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.

Chapter 9 : Homecoming's Mist

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

Dark house, by which once more I stand
   Here in the long unlovely street,
   Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasp'd no more -
   Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
   And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away
   The noise of life begins again,
   And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong)
That I, at last, a resting-place had found;
'Here will I dwell,' said I, 'my whole life long,
Roaming the illimitable waters round;
Here I will live, of all but heaven disowned,
And end my days upon the peaceful flood.'-
To break my dream the vessel reached its bound;
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
-William Wordsworth

     It was raining when the train pulled into the station.

     Not heavily, not like the huge storm of a few days ago that
had broken the night before seven people had taken a train in the
opposite direction.  This was a light drizzle that fell from thin
grey clouds that turned the late afternoon into evening and sent
people scurrying quickly to their destinations lest they get too
wet.  It was gentle summer rain that would caress the earth and
call up plants and flowers through the soil.

     Seven had come back on this train as well, and one more, but
they hadn't been the same seven.  Ryoga sighed and gently traced
his fingers in a meaningless pattern upon the condensation of the
window through which he watched the rain, as the train slowed to
a stop at the mostly deserted platform.

     "It would be raining, wouldn't it?" Akane said softly from
the seat beside him.  "Just to top it all off."

     He glanced to her and nodded, glad at least to hear her
talk.  She hadn't said more than two words at a time ever since
they'd boarded the train after a fruitless morning of searching.
They'd finally managed to get her to agree that the search could
be handled just as well by the police, and that the best thing
for them to do was go home, but not after quite a lot of arguing.
She'd been the last one of the girls to give in after he and
Mousse had broached the subject together last night.  The only
support they'd had at the start had been from Happosai; like
them, he'd seen no point in sticking around when the search could
be handled by others.  He thought the best good they could do
would be back in Nerima.

     Shampoo had agreed quickly, telling them all about Cologne's
odd behaviour in the days before the crisis had begun.  She
wanted to search her great-grandmother's room for any clues as to
just what was going on.

     Ukyou and Nodoka had followed soon after, both wearing
defeated expressions on their faces as they acquiesced that it
was best to go home.  Genma had just silently nodded after his
wife had agreed to go back; there was a wall of tension between
the two so thick it was practically visible.

     Akane, on the other hand, had been her usual tenacious self
in stating that if they all wanted to go back home, that was fine
with her, but she was staying.  It had taken all his will power
not to change sides and agree with her; it had helped a little
that Mousse had kept on elbowing him whenever he began to nod
without realizing it.  Akane tended to have that effect with him.

     He looked past Akane to where Mousse and Shampoo sat across
the aisle.  Mousse wasn't interested in talking about whatever
had happened between the two of them, and Ryoga knew better than
a lot of people that there were some things you had to keep
inside.  What was between them was different than what was
between Genma and Nodoka; it seemed an absence rather than a
presence, something that had been there between the two of them
that was now gone.

     Shampoo was asleep, half her face covered by the long fall
of her hair.  Mousse was staring out the window even more
intently than Ryoga had been, a hand cupping his chin and his
elbow resting on the arm of his seat by the window.  His glasses
dangled from between two fingers, swaying slightly as the train's
momentum slowed.

     Behind the two of them were Genma and Happosai.  Genma was
asleep too, breaking into snoring every few minutes before
Happosai elbowed him, at which point he would stop for a few
minutes before starting up again.  Happosai was absorbed in a
swimsuit magazine he'd picked up at the train station newsstand
before they left; he only paused in reading to elbow Genma.

     The formerly withered master now looked like a man in his
early fifties.  The past day had changed his hair from snow-white
to a pale grey, and had further unlined his face and unbent his
body.  He wasn't tall; he obviously never had been, even in his
youth.  But he radiated that same easy sense of power and
experience that you only saw around master martial artists.  His
lechery had undergone a change too; he was far more subtle now,
and seemed to have far less actual need to engage in his
perversions.  He still seemed to get as much enjoyment out of
those he did do as he had before, though; they had left quite a
few angry women on the platform as the train pulled out.

     Ryoga had found himself wondering just when the effects of
the Nannichuan water the old man had drunk at the wedding were
going to wear off, if they did at all.  He found the thought that
Happosai might end up looking the same age as him somewhat
disturbing.

     Behind him and Akane, Nodoka and Ukyou sat, covered by the
same silence that had hung over all of them during all the hours
aboard the train.  There seemed to be nothing to say, no words
that any of them could use to fill that empty space left by
Ranma's absence.

     How silence could be so heavy, Ryoga didn't know.  It was
somehow a louder thing than sound would have been; it seemed to
permeate the air of the train, affecting the other passengers,
making what little conversation they made seem muted and
fractured.

     "Rain isn't so bad sometimes," Ryoga said, finally
responding.  He didn't quite know why he said it.  He'd never had
much liking for rain, even before he'd been cursed.  Spending a
lot of time outdoors without a roof over your head tended to give
you a dislike for sudden cloudbursts.

     "I just wish we had umbrellas," Akane said.

     Ryoga stiffened.

     "Is something wrong?"

     "No, no."

     That was a lie, of course.  Something was wrong, which was
that he didn't have his umbrella.  Not anymore.  He'd left it on
the field of Furinkan a few days ago.

     After he'd nearly killed Ranma with it.  It had always
seemed a given thing; he swung, Ranma dodged.  It hadn't ever
occurred to him that one time it might be different.

     But it had been.  Ranma had stopped dodging, and he'd almost
killed him.  So he'd left it on the field and for all he knew it
was still there.

     Now he began to realize that it might have been a bad idea.
Lovely symbolic gesture, but he really needed that thing for the
purpose it had been designed for, not as a weapon.

     "The train's stopped, Ryoga.  We should get off."

     Nodding, he stood up, feeling stiff from the five or so
hours of sitting.  He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do;
he needed to get away from Akane, or somehow get his hands on
something to shield him from the rain.

     As they stepped out into the aisle of the train, he saw
Mousse reach over and gently shake Shampoo by the shoulder.  The
girl yawned, covering her hand with her mouth, and opened her
eyes.  "We there?"

     Mousse nodded.  "Yes."

     Shampoo stood up and stretched her arms over her head.
"Good.  Want to get off train."

     Ryoga stood in the aisle, fidgeting nervously and staring
out the window at the rain-spattered platform, as Akane made her
way to the exit and the others began to get out of their seats.

     He watched as she stepped down the stairs off the train and
stood on the platform, her back to his perspective, rain falling
gently on her, leaving damp spots on the shoulders of her blouse
and sparkling in her dark hair.

     "This help, maybe?" Mousse said, handing Ryoga an elegant,
furled black umbrella.  Ryoga took it with a slightly stunned
expression.

     "Where'd you get that?" he asked.

     Mousse shrugged and produced a second one from his sleeve
with a quick flourish of his hands.  "It's all in the wrist."

     Ryoga smiled slightly at the other boy, feeling intensely
grateful.  "Thanks."

     Mousse nodded absently and started down the corridor after
Shampoo, who was standing near the exit staring out into the rain
with a fretful expression on her face.  Mousse put a hand on her
shoulder and said something to her Ryoga didn't hear; she nodded, 
and the two of them stepped out of the train together under the 
shelter of the umbrella.

     Ukyou and Nodoka were stepping out of the train now, rain
falling on them, very gently.  Genma paused at the door, then
shrugged, not really seeming to care at all as he walked out of
shelter and into the rain.  His clothes stretched as he swelled
into his bulky panda form.

     Ryoga gently took a breath and walked off the train,
carefully raising the umbrella without getting more than a few
spatters of rain on his arms.  He'd long ago gotten good at not
getting wet given the fact that he seemed at times to be a magnet
to cold water.

     "It's dry under here," he said softly, stepping up beside
Akane and placing her under the umbrella as well.

     "You're right," Akane said, not looking at him.

     "Huh?"

     "Rain isn't so bad sometimes."

     "Oh."

     "It feels nice.  Fresh.  Full of life."

     She stuck a hand out from under the shelter of the umbrella
and drew it back covered in water droplets.  "Kind of warm too."

     She raised her hand as if to touch his cheek.  "Feel it."

     He shied back.  "Really, that's not..."

     "It's all right," Akane said.  "Guess I'm just being weird."

     "No, no," Ryoga said, shaking his head.  "I'm sure it's..."

     "Just try it," Akane said.  "Put your hand out."

     A tremble ran through him.  She smiled at him.

     How much water, he wondered, did it really take to make him
change?  More than a few rain drops, at least.  One or two would
not hurt.  Surely not on his hands.

     He put his hand out.  The rain was light on his skin, a
caress.  Only for a moment, because he could only risk that much.
He yanked it back, still feeling the warm brush of the droplets,
and wiped it against his shirt.

     "Tickles," he said, and laughed softly.

     Akane nodded and closed her eyes, holding out her hands to
the sides, letting the rain fall upon them.  Drops ran down her
fingers, her palms, the inside of her wrists.  They touched the
sleeves of her blouse and it darkened slightly.  She smiled; 
there seemed to be no one else around him but her.  The others 
were already walking ahead, Shampoo and Mousse under the 
umbrella, Ukyou, Nodoka, Genma and Happosai under the descent of 
the rain.

     After a moment, he realized she was crying, the tears 
falling in silence down her face as they squeezed themselves from 
beneath her eyelids, leaving tracks of themselves down the
definitions of her cheekbones.

     "Akane?" he said gently.  "Akane, what's wrong?"

     "It's so stupid..." she whispered.  "I just thought about
what would happen if Ranma were here.  You know he'd get wet
somehow, and..."

     She trailed.  Her eyes blinked open and she fiercely wiped
at them with the back of her hand.  "Nothing," she snapped
vehemently.  "It's nothing.  Let's get back to the house."

     Ryoga nodded slowly, sadness swelling in his heart.  He very
gently put his hand on her shoulder, just for a moment, letting
his fingers take in the feel of damp cloth and warm flesh
beneath.

     "It'll be okay," he said.

     Akane said nothing beyond a sigh.

     So the two of them began to walk through the summer rain
that fell gently from the greying sky, summer rain that pattered
on the black roof of the umbrella in a soft rhythm, summer rain 
that filled the streets with shadowed pools, that ran through
gutters and bore the detritus of city life down beneath the
streets.

     Summer rain that washed away the old and brought about the
new.  Summer rain falling from the heavens to the earth.  Summer
rain like tears.

**********

     "Ninety-eight... ninety-nine..."

     A knocking sounded at the door.
     
     The silver hairbrush paused in its descent through the dark
locks.  "Come in."

     Kodachi didn't look back as the door to her room opened with
a gentle creak and her brother stepped in, elegantly archaic in
his kendo gi and hakima, dark-blue pleats brushing nearly to his
bare feet.

     "One hundred."

     "You did not go to school today," Kuno stated.

     Kodachi looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled
briefly, black hair falling unbound well down her back.  "And if
I did not?"

     Kuno said nothing, and walked across the carpet to stand
behind her where she sat at the dressing table.  She looked at
the reflection of the two of them in the mirror, and was struck,
as she was occasionally, by how alike they looked.  Dark of hair
and eye, slender of face and form the both of them.  They were
both tall, both with faces suited to seriousness.

     So alike, so alike.  The eyes.  She remembered eyes.  His
eyes had been grey, and hers had been blue, but they'd been the
same eyes.  You couldn't change the eyes; windows to the soul.

     "Sister?"

     The hairbrush fell to the carpet with a soft thud, glinting
in the light from overhead.  The back was engraved with roses,
silver-tooled with exquisite detail.  She'd had it for as long as 
she could remember; it was part of a set.  Who had given it to 
her?

     "Sister, are you well?"

     "Yes, yes," Kodachi snapped.  Things slid away to normal and
she brushed at her eyes to drive away any unshed tears that might
be lurking.  "I'm fine."

     "Then why are you not attending school?"

     "That is not your business."

     "This is my household, sister."

     She sneered at him and bent down to pick up the fallen brush
from the floor, placing it back on the dressing table and staring
intently at her reflection in the mirror.  "It is as much mine as
yours."

     "A truth.  You are but a year younger than I.  Yet I take
concern for your welfare."

     "How touching."

     "What has Saotome done this time?"

     That made her look back at him.  It was said gently, not
with anger in it, but as a genuine question.  "What?"

     "You were like this after that incident with the cookies.
And Asuka.  What has the villain done now?"

     It was the way he said villain, not with any vehemence, but
almost with a sense of self-mockery.  Kodachi licked her lips
slightly, and stared at her brother for a moment.  "Brother...
that pig-tailed girl you treasure so..."

     Kuno arched his eyebrows.  "What does she have to do with
Saotome, sister?  Although I have often wondered, in my more
contemplative moments; they share the same first and last name.
Siblings, perhaps?  They do look similar at times."

     "Brother..."

     "They must not get along very well, though.  Have you ever
seen the two of them together?  I am trying to recall a time that
I have..."

     Kodachi practically leapt off the stool to grab him by the
collar.  "You knew," she hissed in a strangled voice.  "All this
time, you knew, and you..."

     "Know?" Kuno said gently, laying his arm across both her
wrists and forcing their release.  "Who can know what another 
knows, sister mine?  All things have hidden depths to them.  We 
all make a choice of what to conceal and what to reveal."

     "We used to talk like this all the time," Kodachi whispered.
"I remember when we were children, after... what happened,
brother?  Where did your depths go?  You..."

     "Speak not to me of my depths until you know the measure of
your own, dear sister," Kuno said.

     "His eyes were the same," Kodachi mumbled, darting a glance
to the door of her room as if for a route of escape.  "They were
the same."

     "In what distant deeps or skies, burnt the fire of thine
eyes?  On what wings dare he aspire?  What the hand dare seize
the fire?"

     "Shakespeare?" Kodachi guessed.

     "Blake.  Brilliant man.  Rather crazy as well.  The two are
more compatible than people think."

     "I'm not well, brother," Kodachi said, so quietly it was
little more than a movement of her lips.  "Things... I don't
see things that are right in front of me.  I..."

     Kuno put his hand on her shoulder.  "It is often hard to
accept those things that seem to be beyond our ken.  A thing's
form should stay the same, should it not?"

     Kodachi nodded; long lashes swept against her cheeks as she
closed her eyes.  "It should.  But his eyes, and hers..."

     "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than
are dreamt of in your philosophy."

     "Shakespeare?"

     Kuno smiled.  "This time, yes.  Why not have a rest, sister?
It might do you well.  I can arrange for dinner."

     Kodachi opened her eyes, then nodded again.  "Perhaps that
is best.  I... I think I would like to sleep."

     Her brother's hand gently squeezed her shoulder, and then he
did something utterly unexpected, so quickly she could only stand
in surprise.  He bent down, negating the difference of height
between them, and very gently brushed his lips against her
forehead.

     It was a gesture from childhood, from a long, long time ago,
vaguely remembered somewhere deep in the back of her mind.  They
so seldom touched each other these days, unless they were
fighting.

     "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever," he whispered, still
bending down to her.  "Its loveliness increases; it will never
pass into nothingness, but still will keep, a bower quiet for us,
and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet
breathing."

     "Doesn't sound like Shakespeare," Kodachi said quietly.

     "Keats," Kuno said as he straightened back up.  "He died
when he was twenty-six.  So very young."

     He turned and walked to the door, pausing with his fingers
on the handle.  "Sleep well, sister."

     Then, finished, he opened the door and walked out.

**********

     The Nekohanten was lit only by the pale, filtered light that
shone through the silk curtains drawn over the windows as Shampoo
and Mousse stepped inside.  Chairs were stacked haphazardly atop
tables, the thin dust of three days absence scattered upon the
wooden surfaces.

     Shampoo's fingers found the lightswitch on the wall quickly
and flicked it on, bathing the dining room in the radiance of the
overheads.  Sighing, she stretched her arms over her head and
yawned; she hadn't got much sleep in the past few days, and what
sleep she'd had was filled with vague, half-remembered 
nightmares.  

     "So what do we do now?" Mousse said after a moment.
     
     Shampoo cast a glance at him.  "I going to take very long
shower.  Then I going to tear great-grandmo... Cologne's room 
apart  and find out just what going on."

     Her smile, thin as a razor and unmatched in her eyes, made
Mousse take a step back.  "Is there anything-"

     "Your Japanese better than mine.  Deeds for restaurant in
third drawer of sink cupboard, under phone books.  Go find them
and look them over, try figure out if we have enough go back to
China when sell."

     Mousse nodded.  "There'll be plenty of money.  Real-estate
is expensive anywhere in Tokyo, from what I know.  I don't know
how quickly we can..."

     "Man been asking for three months to buy property.  Cologne
keep saying no."

     Mousse blinked.  "You never told me."
     
     Shampoo snorted.  "You man.  Not need to know."
     
     He shrugged in response and stepped away, his back to her.
Just as quickly, he looked back over his shoulder.  "Shampoo?"     
     
     "What?" Shampoo said.

     "Why are you calling your great-grandmother Cologne all of a
sudden?"

     Shampoo's glare was like dark ice.  "It none of your 
business what I call anyone, Mousse."

     Mousse's eyes shrank partly shut behind his glasses, and he
let out a long, low sigh.  "Shampoo, I..."

     He trailed off.  There was nothing he could say that would
make her understand any further than she already did.  

     She knew that he wanted to offer her comfort, and a part of
her wanted to take it.  But there was so much between them, and 
so much that was not.  There was a sword driven to the hilt into 
a tree, and the words finally spoken from him, the realization
that there are some things that we desire that we simply cannot
have.  

     "Go do what you told, Mousse."
     
     So commanding.  So wonderfully like all the other women in
the village she'd heard, talking to their husbands or their
brothers or their sons.  She saw him flinch, just a little, and 
turn and go.  Saw his fist clench, just for a moment.

     He walked into the kitchen, out of her sight.  There was
something so much like pain inside her at watching him walk away.
     
     She made her way into the back of the restaurant, passing
through the kitchen where Mousse was searching through the drawer
and not even looking at him.  The scent of cooking still lingered
in the air, as it always did.  There was a chopped pile of 
withered green onions on the counter, a knife beside them.  
Everything in the kitchen seemed to be in disorder.

     She shook her head, and forced the memories down, buried
them.  Her face hardened as she started up the stairs, taking
them two at a time with long strides of her legs.  The bonbori
tucked into her belt bumped against her calves as she walked.

     Reaching the second floor, she made her way past the closed
door of Cologne's room, wrenching her gaze away from it.  Again,
too many memories.  

     There was too much, even in this hallway, that reminded her
of Cologne.  The potted plant that the old woman had brought in
the day they'd moved into the building, the old ink drawing 
hanging on the wall of the moon rising over a sharp-peaked 
mountain, signed in one corner with Cologne's name.

     Finally, she came to her room.  She slid the door open and
walked inside, taking in the bed, the dresser, the mirror, the
desk and chair, the closet.  Finally, the weapons rack, gleaming
sword resting below the spot that served to hold her bonbori.

     She slid the weapons from where they were thrust into her
belt sash and put them back on the rack with a sigh.  She undid
the ties that held her breastplate on and took it off, firm and
supple leather familiar in her hand.  That she hung on a hook in 
the closet.  

     With a sigh, she sank back into her desk chair, loosening
the collar of her tunic slightly.  It was getting a little tight,
and had been for some time.  She'd need to have a new one made as
soon as she got back to the village.

     No matter how fast she got back, it wouldn't be fast enough
for her liking.  That was the decision she and Mousse had finally
come to; to go back and try, somehow, to reach a reconciliation of
the situation with the Joketsuzoku Council.  

     Ranma was gone, and she knew with an ache in her being that
somehow it was all her great-grandmother's fault.  She suspected
that they were going to find few answers here to the many 
questions.  What had sent the old woman over the edge, who the
two women had been, where Ranma and her great-grandmother had
disappeared to.  
     
     And if there were answers here, she would leave finding 
them to whoever remained behind.  Ranma was gone.  Her 
great-grandmother was gone.

     There was nothing left for her here.  She was going back to
China, and the Council be damned.  If exile was the price of
going home, then so be it.  If death the price, then so be that 
as well.  Whatever the price, she had to leave Japan, leave its
iron prison, leave behind the buildings that reached to the sky
and clawed at the clouds with steel and glass fingers.

     There was a pain inside her, a wound that would not heal.  
It had been so hard to care about anything for the past few days,
so hard to find the passion or the want to eat or sleep.  She was
numb, and she knew it was not right, and she did not care.

     She wanted to weep, and tears escaped her.  She wanted
something to fight, something she could lash out at.  Something
simple.

     Rising out of the chair with a shake of her head and a long,
deep breath, she went back out into the hallway and made her way
to the bathroom while studiously ignoring anything that might
remind her of her great-grandmother.

     Later, with steam pooling about her ankles and hot water a
staccato beat upon her skin and against the shower curtain, she
found herself humming softly, the tune of the same stupid 
children's song she'd been singing a few days ago as she swept
the walk.  Angrily she snapped her mouth closed and scrubbed at 
her body furiously with the cloth, washing off the dirt and dust 
of the journey home and letting it run down the drain.

     And as she wrapped one towel around her hair and the other
around her body and stepped out of the bathroom, she realized she
was still hearing the song inside her head.  She was halfway down
the hall when the door to the small room Mousse occupied opened
and he stepped out, bare-chested and with a towel over his arm,
nearly bumping into her.

     It was one of those moments that are much more awkward than
they really should be.

     "I guess you're out of the bathroom, then," Mousse said
after a moment, and stepped past without a second glance.  The
look in his eyes had been like nothing she'd ever seen, or
imagined she might see there.

     Not interest, or disdain, or anger.  Not even anything she
could put a name to, but simply an absence of something.  It was
a not a good look for someone to have in their eyes.

     She wondered, vaguely, if it was in hers as she made her way 
to her bedroom.

**********

     As Ukyou reached out to put her fingers on the door of the 
restaurant and open it, it slid open seemingly of its own
volition, exposing the interior of the darkened restaurant, the
long counter and grill and shadow-shrouded walls.

     "Welcome back, Ukyou," Konatsu said as he glided out from
somewhere, kimono a dark grey splash in the dim lighting, 
whispering softly around his slippered feet.  "How are..."

     "Not so good," Ukyou said wearily as she stepped inside and
began to take off her shoes.  "Not so good at all."

     Konatsu put a hand over his mouth, shock lighting his dark
eyes.  "Is Ranma's mother okay?"

     Ukyou nodded and closed her eyes.  "Ranma."
     
     "What happened?" Konatsu said, very gently.
     
     Ukyou slipped out of her second shoe, stood up and crossed
the floor in her bare feet to stand at the counter, resting her
palms against the cool grain of the wood.  

     "Can you turn on the lights?" she said after a moment.  "Why
is it so dark in here?"

     "I've got fairly good vision, even in the dark," Konatsu
said with a faintly embarrassed sound to his voice.  "I didn't 
want to waste electricity while you were gone."

     The overheads flicked on, the fluorescent tubes washing the 
room in light.  Konatsu softly treaded across the floor to stand
behind Ukyou, and put his hands lightly on her shoulders.

     "Tell me what happened, Ukyou," he said.  "You're so tense."

     Without waiting for a response, he began to massage her neck
and shoulders, slender, strong fingers unknotting muscles and
working out kinks with skill that came from long practice.

     Ukyou was surprised for a moment, but then found herself
relaxing into it.  "You're good at that."

     "Mother and my sisters used to make me do this to them,"
Konatsu said softly.  

     "Oh."
     
     "But I like doing it for you more, Ukyou."
     
     "Mmm."
     
     His fingers stroked across her upper back, and she felt the
tension begin to flow from her.  "What happened to Ranma?  Is he
okay?"

     Slowly, with Konatsu's fingers moving gently on her back
like warm rain, she began to tell him everything she could of the
last few days.  By the time she was finished, her eyes were 
half-closed and she was punctuating conversation with an
occasional yawn.

     "I'm just so worried about him," she said finally, her voice
a murmur.  "Even though he doesn't..."

     She trailed off, and a light snore emerged from her lips a
moment later.  Konatsu smiled gently and removed his fingers from
her back.
     
     "Kunoichi relaxation massage technique," he said in a 
whisper.  "You sure looked like you could use it, Ukyou."

     He carefully lifted her out of the seat and cradled her head
against his shoulder, one arm behind her back and the other under
her knees.  She murmured softly under her breath.

     "Ranchan..."
     
     Konatsu closed his eyes and shook his head with a mild, soft
sigh.  He carried her through the kitchen to the small, narrow 
stairs that led up to the second floor, where they both had their
rooms.  

     He carefully edged the door to Ukyou's room open with his
hip and stepped inside.  Ukyou stirred slightly in his arms and
her eyes opened, just for a second, still clouded by sleep, and
then she closed them again.

     "Your arms are so strong," she murmured softly as he 
carefully began tucking her into bed.  He hesitated for a moment,
and then loosened the collar of her blue, flower-patterned blouse
slightly, blushing as he did.  

     Carefully pulling the covers up around her, he smiled at her
again and went to the door.

     "Don't go."
     
     Konatsu looked back.  "Ukyou?" he whispered softly, 
disbelievingly, putting his hand on the doorframe.  "Do you 
really..."

     "Don't go, Ranchan.  I..."
     
     His hand tightened momentarily, so hard he felt as if he
might leave an impression in the wood.  Then he stepped out into
the hallway, his body trembling slightly, and slid the door
closed.

     "I wish I could be who you wanted, Ukyou," he said, looking
down at the grey kimono, patterned with white flowers.  It was so
pretty; he loved wearing pretty clothing.  He didn't understand
why so many people thought it was wrong that a man would want to
do that.  What was so terrible about beauty?

     Sad for reasons he couldn't quite put a name to, Konatsu
made his way downstairs to the dining room, for no real purpose
beyond that he didn't have anything else to do.

     He stood for a moment looking out the window at the 
spattering rain that fell in a thin spray upon the streets, lost
in thought, dark eyes shimmering slightly like the reflection in
a pool of water.

     "So this is what becomes of our finest warrior.  Mooning
over another girl.  Konatsu, I'm very disappointed."

     Dread rising in him, Konatsu turned around and looked to
where a red-clad shape sat at the counter.  "Lady Hako..."

     The head of Clan Kenzan wore the crimson kunoichi outfit
that was the uniform of most of the members of the clan.  Her 
face was dark-tanned from time spent in the sun upon the beaches 
of Okinawa, where the clan's headquarters were.

     Hako's hair was stark white, a contrast to the youth of her
face.  A long scar beneath one eye was a pale line against her 
tanned skin, stretching down across her left cheek to her 
jawline.  Another, smaller and thinner, scraped across her right 
cheek in a horizontal line.  A third twisted her mouth into a
permanent half-sneer, and lent the hard, handsome beauty she
possessed an even crueler cast than it already had.

     "Once a century indeed," the woman said as she stood up.  
Her hair looked as if it had been hacked off with a blade, and
stopped precisely at her shoulders.  "You are a disgrace,
Konatsu."

     He dropped to his knees and touched his head to the floor.
"Forgive me, Lady Hako.  I..."

     "Your stepmother and her daughters were very cooperative
after I had a word with them," Hako said lazily.  "They have
realized the error of letting you go so easily.  So unfortunate
about Koeda's hands, though."

     "What happened?" Konatsu whispered.  
     
     "They might manage to save two of the fingers on one of 
them," Hako said with a shrug.  "She really should be more 
careful with knives."

     "Lady Hako, I beg your forgiveness.  I..."
     
     "I have heard the truth of your treatment by those three
imbeciles.  Rest assured they greatly regret the errors of their
ways."

     Hako laced her crimson-gloved fingers together and came to
stand next to Konatsu where he knelt on the floor.  "Do get up,
Konatsu.  We are not samurai, after all.  Bowing only makes it 
easier for a foe to cut your head off."

     Konatsu stood up, gulping and adjusting his kimono.  
     
     "Pretty girl you've found," Hako said with a twisted smile.
"Nice hands.  Good bone structure."

     Konatsu paled.  "Lady Hako, I beg of you..."
     
     "A good start.  You should not have run away, Konatsu."
     
     "I was..."
     
     "You will be packed and ready to go with me by tonight."
     
     "Go where?"
     
     "To Okinawa.  You must be trained if you are to succeed me 
when the time comes."
     
     Konatsu blinked, speechless.  After a moment, he found his
voice.  "Lady Hako, are you..."

     "You do come only once a century, after all," Hako said.
"Who better to succeed me?"

     "But what if I don't want to-"
     
     "What you want does not matter to me in the slightest."
     
     Konatsu opened his mouth, and then shut it.  "Yes, Lady
Hako."

     Hako nodded and stepped by him to go to the door.  
Half-opening it, she paused and looked back.  "One more thing,
Konatsu."

     "Yes?"
     
     "Don't tell anyone where you've gone.  I'd have to kill
them.  Certain aspects of Clan Kenzan must be kept secret, you
understand."

     She smiled.  "Such pretty hands on that girl."
     
     "I will be ready to go, Lady Hako," Konatsu murmured.

     Hako nodded absently.  "Yes, yes.  Good.  I've left some
money in your room.  Take a taxi to the airport and meet me at
gate twelve."

     "Yes, Lady Hako," he said, casting his eyes towards the
ground.     
     
     "Good girl."
     
     Hako stepped out, grey rain spotting her red uniform dark
crimson in places for a few moments, before it slid closed and
hid her from his view.

     Konatsu put his head in his hands and silently began to
weep as soon as he was sure she was gone.

**********

     Outside the restaurant, Hako looked irritably up at the rain     
falling from the sky.  She didn't like rain; it was too clean, 
too pure.  Especially summer rain like this.  

     She made her way through the streets, crowded despite the
rain, absently fading her presence to such a degree that a tall, 
scarred woman with white hair and a young face in a ninja uniform 
went entirely unnoticed.  Beneath her crimson gloves, her hands
twitched slightly, and one rose to grasp the lapels of a passing
man in a business suit for a moment.  She grabbed it by the wrist
with her other hand and yanked it away, giving him a twisted 
smile that made him look away quickly and hurry on his way.  
People never noticed Hako unless they looked closely, and when 
they did they usually wished they hadn't.

     "Behave yourself," she murmured under her breath.
     
     The limo was parked a good block from the restaurant, and
she slid into the back seat with a gentle sigh.  She was tired;
her body was worn out.  

     "The hotel, Joichi," she said, folding her hands in her lap.
"I would like to rest before we leave tonight."

     A few moments passed without a response.  "Joichi?"
     
     Frowning, she put a hand on his shoulder and turned him
around.  Expressionless, she looked at the black, gaping caverns 
of his eyesockets and the frozen pain upon his face, shaded by 
the brim of his chauffeurs hat.

     There was a note pinned to his jacket.  She took it between
the fingers of her right hand and pulled it off to glance at it.

     Hako-
     
          Common courtesy says that you tell your host when 
     you'll be staying longer than expected.  I am surprised you
     didn't take the time to inform me you would be spending
     another night in Tokyo.  
     
          There is such a thing as overstaying your welcome,
     though.  Please be out as soon as possible.  I would have
     talked to you in person, but as it turned out, I had to
     leave a message with Joichi here.
     
     Hako frowned and crumpled the note in her hand.  Unsigned,
of course, but it did not need to be signed.  The eyes were
signature enough.  It looked like she'd have to drive herself to
the hotel.

     "There will be a reckoning for this," she said, scowling and
tossing the wadded ball of paper under the passenger seat.

     Turning her attention to Joichi, she realized with annoyance
that the fingers of her left hand were currently painting designs
on the back of the seat with his blood.

     "Stop that," she said with a snarl.
     
     After a moment, the hand did.
     
**********

     From the alley, the young, blue-eyed, dark-haired man in 
the charcoal-grey suit watched the limo pull away a few moments 
after Hako got into it.  He took a last long drag on his
cigarette, then extracted it pinched between a slender finger and
thumb and flicked it away, sending ashes and embers careening off
the walls of the alleyway like sparks from a hammer striking upon
an anvil.

     "You were right, of course, Yoko," he said with a smile.  "I
am, after all, only one man."

     He opened his hands and gazed at the contents, which stared
back at him unblinkingly, glazed and sightless.  "The heads of 
the serpent have hissed at each other for a long time.  Now, let
them begin to bite.  My lord's reward goes only to the strong."

     He tossed what he held behind him, hearing them land with a
pair of wet splatters.  He reached into his pocket, pulled out
another cigarette from his package, and lit it with an ornate
silver lighter moulded in the shape of a dragon rampant, the
flame emerging from the fanged mouth to spark the tobacco to
burning.

     Laughing softly, cigarette trailing smoke into the air from
where it lay clenched between his teeth, he stepped out of the 
alleyway from the shadow into the light.  Behind him, two blank 
unblinking orbs stared at each other where they lay upon the 
ground.

**********

     Soun Tendo sat at the kitchen table and smoked as he talked
to his oldest daughter.  In the ashtray on the table, the crushed
remnants of half-a-dozen cigarettes lurked amidst a pile of 
tapped ash.  

     "...and it was all going so well, and then that old woman
showed," he finished for the fourth time that day, gesturing
with his cigarette for emphasis.  This caused ashes to drop off
and land on the kitchen table.  Soun blanched and swept them off
onto the floor before Kasumi could notice.

     "I understand, father," Kasumi said patiently for the fourth
time that day as she worked at the beginnings of dinner
preparations at the counter.  

     "You see, it all started out badly when they first met,"
Soun said, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray and 
beginning to pull another one from his packet on the table.  
"When Saotome and I..."

     "I know, father," Kasumi said gently over the rhythms of the
knife tapping on the cutting board.  "Really, I know.  I know how
you and Mr. Saotome have tried your hardest to get them together.
I know how it seems the gods themselves are set against it.  I
know how you're only concerned for Akane's happiness.  I know, I
know, I know."

     Soun paused in his talking, and in his lighting of the
cigarette currently dangling from between his lips.  The spark of
the lighter died.  "Kasumi?"

     "Yes, father?"
     
     "I'm boring you, aren't I?"
     
     "No, father," Kasumi said sincerely.  "I find hearing all
these same stories again and again endlessly fascinating."

     Soun frowned and put his lighter away.  He took the 
cigarette out of his mouth, wiped the filter against his shirt
and put it back in the package as he stood up from the table.

     "Forgive me," he said quietly, casting his eyes to the
floor.  "I'm just nervous, Kasumi, and..."

     "It's alright, father."
     
     "Kasumi, are you happy?"
     
     Kasumi glanced back at the abrupt question and smiled.  "Of
course I'm happy.  What makes you ask a silly thing like that?"

     "It's just... all this time, I've been talking about Akane's 
happiness.  It never really occurred to me that you or Nabiki 
might be..."

     He trailed off with a sigh.  "You do so much, Kasumi.  It's
just...  I don't want you to have to take care of me forever.  I
want you to be happy too."

     "Father, I like doing the housework," Kasumi said.  "I like
doing the cooking.  I like taking care of the family."

     "But don't you want a family of your own?"
     
     Kasumi blinked at him.  "Whatever do you mean?  This is my
family."

     "I mean a husband.  Children."
     
     If there was a momentary stiffening of Kasumi's shoulders,
Soun didn't notice it as he continued.  "I mean, that Dr. Tofu, 
he seems very much in..."

     "Father."
     
     Soun stopped talking again.  
     
     "I'd really rather not talk about this."

     Soun nodded and grabbed his cigarettes from the table.
"Certainly, certainly.  I'm sorry, I'll..."

     "It's alright, father."
     
     Soun nodded again and made his way out of the kitchen, 
slight puzzlement on his features.  Almost as soon as he'd exited
the kitchen, he heard the front door of the house slide open and
the sound of shoes walking on wooden floors.

     "Dad!  Kasumi!  We're back," Akane's voice called from the
front hallway.  Relief rose in him to hear his youngest 
daughter's voice, and he rushed down the hallway and past the
stairs to greet her.

     "Akane, I'm so glad you're safe," he said, grabbing his
youngest daughter by the shoulders.  "I was so worried.  How are
you feeling?"

     "I'm glad to see you too, dad," Akane said gently, removing
his hands from her shoulders.  Soun glanced around at the other
people standing in the front hallway.  

     Genma and his wife, his old friend currently soaking in the
black and white of his panda form.  Ryoga folding a black 
umbrella and looking nervously out the window at the pattering 
rain.  A short man who looked to be in his fifties with greying 
black hair and a thin, long moustache who he didn't recognize.
     
     "Excuse me," he said to the unfamiliar man.  "But may I ask
your name?"

     The man looked at him and frowned.  "I recognized you after
ten years had passed, so you should be able to recognize me 
after about fifty have gone back, okay?"
     
     He emphasized his displeasure by jabbing Soun hard in the
chest with his finger and walking past him and up the stairs as
if he'd lived there for years.

     "Who..."
     
     Genma attempted to offer an explanation with a combination
of growls and hand gestures, and was about to break out his 
marker and signboards when Nodoka looked at him levelly and
spoke.

     "Dearest, why don't you go and change back to a man?  We
have some things to talk about."

     The panda nodded slowly and ambled down the hall towards the
bathroom, leaving a dripping trail of water on the wooden floor
from his sodden fur.

     "Nodoka, can you-"
     
     "Pardon me, Soun, I am in real need of a change of 
clothing," Nodoka said as she brushed by him.

     Soun watched her turn the corner and then looked to his
youngest daughter.  "Akane, who is that-"

     "That," Akane said with a tinge of weariness in her voice,
"was Happosai.  Don't ask."
     
     Soun decided to faint then, realizing as he did that no 
matter how bad things are, they can always get worse.     
     
**********
     
     Happosai opened the door to his room, stepped inside and
slowly breathed in as he reached for the lightswitch.  After the
first inhalation of air, he began to gag.

     Snapping on the lights, he picked his way across the 
underwear-strewn floor to the window, holding his breath against
the stale smell of unwashed clothing.  He opened the window and
stuck his head out, taking breath after breath of fresh air and
letting some of the scent escape.

     He never realized how much his room stank.  There were empty
food cartons and piles of underwear everywhere; one pile 
consisted of a few weeks worth of clothing he hadn't bothered
giving to Kasumi for the laundry yet.  

     Shamed as he would have been to admit it, his senses had
deteriorated during the ten years he'd spent sealed in the cave.
His sight and hearing had been pretty good for his age, but his 
smell had been poor.  Now everything that had once been blurred
was clear; the lines and definitions of sight were sharper, 
sounds more varied.  And smell, of course; that had come back in 
spades.  Youth was slowly coming back, and with it so much else.

     The stale air was still clearing from the room as he made 
his way to the closet.  The doors were open, and an avalanche of
underwear had spilled from it sometime in the past.  Happosai
began to dig through it with his hands, stopping occasionally to
examine a particularly interesting specimen of feminine lingerie
before tossing it behind his back to add to the height of another
heap behind him.
     
     After a few minutes of burrowing, he found what he was 
looking for partially entangled in a large blue silk teddy.  He
pulled that off, gave it an appreciative glance, and cast it
aside.  The book was large, thick with loosely bound pages, the
leather cover cracked with age.  

     When his short fling with Cologne had ended a century ago,
he had taken it upon himself to carry away a few memories of her,
and of the Joketsuzoku village.  This had been one of them.

     The cover identified it as 'Record of Joketsuzoku Treasures
1874'.  He opened the cracked spine and carefully paged through
it, searching for the vague memory of something he'd seen within
it a long time ago.

     He found it after ten minutes.  An ink sketch, faded with
age, simply and carefully done.  A straight rod, with at one end
a silver chain and bracelet, and the other end two blunt-ended
teeth resembling the mandibles of a beetle.

     He settled himself down upon a pile of underwear and began
to read, moving his lips and speaking softly under his breath
without quite realizing it.

     "Age unknown.  Access restricted to Council members.  Known
names:  Hammer of Storms, Lightning-Fang, P'an-Ku's Fork..."

**********

     Ryoga sat on the edge of Akane's bed and stared out the
window over her desk, fidgeting occasionally as he watched the
rain fall upon the leaves and branches of the trees outside.
Drops collected themselves together, hung for moments upon the
undersides of the branches, and moments later fell away.

     Akane was standing at her bookshelf across the room, 
running her fingers across the tops and spines of books without
any seeming intention in mind to take one down.  

     "Akane?" he ventured after a moment.
     
     "What is it?"
     
     "Are you alright?"
     
     She glanced back at him, wariness painted across her
features, hand paused in resting upon a slim volume of haikus.
Then she shook her head and closed her eyes, head bowing until
her chin almost touched her chest.  "No.  I don't think I'm
alright at all."

     She crossed the room and sat down next to him on the bed,
making the mattress shift slightly under her weight.  She was
almost touching him; a small movement of her body would have
brought them into contact, as would a small movement of his.  The
same tension filled him that he always experienced when he was
around her like this, just the two of them.  
     
     "Akane-"
     
     "We left him, Ryoga."
     
     There was no accusation in the tone, but it stung him all
the same.  His face quirked in a frown.  "Akane, we did 
everything we could there to-"

     "We didn't."
     
     His mouth clamped close; there was anger in her dark eyes,
not directed at him, but just a general anger towards everything,
something that was often common in her.  But there was sadness
there as well, sadness running deep in the shimmering edges of
pupil and iris.  So much pain, there in her eyes, that it hurt
him to see, made his own soul a mirror to her sorrow.

     "We didn't, Ryoga.  We just left him to fight that woman on
his own."

     "There wasn't much time to-"
     
     "We left him alone, and now he's gone."
     
     "Akane-"
     
     A shudder passed through her whole body as she softly 
exhaled a deep breath.  Her shoulders shook, her lips trembled,
and her eyes half-closed themselves as if against sights they did
not want to see.

     There was so much hurt in her, he realized.  It ran so deep.
     
     "I couldn't do anything," she whispered.  "I couldn't do
anything.  Cologne was right.  I'm useless.  I used to think I 
was so good, so skilled, so strong.  No one could beat me.  And
then he came, and you came, and Shampoo, and Ukyou, and..."

     And the next part was almost a wail, echoing of grief and
sorrow, of guilt and regret.  "And when he needed me, the one
time he really needed me, the one time he didn't manage to get it
done on his own, I COULDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

     The bed shook beneath the impact of her fist.  "I sat there
by his mother and watched you all fight.  And now he's gone, he's
gone, and I..."

     Her hand came up and pressed itself to her mouth, as if to
hold back words, to deny what she was about to say, to somehow
make it false.  "And I don't know if he's coming back this time."

     And slowly, slowly, she began to weep, a bitter and choked
sound that he saw she was trying to hold back, to keep in, to 
bury deep inside.

     And he realized, sadness in his soul, that he wanted to weep
as well.  To weep for his friend, who was vanished, who might be
suffering, who he could not help.  To weep for Akane, because it
hurt him to see her hurt.  To weep for the sorrow that had
seemed to afflict so much recently.  An almost fatal swing of an
umbrella because of an unexpected cessation of movement.  A
finality in Ranma's words as he spoke to him and asked that he
watch over the two women who meant the most to him in all the
world.  A woman whose hands were razors, whose eyes were night,
and whose voice was a thing from a damp tomb.  

     Why, he wondered, could things not be easier?  Why could
there not be some end to the sadness, to the fighting?  Why could
there not be some happiness for him, for Akane, for Ranma, for
Mousse, for Shampoo, for Ukyou?  Why was he torn between a girl
who loved him unconditionally and one who did not even know the
true span of his feelings?

     Why?
     
     And it was as if something broke inside him.  That happened
often, but only when he was by himself, only when he was on his
own, only then could he ever truly be allowed to feel sorrow.

     Not now.
     
     He reached out and gathered Akane to him, and let his soul
and body cry for his friend, and for himself.  And she clung to
him, sobbing upon his chest, and he clung to her, for their grief
was like an ocean, endless, infinite, and they had in that moment
only each other to cling too.

     Because you need something to cling to, something beyond
yourself.  It is a rare person who can find a thing within their
own soul that will truly give them centre.  Existence tells us we
are alone, for we truly begin and end our lives by ourselves.  
And throughout it all we find things to cling to; other people, 
quests, pursuits, material things, philosophies, ideals,
religions.  Because we must cling to something or lose ourselves
amidst the immutable, innumerable sorrows of life.

     Ryoga remembered something he'd seen from the window of the
train as it sped through the countryside.  Just for a moment, but 
it had meandered through his mind since then.  A lean grey shape, 
running upon four legs, glimpsed through a copse of trees.  A 
dog, a wolf, he was not sure.  But there had been something about 
it that had caught his attention, and he realized that the 
creature he saw was one of the few things in the world that was 
utterly and totally at peace with the purpose of its existence.  
He'd envied it, and been terrified of it at the same time.

     They wept for a time, and after a time, the weeping stopped,
as it always must.  Because weeping can only go on for so long.

     They looked at each other, at their tear-stained faces, at
their rumpled clothing and red eyes.

     Then, at the same time, they both said:  "Thank you."
     
     That made them both laugh, and feel like crying again at the
same time.  So many things in life made you do that; laughter and
weeping are dualities of the human soul.

     "We'll find him, Akane," Ryoga said after a moment, wiping
at his eyes.  There was an utter, absolute conviction to his
words.  He would shift heaven and earth himself if he had to, but
somehow, he was going to make things alright.

     Somehow.
     
**********

     When Genma found his wife, she was kneeling in the dining
room, near the doors that led out onto the back porch.  Those 
were open, exposing the raindrops pattering upon the wooden
boards of the porch.  She had a fresh kimono on, and the dark 
reddish-brown of her hair looked to have been recently brushed, 
pulled up and pinned back with an ivory clip.  

     He saw that she had the cloth-wrapped bundle of her sword
leaning against her shoulder, and his practiced eye began picking
out escape routes.  The back doors were open, but she was in 
front of them; if he had to run, it probably would just be best 
to go back the way he'd come.
     
     "Come and sit down, husband."
     
     Tensing at her voice, he made his way to her side and knelt,
resting back on his heels with his feet flexed, and putting his
palms on his knees.  He could get up very fast and sprint out the
open back doors from this position if he had to.

     "You wished to speak to me, wife?"
     
     "Yes.  Not here, though."
     
     His eyes looked beside her, and found the lacquered, 
blue-painted bamboo shape of a large umbrella lying between where
the two of them sat.  "Are we going somewhere?"

     "A short walk.  Only a few blocks."
     
     Genma slowly nodded and stood up, picking up the umbrella in
one large hand.  "Alright."

     He knew now that there were times with his wife when 
avoiding her would do more harm than good, and this was one of 
them.  He stepped out onto the back porch, shielding himself with 
the umbrella and hearing the drops smacking on the shelter of the 
top.  

     Nodoka joined him after a moment, sword still held against
her shoulder, kimono sweeping elegantly about the slim length of
her body as she moved to stand under the umbrella with him.

     They made their way in silence out onto the damp grass of 
the backyard, walking slowly around the rock-bordered edges of
the pond, watching the still tranquillity of the water disturbed 
by the hundreds of blossomings the raindrops left in their wake.

     They walked under the branches of trees whose leaves were
heavy with the fallen rain, and past carefully pruned bushes that
lined the front walkway, sparkling emerald-green in the falling 
of the rain.  Down the stones of the pathway, and out under the
peak-roofed gate and the shadow it cast, through the open wooden
doors and into the rain-drenched streets, damp silver sparkles on
the edges of the sidewalk.

     And then, at last, Nodoka spoke again.  "This way."
     
     They walked past the people on the streets, who walked
beneath umbrellas or the shelter of newspapers, or who simply
hurried without any shelter at all with the summer rain falling
upon them, catching in their hair and running down their faces,
faux tears shining in the grey-shrouded sunset that was now
beginning in the western sky.

     Through the tangled streets, past houses and stores, walking
in silence, the distance between their bodies less than a foot, 
the distance between their souls oceanic, unbridgeable.  
Panthallasian waters stretched out betwixt them, so wide they 
could not see one another on the other side, even if they'd
wanted to.

     Their son had been their bridge, their centre, the thin
joint that had held the two of them together for the short time
since the truth had been revealed.  With him gone, they had
nothing to say to each other.  

     Only this.  Only silence and the summer rain and a sunset in
the west muted by greyling clouds who wept upon the earth as if 
in mourning for their sorrows.  Only two sets of feet walking
around puddles, and the rain drumming on the bamboo roof above
their heads.

     And after a time that was as short as ten minutes and as 
long as life itself, Nodoka Saotome stopped walking before a
small house and Genma Saotome stopped with her.

     It was similar in design to the Tendo house, with a white
wall surrounding it all, and a small peaked gate that admitted
entrance to those who wished.  

     Nodoka walked through, and Genma followed.  Rain dripped
down white walls and slanted in small sheets off the peaked, 
tiled gate.  Inside, the yard was somewhat unkempt, small, and 
with a tiny ornamental pond off near one side.  

     "Nodoka, what is this?" Genma said finally, and the silence
was broken.

     "It's our new house," she whispered softly.  "Or it was
meant to be.  I finalized the purchase the day they were supposed
to be married.  I wanted us to come and live here, after they-"

     She trailed off, then began again after a moment.  "I wanted
things to be right again.  But you're not the man I thought I
married, Genma.  Maybe you never were.  My son is gone.  You
weren't there to help him when he needed you."

     "I was down trying to work things out with that storekeeper.
It wasn't my fault-"

     She turned her gaze to him, silhouetted by the falling rain
behind her, a beauty painted upon a canvas of silver sheets of
water.  Her eyes were liquid, shimmering, and the smoothness of
her face, the subtle definitions of cheekbone, the turn of nose
and lips, the strands of hair that curled over her ears in escape
from the containment of the bun, they all caught his eye and held
it, and he realized that she was only more beautiful than she had
been in youth.

     "You really don't think it was, do you?" she said softly.
"You can't see that it was your fault you weren't there.  You
don't understand the cause and effect at all, Genma.  You don't
understand that he can't let himself get close to people because
you were the only person he was ever close to, and you betrayed
him a hundred times.  You don't understand that the way he is is
because of the way you are."

     She closed her eyes.  "You don't understand at all."
     
     "Nodoka," he said softly, raising his free hand to touch her
face.  "Please-"

     She stepped back, eyes opening and going cold, out of the
shelter of the umbrella and into the rain, rain that fell and
stained the dark blue of her kimono black, rain that glittered on
hair and face and mingled with the tears he saw now were falling
from her eyes.  "Don't touch me, husband.  You don't have any 
right.  Not anymore."

     There was no way to flee from this, he realized.  He 
couldn't run from the coldness in her voice and the sorrow in her
eyes and hope to escape them, and he couldn't run from his own
guilt.  He'd tried, oh how he'd tried, but he could never truly
escape what he'd become.  The nights of loneliness on the road,
when he longed for her and found comfort in betrayal with other
women, whatever price he paid then was nothing to keep away the
shadows of his own soul, the lingering feeling that somehow he'd
done wrong by taking their son from her.

     "My wife," he said.  "Please, forgive me."
     
     She looked at him, and then shook her head.  "I can't,
Genma.  You know I can't."

     Mutely, he nodded.
     
     "It has two bedrooms," Nodoka recited softly, glancing at
the house.  "A bathroom and a kitchen and a dining room.  It has
a pond, and a garden, and plenty of room for two people who might
want to find each other again, if there's anything left to be
found."

     He bowed his head.  He couldn't look at her eyes.  
     
     "I'm moving my things out of Kasumi's room tonight," she
said in a quiet, calm voice.  "I'm going to come here.  If you
can find our son, Genma, if you can bring him back safe to me, if
you can prove that for once that you truly care for him, then 
maybe you can come here too.  But not now.  Not until I know that
my son is safe."

     "I understand," Genma said.
     
     "I hope that you do.  Stand here a while, Genma.  Look at
this house.  Think about it.  Try to remember that a father is
supposed to love his son.  Try to remember that a husband is
supposed to love his wife.  If you even have any memory of those
two things."

     He nodded, and held out the umbrella to her.  "You'll want
this to go home."

     She shook her head.  "You need it more than I do.  Think as
a man, for once.  It's about time you did."

     Then, turning, she walked away from him, out of the gate and
through the gentle weeping of the summer rain.

**********

     Rain spotted the fabric of Kodachi's dress as she knelt by
the pond in the back yard, but it couldn't make the black any
darker than it already was.  The rain was tapering off, though;
after falling for most of the day, here in the late evening it 
would end.  The sun was gone, and the moon was riding towards the
apex of the sky, with clouds trailing in front of it like
grasping fingers.
     
     "Good boy," she whispered gently.  "Good Midorigame."
     
     The massive reptile made a rumbling purr deep in his throat
and took the tidbit of steak dangling from between her fingers
with surprising gentleness.  Sharp teeth brushed against her
fingers softly, and then Midorigame settled back down into the
pool, resting his head on the rocks at the edge, raindrops
glittering on the mottled green of his skin in the light from the
windows of the house behind her.

     "Such a good boy," Kodachi said, stroking the pebbled flesh
between her pet's eyes, slim fingers tracing the rough texture.

     The rain fell down upon her, and the grass, and the pond,
and the beds of flowers nearby.  It was so pretty, in the
moonlight, in the lights from the house.  It was like a touch on
her skin.  

     She was cold, but the rain felt warm.  It was a coldness
inside her, like frost seeping from her bones.  The rain was
making her dress cling to her skin, and plastering her ponytail
in wet strands upon her shoulders and back.  

     Funny, but she almost thought she heard someone calling her
name.  She'd had a dream like that when she'd been asleep 
earlier; it had been the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen,
dressed in dark clothing, with black hair and eyes like the ocean
at midnight.  She'd been calling her name too.  She remembered 
another beautiful woman with dark hair, who'd smiled, and held
her, and told her she loved her, and then gone away to someplace
she couldn't remember except that it was a very, very bad place.

     Don't call back, though.  Better to just sit here by the
pond and listen to the rain falling, because it was so pretty,
and the night sky was pretty too.  Don't ever call back, because
then they might know where she was, and she wanted to be alone
right now.  

     "Sister."
     
     Shivering, she turned and stared at her brother, backlit by
the light shining from the windows of the house.  "Sister, I have
been looking for you for an hour.  Why did you leave your room?
Why did you come outside?  You'll catch a cold.  It's raining,
sister.  Sister?"

     She opened her mouth, but her teeth chattered too much to
talk.  The rain ran through the cracks between the boulders of 
the pond, and the moon was a hundred tiny reflections in the
small puddles upon the grass.

     "Sister?"
     
     "Brother," she finally whispered, tasting raindrops in her
mouth through chattering teeth.  "I don't feel very well."

     Her brother's shadow fell across her, but she couldn't see
his face.  Just his blue clothing, turned black by the soaking of
the rain.  As she closed her eyes, she heard him speak, so softly
she wasn't sure if he'd actually spoken.

     "Oh my sister, what have I done unto thee?"
     
     And then she was lifted from the damp ground, and borne 
towards home as the rain fell down upon everything for a few
seconds more, and then abruptly ceased.

**********

     Konatsu watched Hako lounge back in the plush, padded seat
across from him, ice clinking against the inside of her glass
from the movement.  "Are you sure you don't want something to 
drink, dear girl?  I know the first time flying can often be a
little frightening, and..."

     "No, Lady Hako," Konatsu said, staring out the window at the
lights of the runway.  The rain had stopped a few minutes ago.

     "Very well," Hako said with a shrug, and she took a sip of
the amber liquid in the glass, sighing contentedly when she
finished.

     He'd never imagined so much luxury could exist when he lived
with his stepmother and stepsisters.  He still couldn't quite
believe that he and Hako were the only passengers on this plane.
It had looked so big as he'd walked up the metal stairs, slick
with rain, that had led inside it.

     Ukyou had still been asleep when he'd left.  He'd written a
note and put it by her bedside, saying little.  He had to go
away; he couldn't tell her why; he was sorry; he loved her.

     He would miss her.  She needed him there, but she needed him
far away more.  Far, far away, where Hako would have no reason to
be anywhere near Ukyou.

     He'd said his mother and father had passed away from 
illness.  He'd lied.  His father had explained it to him, that 
his mother had had to die because of the way Konatsu was, and 
that from now on he always had to be like a girl, and act like
one, and if he did things would be okay.

     But they hadn't been.  His father had died too, and after
that the work had begun, for his stepmother and stepsisters.
They hated him because he was more beautiful than them, more
talented, a better warrior.  But he had to do what they said,
because he didn't know what else to do.

     And now he had to do what Hako said, because he'd only seen
her twice before.  Once had been right after his mother had died,
talking to his father.  The other had been after his father had
died, talking to his step-mother.

     When Hako was around him, the people he loved seemed to die.
He'd betrayed his duty to clan Kenzan again, like he had the
first time because of the way he'd been born.  He'd ran away from
his step-mother, and now Hako had come to bring him back.  

     "I think you'll like Okinawa, Konatsu," Hako said with her
twisted, scarred smile.  "The clan compound is right next to a
beautiful beach.  The sand is white, and the waters are blue.
When you look down from the cliffs upon the beach, sometimes it
seems as if you are looking down upon an endless pile of bones."

     She closed her eyes, and took a long swallow of the brandy.
The expression on her face was close to rapture.  "An infinite
expanse of bones, Konatsu.  Bones are beautiful, you know.  The
structure of humanity.  Flesh, flesh is weak.  Flesh bleeds, it
changes shapes.  But the contours of bone in an adult are 
immutable.  Our skeletons are far closer to immortal than we can
hope to be.  Brains, muscle, eyes, blood, flesh, all those turn
to dust so soon.  Bones can last for thousands of years."

     He saw her red-sheathed left hand twitch as if an electric
shock had been run through it; liquid slopped over the sides of
the glass and ice rattled as it smacked against her right before
she seemed to clamp it around the seat arm with visible effort.

     "Must be more careful," she said lightly, putting her glass
down on the seat tray in front of her and licking brandy from 
where it stained the crimson glove upon her right hand.  She
smiled at Konatsu, and he flinched slightly.  "Don't worry, dear
girl.  You'll be treated nicely.  I'm sure you'll think of where
we're going as home soon enough.  It will be as if you've always
lived there."

     Watching the city lights retreat below them, Konatsu 
doubted very much that Hako spoke the truth.

     And from the windows of the plane, he saw the last of the
lights swallowed by the darkness as they soared to the south and
out across the sea.