somehow seeming
to become one with the falling rain, until they disappeared
altogether.  She stared for a moment at the empty space where 
they had been, and then put her hands on Soun's shoulders.

     "Come away, Soun," she murmured, using the same voice she
would use to talk to a child.  "There's nothing you can do for
her."

     "My baby," Soun sobbed.  "My baby, my little girl..."
     
     Gently, Nodoka pulled his arms away.  The rain was 
increasing in strength, and the water was running pink all over
the ridge as the blood was washed away.  Together they carefully
laid Nabiki's body down on the ground, Soun still weeping as they
did.

     "Did you see what she was doing, Soun?" Nodoka said as she
wrapped her arms around him and cradled his head against her
shoulder.  "She was trying to save her sister, right at the end."

     "I didn't see," Soun murmured.  He felt like a little child
in her arms.  "I didn't see.  My daughter, my little girl... I'm
sorry, Nabiki, I forgive you, I forgive you..."  He dissolved 
into incoherency, gone past the point where words had meaning.

     Nodoka left him crying quietly by his middle daughter's 
still body, and stood up so that she could check on others.  
Ukyou would not survive for long, if she wasn't already dead -
the blow would have severed her spine.  But Akari was all right,
or at least she had been before the fighting had begun.

     Yamiko's body lay near where Nabiki had fallen, the arrow
that had killed her sticking out of her eye like a grotesque
marker.  Nodoka began to turn away, but then she saw the 
black-clad woman's hand twitch.

     Not knowing entirely why, Nodoka stepped over and knelt 
beside the woman.  It seemed impossible that anyone could live
for longer than a few seconds after a clean shot like that, but
Yamiko obviously was still alive.  The one dark eye that remained 
was glazed with pain and nearly closed, but there was still 
consciousness in it.

     A death-rattle sounded from the woman's throat.  It went on.
And on, and then it changed into a harsh, wet coughing sound, and
Nodoka realized Yamiko was trying to speak to her.

     "What?"
     
     Limply, the woman raised an arm and gestured at her own 
face.  Then she dropped it to her side, and her eye fluttered a
few times, then closed.  Suddenly, it snapped open again, and she
began to hiss.

     Nodoka pulled down the soft, pliable leather mask that
covered the woman's mouth.  The first glimpse of what lay beneath
made her yank her hands back in revulsion.

     "Oh, gods..." she murmured.
     
     Beneath the mask, something like a mix between a lamprey's
maw and the teeth of a shark lay open like a gaping wound.  
Behind the circular rows of teeth, she could see something that
was undoubtedly a human tongue, though one covered with weeping
sores and painful blisters.

     Yamiko tried to say something else, but there were
unmistakably words in it, though too quiet for Nodoka to hear.
Still uncertain why she was even wasting time on this woman, who
had just killed Nabiki, Nodoka nevertheless bent her head down
and put her ear close to the monstrosity of Yamiko's mouth.  
Strangely, she was not afraid; she knew the woman was no longer
any kind of threat.

     The words were still almost too soft for her to hear, and
they distorted almost beyond recognition by the liquid accents
and hissing syllables, but they were understandable.

     "Thank... you... didn't want to die... with..."
     
     And a terrible pity rose in Nodoka, one that made her reach
down and touch the other woman's hand with her own, even as
Yamiko gave a last rattle, and died.

**********

     Ryoga ached.  Every joint, every muscle, was on fire.  The
fall of the dragon - wherever it had come from - had filled their
foe with a terrible vitality.  The Joketsuzoku had held at first,
and then had begun to be pushed back.

     After Yamiko had abruptly left the combat, he had gone back
to what he had been doing before.  He held the line.  The enemy 
came.  The enemy died.

     And still, on they came.  Slowly, the Joketsuzoku were 
falling.  He had lost of count of how many he had seen die.  He
was forced to retreat just to prevent the enemy from flanking 
him.  

     Shampoo was on one side, Bai at the other, both with their
weapons moving so quickly that they were only blurs.  Neither of
them were uninjured - the white cloth of Shampoo's battle
uniform was stained crimson at the left side, and Bai was 
limping heavily from a long slash down one calf.  He himself had
a painful, burning wound across his chest from Yamiko, and the
side of his jaw where she had kicked him throbbed painfully with
each breath he drew.

     Bai stumbled as they grudgingly gave another few feet of
ground to the enemy, and something with the face of a bat raised
a sword to cut her down.  Shampoo stepped in, knocked the blow
aside, and smoothly disembowelled the foe with a flick of her
wrist.  A spear seemed to come out of nowhere and drove deep into
her side; Bai Ling rose shakily with a snarl and cut the mongrel
head of the spear-wielder off with a half-circle sweep of her
polearm.

     Shampoo, face gone suddenly pale as snow, stumbled a few
steps back into Ryoga's arms.  The spear had snapped off a few
inches below the head, and all of the point was still buried in 
Shampoo's side.  Despite that, she was still clutching her sword 
so tightly that it seemed she would never let it go.

     "Get her back!  Away, stupid!"
     
     Bai's voice brought him back to reality, as she leapt 
forward into the oncoming enemy.  Her face was grim as a 
death-mask, and her weapon spun in killing patterns through the
massed foe.  Ryoga took a few steps back, cradling Shampoo in his
arms, paused, and saw a snake-headed thing that walked upon three
legs slip behind Bai Ling and drive a sword into her back.

     Time stopped.  Hate and rage exploded crimson through his
body.  Very gently, he laid Shampoo down on the bloody ground and
stepped forward.  Bai's body fell in silence, taking all of 
eternity to hit the earth.

     His fist struck out.  The head of Bai's killer disappeared 
in a spray of red.  Dozens of human eyes in inhuman faces gazed
at him from the enemy horde, alight with bloodlust and insanity.
The other Joketsuzoku had continued the retreat, and the enemy
was swarming around them.  They were cut off.  Despair clutched
his heart - an old, familiar lover, that.

     Ryoga cupped his hands, stretched them out, and let the
pain come forth.  A full Shishi Hokodan could not be risked with 
allies so close.  The straight blast cut through massed ranks 
like a spear, smashing bodies apart from the sheer pressure.  
When it ended, it looked like some great god had swept a sword 
through the enemy.

     The well was not yet empty, though.  No, he had barely 
dipped into it.  Ryoga nearly smiled.  He threw another.  A wave
of devastation swept through the foe.  Bodies dropped like mown
wheat.
     
     As he stepped forward, he looked down at Bai's face.  Her
eyes were closed.  She looked peaceful.

     His fists clenched, and he raised his arms.  Twin blasts,
one from each hand, ripped the enemy apart.  A foe tried to sneak
in at his vulnerable side, and his upward-driven kick almost tore
its head right off its body when it connected.

     He was in the thick of the enemy now, Shampoo and Bai almost
forgotten.  The hated foe moved too slow to ever touch him.  He
would kill them, kill them until there was no breath left in his
body, no blood left to pump through his veins--

     With a howl of pure rage, he drove his arms down to his 
sides.  The pillar of light stretched from earth to sky.

     It fell, and, as it fell, the rain began to fall.  The touch
of that gentle precipitation had more effect upon the foe than
anything he had done ever had.  A raindrop fell upon the one
closest to him, and it began to dissolve.  Its scaly flesh slid
off its bones like water, and for a second a skeleton and its
malformed, pumping organs stood upright.  Then the bones, and all
else, dissolved into water, and drained away into the earth.

     All around him, he saw it happening, and as it became clear
to him that soon there would be nothing left for him to kill, the
rage gave way at last to grief.  Tears falling down his face, he
turned and walked back past the dying of the enemy towards where
Bai and Shampoo lay.

**********

     A dark place.  Drums, or a heartbeat.  A dark place.  
Breathe.  Breathe!

     She opened her mouth, and tasted sweet rain upon her tongue.
     
     "Kima?"
     
     Cologne's face seemed to float before her in the misty haze
of the rain.  It took a few moments for the rest of her to form 
clearly - vision was blurry, like waking after a long sleep.

     She tried to rise, but the effort was too much.  Grateful 
for the support of the hard ground beneath her, she sank bank, 
and then realized she could not feel her wings.  Raining, of
course.  Not in her body.

     "What happened?" she asked.
     
     "I think it's nearly over," Cologne said softly.  "Ranma
freed the dragon, and she fell to earth.  The rain has begun.  It
kills the foe."

     Kima stared up at the rain.  There was a dull pain near her 
heart.  Thick bandages were wrapped around the wound Shouzin had
given her, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have.

     "Is she dead?"
     
     "Yes," Cologne answered in a voice grief ran through like a
river.  "Yes, I believe she is."

     If the dragon was dead, had it all then been in vain?  Kima
closed her eyes.  It had all truly begun under Jusendo, with the
dragon.  Her path had been chosen there, leading inevitably to
this end.

     "What about Ranma?"
     
     "I don't know about him," Cologne replied.  There was a 
heavy pause.  In the distance, thunder rolled, like the note of a
horn.  "Samofere is dead."

     "What was it all for, then?" Kima asked bitterly.  She 
didn't even have the strength to open her eyes.  "Does it matter
if it's over, if everything that matters is dead?"

     Cologne's voice seemed nearly lost against the sound of rain
falling.  "Not all that dies stays dead.  If I am correct... no,
all is not lost.  We need only wait, now.  Our part is done."

     With an effort of will, Kima opened her eyes.  "Help me sit 
up, Cologne.  If anything is going to happen, I do not wish to
miss it."

     Gently, Cologne helped her up, then supported her as she
sat.  The two of them waited in the rain, waited for whatever was
to come.

**********

     Something had happened.  The sounds of battle had ended, 
and, slowly, cheers of triumph began among the men.  Wiyeed 
looked up, and saw the effect that the rain was having upon the
enemy.

     So be it.  The Lady and her sisters had given their answer
to the Dark.  But it was too late for her brother.

     "Some die young, and some die old, some die hot, and some
die cold."

     It escaped her lips involuntarily, an old children's rhyme.
She cupped her brother's hand in both of hers and brought it up     
to her lips.  

     The rain fell upon the earth.  Wiyeed kissed her brother's
hand.  Someone touched her shoulder, and she looked up into 
Rogen's sad, aged face.

     "Can nothing be done for him?" he asked.
     
     "Not by you or I," Wiyeed answered.  She put her brother's
hand upon his chest and prepared to let go, now and forever.  One
last squeeze of his hand, and then... then he would be taken to 
the Mouth of the Dragon, and go to join their mother and their
father.

     He squeezed back.  Wiyeed did not dare to breathe.  It was
impossible, his soul had left him, but... but the wound was gone,
the blood washed away by the rain, and Herb opened his eyes and
smiled at her.

     "Some die for love, some die for hate," he whispered.  "Some
for chance, and some for fate."

     With a joyous, disbelieving cry, Wiyeed looked up and cried
out, "The king lives!"  The cry rose in the throat of every
warrior of the Musk there, and carried throughout the army.  

     Then the laughter began.  Weak and quiet, but still so 
bitter and cutting that it was audible over the cries of the 
Musk.  Wiyeed turned her head, and looked at the body of her
brother's killer.

     "Lady," she whispered, "how can he still live?"
     
     Rogen smiled grimly and raised his sword.  "He will not live
for long."

     "No," she said.  "Hold.  Care for my brother."
     
     The beginnings of a frown began upon Rogen's face.  Wiyeed
fixed him with an imperious stare and stood up, then took two 
steps over to where the man lay, a fist-sized hole through his
chest.

     "Who are you?" she asked.
     
     "My name would be meaningless to you," he answered.  He
looked almost happy.  The rain upon his hair made it shine like
gold.  "Almost fitting, that I should die in a body not my own.
Not the way I should have liked it, but..." He coughed, and it
sounded as though there should have been blood in it, but there
was none.  "Oh, but they are cruel, as cruel as he, to do this to
me.  To hold out hope, when for one such as I there can never be
any hope ever again."

     His hand twitched towards the great sword near his body,
stained with her brother's blade.  "This blade... I ask..."

     "You have no right to ask anything of me," Wiyeed answered
stonily.  

     He grinned.  How the man could live with a hole through his
chest, right through his heart, Wiyeed could not imagine.  "No, I
do not.  But I ask it all the same.  Melt it down in the hottest
fire that you can, for there is much blood upon it."

     Wiyeed tried to let her anger calm, to be merciful, as her
Lady was, for death came to all, in the end.  It was hard.  "I
shall do it."

     "Burn this body, too," he murmured.  "Though not within the
same fire."

     "And I ask again, who are you?"
     
     He didn't answer, and for a moment Wiyeed thought he really
had died.  Then, he did, very quietly.  "Before it all began, I 
was Yan.  And I would be him again, if I could."

     A long gasp escaped him, and he closed his eyes.  Then he
began to speak again, though now it sounded as though he were
reciting something.  "There is an oracle of necessity, an ancient
ordinance of the gods, eternal and sealed fast by broad oaths,
that whenever one of the daemons, whose portion is length of 
days, has sinfully polluted his hands with blood, or followed
strife and forsworn himself, he must wander thrice ten thousand
years from the abodes of the blessed, being born throughout the
time in all manner of mortal forms, changing one toilsome path of
life for another.  For the mighty air drives him into the sea, 
and the sea spews him forth upon the dry earth; earth tosses him
into the beams of the blazing sun, and he flings him back to the
eddies of the air.  One takes him from the other, and all reject
him.  One of these I now am, an exile and a wanderer from the
gods, for that I put my trust in an insensate strife."

     Wiyeed reached out her hand and traced a symbol, the most
secret sign of the Lady, upon his brow.  "Guide this one well,
Lady," she said softly.  

     As she drew her finger away, his eyes snapped open, and she
saw with a mild shock that his blue eyes now had the slit pupils
of a reptile.

     "I do not need the help of your Lady," he snarled weakly.  
Somehow, it made her pity him even more; the last agonized
defiance of a predator as it dies.  "I go to oblivion gladly, for
I am done with service to the powers that move men and women as
their pawns.  If I have..."  Here he began to cough again, and it
took him some time to stop.  "If I have not lived to see my dream
fulfilled, I at least know that it shall..."

     "What dream?"
     
     He spoke as if he had not heard her.  "No, I am done with
this.  I shall not drink of this cup they offer me."  His eyes 
closed again, and he weakly brought one hand up to cover the 
place where his heart used to be, as though against the falling
rain.  So, having done thus, he took one last breath, and died.

**********

     Ukyou woke up to rain falling on her face, a not-unpleasant
sensation.  The last moments before waking were like a nightmare;
Konatsu plunging the sword into her back, a few agonized moments
where she could feel nothing except pain, and then darkness.

     From how damp her clothing was, she assumed she'd been
unconscious for some time.  But how could a sword in the back 
make you go unconscious, and...
     
     And why didn't it hurt more?  It felt like she'd taken a bad
fall on her back, not had a sword stabbed into her.  What was 
going on?

     "You alive?" someone asked incredulously.
     
     "Guess so," Ukyou replied, surprised at how weak and thin
her voice sounded.  "Should I not be?"

     A round face harried by exhaustion and an obvious lack of
sleep peered down at her, beneath a brown cap patched darkly by
the rain.  "No pulse, no breath, pale as snow, and now you 
talking to me.  Very strange story."

     Ukyou attempted to rise, then decided it was better to stay
lying down.  "Is everyone else okay?  Nabiki?  Ranma's mother?"

     The man's face grew even sadder, if that was possible.  He
opened his mouth, but didn't seem able to find the right words.

     A searching hand found her spatula, and Ukyou staggered to
her feet and propped herself up with it.  That gave her a full
look at the scene around her, and a tremble ran through her whole
body.  Dead men, some with weapons still clutched in their hands,
lay strewn about the ridge.  Soun knelt weeping by Nabiki's torn
body, and Ranma's mother was crouched down by an unconscious girl
whom Ukyou didn't recognize.

     There was, she noted, quite a lot of her own blood on the
ground.  Enough that the fact that she was walking, let alone
breathing, was surprising.  She reached back with one hand and
felt smooth, unbroken flesh beneath the tears in her blouse.

     It would have been bizarre, except that it wasn't much
stranger than anything else that had happened recently.  
With slow, careful steps, she made her way over to Konatsu, the 
chubby man trailing worriedly behind her like an attendant.

     There didn't seem to be any wound upon him, but he lay as
still as death.  But when she knelt and touched his cheek, his
eyes opened, and he looked at her as though through the 
obstruction of some nearly opaque veil.

     "You're dead," he whispered.  "I killed you."
     
     "Well, I'm obviously not dead," Ukyou replied.  "And even if
I was, it wouldn't have been you who killed me, now would it?"

     A smile flitted like a ghost across his face.  "She's gone, 
Ukyou."

     "Are you sure?"
     
     He nodded weakly, and she touched his hand, and said, "Then
perhaps it's over, now."     

**********

     The rain seemed to be lessening now, as though prepared to
depart as quickly as it had come.  Ryoga's clothes were soaked,
and clung like a second skin.  He had forgotten what it felt 
like, to stand in the rain as a man.

     Weary and grieving, he knelt down beside Bai Ling and rested
one hand upon his knee.  With his other hand, he brushed away a
few strands of damp hair that clung to her face.  In death, she
seemed more peaceful than she ever had in life.

     "I would have liked to know you better," he said quietly.  
Another memory about the rain - no one can see you crying in it.

     A few heartbeats passed.  
     
     Bai opened her eyes and smiled thinly.  "You not getting 
rid of me that easily, stupid man."

     Two or three steps away, Shampoo was rising to her feet, 
and was removing the spear head from her side as if she felt no
pain in doing so, as the rain fell upon everyone and everything.

**********

     Tatewaki Kuno was, he was certain, most assuredly dead.  The 
sword through the belly would have been enough, but the fall had 
driven it straight through his body and out his back when he hit
the ground.

     If, then, he was dead, why could he feel the rain?
     
     Drops of water fell gently upon his shoulders and upturned
face as he rose to his feet.  The sword was still in him - he
could feel it in his body, a somehow painless pressure.  How it
was possible, he did not know, but he gingerly reached down and
found the rain-slick hilt.

     The sword pulled free from his body as though sliding out of
some viscous liquid, a nauseating sensation that still held no
pain.  A fat raindrop broke upon his cheek, and another 
splattered upon one closed eyelid--

     Eyelid?
     
     As the rain stopped falling, he opened his eyes, and saw the
blurry unfamiliarity he imagined a newborn child must see.  Rock
and vegetation, dusty earth soaked with blood, began to resolve
themselves from the blur.  He looked at the sword in his hand,
and fuzzy greyness sharpened into steel covered in crimson
splashes of his own blood.

     "Miracle of miracles," he said.  "The blind man shall see,
the deaf man shall hear, the dumb man shall speak."

     A tiny, hesitant smile came onto his face as he looked 
around him.  They had explained the battle to him, but though he
had the ears to hear as well then as now, he had been too sunk in
misery to listen.  Now it was over.

     The enemy, the inhuman monsters they had described to him,
were gone.  The two sides were beginning to hesitantly walk
towards the middle of the battlefield, where he stood, unmoving
and uncertain of what to do.

     He looked up, his eye tracing the hundreds of feet to the
top of the cliffs, from which he had fallen.  It was over up 
there, as well; he knew that as instinctually as he knew the
movements of his own body.  

     Roughly to the north of where he stood, a ring of warriors
surrounded a woman in grey.  Dozens of arrows, swords and spears
were pointed at her, and yet she stood calmly, arms folded and
unafraid.

     No, he realized.  It was not yet over.  And he walked 
towards Yoko Kontongara, that he might at last bring things to an
end for himself.

**********

     Nabiki had been washed clean.  The rain had rinsed the blood
from her body, and left only the ragged wounds of her death.  
Soun sat by the body of his middle daughter, knees to chest in a
foetal position, and remembered.

     She had always been the smartest of his girls, and the one
he understood the least.  And in the end, she'd become a traitor,
and the last words he'd told her before she died was that he
could not forgive her.

     The sheer magnitude of his pain was almost too much to bear.
He'd stopped crying, didn't deserve to cry for her.  Kasumi had
gone to someplace else, and he had no idea where Akane was.

     They were all gathering silently around him now, Nodoka and
the Guide, Ukyou and her friend, as though they could somehow 
share in his grief; as if they could possibly make this burden
any less.  Ukyou had been as dead as his daughter, he was sure of
that, and now she was on her feet again.  Her friend had gone 
mad, and now was cured.  

     "Something in the rain," he said out loud, though not
intentionally.  "Something in the rain, and weren't you worthy,
Nabiki, didn't you try at the end, why didn't you get brought 
back too, it isn't right, it isn't fair..."

     "Mister Tendo..."
     
     He whirled on Ukyou.  "Why you, and not her?"
     
     The girl had no answer, and shrank back before him.  A dim
recess of his mind realized how irrational he was being, but the
rest of him didn't care.  His finger stabbed accusingly at 
Konatsu.  "And you!  Why you, and not my daughter?  What makes 
you so special, that you..."

     Nodoka slapped him.  His grief dissolved at the look on her
face.

     "Nabiki is not the only one who has died," she said in a low
voice.  "Look down and see how many grieve for their dead on that
battlefield."  She pointed at the bodies of the guards from the 
Musk Clan who had accompanied them.  "Look at these men who gave 
their lives in our protection.  Do you see them rising up again?  
And my son - there is still no sign of my son.  We all grieve, 
Soun, but it mustn't consume us."

     He reached up, and touched the red mark her hand had left
upon his cheek.

     "You're right, of course," he replied dully.  "You're
always right."  He looked to where Akari lay unmoving, and his 
tongue was heavy as he spoke.  "Let us do what we can for the 
living."
     
**********

     The rain was unusually sweet.  He licked a drop from his
lips, and stared at the clouds above.  There was a power in the
rain, as obvious to him as anything else had ever been.  He was
the Lord of Waters, and he knew that this rain was the end of
something.

     A smile on his face, Ranma raised the hand that did not hold
the staff, and let the rain gather in the cup of his palm.  It 
was raining, and he was soaked to the skin, and yet he had not
changed.  It had been like that the last time he had stood before
the Dragon of Change; but she had been living then, though bound,
and now, though free, was dead.

     He clenched his fist, destroying the tiny pool created in
his hand.  The air was misty with rain, turning the mountains
into dark, ominous hulks in the distance.  

     "Is it really over?" he whispered, head bowed.  
     
     The note of the horn still seemed to echo in his head, 
almost faded from existence now.  His heart felt like a hot lump 
of stone within his chest, and hurt so much.  

     Suddenly, he was angry, more angry than he had been in a 
long time.  He thrust the staff into the damp turf and tilted his
head back to scream at the sky.  Rain ran down inside the collar
of his shirt, which was little more than ragged scraps of red
cloth now.

     "Why?" he howled.  "What was this all for, so she could
finally die?"

     He ripped the remains of his shirt off and cast it aside,
stood bare-chested in the rain, and screamed at the heavens.  
"How can it end like this?"

     "End?"  A voice as pure as crystal.  "It all must end."
     
     "There are no beginnings without ends."  Beauty that
wounded the soul, a darker note than the first voice, just as
lovely.

     Ranma turned, and bowed once, then again.  "Lady of Life,
Lady of Death."

     They walked out of the mist, clad in emerald and in sable
black, silver crowns upon their brows, rain upon their hair.  
Full of power, and more beautiful than mortal women could ever
be.

     "It has been some time since all three of us were together,"
said the Lady of Life, a weary smile upon her perfect face.

     "The sacrifice has died again," the Lady of Death said
gravely, beginning as her sister's words ended.  "The rain has
fallen, upon all the earth, upon the just and the unjust."

     Ranma looked back at the broken body of the dragon, and
gestured helplessly with one hand.  "But..."

     "The rain must end before the sun comes again, Lord of
Waters," said the Lady of Life.  "These shapes we bear are
borrowed, and you must help them to return once we are done.  You
are blessed in all our names now, and our mark is upon you.  The
rain is yours to end, not ours."

     He closed his eyes.  "And then what?"
     
     A gentle hand touched his brow.  "Bright the duty, dark the
call, towards the oldest one of all."

     He could not say which hand, that of Life or Death, had
touched him then.  It did not matter, he realized.  He perceived
them as sisters, and they showed themselves as such, because it
was one way that that was true.  There were more.

     When he opened his eyes, the two of them stood some distance
from him, watching him silently with their ageless gazes.  He
said nothing, only turned and pulled his staff from the ground.

     His hand clenched tight upon the slim wood, and he raised 
the staff overhead.  On his chest, the circle of three dragons -
green becoming gold becoming black becoming green again - pulsed
with a soft glow in time to the beatings of his heart, which no
longer felt so heavy.

     "I am Lord of Waters," he intoned, investing the words with
all the power of his destined office.  "I end the rain."

     The rain stopped.  
     
     The dragon opened her eyes, unfolded wings no longer broken,
and rose into the sky as fire filled Ranma's world.

**********

     A few steps, and he was past the somehow familiar young man 
who appeared to be trying to kick awake the enormous shaggy 
monster.  More steps, and he passed the woman in black kneeling
by her regal twin.  Nearby, hand over his heart, a dead man drew
his eye for a moment, but only for a moment.  All of them were
unimportant to him.

     The warriors surrounding Kontongara looked up as he 
approached, and one stepped forward from their midst, a tall,
neat man with a dark beard and a cape of eagle feathers.  
     
     "Have you business here?" he asked.  "This woman and her
servants are prisoners of the Musk Dynasty, and we have claim
upon her life for what she has done."

     "My claim is older," Kuno replied, and they locked eyes for 
a moment.  Then the older man nodded, and gestured to the
warriors, and the circle parted to let him through.

     The sword was too small, unfamiliar in his hand, but it
would do.  It was sharp, and it would do.  Kontongara, though
blind, watched him approach.  He knew it was possible, because he
too had seen while blind, and her slave.  

     When he drew within a few steps, she unfolded her arms, and
smiled.  "So the slave returns as executioner," she said, and he
would have liked to think there was a note of fear within her
voice.  "And the boy is a man now."

     "You killed my mother," he said, low and cold.  "You tried
to kill my sister, and yet she lives."     
     
     "I gave the orders," she replied.  "And were it so again, I
would give them again."  She cast her blind, hidden gaze around
at the watching warriors.  "All of you are fools.  You do not
realize that this battle was meaningless, that we have already
achieved what we wanted.  The dragon is dead, and our lord is
free."

     She laughed, harshly, an old woman's laugh.  "So kill me.
Send me to my children, if such a place as they have gone is my
destination as well.  Or send me alone.  I care not, for I have
seen the future, and I know what shall be."

     Kuno stood, silently, for a few seconds.  Then he shook his
head.

     "Nay," he whispered.  "Enough mothers, enough children, have
died before this day.  Let there be an end to this.  The voices
of the dead that cry for vengeance are but the delusions of our
own frail hearts, for what want have those at peace for 
vengeance?"

     And, finally, a clear note of emotion rang in Yoko's voice,
pain as deep as any he had ever borne.  "An end?  There can be no
end."  She reached up and ripped her glasses from her face, cast
them on the ground so that they shattered into black fragments.
With one hand, she covered her eyes, and the other she lifted to
point at him with one trembling, ancient finger.  "Are you so 
vain as to think my power gone, that I could not smash you all
like insects, and be gone from this place?  I do not because I
care not.  It is over for me.  End it."

     "Have you power, then?" Kuno asked.  "Then show me."
     
     "Fool," Yoko said, and gestured with her hand.  Nothing
happened.  Very slowly, she drew away the hand that covered her
eyes.  Though Kuno was not close enough to see exactly what the
dim-lit shapes within the gaping pits were, he saw enough to make
him glad that he was not.  "This is not possible... I felt her
die... felt them both die..."

     At last, her strength seemed to leave, and she dropped to
her knees and held her face in her hands.  Kuno turned to the
bearded man.

     "I would ask that she be a prisoner for now," he said.  
"What her fate must be, I cannot at this time say."

     "Death."
     
     The voice was a strong man's made weak, and Kuno saw beyond
the circle the white-haired man leaning upon his twin.  His face
was cold and angry.

     "Many lie dead from what she unleashed upon us," he 
continued.  "Many more would still lie dead, but for that rain.
And she should live, where in her place, you or I would have died
at her hand?"

     "Aye," Kuno said, and nodded.  "But has it not been said 
that there is a time for all things under the sun, a time to 
kill, and perhaps a time to spare?"

     A smile that in no way diminished the anger came onto the
other man's face.  "Such philosophies were part of my studies,
and I never believed a word of them."

     "That, Herb," said his dark-clad twin, breaking her silence,
"is because up until a little while ago you were damnably
ignorant of a lot of things."

     The tension that filled the air was suddenly thicker.  Then
the man called Herb laughed, weakly, and shook his head.  "My
sister agrees with this one, I think."  He began to cough, then
recovered, though he leaned more heavily upon his sister.  "Take
her prisoner.  We are warriors by choice, but I suppose we should
be executioners only when we must."

     Kuno nodded.  "I am finished here, then, and have other
matters that I must attend to."  He dropped the useless sword
upon the ground, and began to walk away.  Somehow, he had to get
back atop the cliffs, and find what had become of Nabiki and the
others.

     A few steps, and a hand lightly touched his elbow.  He 
looked back, and the white-haired woman stood by his side.

     "Your name is Kuno, is it not?" she said.  "Your sister told
me."

     "I am Tatewaki Kuno, fair one," he replied.  "And you are?"
     
     She opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped, and 
pointed to the north.  A red tinge crept across the sky, as 
though it were the setting or the rising of the sun, and it did 
seem as though it was, for in the distance, burning with the 
flames that would not be extinguished, the winged shape of a 
phoenix-dragon was rising, up into and beyond the sky.
     
     And for him, it really was over.
     
**********

     Damp wood was not supposed to burn so easyily.  Perhaps it 
was something about the rain, for next to everything else it had 
done, being flammable was almost blase.  Or perhaps the 
Joketsuzoku had treated the wood somehow, for the flames burned
brighter and hotter than any she had seen the instant they were
lit.

     Her father stepped back, and let the brand drop from his
limp fingers.  It hit the still-damp earth, and immediately went
out.  Without a word, Akane stepped over and wrapped both her
arms around his chest.  His hand touched her hair, trembling as
it did.  He looked years older than when she'd last seen him.

     "I wish Kasumi was here, Akane," he whispered.  "Kasumi
should be here."

     Night had fallen, and the funeral pyres, so many that they
seemed to mirror the stars, burned as though to drive back the
darkness.  Akane squeezed him, gently, and rested her head
against her father's chest.  "I wish she was here too, daddy."

     She herself wished Ryoga was here, but he'd wanted to be
with Akari if... when she awoke.  The faces gathered in the
darkness around the fire seemed to stretch from the earliest days
she'd known Ranma until recent times.  Kuno, stoic and grieving,
Tarou watching the flames of Nabiki's pyre as though they 
conjured up old memories, Happosai in his new young body, Ukyou
and Konatsu, Nodoka waiting for her son... The fire made all the
faces seem to blur, as though everything was spinning around her, 
light and dark enmeshing...

     This was what Nabiki would have wanted.  One time - one of
the only times - they had talked about their mother after she
died, Nabiki had said she wanted to be cremated, and as quickly 
as possible, when she died.  No worms to eat the body, no grave 
for people to come to year after year to mourn...

     "But it wasn't supposed to be for a long time," Akane
murmured, closing her eyes.  The tears in her eyes were making it
nearly impossible to see.  Her father felt frail and weak within
her arms, as if he were only just barely able to stand.

     Despite his weakness, the sense that only she was keeping
him upright, she pulled away, unable to stand the cloying grief
that lingered upon him.  Disoriented, she stumbled two steps, and
then a hand touched her shoulder.

     "Words cannot express my grief," Kuno murmured gently, 
seeming to lack words for the first time she could remember.  
"Such a loss..."  He turned away, back towards the fire, and the
flames that worked slowly to consume the shell of Nabiki's body.

     "I'm sorry, Akane.  I really am."
     
     Tarou.  He tried to smile, failed.  There was something
different about him.  He seemed at peace, almost.  Akane grasped
the hand he offered.  A log snapped in half on the pyre, and
sparks rose like fireflies into the dark heavens.  

     "Thank you, Tarou."  She stepped away.  Ukyou met her gaze,
embraced her gently.  Konatsu didn't seem to want to look at
anything but the ground.

     Nearby, Happosai's hands were clenched in fists at his side.
"Stupid old man, damn old man, you could have saved her, you
should have been there, damn fool..."

     And then she was in Nodoka's arms, and Ranma's mother said
something she didn't hear, and at last she moved away from her
too.  Finally alone, watching Nabiki's body, the fire, dim shapes
moving beyond the range of the light around the beacons of other
pyres... so many dead, and more would be dead if not for the
miracle of the rain, which she knew somehow had to be Ranma, even
with what Nodoka had told her...

     Sometime later, they would all talk together.  Her, and 
Kuno, and Tarou, her father, Nodoka, everyone, until they put
together some picture of what had gone on.  Now, though, there 
was only room in her to grieve, without understanding all the
factors that had brought her to this grief.

     Another cloud of sparks rose, and died.  The flames wrapped
Nabiki's body like a blanket.  The Joketsuzoku had prepared the
body, cleaned the wounds of her death as best they could, put
simple robes upon her, and built the pyre.  Then they had left
those who would witness the passage to their grief.

     As she watched the fire burn, it began to occur to her that
something was wrong.  Nabiki's body was not burning.  Clothes,
flesh, even hair... nothing had caught.  The flames moved across
her, and yet she was not burned.
     
     Someone was standing behind her who had not been there a
second ago.  Akane turned, and gave no reaction upon seeing Kima.
The winged woman nodded briefly, and then came to stand beside
her.

     "There is no sign of him," she said, soft and weary.  "Not 
at Jusendo, nor Jusenkyou, nor at the place where we guess the
dragon fell.  We are still searching.  I thought you would like
to know."

     "I think he went into the sky," Akane answered, surprising
herself with the great distance in her voice, as though the ears
that heard were separate from the mouth the spoke.  "Wherever the
dragon went, up into the clouds."

     Kima folded her hands in front of her.  "Perhaps he did."
She sighed gently.  "When someone dies, we say a phoenix carries
the soul towards the heavens.  If the person has a virtuous soul,
the phoenix will have many feathers, enough to make it past the
burning rays of the sun.  If the soul is heavy with evil, they
wings of the phoenix will burn away in the sun, and the soul 
shall fall to earth, to be plucked by the White Bird and fed into
the endless maw of the King of Ashes."

     "What a horrible story," Akane said.  No, it really didn't 
seem to be her speaking; there were three people here, the girl
watching her sister's body lie unburned amidst the flames, the
girl speaking, the girl hearing herself speak...

     "Yes, it really is a horrible story," Kima agreed.  "It used
to be when someone died, his family would pluck feathers from
their wings and cast them into the flames, so that there would be
more of a chance for the soul to reach the heavens."

     Everyone else was so silent.  If only one of them could have
spoken, it would have ended the spell, the gaps between voice
and hearing and sight.  But no one spoke.  

     Kima reached up to her shoulder and plucked out one feather,
pursing her lips in silent pain as she did.  Without saying
anything, she handed it to Akane.  Without reply, Akane stepped
forward, and cast it into the flames.  The white feathers burned
away in seconds, until only the skeletal quill remained, and soon
that too was gone.

     There was silence now.  The sense of dislocation ended, and
Akane stood beside Kima, within the circle of friends and family
and acquaintances, and watched the pyre burn down to ashes.  And,
when it had become ashes, Nabiki's body, unburned, untouched,
still lay amidst them.

**********

     "<Journey easy.  The battle is done.>"  A multitude of
torches reflected in the mountain stream, as the ashes of another
Joketsuzoku joined those floating or sinking within the shallow
depths.  The Musk and the Phoenix had gathered their dead - they
had rituals of their own to perform.  This was the Joketsuzoku's
way, the quick flame of the funeral pyre and the offering to the 
water.

     Shampoo stepped back from the rocky banks, shaking the last
of Hui Shu's ashes from her fingers and into the water.  The girl
had been two years younger, and she hadn't known her well, but
she had seen her fall and die to an enemy spear.  All along the
dark banks of the river, other Joketsuzoku, at least a hundred,
scattered the ashes of more fallen warriors.  The slow drift of 
the stream carried the remains along its flow, towards the
underground, eventually to the sea.

     So many dead, and so many who should have died.  From what
she understood, only the very recently slain - perhaps those who
had been lingering between this world and the next - had risen 
with the rain.  It seemed neither right nor fair that some would
live who should have died, when so many others lay dead.  But
fairness, rightness... neither of those things were a part of
this world.

     Ceremony done, the Joketsuzoku began to move away from the
river, down the mountain and back towards their temporary camp.
In the morning, they would make the journey back to the village.
There had already been scattered reports from scouts.  Crops
destroyed, livestock slaughtered, homes destroyed.  It would be a
lean, hard winter that was soon to come.  The air was already
colder than it had been a week ago, and the twisted trees were 
gaunt and ragged in the light of the newly-risen moon.  

     As she picked her way down the rocky trail, Bai Ling fell
into step beside her.  Face haggard, hair dishevelled, her former
rival looked years older than she had this morning - and Shampoo 
suspected that the same look was in her own eyes as well.

     "<How do you feel?>" Bai asked, after they'd walked together
in silence for a few seconds.  The closest Joketsuzoku were 
beyond the range of hearing any quiet talk.

     "<Guilty,>" Shampoo answered honestly.  "<What made us
worthy, and not them?>"

     "<The gods only know,>" Bai replied, with a ghost of a 
smile.  "<Perhaps it was merely luck.>"

     A few small pebbles rolled underfoot, and clattered down the
slope to disappear into the encroaching darkness.  They could see
the camp fires now, and the shadowy shapes of tents pitched down
below in the pass.

     A whip-thin sapling waved in the breeze as the two of them
negotiated a steeper section.  Shampoo picked her way carefully
down the trail, occasionally touching her hand to the rocky side
of the cliff in the darkness.  "<And what do we do now?>" 

     Bai gave a tiny, nearly imperceptible shrug.  "<I need to go
find my husband.  He's off with that... woman, whoever she is.>"
She frowned darkly, showing white teeth in the night.  

     For a moment, Shampoo considered saying something, but in 
the end, she remained silent.  Would she have listened at the
beginning to any advice against the path she took?  No; the 
players changed, the roles remained the same.  There was no end
to it.

     They went the rest of the way without speaking, and parted
way at the foot of the cliffs with merely a nod and a glance.  
Bai went away into the rings of the tents and fires, and was soon
lost to sight.

     Bright stars hung in the sky above, impossibly distant.  
Shampoo watched them for a moment, and then began to walk north,
away from the camp.  The main body of the Musk had gone that way
hours ago, just as the Phoenix had returned to the south and 
their home.  In time, perhaps, the three peoples might come
together again.  For now, they mourned their dead separately.

     Soon enough, she had left the fires of the camp behind her,
and walked only with the light of the stars and the moon.  The
night lay still as though dead around her, without any sounds of
the usual nocturnal wildlife.  No doubt the taint of the foul
army was still upon the land - it might be some time before the
animals felt safe to return.

     At a certain place, for a reason she knew no better than the
reason she had come here, she stopped.  Sat down upon a 
flat-topped rock beneath the overhang of a cliff, and waited. 

     Shortly after, he stepped out of the darkness as if born
anew from it.  "<Thank you for coming.>"

     She edged over, patted the space beside her on the rock.  
"<Where's the horse?>"

     He did not sit.  Faint lines of white fire glowed in the
darkness from beneath the closed slits of his eyes.  "<I don't
know.  It goes somewhere when I don't need it.>"

     "<What's happened to you, Mousse?>" 
     
     The black robes looked far too big for him, and the spear
too large.  His wrists and fingers were painfully thin, and his
face sunken and hollow.  Yet he did not look weak.  It seemed as
though all excess of flesh was being bled away from him.  When he
smiled at her, though, it was more gentle than it had ever been.
"<I have what I want, Shampoo.>"

     "<Sit down.>"  She patted the rock again.  "<Talk to me for
a while.  Please.>"

     "<What's left to say?>"  And he laughed, softly.
     
     "<Nothing, really,>" she admitted.  "<Goodbye, Mousse.>"
     
     He gestured with the spear's gleaming head towards the 
north, at the stars that waited silent.  "<My journey takes me
beyond this place.  I shall fly beyond the furthest heavens,
within the embrace of my lady.>"  He paused for a moment.  "<It
is a long, long trip to her arms, Shampoo.>"

     Perhaps it was an offer, for there was something of it in
his tone.  And yet she found that she did not want it, even 
though there seemed little left for her here.  

     The horse was there now, come from nothing, pale as
moonlight and motionless as a statue.  Mousse touched its nose
with one pale hand.  White flesh on white muzzle; hard to see
where the one began and the other ended.

     "<Goodbye, Shampoo.>"
     
     In one smooth motion, he swung himself up upon the back of
the horse, dark reins gripped in one hand.  The horse tossed its
head, and its ghostly eyes gleamed.

     Shampoo rose from her seat upon the rock, began to lift one 
hand, and then dropped it to her side.  Despite his closed eyes,
she knew that he was looking at her.  
     
     "<I won't see you again, will I?>" she asked.
     
     A smile flickered and died upon his face.  "<Oh, I think
you'll see me at least once,>" he said, as if it were a joke she
didn't get.
     
     He flicked the reins once, and the horse cantered into the 
air as though ascending a gentle slope.  Its hooves made no sound 
as it left the ground, nor any as is walked upon empty air.

     "<Mousse!>" she called, as he rose out of sight.
     
     He and his mount paused, and he looked back.  "<Yes?>"
     
     "<What was it you wanted?  What did you get?>"
     
     The words drifted down from his perch above the earth like
falling snow.  "<Love, Shampoo.  The love which brings an end to 
pain.>"     
     
     Before she could form an answer, even in her head, he had
flicked the reins again, and rider and mount rose up into the sky
so fast that in moments they seemed merely another star, and in
another moment they were gone altogether.
     
     Heart strangely heavy, Shampoo slumped back down onto the
rock and thought of nothing at all for a long time.  Finally, she
got up and began to walk back towards the camp.  Distantly, she 
heard the chirping of cicadas.  Perhaps the wildlife was 
returning already.

**********

     Jusendo was destroyed.  Saffron had begun the job, and Ranma
had finished it.  Cologne knelt and picked up a handful of 
pulverized rock, the grains no bigger than the finest sand.  The
Jusen River that ran between Jusendo and the former site of
Jusenkyou was gone.  And so was Samofere.

     Cologne knelt by the barren river bank, and quietly wept.
She had been strong for hours now, the staunch leader that the
Joketsuzoku had needed.  Now, she was finally allowed to let the
grief come, but it was choked.  Mere weeping could not convey the
depth of it - a part of her heart had been ripped out.

     And what had it all been for?  Ranma was gone.  She'd lost
any chance to mould him further, to make him what he had to be.
Even if she had the time, the chance, could she carry on without
Samofere?

     She sighed, and rose to her feet.  Whether to carry on or
not was not a choice at this point.  Jusendo would be a fitting
cairn for him, the finest man she'd ever known, perhaps the only
one she'd ever truly loved.

     "Goodbye, old friend," she said, and touched her breast over
the heart in a ritual gesture of farewell.  "Goodbye, my love."

     Silently, she spent a few more moments sunk in grief, and 
then said, "You might as well come out now."

     With at least the grace to look mildly sheepish, Happosai 
stepped out from his hiding place in a clump of twisted bushes
that should have been far too small to conceal him.  "Sorry."
     
     "I see your voyeurism has extended to moments of grief along
with moments of undress?" she said acidly.  The temptation was to
wipe the tears off her face, but she held still and merely glared
at him.

     To her surprise, he winced, as if he were actually shamed.
"I didn't mean to..."

     "Of course you didn't," she snapped.  
     
     Hands held up in a placating gesture, he took a step towards
her.  "All I wanted was to make sure you were all right..."

     "Liar."
     
     "Well, maybe not all..."  He took another step.
     
     "No closer."  She raised her hand, palm flat, and scowled.  
"Leave me alone."

     "Do you really want to be alone right now?"
     
     "I certainly don't want your company."
     
     "Can't you at least tell me what happened?"  He indicated 
the rubble of Jusendo with his hand.  "Why are you crying at this
dried-up river over a broken mountain?"

     "Go away," she commanded coldly, "or I'll hurt you."
     
     Happosai opened his mouth as though to speak, then thought 
better of it.  He turned and walked away into the night.  Cologne
shuddered, and it felt painful; holding her control in front of 
him had made a tight feeling, like steel bands, settle down over 
her heart.

     Behind her, the drying mud of the dead river bubbled.  She
turned at the sound, just in time to see a large circular area in
the bed of the river depress as though beneath a heavy impact.  
Water began to bubble up to fill the crater.  Cologne watched
silently.  A faint gold aura suffused the edges of the crater,
making it glow like a ring in the darkness.

     The water dimpled.  Cologne drew a breath.  A head broke the
surface, black hair shining damply.  Beneath damp locks plastered
to his forehead, Ranma's face was serene and peaceful as a 
Buddhist statue.  Fully risen, he stood upon the water as if upon
the land.  In his arms, he cradled the bodies of Kasumi and 
Kodachi as if they were small children.  Each was in an identical
pose, one head resting on each of Ranma's shoulders.  They looked
as though they were lost within the depths of deep, dreamless
sleep.

     Ranma stepped off of the water, walked across the mud 
without leaving a footprint, and laid the bodies of Kasumi and 
Kodachi down upon the grass by the banks of the river.

     Cologne stared.  Power radiated from him in waves; to her
practiced sight, he was the epicentre of some unimaginably vast 
force.  The grace of his movement was almost heartbreaking.  He
did not seem to move through space so much as he did with it, 
every movement so utterly _correct_ that for him not to have made 
them would have been a blasphemy.

     Oh, ancestors, she thought.  To see him fight, only once...
like a god he is now.  Vaguely, she remembered what Nodoka
Saotome had said, that this might be Ranma's body with another
mind... but one look into his face dispelled that thought.  And
even though she knew he could have burned her in the flame of his
power like a candle burns a moth, she felt no fear at all.

     It was difficult to see where one motion ended and another 
began, because even moments of stillness seemed to part of the
same movement, an endless dance with existence without beginning
or end.  She tried to imagine what his speed would be like, and
could not.  His hair was unbound from its pigtail, and fell past 
his shoulders in a wave.  Light seemed to shine deep within his 
eyes, as if the power that filled him was nearly too great for 
his body to contain.

     If he spoke, it would break the spell of his presence - let
her move, question, respond.  Let him speak, she thought.  Until
he spoke, she was trapped.

     Ranma raised his hand, and made a circle with forefinger and
thumb.  Air distorted in the shape of a staff, and then became a
staff of water.  Water solidified as though turning to ice, and
then darkened into wood.  

     Finally, he spoke.  "It's done."
     
     Cologne asked, in a small voice that did not seem hers, 
"What happened down there?"

     So he told her about what Samofere had done.  And, at the
end, when she began against her wishes to cry again, he put down
the staff upon the earth and held her in his arms.  His chest was
bare, and his skin felt almost unbearably hot against her face.

     Embarrassed, she pulled away.  He caught her shoulders, and
stared into her eyes, and though she consciously knew that she 
was far older, she could not escape the feeling that she was the
child in this.

     "It's okay, Cologne," he said, and smiled.  "It'll all be
right, in the end.  If... if I could tell you what I've seen,
what I was shown, then you'd see too..."

     "Why can't you tell me?" she whispered.
     
     He laughed, gently.  "There aren't enough words in all the
world, nor are words the right way.  I don't have the instruments
to play this music for you.  Not even for myself.  It's like
music, really; I can remember scattered fragments, how it made me
feel... but I can't recall the whole.  I don't think I'm ready 
yet."

     With one finger, he touched her brow, and a spark seemed to
leap from his flesh to hers, a feeling of love and peace so
overwhelming that it almost caused her to start crying again.  

     "Can you take them back?" he said, gesturing to where Kasumi
and Kodachi lay upon the grass.  "They've served as well they can
now, and should return to those who need them."

     Cologne nodded, and he thanked her.  Noticing something, she
leaned forward and lightly touched his chest.  "Where are the
tattoos?"

     He smiled.  "They were symbols.  I don't need symbols any
longer."

     Understanding perfectly, she nodded.
     
     "What do I need to do now?"
     
     "I don't know," she replied.  "You've gone past the point
where I am necessary."

     "You brought me this far, though."  There was a grateful
note in his voice, and a sad one.  "Thank you."

     "And you know what you need to do now anyway, don't you?"
     
     For a moment, he seemed uncertain, and then he nodded.  
"Yes.  I guess I do."

     She kissed his cheek, feeling a deep sadness as she did.
"Go now," she whispered in his ear, as she drew away.  "Do what
must be done."

     He reached down and touched the staff.  It became water 
again, then wind, and then disappeared.  Ranma took two steps 
back from her, and cut his hand down through the air.  His body
dissolved into a human-shaped spray of water, but the drops
evaporated into the air before they hit the ground.

     Cologne let out a breath that she seemed to have been 
holding forever.

     "I hope it is enough," she murmured.  Then she looked at the
two sleeping girls near the banks of the river.  "Damn it, how am
I supposed to get the two of you back by myself?"

**********

     Akane lay on her side and stared into the darkness.  The bed
was comfortable and soft, the room finely-appointed - but she
couldn't help but wonder who it had belonged to.  Which of the
Phoenix had died so that she could occupy his or her bedroom in
the mountain?  Had it been at the battle in the pass, or before?
Or...

     There were no more tears to cry, in the end.  The mourning 
had been done, and they were all tired.  So they went their
separate ways.  Maybe in the morning, they'd gather again.  The
search was still going on for Ranma, but there hadn't been any
sign of him.  Kima had told her she'd be woken if there was any
news.

     Tonight, she'd almost wanted to ask if she could stay in the
same room as her father, like she had after her mother died.
There'd been nightmares, then, but they'd gone away.  Now Nabiki
was dead, and Kasumi was missing, and she and her father were the
only ones left.

     But, in the end, she hadn't asked, and had simply gone away 
by herself.  She'd snuffed the lamps upon the walls, and crawled 
into bed fully clothed.  But despite being weary unto her very 
bones, sleep escaped her.  Every time she closed her eyes, she 
saw Nabiki's face, or the faces of the anonymous dead.  Or her
mother.  And yet she had no more tears in her for any of them.  
It felt like there was a stone in the pit of her stomach, painful
and ever-present, but irremovable.  Crying would make it pass 
from her, but she could not cry.

     Suddenly, she became aware of a crisp scent in the air,
almost electrical; like the taste of the air before rain.  And 
she realized she was not alone in the room any longer.

     "Who's there?" she asked, already sure she knew the answer.
     
     The room began to glow with a soft, ambient light.  Ranma 
stood near the door, hair wet as though with rain.  He looked 
like a vision from a dream to Akane, and even as she got out of
bed and walked on shaking legs to him, she could not quite
believe it.  When she touched him, though, took him in her arms, 
she knew that he was real.

     "I thought you were gone," she said.  Said it over and over
again, as he stroked her hair.  "I thought I lost you, forever,
and you were gone, and..."

     He kissed her on the forehead.  The sea-scent clung to him
like perfume.  "No matter how far I go, or where, I am always
with you."

     She wanted to tell him everything, about Nabiki and the 
battle, everything that had happened, but all that wanting went
away beneath a wave of overwhelming desire as he kissed her lips.
She could taste the salt upon them, smell the ocean in his hair 
as he kissed his way down her neck.  They laid down upon the bed
together, he took the clothes from her body, she took the clothes
from his.  Flesh met with flesh, being with being...

     Akane cried out.  They merged into one.  The sea rolled over
them.  Salt stung her eyes, and she wept.  He kissed her eyes,
lips brushed lashes damp with tears.  The light filled the room
like gentle rain, like the rain falling on the bloody field...

     She cried out again, and clutched him to her, as though she
would never let him go, even though she knew that after this had
ended, she had no choice but to do so.

END OF CHAPTER 39