This is a rewrite of book2 for those who hate Ranma/Ranko splits. Actually, it is a rewrite of book2 because of certain ideas that occurred to me as a result of the complaints of those who hate Ranma/Ranko splits, but what the hey. Details, details.

Anyway, the first few chapters actually backtrack and rewrite the ending of book1 slightly, so if they look disturbingly familiar... that's why. No, it's not plagiarism. It's my own work, for crying out loud. ^_^

Culmination

Early in his sixteenth year, Ranma came to the decision that it was time to try and free the Lady Alana. He told her not to invite the next Master. He was going to need the next three months... She acquiesced, though he did not tell her why he wanted this. The rest of that day he spent wandering amongst the halls, looking for the right place. He knew much of the castle by heart, of course, and had explored nearly all of it over the years. Still, he did not necessarily trust his memory, trust that the vague recall of once-seen rooms would be enough to make the correct choice. So he prowled the halls, focusing always inward and downward, away from the windows and sunlit halls.

His needs were many. The room must be secured, which meant it would have to be able to be completely enclosed. He would use magic to ensure that the air did not grow dead. It needed to be far from the actively used halls, so that no attention would be drawn to his activities there. It must be unused in its own right, that no-one might have call to go there and the same must hold true for the rooms in its hall.

Most importantly, it needed to be large enough. It must be constructed of heavy stones, massive enough, and numerous enough, to hold the power he would need. That dictated a certain size and also led him to the lower levels of the inner castle, where the largest stones had been used, in the oldest halls. More than that, though, it needed to be large enough the Lady Alana. Of course, he did not know how large she would be, but finally he selected a room. It was deep in the castle, it could be readily warded from scrying, and it was large enough to hold the Lady Sylie. He hoped that Alana would not be much larger, though it would be able to handle some difference.

That night, at dinner, he was silent, responding in mono-syllables. Though unresponsive, he was not unattentive. In fact, he spent most of the meal staring at the Lady Alana, his eyes flickering with blue fire. She guessed what he was about, and did not press him about it. He was examining her chains, looking more closely than before, trying to follow the courses of the threads, and predict where the other threads would need to be, to complete the pattern. He was still wholly unable to see the other threads, but he had some reason for hope.

The next morning, he spent several hours in the study, sketching the bonds from memory and then drawing possibilities for the feminine bonds on thin onion-skin sheets, laying them over the male bonds, trying to guess the best match. When he could remember no more he went to the gardens and practiced a kata to clear his mind and prepare himself. He noticed once again the small, low-walled garden, that held only a single column, on which sat a single vase, in which rested a pure white rose, a promise still unfulfilled.

Filled with resolve, he went to the room, and spent several hours cleaning it, removing all foreign materials. He scrubbed the stones, and then used his ki to create a wind that dried the room quickly. Then, locking the iron door securely, he sat in the center of the room, in lotus position, and released his hold on his aura.

It swelled and filled the room with a blue glow. Relaxing his seventh sense, he focused intensely on the sixth. He reached outward with this sense and whereever he came upon life, he held it with his ki and using a single thread of magic, moved it to the outside of the room. If it was too small to thus grasp, he focused his ki and burned it out.

He relaxed his sixth sense finally, the room cleansed completely of life except for himself, and focused his seventh. He concentrated on the small holes and pores in the stones, filling them with his aura one after another, until it truly filled all the room, down to the smallest crack. Once the room was completely bathed in his aura, he sought out his center and entered a state of meditation. He meditated for five hours, letting the rock bathe in his ki, becoming steadily more attuned to him, even as he developed his own sense of the room into a deep familiarity. When he felt at one with the room, feeling, knowing to his depths every strength and weakness it held, he stood. Still bathing the room in his ki, he used his ki claws to carefully carve glyphs of warding and protection into the stones, one after another.

Selecting the purer stones, he carved glyphs of power into them. Over the next several weeks, he would steadily charge them, that when necessary, he might release their power to replenish his own.

That evening, he again watched the Lady Alana with his ki gaze from the moment she entered the room. This time, he did not proceed to his bed, but went directly to his study, where he again drew the chains from memory. He did not look at the previous drawings he had done, at all, nor did he try to draw the possible female chains. That would wait until the morning. Finally, he went to his bed, exhausted, and slept a dreamless sleep.

Sleep came less readily to Alana. She was striving to fight her growing feeling of hope. She knew he could not free her. He could not see the female principle still, she knew that. But he knew that too and yet he was still determined to try. She had heard from Mardo and Liliana. He had opened the door, finally, without destroying it. He had become the cat again, just to be able to let out the roar of triumph, but that power had not been necessary. It was hard to suppress her hope, but she knew that she had to. When he failed, he would be crushed and if she too were crushed under a weight of disappointment, she would not be able to support him. So she focused on the fact that he had watched them cast the door. That must have made the difference.

When she finally slept, though, she dreamed again of flying as a dragon, only this time, Ranma was with her, a dragon himself, flying about her as if born to it. She felt again, in the dream, the ache of wanting him, so long buried under maternal love, but she recognized it for what it was, even in the dream, and it did not trouble her.

The next morning, Ranma again spent several hours working on his drawings of the chains, trying to picture where the strands and threads of invisible magic would need to go to have the appropriate effect. When he again went to the garden, to practice his katas and clear his mind, he noticed that the Lady was on a balcony above, watching him.

He smiled to himself as he powered through the motions of the kata. He knew that she knew why he was behaving as he was, and he admired her for remaining silent about it, allowing him to proceed in his own fashion. She was so unlike the teachers at the Mage Towers. She never tried to force him to learn theories that might or might not be anything like the truth. She merely urged him to learn what he needed to know, and he had quickly come to respect that in her. Everything she had pushed him to learn had come to have importance to him shortly thereafter, in sharp contrast to the theories of the Mages of the Towers. He had done his best to forget much of what they had sought to teach him.

He knew that she did not believe he yet had the power to free her. He knew she was wrong in that. He did have the power... he just wasn't certain of being able to use it without harming her. He was no more sanguine than she about his ability to succeed in this. It was founded on hope, the hope that once he began, and after having seen for himself the innumerable ways that the feminine principle could be wound about the male threads he could see in her chains, he would be able to find the true weaknesses. It was doubtful, but he had to try.

For nine years this coming event had been the single overriding goal of his life. Everything he had done and learned had been focused towards this day. He would pour everything he had into freeing her, and if it killed him... well, then she would be free, and he would have achieved his goal. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he knew now that he would not hold back from it. He would give absolutely everything he had, and more, if it meant her freedom.

He completed his kata and returned to the inner room. There, he spent two hours charging the first of the power seals, pouring his ki into the spiritual battery in a slow steady trickle. Then he meditated again, bathing the room in his ki. With his ki penetrating the stone that held his power bound within it, it felt like he was holding a glowing ember in his hand, and he welcomed the pain of holding that concentrated power. He knew he would feel pain when he reabsorbed the power, and he wanted to be ready for it.

He went around to each power stone, and carved into each four runes of strength, to prevent the power one held, that shortly all would hold, from overcoming their structure and destroying them before he could use them. This took considerable time, as he had to draw up the magic and bind it into each rune after drawing it.

Finally, he spent time on each of the scrying stones, carving in smaller runes to strengthen each individual stone against one particular variety of scrying. One he bound with a rune to strengthen it against the use of water, the bowls and pools that were the delight of some. To another he added a rune to strengthen it against the use of mirrors, the province of the truly strong. Another he bound against crystals, yet another against the power of the mind. So he went, to each in turn, and added a strengthening rune, drawing up the threads of magic to power each.

He left the room, locking the iron door behind him, and binding it, as he had done the two days before and would each day after, with a powerful spell of holding, modeled after the work of Mardo, and a spell of warding and shielding.

The uses of iron in magic were among the few things he had learned in the Mage Towers that he had retained. He had learned how iron was anathema to channeled magic, where the magic-user drew on the power the threads held and used his body as a conduit for that pure power, rather than using the threads themselves. He had learned how to use iron to combat true spells, though to do so was often to destroy everything around them, as well as the spell. He had also learned the proper ways to truly enchant iron, to bind the threads into it, and how much power could safely be held by the iron. An iron-bound spell was extremely difficult to cast for most mages, but worth it to those who could, for the iron's resistance to magic would then fight the dispelling of the power it held.

This pattern of silent dinners eaten with burning eyes, late nights spent drawing on parchment, mornings spent sketching on onionskin, kata watched by the Lady, and long days spent slowly increasing the power of the room continued for nearly two months before all was in readiness.

Finally, Ranma came to the Lady Alana one morning, and told her that he was ready to attempt to free her. He took her to the room he had prepared, and in spite of herself, she was in awe at the power it exuded. It was powerfully warded against every manner of outside interference or scrying, and large enough to hold her true form.

She could see the immense power held in each of the spiritual batteries. She was aghast at it, in fact. Each held nearly as much ki and magical energy as Ranma's body, and she had never seen him as exhausted as he should have been from filling them. She realized he must have been filling them a little each day. There were ten of them, so this room held more than ten times the raw magical power and spiritual energy that Ranma held himself.

There were numerous cushions in a heap on the floor, and he bade her make herself comfortable upon them. When she did so, he sat before her on the stone floor and she noticed with surprise that the stone he sat upon was itself heavily ensorcelled. He pulled his calves onto his thighs, lotus style, and began to meditate. In moments, his ki began to flicker, blue tongues of flame licking about him, as his eyes burned with blue fire.

Ranma released his hold on his aura then, and once again, it filled the room. Alana stifled her gasp of awe... his ki was easily dragon strength and he had no dragon-blood, she knew that. She knew he had grown steadily more powerful... she hadn't realized how very much, though. She still didn't truly know. He had not yet released the eleventh dan, and she could not see the power bound up in it. He focused his sight, looking beyond the physical, until he could again see her bonds. He could see the dragon curling in her ki. It seemed stronger and more vibrant as it bathed in the light of his own, and the chains that held it seemed even blacker in contrast.

The chains reached out from her to lace about him as well, as they bound her to him. He looked deeper, until he could see where the threads were coming from. He selected a single knot, and examined it, seeing in his mind the innumerable onion skin overlays that spoke of how the female threads might mingle and strengthen the male threads.

He reached out with his ki, tapping lightly at the obvious weak point. He knew this would not succeed and indeed it did not, but he watched carefully, how the knot began to fall apart and where and how it seemed held together. He focused again on the onion skins in his mind, considering which ones might result in that kind of a pull, in those resisting forces. He tapped again, at another point, a lesser weak point, and again watched the interplay of the visual threads, gaining clues as to where the feminine threads must be.

He teased steadily at the knot, touching here and there, watching the reactions, searching for clues to the invisible threads that held it all together. Finally, he began trying in earnest to break the knot, picturing in his mind the complete tangle, male and female threads, and guessing at where the weak point must be.

He could see that he was closer now. As he hit these guessed points, the knot came ever closer to falling apart, but always it resisted in the end. Finally, after hours of exploration, he concluded that the final weak point must be located amongst the female strands, where he could not see to touch it.

Refusing to even consider feeling despair, he moved on to another knot. Surely they could not all be thus. Again he began the delicate process, tapping the knot here, and there, and watching as it tried to fall apart, but was held together. By the time he had given up on that knot as well, he was feeling weak and drained.

He reached out and released the first of the power stones. He bit his tongue, and tasted his blood in his mouth as he fought to stifle a scream. The energy, fresh and rich, burned through him like a fire, through limbs that were too tired to contain it. He lost some of it, burned off to the air, before he regained control, gasping for breath.

He fought down the pain, and grimly selected another knot, that seemed to have more male fibers, less room for the female threads to intertwine, and began again.

Over and over he repeated this process, and each time, his body grew weaker, as the fresh energy raced through his tired system, ever on the verge of collapse. When he released the tenth stone, tears were openly running down his face, but his eyes still burned with blue fire.

Knowing this was his last chance, and he was failing, he desperately tried to reach deeper. He pushed his ki sight deeper and deeper, striving to reach the beneath the layers of male threads. If he could just see the source of the female power, he could trace it upwards, into her bonds. He sunk ever deeper, and as he did so, he slowly released the eleventh dan, giving him the power to reach further still, searching for the ultimate source of the power, until finally he reached too far.

He lost himself in the immense scale of what he was sensing, the deep throbbing power that lay far beneath the tapestry of his world. It was vast and grand, and he was nothing compared to it. Looking on it, he ceased to exist, and became one with this final ultimate power, the power that lay behind all that was, a power far beyond this world, or the world he came from, that lay beyond all possible worlds, beyond the planes where the gods dwelt, beyond the pits where demons warred, beyond everything, and he lost himself in it, until finally he heard a voice, a single soft voice, gently calling his name, and he remembered once more who he was, and why he was, and for its own reasons, the power released him.

He came back to himself then, for just a moment. His eyes suddenly cleared and he could see the Lady cradling him in her arms. "You should have let me go," he said in a harsh whisper, the words tearing his throat as he spoke, "you would have been free, Lady."

Darkness took him and he fell into blessed sleep, as his body struggled to recover from his ordeal. He did not feel the Lady's tears on his face as she held him to her.

She had known that he would never give up, unless he finally failed, utterly and completely, and so she had let him try, hoping that when the time finally came, he would be able to move on, to live, finally, for himself, and not for her. Had she ever imagined that he would be so selfless as to willingly accept death to free her, she would have never let him try. "How could I live," she asked softly, knowing he could not hear her, "if I let you die for me?"

She would have thought him dead were it not for the slow rise and fall of his chest. His skin was nearly black all over, and in places it was burnt and charred, split from the heat, the searing and charring reaching even to the bone.

He lay in a pool of blood and the moment she tried to take him in her arms she realized that he would not survive being moved. He needed healing, now, or his sleep would deepen into death. She called out to her sister but the walls blocked her words and a great pain overwhelmed her. "You cannot die," she said, even as she gave up on finding an uninjured spot to lay her hands. Taking his head in her hands she chanted a spell of healing. The pain within her grew greater still when the spell was absorbed in a flare of brilliant white flame and his wounds did not change. She tried again and again but her spells seemed to do nothing, though thankfully the white fire that consumed her spells did not further char his flesh.

She had felt him go beyond her, for an endless moment, and when he had, his body had burst into flames, real flames, as it burned from the inside. It was a miracle he had not died. She could feel that he had been changed. There was a fire burning in him still, that she could not put out. Not a fever, really. It was more like a fire in his ki, a fire that defeated her every attempt to aid him. She didn't know what it was, or what to do about it. So she just sat, and held his hand, hoping.

Sacrifice

When Sylie arrived, she was told that no-one knew where the Lord Fey or the Lady Alana might be. This startled and alarmed her. What could they have been attempting that they had not even warned their closest advisors? Brushing aside their various protests, she used her great speed to quickly lose them then began homing in on the source of the terrible emotional pain she could feel from her sister.

It led her deep into the dark interior of the castle, far from the outer and inner walls alike and below the level of the ground. There she found a door of iron. To her great shock, it was bound and warded with spells more powerful than she had ever seen. For a time she was near to distrusting her senses, for her knowledge to this day said that iron was anathema to spells of such power, that it could not be used in such a way. Her astonishment grew when she ceased fighting her senses and accepted the door for what it was, accepting at the same time that she would never be able to open the door without bringing this portion of the castle down around her ears.

She cast a swift scrying spell to peer through the boundaries of stone and iron and see what lay within. To her surprise, the probe was deflected. She could feel her sister's pain, which surely would not be so if the room was shielded, yet further tests convinced her that the room was indeed shielded and proof against every form of scrying she was competent to attempt.

This brought a sudden realization to her, a realization that instantly had her pounding on the door, heedless of the danger, and calling out for her sister. The terrible pain that she could feel from her sister, the mind-numbing agony that had reached her, three kingdoms away, was muffled. She was feeling only a portion of what her sister felt.

Luck was with her, for though the door was held against her, against its being opened from without, it was not silenced, nor was it bound with active defense spells. Its wards merely deflected the brunt of her force, rather than retaliating to destroy the one that attacked them.

Finally the iron door opened before her and her sister stared out unseeing at her, her face a mask of pain and self-loathing. The sudden wash of emotion that poured over Sylie with the opening of the door nearly drove her to her knees. She staggered then leapt forward as Alana collapsed, her grief and pain overcoming her at last.

The Lady had been by Ranma's side for four hours, by that point. Sylie was shocked by his condition. It took her a long time to manage to get Alana calmed down enough to tell her what had happened. She was appalled, but truly impressed. Maybe the boy really did love her.

Sylie did what she could for the boy. Her healing was as ineffectual as Alana's had been, but she bound his wounds and did all that could be done for him conventionally, before carrying him to his bed, leaving him there with Alana. She proceeded to take over the management of the castle, to ensure an orderly running of the household. She took care of everything the Lady Alana usually did, and then she took care of Alana, forcing her to eat, and rest. If Sylie hadn't been there, she figured Alana would have sat by his bed until she collapsed.

Each day, Sylie spent some time trying to heal the boy, and draw him back from the darkness. On the third day the flame burning in him finally ceased blocking her spells and she was able to aid in his recovery. Still his body resisted her spells and they had far less effect than she expected. She feared to cast too much lest his resistance cause a dangerous reaction. He improved rapidly, however, in spite of the limits of her spells, showing visible gains each time she saw him. She guessed that on his own he would have recovered in under a month. His powers of recovery were truly remarkable, but sorely tasked by the massive draining of both ki and magical energy that he had gone through.

It was a week later that he finally awakened, late in the night. The Lady was only just aware of his eyes opening, before they flicked to her, with a blue fire and he turned away, curled into a ball, crying. He had failed her. He had given everything he had to free her, and in the end, sought to embrace death to free her and even in that he had failed. The pain of this ultimate failure shattered the walls of ice he had built against his emotions. She had not seen him cry for nearly four years, but now his body was racked with sobs that seemed torn from the depths of his soul and his pain and anguish seemed to rise from him like waves of heat.

Lady Alana stood, and sat on the bed, pulling her legs up and lifted him onto her lap. He finally looked whole again. His hair, frazzled and crisped, which had broken and crumbled at her touch that first night, was silky and strong. His skin was smooth and unbroken and light again. She held him and rocked him back and forth through his tears, as she spoke quietly to him.

"Ranma, had I known you would go so far, I would not have let you try. Don't ever try to leave me alone again, Ranma. Not like that. Please. My freedom is not worth your life." He tried to protest, but she lay a slim finger on his lips and he fell silent, except for his quiet sobs. "You nearly died. I know you tried. I will never forget what you did for me. It shames me, that you would go so far, and yet I never told you the truth because I feared it would be too hard for you." He sat up at that, looking into her eyes.

"I knew from the very beginning why you could not see some magic. I know you've learned, on your own, though I never told you. But you still don't know why. I do and I did then. I am ashamed I doubted that you had the strength to hear this."

"Never, Lady. Never be that. I _am_ weak. I failed you." Ranma protested.

"No, child. It was I who failed you. Never have I seen such strength as you have, strength of spirit and heart and yet I doubted you, and it shames me. Now hush, and let me tell you now, what I should have told you long ago." He stared up at her, his mind blank. He had no idea what she was going to tell him. He knew why he had failed, knew his blindness. But what could she know, that went beyond that?

"When you first came to me, Ranma, I felt a problem in your mind. I thought that if I gave you my love, I might, over time, be able heal you. I failed... I failed you, Ranma. I failed you, far worse than you failed me." He looked into her eyes and grasped her soft hands in his, shaking his head in vehement denial of her words. She had not failed him. She had always known, always been right, about what he needed to learn and do. It was he who had failed her, failed to learn as completely as he should, been unable to free her. But she freed her hand and laid a finger upon his lips again and he remained silent, and let her speak.

"There is in every person, Ranma, a balance of male and female, the yin and yang your Tai Chi master spoke of. Your ki is in balance, but your spirit and mind are not. You are only half-awake, Ranma. When your father tried to force you to be a man, when he beat you for showing emotion, or crying, or being polite, he kept forcing everything that was feminine in your spirit and mind away, into the depths of your mind where you could not reach them. It's like he just reached out and tore you in two and now your female half is locked in your mind."

Tears started rolling down her cheeks as she spoke now. He wanted to comfort her, to stop her tears, but he had to hear this, had to let her speak. "Perhaps, had I done more when you first came to me, I might have been able to simply heal you. But I was a fool, and thought my love would be enough, be strong enough. It wasn't. As the years have passed, Ranma, your female half has grown in the depths of your mind, has healed about itself, as have you, and it will be no simple thing to rejoin you."

"You mean...," Ranma found it hard to continue. He understood, alright, or thought he did. Because of Oyaji, he had a sister, trapped in his mind, but if she awoke, since she was him... well, he could just imagine what it would be like if he suddenly woke up and was a girl. She would hate him. "Oh, Kami-sama. That's terrible. Lady, how can I free her? What must I do?"

"You do not understand yet, I see. Ranma, she is you, she is not a separate person and even if you could awaken that personality, you would not be freeing her. You would be denying yourself, rejecting yourself."

He stared at her, his eyes widening slowly. "You... you are saying that I..."

"You must learn to accept that side of yourself, you must become whole again. That is the only way you could ever master the magic you cannot see." Tears stood in her eyes, tears of pain and loss, as she saw the fear and disbelief in the blue depths of his own eyes. "I am terribly sorry, Ranma. It would have been far easier if I had forced this on you when you were young. Instead I let you strive to become what your father wanted, a man above all. I only made things worse."

"Too far," he murmured then his eyes cleared and hardened. "Then there is but one thing to do," he said firmly. Alana stared at him for a moment before looking away.

"What is that?" she asked. She feared this response. No, she dreaded it, dreaded it with every fiber of her being. She knew what he had learned from his home world, knew the ways of his people. To accept death was the mark of a man. Honor stood above life and though she had not suspected that he felt her imprisonment was so strong a stain on his honor, she could understand how the honor of achieving the goal he had set himself could be worth more to him than his own life, whether she agreed or no. To embrace his own feminine side? Surely he would once more choose death before accepting something so unmanly.

"I must become a woman," he said. Unbeknownst to her, he indeed felt as she feared he would, that death would be preferable to becoming a woman. At the same time, he had taken to heart the pain he had felt from her, and the fact that she had reached out and drawn him back from death. More importantly, death, or whatever that power was that had taken him, had given him back, had returned him to her. That path was closed to him now.

He looked up at her, gazing into her eyes. "I do not want you, especially you, nor any of my people, to see me like that," he said, shivering at the thought of the weakness he would have to embrace, "but there can be no half-measures. Your pain has been extended long enough, I will not draw it out for years upon years as I slowly come to grips with feminine things against the will of my heart. I must become a woman, I must set aside my manhood completely, lest I resist learning what I must, for the sake of it." Even as he spoke his words tore at his heart. Being a man was all he had ever wanted, to be a man his father could be proud of, to be a man his mother could love, to be the man his people could look up to, to be a man worthy of the love he had already been given.

"I need your guidance now, Lady, more than ever. I know of no spell that has the subtlety to do this. When I take the form of an animal, I do not truly change, I do not become the creature. The spells I know only change the outward form. I was still a wizard wearing the guise of a snake or a bird. I was not a snake. I was not a bird. If I took the form of a girl, I would not be a girl."

"That is the difference," she said softly. "The Mages never truly understood that but we creatures of the wild know it. Masculine magic draws on the power that is close to surface appearances, that which gives the detail to the tapestry. It is easy, with such magic, to produce visible and elaborate effects, to defy expectations. Feminine magic, when used by one who knows the difference, is deeper and more subtle in its effects. Where the warp threads, as you see them, make it easy to call a lightning bolt down out of a clear sky, the woof threads would bend more easily to the slow production of the proper conditions for a natural lightning storm."

"So... I need female magic to be able to become a female mage so I can learn female magic. What about you? Can you cast the spell for me?"

She sighed and shook her head sadly. "You've been changed, we don't really understand how, but you've resisted even simple healing spells. I dread to think of what would happen if such a spell were to take incomplete hold on you."

"Then is there nothing I can do?"

"There is... a place... on your world, called Jusenkyo. There is a spring there called the Nyannichuan. If you bathe in that spring, then cold water will give you the body of a young woman, and hot water will return you to your own. It is powerful, terribly powerful. I looked into its history and it has been used for terrible things. A dragon was trapped as a woman by it once, through the use of an artifact called the Chisuiiton that belongs to a neighboring people that call themselves the Musk. If it can affect a dragon so, then I think it will affect you equally. In the far past it was used as a training ground, to train great warriors to control their ki. Eventually, they would be able to use their ki to change themselves, or to prevent water from changing them. If you could manage this, you could hold yourself as a woman. Otherwise, you could find the Chisuiiton, then find the Kaisufuu, its counterpart, when you are ready."

She looked deeply into his eyes and saw there the determination and pride that would not let him back down from this. Though she dearly wanted to go with him, to aid him in this and to teach him to be a woman, she could also see in his eyes the desperate shame he sought to hide from her. The walls of ice were rising once more as he recovered from the pain of his failure but they were not yet high enough nor thick enough to hold back her gaze. If she came with him, she would be a constant reminder of his pain.

"You will cast a stasis spell. I can teach you how. I can survive a week without you... But for this, it might be a year or more before you achieved sufficient wholeness to cast the spell. In stasis, I will wait as long as you need. When you are ready, you could come back for me."

"I think I already know how, Lady. I did it once before. I will do this, because I must. I will go, but I swear, Lady, I will return. I will free you!"

The Pools of Sorrow

The Jusenkyo guide looked up in surprise at the brilliant flash of white light outside his hut. A young man stood there, clothed in a tight fitting black shirt that highlighted his strong musculature, and loose pants. He was tall, six foot at least. His hair was black and his eyes a deep blue. He was staring at the pools. "Honored Customer understands Mandarin, yes?" asked the guide.

The young man turned to him, "Very well, thank you, Honored Guide. Tell me please, which pool is the Nyannichuan?" The guide turned almost purple. Customers never listened to him, never heard him until after they had fallen in.

"No, no, Honored Customer, you must not go to that pool. Is very tragic story," he said quickly.

Ranma interjected, "Yes, yes, I know. Very tragic story. Now which one is it?"

The Guide sighed. Even when they listened, it did no good. He said, "Very well, Honored Customer, I see you will not listen, like all the others. Nyannichuan is this way." He led the boy on a careful path through the pools, before finally pointing to one.

He sighed and watched, as the young man set down his pack, then waded in and dunked his head. She broke the surface, brilliant red hair glistening in the sun. The Guide gulped and quickly turned away, as she rose. The shirt that had been tight on the young man was looser on her slim waist, but threatening to burst under the pressure from her chest. She looked down. "Damn," she said, feeling the unfamiliar tightness around her chest, then quickly stripped off the shirt. The Guide fainted.

Climbing out of the pool, she rummaged in her pack for a minute or two, found a looser shirt and put it on. Looking over at the Guide, laying in a pool of blood that seemed to have leaked from his nose, she lifted him easily to her shoulders, then tromped back the way she had come, focusing the Juushin Jisei to keep from accidentally falling into any of the other pools.

When the Guide came to, he was lying in his own bed, a cool cloth on his forehead, being watched by the beautiful redhead. She was nearly a foot shorter than her male side, built smaller, but still well muscled. "Sorry to put you through that," she said, her voice softer and richer than it had been as a man. He gulped again in surprise. A customer apologizing to him? That had never happened before. They were always furious with him, even though he tried as hard as he could to stop them.

"You... you knew what would happen?" he asked, his fear clear in his voice.

She laughed, a delightful sound. "Yes, I knew." She reached out and picked up a cup of hot tea from the table. He had not noticed at first, in his disorientation, but as he gratefully accepted the tea from the young woman, he saw that she had apparently cooked a simple meal of ramen, as well as making tea for him.

She stood and bowed low to him. "I thank you, Honored Guide, for your assistance. I apologize for the inconvenience I have caused you. Please accept this meal as a token of my gratitude."

Before he could respond, Ranma had vanished out the door. He needed to find a place to meditate without needing to worry about being interrupted. For a moment, he considered simply using the Juushin Jisei to fly across the pools but he discarded the idea, remembering Alana's warnings about the nearby tribes. The area was strong in martial arts and chances were good that if he flared his ki here, someone would notice. That would not be conducive to his remaining uninterrupted and if he was interrupted he could not be certain of his effectiveness. His combat skills would doubtless be hampered by the unfamiliar body. Simply walking from the pool to the Guide's hut, he had observed that his center of gravity had shifted and the extra mass on his chest was especially sensitive to the effects of inertia, which could easily throw off his balance in a fight.

Holding the Juushin Jisei at the ready to guard against a loss of balance and uncomfortably aware of the risk of using even this much ki openly, Ranma began bounding across the pools, springing from pole to pole as he crossed the valley. Several times he nearly slipped but by the time he leapt from the last pole to land on the solid ground beyond the pools, his balance in his new female form was near perfect.

Some distance away still, three young warriors raced towards the springs of Jusenkyou, towards the source of the powerful ki signature, under orders from their elder, who awaited their return at the grounds where they had been undergoing special training, some distance from their village.

---

In a small cramped cave accessible through a vertical crack in an otherwise smooth rock face, Ranma prepared to enter into meditation. Though he had, as Alana had strongly suggested, come to terms with his responsibility for his female half's imprisonment, he still felt the need for atonement. He was not bound by grief or guilt over the choices he had made. He had learned long ago, when dealing with the pain of knowing he had killed, that guilt is useful only as a tool to urge the soul to make amends. Not for many years had he allowed himself to feel guilt beyond the level of a simple acknowledgement of the wrong he had done and a recognition of what he could do to right that wrong. If he could not, then weighting himself down with guilt over it would serve no purpose.

In this situation he had felt great guilt at Alana's first words and while he had set aside that guilt as unworthy--the decisions he had made that led to the guilt had been made for the right reasons--he would nonetheless do all in his power to make amends for the results of his actions. That was one of the strongest lessons he had learned, one of the teachings that had been the most difficult at first to accept. No matter how correct the intentions or reasons behind your actions, no matter how right you had been to do what you did, it did not excuse you from facing the consequences of those actions. It was not necessary to apologize only when you had acted poorly. Even when you did the best you could possibly do, you were still responsible for the harm or ill your actions caused.

He had buried his emotions to preserve others from pain and in so doing he had created a new person. Now she was his responsibility, wholly and completely, and strange as it seemed, he had to heal that breech and become one with her, for to try and free her, as had been his first impulse, would have truly meant rejecting her, casting her aside as unworthy to be part of him.

He knelt on the floor of the cave and with swift leg sweeps, brushed aside the accumulated dust. With claws of ki he carved the floor until he had created a region that was almost perfectly flat, about twice the diameter of his body.

On this flat ground he drew a circle in chalk, the precise control necessary emphasizing in his eyes the tiny size of his fine-boned delicate hand. At the cardinal points he carefully drew the appropriate runes, then stood within the center of the circle. He reached behind his head and pulled off the small band that bound his hair. The glorious fiery tresses spilled freely in wavy curves over his slim shoulders.

Placing a prepared flask of water at a certain point in the circle, he activated the circle, which shielded his ki from detection, then activated the spell on the flask. Immediately it rose into the air, then a stream of warm water splashed him, drying immediately as the water was taken back into the flask.

His eyes flared with lambent blue flames as his attention turned inward. A splash came again, cold this time, reshaping his body once more. Ranma was a master of ki and barely ten splashes had passed before his body wavered and shifted quite suddenly without the aid of water. Three more splashes passed before warm water fell upon red hair and had no effect.

A wave of his hand canceled the spells as he... now she, dropped to the ground, pulled her small feet onto her thighs and returned to meditation. Five minutes came and went before she finally found the emotional strength to begin one of the hardest tasks she had ever faced. Within her, the walls of ice shivered. A crack appeared quite suddenly, running vertically in a sheer translucent blue face of ice. It sealed over quickly, but another crack formed a moment later, and then another.

Sweat began to bead on her delicate face as she battled within herself, fighting her instincts and habit built up over nine years. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as a sheet of ice fell away, releasing a wash of pain and shame. More ice thundered down, leaving a gaping scar in the wall, a scar that matched the one on her soul behind it, the recent and painfully fresh scar of her failure, and tears began making slow tracks down her face.

---

The guide stood at the doorway of his hut, staring across the valley of pools, the valley of sorrow, thinking of the strange young man who had come that morning and deliberately cursed himself to become a woman. She had thanked him, which the victims never did. He was generally expected to guide Nyannichuan victims to the Niechizu village, the nearest village of the Joketsuzoku, the Chinese Amazons. She had not seemed a victim though. It had been quite deliberate and she had shown no signs of stress over it during the short time he had observed her.

Not that he was any great observer of human emotions; he was used to people's reactions to being cursed though. Screaming, threats of violence, actual violence, collapsing in shock, all these things he had come to expect and understand. Cooking and making tea? That seemed more than a bit unusual. It occurred to him then, as he watched the sun pierce through the cloud cover that had recently obscured it and light up the pools, turning them into a field of liquid gold, that he had collapsed by the side of the pool and awoken in his bed. It hardly seemed creditable, given what a small girl the young man had become but she must have carried him back to the hut. She had had her backpack when she left, as well, which meant either she had made a second trip through the pools and managed to avoid the other pools all three times or she had carried both the pack and himself, and avoided all the other pools. Either way it was startling.

His attention was attracted away from the pools when he heard youthful voices. Turning to face them he saw three mouth-wateringly beautiful young Amazons leaping across the fields. The purple haired one landed just in front of him. "Which way did the warrior go?" she snapped.

The guide shivered in fear and shook his head. "I did not see," he said unhappily. Luckily for him the blue haired girl tapped the purple haired one on the shoulder.

"The ki signature leads across the pools."

He lifted a shaking hand to his brow as he watched the three beautiful and incredibly dangerous warriors race down the path that led around the cursed pools.

Lilac lost the trail when they reached a cliff-face. Shampoo and Lilac split up to walk in either direction along it, while Perfume scaled the cliff to see if the warrior had gone in that direction.

Shampoo had gone but a little ways when the sound of sobbing caught her ears. Following it led her to a cleft in the wall and the proximity told her the sound was female. A sneer crept to her lips as she considered the weakness of a warrior who would allow themselves to cry. Not that she did not feel the need of a good cry herself sometimes, but at least she... she flushed suddenly when she realized that the warrior obviously had hidden herself away, just as Shampoo would have done. Releasing her arrogance, Shampoo allowed herself to feel some sympathy for the embarrassment and shame the warrior would doubtless feel when her private cry was invaded. She had no choice though.

She gave a warbling call, like the cry of a certain bird well-known to her companions. She waited until they were in sight before slipping into the cleft to find the warrior.

Ranma was in a haze of pain and sorrow, overwhelmed by nine years of hidden and suppressed emotions, suddenly freed to torment her. Even in her unenviable condition, however, she continued to tear at the walls, to destroy the barriers in her mind. Her judgement was not at its best at the moment, though, and even as Shampoo approached, the final barriers in Ranma's mind fell, releasing the Neko-ken into her waking mind.

She had never experienced the spirit of the Neko-ken, having always fled into the darkness before it escaped. It was not the same as embracing the power of the Neko-ken, though that power did indeed fill her body and her ki even as the spirit filled her soul.

The presence of the cat brought powerful instincts that she was unused to dealing with, especially after having destroyed all of her usual coping mechanisms, so she was in no state to resist its influence. Drawing on her experience, her instincts told her that she needed comfort, needed affection.

They built on her memories, the love and comfort the women of the castle had given her contrasting with the respectful praise and guidance her mostly male trainers had doled out, telling her in no uncertain terms that only a woman would give her what she was in need of.

Shampoo stepped into the cleft and immediately her eyes were drawn to the red-haired girl glowing with lambent blue flames, tears pouring forth from her eyes but making it no further than her soft cheeks before evaporating. She had only time enough to register shock that she could actually see the girl's aura and admiration at the girl's figure and obvious strength, when a sudden and visible change swept over the girl, as she rolled forward onto her hands and knees, arching her back and stretching lightly. She gave a single playful yet tearful, soulful meow, before pouncing with a speed that gave Shampoo no time to react, sending them tumbling out of the cleft.

Shampoo rolled to a rest trying to recover her wits to defend herself, seeing from the corner of her eye her two companions approaching at a run, eyes wide, mouths open, but both prepared to strike. A deep, rumbling purr interrupted her thoughts and all three girls stared in wonder as they realized that the girl was curled in Shampoo's lap, purring like a cat, rubbing her head against Shampoo's tummy.

"I think she favors you," smirked Perfume, arching an eyebrow at her training partner and rival.

The girl butted her head imperiously against Shampoo, for all the world like a cat demanding a caress and before she had a chance to consider what she was doing, Shampoo found herself stroking the girl's unusually fiery tresses. The purr deepened. Lilac glanced at Perfume for a moment.

"She hasn't stopped purring since she rolled you, Shampoo," she commented curiously, "How's she doing that? She has to breathe, doesn't she?"

"She is breathing," replied Shampoo archly, as she continued to stroke the strangely behaving girl, for she could feel the girl's breasts pressing and receding rhythmically against her lap.

"She's... she's also crying," commented Perfume, noticing this for the first time.

"That's how I located her," responded Shampoo. "I heard her sobs."

Ranma was vaguely aware of the girls and their conversation, and wanted to talk to them, but she was too emotionally exhausted to override the cat's instincts and soon succumbed to the pleasure and the exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep on the girl's lap.

When Shampoo saw that the little girl, who was strangely light, was asleep, she tapped a shiatsu spot to help her stay that way, then lifted the girl into her arms and struggled to her feet.

Rolling her onto her back to make carrying her easier brought her face up to where the other two girls could get a better look at her. "She's beautiful," Lilac breathed, "but she acts feral. Why would a feral girl be so trusting?"

"Great-grandmother will know what to do," answered Shampoo with confidence and her companions nodded. Together they set out to return to the training grounds.

They were hardly half the way there when Shampoo stopped suddenly and her companions, halting a few moments later and turning back to look at her, saw that her burden was shifting in her arms. Shampoo was staring down at the fiery tressed girl in her arms with alarm and amazement. "I pressed her sleep point," she protested, "she can't be waking up."

Yet there was no question that that was in fact what she was doing. Perfume made a snide remark about Shampoo's imminent re-education in shiatsu at the hands of her great-grandmother, but Shampoo could see in her eyes that she was as startled as Shampoo herself. All teasing aside, they all knew that Shampoo had not missed the spot, not on an unmoving target.

The three girls were surprised and concerned when the redhead's eyes opened and tears immediately began leaking out. She meowed sorrowfully once more before shifting in Shampoo's arms, putting her own slender arms about Shampoo's neck and nuzzling her affectionately. Shampoo stared down at the girl in surprise, noting absently that in the absence of the flames the girl's eyes were still a startling shade of blue. The girl did not move again, though Shampoo could feel the hot tears trickling down her neck. She moved forward slowly and when the girl made no protest but rather pressed tighter against her, purring softly, she picked up the pace and they resumed their return journey.

They entered the clearing where they had been training to see Cologne waiting by a fire. She watched their approach in silence but with evident interest. She was mildly disappointed to see that the warrior they were returning with was female. The girl was being held by her heir, who was noticeably uncomfortable with the slight girl's open show of vulnerability and her apparent need for comfort. Shampoo was quick to attempt to disentangle the girl to present her before Cologne.

Cologne was somewhat startled when the first look that came into the girl's eyes when they fell upon the tiny, wrinkled elder was not one of fear nor disgust, but an almost predatory hunger. It faded almost instantly into a desperate sorrow that touched even her heart, however, and the girl was no sooner out of Shampoo's arms than she was behaving in the strangest and yet most disturbingly familiar manner, remaining on her hands and feet, rubbing up against Shampoo and mewling piteously, like a cat begging for attention.

"Sit, Shampoo," Cologne instructed, "I first detected her near Jusenkyou, we must test her for its waters." The moment her heir settled onto the ground, the girl was on her like an affectionate kitten, purring, distinctly purring, a continuous rumble from deep in her chest that went on and on with no apparent connection to her breathing.

She gave the elder a reproachful glance when the hot water hit her and she shook herself, an all-over shimmy that won a favoring glance from Lilac. She hissed when cold water followed and darted from Shampoo's lap to hide behind her, eyeing her little tormentor suspiciously. It was Perfume who first noticed the change the elder's behavior brought about.

"She's stopped crying," she said. Shampoo tilted her head back to see and jumped when her glance was met by a wet tongue against her cheek. The wetness was immediately rubbed away by a rush of silky hair as the feral girl rubbed her head against her protector.

At the same time, startlement and chill water had brought a temporary end to Ranma's mournful reverie, bringing her back to the present. At first she made no move to take control from the cat, feeling overwhelmingly startled at the change in her surroundings and further disoriented by the alterations in her senses.

She would have expected to have no problems there, having attained the use of the heightened senses the Neko-ken granted during her training long before but in fact there seemed no comparison. It was not that they were better, for the improvement was the same. The disorientation was rather due to the presence of the cat's instincts, linking the sights and smells into a series of identifications and behaviors.

The peculiar wrinkled old woman, looking disturbingly like the grandmaster of Ranma's former school, Happosai, smelled old and leathery and bad to eat, for all that sight labeled her prey, which together put her in the realm of chew-toys and playthings, and Ranma felt an urge to stalk her. The two standing girls smelled pleasant and nice and were classed as potential pets, toys that could be trained to pet her and cuddle her and feed her and so should be treated nicely. The sitting girl, however, smelled nicer still, for she smelled pleasant but also familiar, she was an actual pet, a proven source of cuddling and nice sensations.

Ranma was only beginning to work through these feelings and thoughts and was not yet near to attempting to regain control when a stick thrown at her triggered a defensive reaction. Her hand lashed out as she hissed in anger. The stick was sliced cleanly into five pieces, though it came no nearer than a few inches from her fingers.

Shampoo was startled by the sudden throw but was even more shocked by her great-grandmother's reaction. She had never seen fear on her great-grandmother's face before. It took her several moments before her trained mind recovered from the unexpected sight and analyzed it properly. "She's not afraid for herself," Shampoo realized, "she's afraid for me."

Cologne warned the other two girls away with her eyes then crept slowly closer to her heir, watching the blue eyes that followed her movements intently. When she was near enough she lashed out with her cane, aiming for a disabling pressure point.

The cat's reactions were fast but Ranma was accustomed to the boost the Neko-ken gave him and her trained reaction was faster still when alertly defending against a recognizable attack. Cologne was alarmed to the core of her being as she recovered in mid-air, having been thrown across the clearing by a single finger meeting her questing staff-tip, in a move she had not seen since the villainous Happosai fled their justice. She was not nearly so shocked by the unexpectedly skilled defense as by the fact that a warrior whom she had been certain was under the influence of the Neko-ken had just used a skilled technique, rather than batting at her as a cat might, which she had been prepared to defend against.

The three girls were quite simply stunned and disbelieving, unable to comprehend someone so easily defending against an Amazon elder, especially someone who looked as young as this girl, who was surely no older than they.

Cologne recovered easily, bounding back to land again by the fire, where she waited, warily watching the flame-haired girl. Staring into her blue eyes, Cologne became aware that there was a gleam of intelligence in them in spite of her feral behavior. She sat and set aside her cane. Immediately, as if perfectly aware of the significance of her actions, the girl bounded back into Shampoo's lap, purring happily, but watching Cologne closely.

Shampoo's eyes slowly lost their wide look of shock and refocused on her great-grandmother, even as the other two girls responded to Cologne's gestures by sitting near Shampoo. Ranma found herself distracted once more. She had been trying to focus on the old woman, so obviously a skilled martial artist, probably the trainer of these three girls, but the moment the cat felt the nearness of another of the potential pets, she found herself butting her head against the girl's thigh, then purring deeply as the girl responded by stroking her brilliant red hair. Shampoo joined in almost absently, stroking down Ranma's back. If Ranma had had a tail there can be little doubt that Perfume would have joined in stroking it, as they began to tell their elder what had happened.

Ranma wanted to listen to their story, once she realized what they were doing, but she found the caresses too distracting. They were so comforting, so soothing, that she soon found herself lulled to sleep once more.

Cologne listened to the tale the girls wove with patient attention and the growing sense that something was not adding up. The flash of ki that came when the redhead had slashed apart the stick was almost unnoticeable and was certainly not something that she should have felt across such a distance, so it could not account for the surge they had all felt.

The girl was unquestionably behaving in a feline manner, but she had reacted to Cologne's attack with a skilled defense. That implied a degree of intelligence belied by her having yet to say a word. She had apparently been in the depths of sorrow and sobbing like a human when she was found, yet she had reacted to Shampoo's presence in a cat-like manner. A Neko-ken warrior should not react to a sudden and unexpected presence by seeking comfort from it. Indeed, all Cologne's knowledge of them indicated that the girl should have viciously defended herself, a thought that sent a pang of fear and sorrow through the old woman's heart as she pictured the effect such an attack would have had on her unprepared heir.

Most certainly, outside of any other considerations, no Neko-ken warrior should have been willing to go to sleep in the presence of one who had attacked her.

Joketsuzoku

Ranma awoke to silence. Uncertainty kept her still and breathing evenly, showing no signs of her awakening, as she strained her senses in search of a threat. Finding none she shifted slightly as she cracked her eyes. She was in a bedroom, she realized. She winced as her skin complained about the rough weave of the sheet that covered her.

Glancing down and drawing one hand from her side up to grasp the sheet and lift it slightly confirmed that her clothing had been removed at some point. She rolled on to her side to look about the room and the feel of the cloth sent her eyes back to the sheet covering her slight form. What had they covered her with, sackcloth? Yet what met her eyes was no rough and poorly made cloth but a comfortable looking cotton sheet.

Warily she retreated within her mind, thinking that her senses must have been heightened by the presence of the cat, as the memory of the earlier events returned to her. To her surprise she realized that she could sense the cat but that it slept. Furthermore, the ki technique of the Neko-ken lay equally dormant.

Returning her attention to the room she looked about but saw no sign of her clothing. Thinking back to her memories she realized that her pack was probably still lying in that cleft in the rock face, while the clothes she had been wearing were somewhere in the hands of the women who had found her.

Instead of a logical consideration of where she was and what she should next do, Ranma found herself unexpectedly overcome by a sense of loss. She struggled against the startling strength of emotion, tears collecting in her eyes as a voice in her mind bemoaned the loss of her clothes, the absence of the soft silks that would feel so much better against her skin than the harsh cloth of the bedcoverings.

She threw off the covers in a sudden fit of anger, swinging her legs out over the edge of the bed and sitting up. The anger passed as quickly as the sense of loss had, though the tears lingered still in her eyes, and left in its place a sudden longing for the comforting arms of the girl that had held her. The sudden realization that she could no longer run through the castle halls and find comfort from Alana or Mairi or any of the other women who had always been there for him hit her hard and she sank to her knees as a terrible loneliness swept over her.

The murmur of distant voices caught her ear and she leapt to the door of the room. It was with a great effort that she held herself from rushing through the door to find the source of the voices even as she reminded herself that she was without clothing. She turned from the door, her eyes catching on the simple dresser that stood against a wall. The room was mostly empty, devoid of any personalization giving her the sense of a guestroom, but they just might have provided clothing. She was stopped by the slowly nearing voices as they came close enough to be discernable and comprehensible.

"I was startled, as you can imagine, when Perfume returned and said that the Jusenkyou Guide had indeed seen such a person come from the pools." Ranma recognized the voice as that of the old woman the girls had taken her to.

"But I thought you said that it had been voluntary?" The second voice was also female though it sounded younger and stronger.

"I think the initial change was voluntary but as she did not change when I doused her I think she must have run into the Musk and the Chisuiiton, their locking ladle. That would explain the state she was in when Shampoo found her; being locked may have made her realize that she was not as ready to be a woman as she had thought, or it may simply have been too much for her in too short a time."

"And what of the cat-fist?"

"I do not see what else it could have been, but though the child behaved in a very feline manner, she reacted to my test with a move that is not in any description of the cat-fist that I have seen. But come, we'll speak no more of it for now, we are getting over close and soon we'll be within hearing distance of the child's room."

Realizing that they were indeed coming to her room Ranma turned away from the door, ignoring the dresser for now, and climbed back into the bed. Forcing aside the rough feel of the cloth Ranma managed to scrape together enough concentration to put herself back to sleep.

Though her intent was merely to remove any suspicions the women might have of her having been able to hear them, her action had an unexpected and unintended consequence; the noise of the women entering the room awakened the cat while she still slept.

Lotion and Cologne had barely entered the room when Ranma sprang from the bed only to collapse in a heap on the floor, tangled within her sheets. Without Ranma awake to supply an overwhelming diet of emotion, the cat was not particularly interested in the people that had just entered the room. Clawing the sheets away she sat up and proceeded to lick her hand, pointedly ignoring the women.

When they refused to take the hint and leave, Ranma blurred into motion, springing out the door and down the hall, her cat self not the least bit self-conscious about her nudity, which was, after all, a cat's natural state. The women followed hurriedly behind, noting in passing the blank-eyed stare of Shampoo's father.

They burst from the house to see Cologne's heir staring open-mouthed at the little redhead, who was leaping about beneath a tree, happily swatting at falling leaves.

Seeing that they were beginning to attract a crowd, Cologne signaled Shampoo. When her heir approached, Cologne ordered her to entice the cat back inside the house. Shampoo dutifully stepped into the open doorway.

"Here kitty, come here kitty," she called. Ranma glanced at her for a moment before returning to her play. Shampoo felt a presence behind her and glanced back to see her father. She gratefully accepted the small platter of fish that he had handed her. Grabbing one of the thin slices, she tossed it, aiming carefully just as Ranma leapt again. The fish slapped wetly against Ranma's cheek then fell to the ground.

A jeering comment from one of the bystanders awoke Ranma. She was too disoriented to be feeling much of anything but she quickly realized that she was still unclothed and looking about, spied the nice cuddle toy in the door of the house several meters away. A single powerful leap sent her and Shampoo tumbling into the house. They fetched up against the far wall even as Cologne rushed back inside in fear for her great-granddaughter.

Cologne slowed then came to a halt watching as the little redhead licked Shampoo's face while Shampoo tried to fend her off, with little success. Once more Cologne received an impression of genuine skill, for the slight girl was avoiding Shampoo's defensive hands with casual unconcern.

Shampoo finally gave up trying to hold off the girl and simply looked pleadingly at her great-grandmother, while her father collapsed in laughter. Cologne shot him a dark glance but said nothing. He was not familiar with the cat-fist and she had to admit that had she not known the danger her heir was in, the scene would have been quite amusing.

When Shampoo saw that her great-grandmother was making no move to aid her she gave in and began stroking the brilliant red hair of the oddly behaving girl. She was quickly rewarded, for the girl immediately stopped licking her face, and dropped her head, rubbing it against Shampoo's belly while Shampoo stroked her hair.

Soon it was obvious that the cat-like girl was falling asleep. Both Cologne and Shampoo were startled when just after the girl's eyes finally closed into sleep, she rolled off of Shampoo's lap onto her knees and bowed low to Shampoo.

"I thank you, kind stranger," the girl said in a high, clear voice. "Please forgive my behavior, I am not quite myself."

"So I had assumed," replied Cologne. The girl swiveled to face her, raising her head to meet Cologne's gaze steadily. "Given that you have so recently suffered the curse of Jusenkyou."

The girl flushed and looked down. "It... it was not that. I... I am on a journey of self-discovery and the second step on that journey was to tear down all the barriers I had built up around my emotions." She raised her head again, her eyes azure pools of sorrow without end.

Cologne nodded. That fit with the Guide's description of a willing victim, but that also meant... "Why then, child, did you not change when I splashed you with hot water?"

The girl flushed and looked down again, obviously embarrassed. "You are right, I'm sorry, I'm still not thinking clearly. The meditation was the third... no, the fourth step, not the second."

"What's that got to do with her question?" put in Shampoo, frowning in confusion.

The girl flushed even harder. "Sorry, I... The second... no, I mean, the third step... was to master the curse... then I broke the barriers."

Cologne felt a shiver race down her spine, a cold chill that settled in her bones. "Master the curse? What do you mean, child?"

"Well," answered the girl, raising her head, eyes glistening with the hint of tears, "I can't very well learn to be a woman if I change back to a man constantly, now can I?"

"You... you have control of your curse?" Cologne's voice shook and Shampoo stared at her in amazement then turned her attention back to the little redhead.

The girl nodded. "Yes, I locked myself. I will not leave this form until I am capable of fulfilling my duty."

"Your duty?"

The girl flushed unaccountably. "I... I cannot speak of it," she said, her voice quavering, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks and drip to the floor. She bowed still further. "Please forgive me," she said, choking back a sob. "I can't..."

She seemed to curl in on herself, shivering suddenly. Before her eyes, where only she could see, hovered the image of her Lady, suspended, seemingly lifeless, in the depths of a pool waiting to be freed. "It's all my fault!" she wailed suddenly, sobbing and rocking back and forth, "all my fault," she sobbed again.

Shampoo glanced at her great-grandmother for permission and then for the first time she deliberately gathered the delicate redhead to her, comforting her as best she could, stroking the girl's fire-red hair and rubbing her strongly muscled back. She glanced up at her great-grandmother, thinking about what she had just heard. "Was boy, before?" she asked, mouthing the words. She grinned when her great-grandmother nodded. She wondered what kind of a man it took to produce such unbelievable beauty from the springs. A slow smirk grew on her face as she considered it. She had a man that none of her competitors even knew existed, a martial artist skilled enough to successfully defend against her great-grandmother while in the depths of sorrow, who, if what she had understood was correct, had mastered the curse of Jusenkyou within an hour of being cursed! And when he was ready to change back, well, then maybe she would have her Airen, and stupid Mousse would finally see that he would never have her.

"Shhh," she crooned, "it's okay, it's not your fault." She shifted slightly, pressing the girl's tear-stained cheek against her bosom. The girl had been a boy such a short time before, she would still be vulnerable to Shampoo's charms, assuredly. If she became familiar with them while Shampoo comforted her, what of it? She would remember them, when she took back her old form.

Her great-grandmother gestured at her and she nodded. Shifting, she worked her legs under her and then wormed her arms beneath the girl and lifted, rising easily to her feet. She followed her great-grandmother down the hall, but when the withered old lady turned into the guest bedroom, Shampoo shook her head and kept going. Cologne smiled knowingly as Shampoo laid her burden down upon her own bed, then pulled the silk sheets from beneath the girl and tucked them back in about her. She stroked the red hair out of the girl's face to look at it, then turned and ran back to the front room, where she spun to face her great-grandmother.

"What a man he must be!" she cried out. "I hope his eyes are that same blue."

Cologne smirked at her again. "Careful, Shampoo. You don't want your competition learning the truth about her, now do you?"

Shampoo shook her head, eyes sparkling as she pictured her handsome soon-to-be husband. "No, but don't you have something that can show me what he looks like?"

Cologne hmmed, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "I am not sure, Shampoo. Perhaps. It will take some time to find, if I do... in the meantime, you must care for the child. She needs affection while she is learning to deal with her changes. Keep her inside or, if that becomes impossible, make sure she is clothed before she leaves. She does not need additional trauma from some foolish male who believes that outsiders have no rights."

Shampoo nodded and hurried back to her bedroom. The redhead was not asleep as Shampoo had expected. Her eyes were red from tears but they had stopped falling and she was sitting up, watching the door. She offered Shampoo a hesitant smile, which strengthened when Shampoo responded with a strong smile of her own.

"No worries, we will help you," she said, flouncing over to her dresser and pulling out a drawer. "But first, since you are awake," and she tossed a grin and a wink over her shoulder at the other girl, "we should get you dressed. You don't need to have worry about jealous women coming after you because you turned their husbands into drooling wrecks with another show like this morning's." She smirked as she drew out panties and a bra and tossed them to the bed, waiting for his reaction, which she expected to be amusing. Men could be so fun to tease.

After a moment she turned around, pouting involuntarily, to see the little redhead already wearing the panties. Her grin returned as she watched the neo-girl struggling with the bra. It snapped and the girl jumped with a yelp then glared at the offending garment. Shampoo giggled and bounced over, taking it from her and showing her how to put it on properly, taking the opportunity to rub her bosom against his arm. She knew she needed to catch his attention and his attraction before he grew accustomed to his female hormones. She was not planning on letting any chances of snaring this man pass unheeded, unless Cologne found a way to show her his male form and it turned out to be ugly. That was so unlikely as to not even be worth considering.

Stepping back and looking at the result--the blushing and embarrassed redhead, clad in panties and a bra, her lithe, powerful form otherwise fully displayed, Shampoo thought about Perfume's earlier comment. Maybe waiting was not really necessary. Learning that she was actually a man had led to a frank reappraisal of the girl as husband material. It was not difficult to take that a step further and consider the girl as a lover. Definitely something to think about, Shampoo decided. It might well cement her hold.

"Shampoo?" The shy question brought Shampoo's attention back to the here and now and she fought back a blush as she realized that she had been staring. She nodded as if she had simply been making a decision, and turned to her dresser, pulling out a silk cheongsam and silk pants to wear beneath it.

"Here, I think these will fit you," she said, holding out the garments with a smirk. The little redhead did not rise to the bait. She rose from the bed in silence and taking the clothes, began to put them on. Shampoo sighed as she moved to help the girl put them on properly. It would be more fun if she realized she was being teased, or at least reacted to it. How can she be so stoic about it, when she was so emotional before?

When the girl was properly attired, she sat back down on the silk sheets of Shampoo's bed. Shampoo sat beside her. "So, do you have a name? Or should I just call you Little Redhead, hmm?"

The girl blushed, looking down. "Sorry about that," she apologized, then paused as if considering what name to give.

"Worry about a girl's name later," Shampoo laughed, guessing her quandry, "What is your given name?"

"Ranma," the redhead replied. "Fey Ranma."

"Xiao," Shampoo said, "Spirited Horse... or Chang Ma, maybe... but I don't know what Fey means."

"But it's still a guy's name," protested Ranma softly, smoothing out a wrinkle in her cheongsam as if to emphasize her current femininity, though the gesture was perhaps marred by the way it widened the thigh high slit, revealing the concealing silk pants beneath.

"We could call you Lie Fa," Shampoo offered, "Fiery Hair is close enough to little redhead, don't you think?"

Ranma nodded, raising her head and grinning, and though her eyes were still reddened from the tears she had shed earlier, they were dry, and sparkling with amusement. "That'll do, I guess, Shampoo. Thanks." Then she sighed, her shoulders hunching in as she clutched her elbows. "I... uhm... I kinda didn't wake up until just before I jumped on you out there... Would... would you mind telling me what I did? I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

Shampoo shook her head slowly, not knowing what to make of Leaf's curious statement. "No, you just ran out of the bedroom, outside, until you got distracted by the leaves falling from a tree, and started batting at them."

Ranma, now Leaf, breathed out a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad. I hate waking up from that, never knowing what I've done, whether I've killed . . ." Her voice trailed off, her eyes becoming shadowed and unfocused. A chill ran down Shampoo's spine, as she considered Leaf's words. It sounded to her like Leaf had, at least once, awakened to discover she had killed someone.

Shampoo knew, from her lessons, that her first kill of another person, which she had not yet made, would have a profound effect on her. Everyone spoke in hushed, pained tones of their first, and she had seen the effect it had on one of the girls two years ahead of her, though generally the girls going through that trauma were brought quickly and silently into the village and isolated from their unblooded peers until they were emotionally balanced again.

She remembered the fear for her she had seen in her grandmother's eyes several times around Leaf, as well as Leaf's curious words. She had clearly been awake from the moment she left her room, so what did it mean when she said she woke up just before she had pounced on Shampoo like a cat on a mouse?

She felt a presence behind her and glanced over her shoulder. Her great-grandmother was in the doorway, balanced on her staff, looking at Leaf with what looked startlingly like compassion in her eyes.

"You know the Neko-ken," Cologne said, stating it as a fact.

Leaf nodded, raising one hand and looking at it with a strange expression in her eyes. "Yes, I know it. I had mastered it, years ago, mastered the fear and been able to use the technique at will, the spirit of the cat kept locked within no matter what happened." She sounded contemplative, as if she were speaking more to herself than to anyone else that might be hearing her. "But when I tore down the walls of ice in my mind, my emotions were too much. I think I lost myself for a while there. Whatever the reason, I broke the barriers around the cat, as well."

She looked up then, meeting Cologne's eyes. "I don't think I'm terribly dangerous that way right now, though. I'm not sure, but..." She heaved a sigh again. "I think, maybe, that the cat's reputation is partly due to the way it only got let out after a bout of intense fear. Right now, it is like it is just sleeping, and waking, not quite in sync with me."

"It woke up first," Shampoo interjected, not knowing a tithe of what her great-grandmother knew about the Neko-ken, but able to put Leaf's words together with what she herself had observed to come quite close to understanding, "that's what you meant when you said you didn't wake up until you jumped on me... and when I," she blushed unaccountably, looking at the top of Leaf's head to keep from meeting her great-grandmother's gaze, "when I stroked your hair, it put the cat to sleep, not you."

"Only because I was trying to stay awake, I think," Leaf replied. She looked at Cologne. "When we're both awake, it's like... it's like the cat's thoughts are on top of me, or underneath mine." She flushed. "The cat...," her eyes dropped unwilling to meet Colognes as she continued, "the cat thinks of you like a toy, Cologne-san... uhm... inedible, but fun to play with." Shampoo giggled, putting her hand to her mouth and glancing at Cologne as if fearing retribution, but unable to stop herself.

"And Shampoo?" Cologne asked, setting aside her irritation at the redhead's characterization of her in favor of her own concern and curiousity about her great-granddaughter's safety around the redhead. Promising though the child might be as both a martial artist, and a marriage prospect for Shampoo, if her great-granddaughter was in genuine danger, she would do whatever it took to ensure her safety.

Leaf's flush deepened and she snuck a glance at Shampoo before looking down again. "Uh... it uh... kinda thinks of her like a pet... someone to cuddle and stroke it."

Cologne cackled as both girls' faces flamed.

---

A tremor ran through the photograph in Cologne's hand and it was only the old woman's iron will that kept tears from her eyes. "Oh, my poor Shampoo," she thought sadly, "this will devastate her." There was no choice though, no alternative. The law was as clear as the photograph. The beautiful and skillful and delightfully easy to teach girl that Cologne had taken into her home was not only in fact a male, as they already knew... she was a werecreature. A weretiger, from the looks of it.

"I should have pushed that change in the laws through when I first learned of the werecheetahs, and their ideals. Not all were-creatures are evil, and I knew it. If I had only... but it is too late now. I am so sorry, my child." Cologne said nothing aloud but raised her eyes from the picture and passed it to the elder to her left.

She offered no reaction to the gleeful, malicious look of her primary political rival amongst the council. There was little doubt in her mind who to blame for this. She did not know who had taken the photograph but there was little doubt in her mind that the original accusation stemmed from Mousse, the frequent victim of Shampoo's protective instincts for Ranma, and Ranma's for Shampoo.

When the last elder held the photograph in her hand, Cologne's rival did not waste any time on asking for a concensus. The lack of an objection from Cologne had already sealed Ranma's fate, and they both knew it. She moved immediately on to the next piece of her plot.

"The accusation has been made," the elder said, calming her face to at least the appearance of disinterested objectivity, "that the warrior, Shampoo, has already fallen under the influence of the vile beast, coming to love it by its arts."

Cologne shook with fury but said nothing, already knowing what was coming and knowing too that there was little now that she could do about it. "I am sorry, Shampoo," she thought sadly.

"Therefore let that warrior prove herself by dispatching the beast before the assembled council!"

---

Shampoo stared at her grandmother in abject horror and disbelief. "No, no, it cannot be," she protested. "She is kind, and..."

Her grandmother cut her off. "You must make no protests, child. We have no choice now. If you defend her, they will only see it as evidence that they are correct, that you are in her thrall and must be exiled yourself."

Shampoo opened her mouth and shut it again, her eyes wide, her hands trembling. Finally she gave a tremulous nod.

When the elders gathered, they found Cologne and Shampoo already in the werebeast's room, Cologne just stepping back from having placed one of the Amazon's artifacts on the delicate redhead's stomach. A small jade figurine, when activated by a trickle of ki, it would paralyze anyone that touched it except the one who charged it, and would not accept a new charge until it fully drained, after several weeks.

When the elders were fully assembled, one of them stepped forward, holding out on hands covered by a single cloth, a sword of surpassing beauty, gleaming silver. Shampoo recognized it at once, from their legends. It was a weapon of power, wielded in times of demon resurgences by the strongest warrior of their people. She accepted it with no sign of emotion, but inwardly she was weeping, for it was also a blade of judgement. Against demons, it would cast them back into the pits. Against a normal opponent, so it was said, it would cast out their soul, removing them from the cycle of reincarnation and ascendance, sentencing them to wander as spirits.

Cologne stepped forward then, tapping a tsubo to bring the child to full consciousness. Reaching out, knowing that Ranma could not move, she gently brushed the girl's eyelids, opening her eyes so that she could face her accusers, even though she would be given no opportunity to present a defense.

She stepped back and another crone moved forward, holding a scroll, from which she read in a thin, high voice. "Outsider, evidence has been presented proving you to be a werebeast. Know that for such an accursed creature to cross the boundaries of our land, there is only one punishment." She looked up with a wicked smile. "Death!"

Ranma could not see everyone in the room, being unable to move her eyes. It was with shock and sudden despair that she saw Shampoo step into her vision bearing a sword, her face stoic, showing no signs of distress. She wanted to cry out to her. "You know me, Shampoo! I'm your friend, I'm not some beastly thing like Krall! It's just a technique." But she could say nothing.

Ranma stared up her eyes burning, tears of disbelief and pain collecting. How could they so easily believe this of her? Did the friendship she had offered mean nothing? She tried to summon up the energy to destroy them, thinking that a single unfocused burst of ki should probably undo whatever pressure point they used to freeze her. She might not make it out alive, knowing the years upon years of experience held by the ancient warriors facing her, but she could take some of them with her at least.

She could not find it in herself, though, to harm Shampoo nor Cologne, both of whom she had come to love as family. She could scarcely credit that they were going along with this, but she knew of Krall, and what he had done to her people. If they had been similarly treated by werebeasts... she wondered how it would have felt if Krall had been a trusted advisor when his depradations were uncovered, and imagined they must be feeling no less pain right now, no less a sense of betrayal. She gave herself over to the coming death, resigning herself to it with the realization that at least her beloved Alana would finally be freed.

She tried but failed to catch Shampoo's eyes, for her own would not move to meet them. "At least, then," she decided, "let me make it easier for her, for she has not seen it."

The collected elders gasped as one, as even as Shampoo's sword pierced into Ranma's breast, slicing cleanly through on a hard thrust that would spear her heart, she grew, swelling into a felinoid form, causing the sword to cut a gash down her chest, ending with it piercing her stomach. The jade statue shivered and toppled. Even as the elders rushed forward to prevent the beast's escape, two things occurred simultaneously. Ranma's soul was ripped out, cast from his body, and the flare of ki at the unexpected pain cutting beyond his physical body triggered the next stage. They stared in aghast wonder at the lifeless body of the slain female dragon, realization coming all too late.

Shampoo lost it then, staring at the unbelievably beautiful body of the one that should have been her husband, blatantly more powerful than any male brought into the tribe in the last century, now lifeless, dead at her hand. She threw herself across it, sobbing uncontrollably. Cologne's face turned grim as her rival saw her advantage waver and vanish like mist.

---

Ranma's spirit was torn from her body with terrible force. She finally came to rest, her spiritual flesh seeming to hang in rents from her battered frame, only a few feet from an unimprinted spring in Jusenkyou. Even as she struggled to stand upright, she could feel the waters pulling at her, eager to take her, to imprison her forever. Shivering in fear and pain, she stumbled away, avoiding the water solely by the hungry feel of it, shambling through a white haze that obscured everything.

"I'm dead," she muttered in dismay. "So why does it hurt so much?" She stumbled, a cold metallic chill freezing her skin, pain radiating from ragged cuts and bone-deep bruises. An ominous clanking sound echoed her fall and she stared down at herself. Her eyes widened, filling with tears, as her hands slowly rose to clasp the frigid chains that wrapped around her, searing her skin with a cold beyond that of ice or snow. For the barest instant she had hope that this was merely some form of punishment, but as her eyes followed their course, she could see the chains vanishing into the distance.

"I'm dead, she should be free!" she screamed, pounding her fist against the ground. She grabbed at the chains and tried to pull them away then screamed in agony as they reacted, freezing her hands. The pain was intense beyond anything she could remember. Screaming still, she jerked back and her hands shattered like fragile crystal. She stared at the white on white stumps, her voice failing her, and she collapsed in a dead faint.

Spiritual Journey

Not yet posted.