Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found
them and please don't feed the Trolls.

"Summer Lightning" and "Thanksgiving Eve" are copyrighted by Garnet
Rogers; if you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs,
he sings lots better than I write.

"The Haughs of Cromdale" is a Traditional song from Scotland. My
version is off an album by the Corries. 

Isileth and Aldric Talvalin, and everything to do with them belong to
Peter Morwood. They come from his series, the Books of Days (The Horse
Lord, The Dragon Lord, The Demon Lord, and The Warlord's Domain.); now,
sadly, no longer in print.

This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/

Release 1.1 (Dec. 07, 2000)

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Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences
Part A: The Night Before the Morning After

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

There are certain ways that things are supposed to go. 

Take, for instance, the case of waking up in someone else's bed. This
is _supposed_ to involve long drowsy dalliances and breakfast in situ,
served by dedicated servants. Or, on the other hand, romantic melodrama
may easily be obtained by hasty dressing and tearful, secretive
goodbyes. 

Unless, of course, the other whose bed you are waking up in is an Other
whom no-one, including the other, may be allowed to suspect _is_ the
Other; in which case things are supposed to occur so as to maximize
embarrassment for all involved. 

(Yes, that _was_ a complex sentence. Read it through a couple times, it
means what it says.) 

Fortunately for Ranma, the sensation of Akane breathing into her ear
woke her alone and unobserved. 

This precipitated what should have been the type of convulsive jerk
that knocks over the bed, wakes the bed-mate, calls the attention of
the house, and otherwise results in complete higgelty-piggelty. 

Alas for the devotees of the Right and Proper Order of Things, however,
Ranma's well-honed reflexes and hard-wired skills were in full working
order; and she removed herself from complete (if, sadly, clothed)
entanglement in Akane's embrace to a position standing upright in the
middle of the room without much more than a mild heart attack. 

This should not, however, be construed as meaning that the forces of
Dramatic Righteousness were entirely cheated of their due. 

The human body is a complex collection of muscles, bone, nerves,
joints, ligaments, and other such items. Ranma's collection chose that
moment to send her a wide array of bitterly-complaining messages,
relaying their utter dissatisfaction with their current conditions and
accusing her of criminal incompetence at the top. She also noted the
pounding pain of a massive migraine headache, foretelling an impressive
hangover; caused, she knew, by metabolic by-products and ki imbalances
attendant upon the rather ... unique ... stresses to which she and
Akane had been subjected earlier that day.

Action was clearly called for, and she exerted her trained will and
knowledge of Magic and martial lore, pushing back the pain and
stiffness and adjusting a wide range of inner balances. Attempted to
move. And whimpered, very faintly.

Then she consulted a hard-won store of homeopathic medical lore and
immediately prescribed herself a long soak in a hot bath and some
serious reconstructive meditation. 

Which would require walking all the way out the hall and down the
stairs, not to mention _another_ hall at the bottom of the stairs.
Truly it is said that the life of a Martial Artist is fraught with
peril. 

It would be a good idea to wake Akane, however. Particularly since,
unless she was seriously mistaken, Akane's lingering effects of the
day's adventures would be even more extreme than her own. 

Ranma felt a renewed pang of grief shoot through her as she took in
Akane's profile, following the new lines of scars that spread out in a
web around her left eye, easily visible as she lay on her right side. 

She forced herself to lock the sensation deeply inside; even if
revealing the extent of her sorrow were not far too dangerous to the
careful masquerade she must now live, it was horribly disrespectful to
Akane. She had, after all, followed along of her own free will, and
must be regarded as a warrior capable of knowing her own honor and what
it demanded. 

Honorable action required what it required, and cost what it cost. Had
she, herself, not born up under wounds as great? To rail against the
necessary costs of one's actions was to cheapen them; and to cheapen
Akane was a thing which she could never do.

In the end Akane's slumber proved more than a match for Ranma's
somewhat lessened resources, and Ranma finally decided simply to let
her sleep. Summoning her ferocious will and inexhaustible endurance,
she strode out the door and down the stairs towards the furo and a
long, hot soak with all the grace and power of an octogenarian
tortoise.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The furo, generally speaking, was an institution and object of which
Tendo Nabiki thoroughly approved. It was not merely sanitary and
relaxing, she felt, but good for the mind and will as well. 

A long soak relaxed the body, which gave the mind time and space in
which to think unhindered. Most of all, it provided a protected space.
It was so often necessary to impose control on one's self, on one's
expressions and actions. Any opportunity to create a time or space in
which that control could be relaxed, however briefly, was to be
treasured.

Moreover, it was an easily secured space as well, especially a private
furo, like the one in the Tendo bath. Even a public furo was far more
private than it would appear at first glance, since custom imposed a
veil of indifference over the lack of physical privacy that actually
provided far more actual privacy than most would believe. As long as
one was discreet, at least. 

But a _private_ furo .... Not only did it share in the custom-imposed
privacy of the public furo, but it had _physical_ privacy, too. 

Also, if one suspected that one's privacy had been imposed on, one
could take any actions necessary to regain it, _without_ alerting
anyone to the presence of something out of the ordinary to be protected
in the first place.

All in all, Nabiki was very fond of finding a good furo and settling in
for a long soak whenever she was feeling out of sorts. That afternoon
she soaked for as long as she could stand. She was thinking. Thinking
as hard and strategically as she had in a long time.

It could be managed, she felt. Mind, her sister was still an idiot. But
it _could_ be managed. There was no real hope that the news would not
get out, but if she managed the grapevine just so .... She supposed
that was 'spin', or whatever the set of idiots currently running the
Western Media were calling it at the moment.

But any Japanese (really, any truly _civilized_ person, she reflected)
knew instinctively that it was the consensus of community opinion that
mattered. All she had to do was swing that consensus a little, a task
in which she should have a considerable advantage; _this_ consensus,
after all, directly affected Ranma. 

Not only had she, herself, _demonstrated_ an advanced grasp of public
consensus management; but even more, a denigratory consensus might well
cause her to become ... annoyed. Since she strongly suspected that no
sane person at Furinkan would actually wish to see that happen .... 

So, all she _should_ have to do was drop a few subtle hints. And make
sure that no random _in_-sane person upset the boat. Not difficult, if
she was any judge, as long as she kept things vague enough that people
could agree without having to confront what they were agreeing with
directly. 

The last thing she thought before relaxing fully into the lassitude
brought by the delicious warmth of the water was that she was glad that
she lived in a society where allusion made arranging things like that
no more difficult than necessary. She didn't really feel up to doing
anything difficult right now anyway.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

After finishing her bath, she was inclined to talk over a few things
with Kasumi, just to make sure that they were both on the same page as
regards her dear little sister's idiocy and its probable cause. A small
disturbance alerted her to an approaching spectacle however, and she
silently took refuge in the Tendo Family room to await it.

The spectacle in question did not disappoint. Ranma, jacket-less, de-
scarfed and carrying her shirt in her hand, limped vaguely down the
hallway, around the corner and into the furo. 

Nabiki forbade herself to make any noise. She had heard from her rumor
sources that Ranma was scarred beneath her usual enveloping clothes,
but she had not expected ... and _some_ of those scars were not old,
fine, white lines but rather angry, red welts.

Nabiki felt her eyes fill, briefly, with tears. She would have to
remember this sight, she thought, whenever she doubted her sister's
lover. Ranma might be overly heroic and possessed of something
resembling a death-wish, but there could be no doubt that she knew the
cost of the actions she took. Which was very much for the better,
actually; if someone _had_ to act like a Samurai, it was much easier to
respect them knowing that they always kept one eye on the cost.

Shaking her head she turned from the closing door and went to talk to
Kasumi.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

She woke up. 

This, she decided, was her first mistake. 

She was not immediately sure what had awakened her, but she _was_
immediately sure that she wished it hadn't bothered. 

Her hair hurt. 

That was not even considering the mad kamikaze air molecules that were
attempting to flay her skin off. 

Now that she whimpered it, how _had_ those tribes of mad, jack-hammer
wielding dwarves gotten inside her skull, anyway? And what had she done
to piss them off so badly? 

Couldn't they have written her a ... a letter or something? 

She'd have apologized, really.

Also, she really had to talk to someone about putting dead rats in her
mouth. It just wasn't civilized, and whoever had done it ought to have
known better. 

She tried to summon up a sense of righteous outrage, but all she could
manage was a dull throb, and it immediately got lost in all the other
aches and pains.

Attempting to discern where, exactly, she was, she opened her eyes. 

Mistake number two, instantly taken advantage of by the roving hordes
of nomadic biker photons, which used the opening in her defenses to
invade down her optic nerves in a howling wave and set her brain on
fire. 

Attempting to quench the flames, she curled into a foetal ball and
threw her arms around her head. 

Mistake number three. 

It was really fascinating, she thought distantly, that a sufficient
amount of suffering could not only _induce_ unconsciousness, but could
then immediately _negate_ it. 

Well, she had obviously screwed up _somewhere_, big-time. Now the
question was: where was Ranchan when you really needed her? 

Ranma. Didn't she have a vague memory of Ranma saying something? 

Something ... about ... about ... getting up? ... and going ... to the
furo. Or she'd stiffen up.... 

Ah.... So that was it. 

Well, she could see that the rest of the day promised to be unpleasant. 

Yep. 

But she had a plan to outwit it. 

Just as soon as she took her bath and got a little control back, she
was going to die. 

Yep. 

That'd show it. 

You bet. 

Now all she had to do was get to the furo. 

Which involved ... taking off her clothes ... and going ... all the way
... down the stairs. Oh dear. 

Shortly, a shambling figure tackled the complex challenge of walking
down a flight of stairs without toppling over. Its progress was not
eased by an apparent difficulty with the dim hallway light, which was
causing it to move in a series of flinches. 

Exerting supreme self-control, it avoided a lunging attempt to descend
the stairs in a single moment, outracing light itself. Which was a good
thing, really, because the photons hanging around were sufficiently
annoyed as it was, and the figure was in enough trouble. 

Stumbling down the last stair risers and shuffling painfully around two
corners and down the hall, the figure had nearly attained its hoped-for
sanctuary when fate cruelly intervened. 

A firm, decisive footstep was heard, and Tendo Soun entered the hallway
from the garden outside and came face-to-face with his daughter. 

And, for a brief moment, nothing happened. 

Then Akane feebly attempted to placate the looming disaster by waving
her hands at her father, and whimpering. Alas, in vain; slowly started
but rapidly rising came the ultimate horror (at least to anyone with a
killing hangover), a full, all-out, Tendo Soun Wail. 

     (#2516: My daughter went to Hell and lost her eye, now she'll 
      never get a husband and I'll be alone in my old age, aiiee!) 

The noise went through Akane's already shot nerves like a buzzsaw and
she collapsed to the floor in a foetal ball. Naked and dripping from
the tub, Ranma was at her side two seconds later. Kneeling at Akane's
side, Ranma gently coaxed her out of her curled up misery; in the
process leveling a glare at Soun that sent him backwards in a dead
faint.

Nabiki, drawn by the *thud* of Akane impacting the floor, managed a
gasp before Ranma cut her off. "Nabiki-san, please ask Kasumi-san to
get Acchan a glass of whichever hangover cure she usually makes for
your father." Smoothly, Ranma picked Akane up and took her into the
furo. Nabiki gaped briefly at the closing door before running back to
fetch Kasumi.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Timidly, Kasumi knocked on the door to the bath. "Ranma-san, may I come
in?"

"Please do."

Kasumi carried the large glass into the furo, and, like her sister,
restrained a gasp. It was bad enough to see such extensive scars on
Ranma-san, reminding her of the cost demanded of those who walk
Bushido, but to see such scars in turn on the smooth flesh of her
younger sister; that was almost more than she could stand. 

Akane was huddled against the edge of the tub, with her face turned
down and her eyes shut as Ranma gently probed her acupuncture and
shiatsu spots from behind. At Kasumi's approach, Ranma leaned back in
the tub, and Akane turned around, looking up at Kasumi in thankfulness
and reaching out for the glass she was carrying.

Seeing the new web of faint scars around her sister's eye and the
changed nature of the orb itself caused Kasumi to fall to her knees,
extending the glass with shaking hand. Akane almost snatched the glass
away from her, and drained it with a single, long pull before putting
it to the side and coming up partially out of the tub to gather Kasumi
into her arms and hug her fiercely.

"Kasumi! Kasumi-oneechan, it's all right. It _looks_ awful but the eye
still works just fine."

Ranma raised an eyebrow and dryly said, "I say again, it looks
_rakish_. Not awful, _rakish_."

Kasumi made a mighty effort and came back on balance. "I don't want to
contradict you, Ranma-san, but I'm afraid it does look awful. Just a
little."

Akane released her hug and turned back toward Ranma, sticking out her
tongue, "See? I _told_ you so!"

Ranma settled back in the tub and spread her arms along the rim,
"Acchan, look this way. Now raise your left eyebrow. No, a little
higher. Yeah, like that. Now show Kasumi-san." A short pause. "See?
Rakish."

Akane sighed and stood up, saying, "Please excuse me, 'Neechan, I have
to kill -" as she reached her full height she paused, her eyes going
wide in shock as an alarming cracking sound made itself known. "... er,
that is. I have to get right back in the tub here and have Ranchan do
some more shiatsu on me. Yeah, that's it."

Ranma sighed, "Doesn't listen. Over-exerts. Rushes in where angels fear
to tread. Domineering. And now she wants shiatsu, too. Oh dear. What a
pity. Never mind." Winking at Kasumi's mildly alarmed look, Ranma slid
forward in the tub to kneel behind Akane.

Akane looked up, alarmed, "Ranchan! I need ... ooooh!" As Ranma's hand
reached the first shiatsu spot, Akane's eyes slitted in relief, the
left flashing a solid gold.

Kasumi smiled slightly and silently slipped out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ranma-san! I will not permit you to run off without dinner. It is
getting late and you _must_ be tired, you should eat with us and sleep
in the guest room tonight."

Ranma blinked, backing away from Kasumi and frantically waving her
hands, "Ahhh ... of course, Kasumi-san, whatever you say. I'll just go
into the Dojo and, ahh, maintain my equipment, yes?" Grabbing a
confused and yukata-clad Akane by the shoulder, Ranma hastily retreated
from the main house to the Dojo.

"Geeze! Your sister is _scary_ when she's like that!" Ranma peeked
cautiously around the edge of the Dojo door. "Anyway, I'm serious,
Acchan, you need to go get your stuff and get it back in order right
now, before you forget and then don't have it next time."

Akane nodded muzzily and wandered out of the Dojo and back upstairs.
Ranma busied herself with seeing to the good condition of her weapons,
but was interrupted when Akane timidly reappeared, holding a sword in
an ill-fitting scabbard away from her body with obvious reluctance. 

"Ranchan?"

Ranma looked up and raised an eyebrow. 

"This," Akane continued, "is _not_ my sword. And I don't have _any_ of
the other stuff and I've never seen this sword before ... I don't even
know what _kind_ of sword it is ...."

Ranma stood up and gingerly took the sword away, laying it flat on the
portable table she was using to hold her cleaning gear. "Taiken. It's a
taiken." 

She withdrew the sword from its scabbard and turned it over and around
in her hands. It was slightly longer than a katana, straight bladed and
double-edged, but still chisel-pointed. It was made of a dull, gray
steel, better polished in the middle of the blade, which sank into a
blood-groove accented by the yakiba-mon, the wavy pattern that
indicates the different steel composition used in the edge of a blade. 

It was elaborately hilted in black, non-reflective steel, a two-handed,
wire-wrapped grip rising from a heavy thorn pommel to a wide crossbar
that flared out into hilt-loops to protect its wielder's fingers as
they might be looped over the hilt. The side-bars of the hilt flared
out into an almost-basket that provided a fair amount of protection to
the upper hand of a wielder, and even a casual inspection woke
amazement at the magnificent balance and liveliness of the cold, gray
steel. "It's a _good_ taiken."

Ranma withdrew a small tool from jacket-space and placed the blade on
the table, beginning to disassemble its hilt. "These are usually
tang-marked ... like ... so ...." her voice faded off into a long
whistle. 

Akane drew closer and leaned forward to see, but could not read the
strange, curling letters. Ranma held the blade up to the light and read
something off the tang in a language that Akane likewise did not know. 

Indicating this with a slant of her eyebrow, Akane caused Ranma to
flush briefly and then translate aloud into Japanese, "'Forged was I,
of iron heaven born. Ulean made me. I am Isileth.'"

"How, ah... how did you manage to pick this up, anyway, Acchan? I saw
you waving it around when you, ah, came to get me, but ..." Ranma
slowly and coolly put the hilt back together.

Akane stammered something inane about how she had needed a sword and it
had just been lying there and she'd just put her hand on it, and....

Ranma shook her head sadly. "Outnumbered. Injured. Back to the wall.
And you 'just happen' to put your hand onto Isileth Widow-maker. Give
it up, girl. You are _so_ doomed." Then, suddenly, she grinned, "But at
least being around you won't be _boring_. I hate _boring_," she winked. 

Akane grinned weakly and blushed. Then she indicated the sword still
lying on the table. "Ummm ... you seem to know it ... her? What's the
story?"

"Well ... about a dozen or so universes _that_ way there is a land
called Alba, which has a number of similarities to Tokugawa era Japan.
For samurai say 'kailin-eir', for katana say 'taiken'. 

"I had heard a rumor that the kailin in Alba practiced an Art called
Taiken-ulleth, which involved a form of 'perfect swordsmanship', and
that there was one living master left. 

"So about a year or so back I used the amulet to go look, but I never
found him, or her, whichever. But, while I was there, I did pick up a
fair bit of kailinin lore, one bit of which was the story of the 'most
perfect sword', Isileth.

"Supposedly made from 'star-metal' from a fallen meteorite. Said in
legend to have been refolded three hundred times, quenched in blood and
polished by fire and water. Rumored to be too tough to bend, too strong
to break and with an edge that was sharpened once and hasn't dulled
since. Claimed to have been used by heroes and villains for two
thousand years or more." 

Ranma took a piece of rice-paper and traced out the outline of
Isileth's blade, and then took up the ill-fitting scabbard and began
preparations to modify it to properly receive its new resident. "What
she was doing on a slope just outside of Hell I've no idea. Here," she
handed the sword-hilt to Akane, "do a kata or two and get to know her.
Perhaps she'll tell you." Akane took the sword silently and stood,
momentarily at a loss. 

After a minute or so she shook her head dazedly and turned back to the
center of the Dojo, moving with a slight wince for abused muscles and
joints and focusing inward, preparing a pain-blocking mantra to aid her
concentration. Then she pressed the sword's blade to her forehead in
salute and sank into the slight trance she used to invoke Other-sight. 

Instead of focusing it on anything, she deliberately _de_-focused it
and began a basic sword kata, extending a welcome to any insights the
blade might offer. 

From behind her as she danced her kata she heard Ranma begin to sing
lowly and distractedly as she worked on the scabbard. And as the song
continued, low and dark and couched in some dialect of English that she
could barely even determine _was_ English, her de-focused Sight began
to gather sounds and images. Images of blood.

     As I came in by Auchindoun, 
     a little wee bit frae the toun,
     When to the Highlan's I was bound,
     to view the haughs of Cromdale.

Right hand highest on the hilt (a voice whispered, "One hand only girl,
until you apply force to the cut, keep your other hand free. And put a
finger over the hilt, it increases control, and the hilt-loops will
guard it."), arm rising for jodan-no-kame morote uchi kiri otashi
kudashi, the most basic of strikes, the two-handed vertical downward
blow to cleave head and chest together ("The pearsplitter ..." the
voice whispered). 

     I met a man in tartan trews,
     I speir'd at him what was the news;
     Quo' he the Highlan' army rues,
     that e'er we came to Cromdale. 

And her mind sank into a receptive blankness and she stopped the cut at
the level of the lower chest and transmuted its force into a bouncing
return to guard, left hand dropping away and right hand blurring in
withdrawal to hasso hidari gamae, left foot leading as she cocked the
sword by the side of her head in preparation for ...

     We were in bed, sir, every man,
     when the English host upon us came,
     A bloody battle then began
     upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... for jodan-no-yoho giri kudashi, the high horizontal cut, right to
left as the body uncoils and the left hand comes around to grip the
hilt and put the whole force of that uncoiling behind the decapitation
stroke ("... to the cross, inverted ..." the whisper said), and ...

     The English horse they were so rude,
     they bath'd their hooves in Highlan' blood,
     But our brave clans, they boldly stood
     upon the haughs of Cromdale.
 
... and the left hand let go again as the body whirled around into
right-advance guard and the right sank the blade into chudan-no-kame,
middle guard, and the blade sank into darkness until only a gleaming
trace of blue-silver fire marked its edge and her body faded away and
...

     But, alas! We could no longer stay,
     and o'er the hills we came away,
     And sore we do lament the day,
     that e'er we came to Cromdale.

... and the blade angled left and thrust up and forward and her left
hand flickered out to propel the body of the blade in a thrusting cut
to the back and side of the neck of the dark, faceless figure that
attacked from that side and, still faceless, faded as it fell and left
only the great spray of blood from its severed carotid and jugular,
bright red and wet as it fanned out from the massive slash and her left
hand fell away again and ...


     Then the great Montrose did say,
     Highlan' men show me the way,
     For I will o'er the hills this day,
     to view the haughs of Cromdale. 

... and her right hand brought the blade down a foot and began the
mirror-image thrust-and-slash to the right and her left hand floated up
(so fast) and she thrust right and past the target and her body twisted
back as her left hand pushed forward and her right drew back and ...

     They were at dinner, every man,
     when great Montrose upon them came,
     A second battle then began,
     upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and the back edge of the blade cut through the target's throat in
the strike Ranma had taught her earlier in the week ('This move was
designed for a two-edged blade,' she thought) and the fan of blood
arced out wide and scarlet as she completed soukongou (and the whisper
said, "... twin-thunderbolts ...") and the blood-sprays blew past and
behind her view and the fallen bodies faded like mist beneath the hot
sun and ...

     The Grant, Mackenzie and MacKay,
     soon as Montrose they did espy,
     O then, they fought most valiantly!
     upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

... and she faced an opponent across ten feet of open ground and the
circle of watchers were tense as the Marshall dropped the wand to begin
the duel and she advanced chudan and feinted outside and knocked his
sword off-line *scrape* along the top of the opponent's blade, shock of
heavy resistance as she cut through the neck and ...

     The MacDonalds they returned again,
     the Camerons did their standard join,
     MacIntosh play'd a bloody game,
     upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and her horse kicked into a gallop as she put up the great bow and
the sword was in her hand and she extended it forward, wrist cocked as
the point turned a little down, making a small lance as they galloped
toward the enemy in his array and a heavy, wet shock ran up her arm as
the blade went home and she galloped across the field cutting down her
foes and ...

     The MacGregors fought like lions bold,
     MacPhersons, none could them control,
     MacLaughlins fought, like loyal souls,
     upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

... and they faded into mist, gray and fading except for the bright
scarlet of the spouting, running, dripping blood and the blood sprayed
back and forth but none of it clung to her or to the blade but it
seemed to bounce off a figure hanging in front of her in the heavy air
and she ran through the dark stone halls striking target (only targets,
gray, fading and gone) left and right and the flowing blood outlined
and then filled in another opponent ...
 
     MacLeans, MacDougals, and MacNeils,
     so boldly as they took the field,
     And made their enemies to yield,
     upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... another opponent; tall and massive, armored in an alien style in
full plate-and-chain, like and yet unlike a samurai in its blood-red
armor and taiken like her own and she fought with it back and forth
across a hearth a field a forest clearing and she brought the blade
around kasumi kiri age, arms crossed, right hand sliding out low to
join the left hand and come up hard and diagonally to the left across
the body, and her opponent opened out along the line of the cut and
there was nothing inside but blood and ...

     The Gordons boldly did advance,
     the Frasers fought with sword and lance,
     The Grahams they made the heads to dance,
     upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

... and it sprayed out and covered her but there was no smell of blood,
no remembered salt-iron tang but only a stale, sweet, sad hint of roses
and the blood hanging in the air turned black and fell like rain, and
she met and destroyed another gray warrior and another and another but
their blood did not spout bright wet scarlet but black and heavy and it
fell back upon them and they twisted and where a man had stood a black
rose now hung in midair and the air was full, overpowered by the smell
and something small and bright and blue fell out of the sky and the gem
hung before her, glowing and ...

     The loyal Stewarts with Montrose,
     so boldly set upon their foes,
     And brought them down with Highland blows,
     upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and she swung the sword kiri otashi kudashi again and it flared
with blue fire so intense that it blinded her and the rose was burned
away and where the jewel had been crouched a figure twisted and huddled
over, almost invisible except for the crippled, twisted claw that was
its right hand and her hands went back for the stroke but then she
brought the blade down and grasped it with both hands and _snapped_ it
and her hands hurt and bled and her stomache hurt and bled and her
chest hurt and bled and it was whole again and the twisted figure faded
and she stepped past it and the blade flared brighter and higher and
she attacked the alien, horrible form that rose above her, slobbering,
and she cut it across and it divided in half and fell away and she
dropped the blade, casting it aside and the dust covered it and her eye
flared with pain and she fell and twisted as she rolled in the dust and
she grasped the hilt and came upright and ... 

     Of twenty thousand Cromwell's men,
     five hundred fled to Aberdeen
     The rest of them lie on the plain,
     upon the haughs of Cromdale.
 
... and settled into perfect chudan-no-kame as the kata ended and she
saluted the Dojo and flicked the sword around. And she turned back to
Ranma where she knelt near the Dojo wall and asked, "Does the name
Talvalin mean anything to you?"

"Not a thing," Ranma said cheerfully and handed her the remade scabbard
and she sheathed the sword.

And from the main house Kasumi called, "Ranma-san, Akane-chan, dinner!" 

And they went in to see.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Akane's room was dark and still in night's embrace. Akane, however, was
not. 

Shadowy dreams of loss and pain lurked just beyond the border of the
waking world, and a pit of darkness vast enough to suck her down
forever awaited her least little lowering of defense. This she knew. 

What she did not know was how to fight the encroaching dark. If she
could only find a target, something to hit with her fist or her sword.
If it were only an external threat that she could face head on. If it
were only an obvious weakness, something even in herself, but something
she could come to grips with. 

But what could she do with dreams in the dark? 

Lost in her silent, failing struggle, she did not hear the quiet
opening of the door, nor did she note the form that ghosted across her
room until it actually sat upon her bed; and by then, of course, it was
too late. Ranma had already heard her faint whimper, already seen her
toss and turn. Numbly she turned her head to look at Ranma, and was
again surprised by the serene concern in her friend's sapphire eyes. 

Akane had always lived her life in a continual state of insecurity;
always convinced that the next day, the next challenge would prove her
painfully gathered skills inadequate, would leave her bereft and
lacking in worth. It was not that she did not appreciate her own skills
as a martial artist; indeed, in some ways those skills were themselves
the source of the problem. 

She was good at martial arts, but, she felt, _only_ at martial arts.

For all of her girlhood, Kasumi had been the perfect female figure.
When their mother had died, she had stepped into the role of alpha
female with barely a hitch. 

Nabiki had become skilled in manipulation, using her mind and her
skills at sneakiness to get things accomplished; for the benefit of the
Dojo itself, mostly, it was true. But to her, for whatever reason or
purpose, fell the skills of manipulation, of social control and social
dominance.

Denied primacy in these areas, Akane had specialized in the Art, taking
up the family school that neither of her sisters had expressed an
interest in, and in that pursuit she had established a primacy of her
own.

What she had not established, to herself, was that her primacy was
real. Always, in the back of her mind, came the thought that her
sisters had _allowed_ her that primacy, because it did not matter. That
no-one contested her in it, because no-one cared. That all that her
effort had bought her was ... nothing. 

In the bright light of day she could look around herself and see her
strengths. In the light it looked like she had made of herself a
warrior who could overcome any challenge she attempted. In the light it
looked like the paths she had turned aside from offered little in the
way of real challenge. 

In the light it looked as though _she_ had taken the harder path, the
path of greatest growth, and that the necessary parts (Oh, not _all_
the parts, no. But you don't need _all_ the parts to get by.) of the
others would be ... easy. 

Mostly. 

In the light. 

But here in the night, lying still and quiet in the dark, ... well,
things do have a tendency to look differently in the dark. 

And if you were lying on your back looking up at the ceiling, and if
you were somehow to relax the guards you normally hold that keep you
from thinking unpleasant thoughts like that, then, having thought one
unpleasantness, you might go on to think others. 

You might begin to think that the path that you had chosen, far from
being the path of greatest growth, was instead the path of least
result. You might begin to think that you had traded the ability to
make cookies for the ability to nearly get the woman you have just
realized you love killed. 

Or, you might begin to question just how much all this practice you
have been doing in your chosen field has actually bought you. You might
begin to compare the things you had learned on your own to the things
that, let's say, Someone had taught you, and conclude that you had
learned nothing of value yourself at all. 

You might begin to think that you were ... lesser, ... second rate. And
you might begin to wonder what use you, yourself, actually were. A
second rater moreover, you might begin to think, who has had the great
idiocy to fall (say it) in love with a first rater in the same field.

And you might begin to wonder just what use there is in saying, for
example, "Ranma and Akane". 

"Ranma and Kasumi", you might think, makes some sense; "Kasumi" can
cook ... and clean ... and ... and be Kasumi. 

"Ranma and Nabiki" allows "Nabiki" to be sneaky and make money, and
terrorize people who need to be terrorized. 

But if all "Akane" is good for is fighting, and if "Ranma" already has
the fighting part of "Ranma and Akane" covered, then what use in "Ranma
and Akane" is ... "Akane"? And if "Ranma and Akane" is a thing that you
are coming to believe is the thing that makes being "Akane" worthwhile,
but there is no use in "Ranma and Akane" for "Akane then what use _is_
"Akane"? Or ... _is_ there any use for "Akane" ... at all?

And these are the sorts of thoughts that have a tendency to cause
theoretical thinkers Deep Distress, and, on that count, to be relegated
to the far background and never allowed out into the conscious portion
of the brain. 

This defense mechanism can, in itself, cause certain problems.

For instance, when confronted with the aforesaid "Someone first rate in
the same field", and the occasion to meditate on silken scarlet hair
and sea-deep sapphire eyes, and the opportunity to ask the question "Is
there room in 'Ranma and Akane' for 'Akane'? Or, indeed, is there any
reason to entertain the concept of 'Ranma and Akane' at all?" then
thoughts like these might cause you to wimp out. 

For another instance, even if you _are_ the "Someone, etc." and even if
you _know_ that there is indeed very good reason to entertain the
concept of "Ranma and Akane", and what role "Akane" should play in it,
it does not necessarily follow that you _also_ know whether there is
any reason to consider the concept of _"Akane and Ranma"_. 

And in this case similar thoughts can not only cause you to wimp out,
but also to pay less attention to subtleties of interpersonal conver-
sation than might otherwise be the case.
 
To summarize the summary of the summary: people are a problem. 

All of which goes a long way towards explaining why, when Ranma said,
"Problems?" Akane did _not_ say, "Yes! I'm tired, I'm sick, I hurt and
I'm so confused and overwhelmed that I can't think. I need to bury my
face in your hair for several years to clear my head. Make love to me
'til I pass out!" but rather (in a much smaller voice), "Can't think.
Too much." And why Ranma did not, quite, hear what she meant, but only
what she said. 

And also why, when Ranma knelt on the bed and drew Akane up into a
reverse embrace, so that Akane was sitting in front of Ranma with
Ranma's arms folded beneath her breasts and the top of her head beneath
Ranma's chin, and said, "Maybe I can teach you a technique to help. Do
you trust me?" Akane just said "Yes," instead of "With my honor, my
life and my soul. And, incidentally, if you wanted to move your hands
up a bit I'd be perfectly happy to trust you with my body, too." And
Ranma, of course, missed that, as well. 

Even world class martial artists, gifted with the perception to track
another person's motives and intentions in the heat of mortal combat
have their occasional off days. Which is a shame, it's true. But it
just isn't time for this story to go lemon yet.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Okay, Acchan," Ranma murmured, "this technique is called 'the
Rainbow', because the way you begin requires you to picture one in your
mind. What I am going to ask you to do is to close your eyes, and then
to impress upon yourself a vision of each of the colors of the rainbow,
one by one. 

"As you visualize each color, you will attach to it all of your
tensions, unhappiness or pain and imbalance in a specific area. Then,
when you release the visualization of the color, you will also release
all the negative chi that you have just collected. 

"The order and rhythm of the colors will allow you to completely rid
yourself of negative energy and to achieve a focused and receptive
mental state. Then, when you have passed through all the colors, you
will find yourself standing on a darkened landscape, where you will
encounter a stairway leading down. 

"If you choose to descend the stairway, you will then encounter a
well-built, solid door, to which, you will find, you hold the only key.
Behind the door, if you choose to open it, you will find your Library,
or Study, the metaphorical center of your intellect.

"This technique employs a mixture of focused meditation and self-
hypnosis, and I repeat that you may _choose_ to descend the stairway,
and you may _choose_ to open the door to impress upon you that it is
_your_ door and _your_ stairway, and that _you_ may and must decide
when, and whether, to proceed in each and every case. I will be here to
guard you, this first time, and I will show you the way, but it is your
will that must impel events. If you decide to reverse the exercise, all
you need do, _at any time_, is open your eyes. Okay?" 

Akane nodded, silently.

"Then begin with the first color of the rainbow," Ranma said, quietly,
"think about red - soft, warm red ..." Ranma kept her voice in a
soothing, lulling murmur, just loud enough to hear at close range, and
began to enter into the rhythms and pauses of a hieratic chant.
 
"All there is is red ... red is the color of physical relaxation ...
let the red fill every corner of your body, let it pick up all the pain
and fatigue and tension and then let it flow away ... red flows away
and is followed by orange ..." 

Ranma's low contralto voice flowed over Akane's weary mind and soothed
her deeper and deeper into a trance state, taking her through the
colors of the rainbow, and also through all the stages of release of
care and tension, "... violet is the color of union with the Tao, the
Tao is everything and nothing, become part of the color and let the
color become part of you ... drift down with the color as it gets
darker and darker ... closer and closer to the dark ... less and less
color ... less and less of everything ... everything going away until
you are alone with yourself and the Tao ... don't be afraid ... I'll be
just out here ... nothing will get by me to harm you ... tell me when
you are ready to go on." 

Akane seemed to drift down, through a slowly fading violet haze, down
to a gentle landing on her feet. All around her she sensed a darkened,
empty plain stretching far away. Though in looking around she could not
see any sign of Ranma, her presence still nestled close about her, warm
and comforting. "Okay," she said, "now what?"

"Turn around," Ranma replied, "Do you see the stairway?" 

"Uh-huh. Should I go down?"

"Whenever you're ready."

Akane slowly walked down the stairway, feeling very secure, as though
she were following an old, familiar pathway to a well-beloved
destination. At the bottom of the stairs, she came to a small landing,
seemingly cut out of the living rock. It was filled with a source-less
illumination, and could be exited in only two ways: the stairway up,
and a large, forbidding door made of iron-banded oak. The door did not
open to a touch, and the keyhole exuded a definite impression of
impregnability. 

"Ranchan? I'm at the bottom, but I can't get the door open."

"Look in your pocket. You're carrying the key."

"I don't remember any key that looked like that ... hey! You're right
Ranchan!" Akane unlocked the door, and opened it into a place of
wonder. "Ranchan! It's a library alright! Wow! There must be _millions_
of books and things, there's Mangas all over the place, all my
favorites ..." (Ranma assumed a pained look.) "... the paintings on the
walls, they're beautiful ... Kamis! Look at that desk! Thing's big
enough for planes to land on ... ooohh! Nice, comfy chair too! Ahhh!
This is really nice, Ranchan. Are you sure it's mine?"

"All yours, Acchan," Ranma chirped. "Let me give you a present?" 

"Ummm, sure. What is it?"

"Look on the desk, it may be under something. It's a small book,
leather binding, thin pages ...."

"I see it! Ranchan! It's really expensive .... are you sure you can
afford to give it to _me_?"

"Trust me. 

"Now, if you open the book, you will see that I've written a word on
the first several pages, right? The first page says 'Akane', the second
says 'study', the third says 'focus', the fourth says 'sleep', the
fifth says 'dream' and the sixth says 'return', right? And the rest are
blank."

"Yep. So?"

"So if you pick up the book and concentrate on 'Akane' you will then
concentrate on who you are and why. This will let you more fully
integrate new skills and experiences into your Tao. 

"Likewise 'study' will focus your subconscious on making sense whatever
the last things you have just learned are, 'focus' will let you
concentrate on one specific thing that you are thinking of, 'sleep'
will let you do just that, 'dream' will give you the ability to direct
and explore your dreams, and 'return' will bring you back. 

"You can do more than one thing at once, and if you open your eyes
without concentrating on 'return' part of you will keep, for instance,
studying everything you have been learning that day; even while you are
asleep, or eating dinner, or whatever."

"Gotcha. Pretty cool."

"Glad you like it. Now concentrate on 'return' ...."

Akane opened her eyes and looked around, blinking. She noticed that
Ranma had somehow moved from behind her, holding her up, to sitting on
the foot of the bed. 'Awwwww.' "Ohayo, Ranchan, what now?"

"Do me a favor."

"Okay."

"Go back under and hit 'Akane' and 'sleep'. I'll see you in the
morning." 

"Spoilsport."

"Slacker."

Akane stretched and yawned, laying back into her covers before Ranma's
folded arms stance as colors whirled around her. Soon, the beautiful
walls of her Library opened around her. Walking over to her desk she
picked up the book Ranma had given her and thumbed through it. 

For a few moments she stopped on the first blank page and stared at it
intensely, then she picked a fine quill pen off the desk and dipped it
in the ink sitting in the small ink-stone. Poising the pen over the
page she used the best calligraphy she could muster to write the word
'Ranma' on it. 

Holding the book open in her hands, she sank down into the chair and
got comfortable. Then she focused her will on the pages 'Ranma',
'Akane', 'sleep' and 'dream'. On the last word she closed the book and
put it down on the desk, letting her arms out wide in an enormous
stretch and cracking all her vertebrae, before settling backwards to go
to sleep. 

Outside the library, Ranma looked down fondly on Akane's sleeping form
and ghosted out the door and back to the guest room.

And had there been anyone around that night who was able to see the
rising ghosts of dreams on the night air, that someone might have spied
the columns of such rising strongly and fully from two separate rooms
of the big old house, remarked on how similar to each other they were,
and been astonished. 

But there wasn't, and so, no-one did. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Next:
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences
Part B: The Morning After the Night Before

'Til next,
Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001