Journey's End


They rose with the dawn, and ate a simple meal of cooked grains,
supplemented by some sweet ripe fruits. Beorn wondered again where his
Lord could be obtaining such succulent fresh fruits and vegetables from.
When he asked, he was nonplussed by Fey's simple reply. "The kitchen
gardens and the orchards, of course." Of course, where else? 

That morning, after traveling for two and a half hours, they saw in the
middle distance the walled towers of a city. Ranma turned to his Lady.
"Are we headed there?" 

"We are, Lord Fey," she replied.

He huffed at her. "Why do you keep calling me that?" 

"It is your title."

"Yeah, I know. But I have a name, and you know it."

"Yes, but you have not told it to Beorn. It is not my place to reveal
your secrets, Lord Fey."

"What's so bloody secret about my name? Alright, fine, if that's what's
making you behave like this. Beorn, my name's Ranma, and I'd prefer you
both use it." He huffed again, and continued walking to the city. 

Beorn looked a bit non-plussed, but followed in silence. His Lord wanted
him to use his given name? Oh well. If it was his Lord's will, then so
he would do. Lord Ranma didn't sound too bad, anyhow. Certainly an
unusual name. He wondered whether it meant something.

The road became steadily more crowded as they approached the city, and
passed numerous crossroads. Several times they were forced to step
quickly to the side to avoid the passage of a noble's carriage. Beorn
was of a mind to insist on the same rights for his Lord, but the Lady
touched her hand lightly to his arm, and looked into his eyes. "Ranma
does not wish the attention, Beorn. He was not born a Lord, and is
uncomfortable with the role." 

Beorn eyed her, then nodded dumbly. Not born a Lord... of course not.
Nobody was born a Lord... they inherited it upon the death of the old
Lord. Then he realized, combining her words with a comment his Lord had
made during the fight with Lord Ereth. She meant he wasn't born a noble.
Somehow, when he killed Lord Fey, he came into his title. No wonder he
treated them like equals... but no, that didn't explain his attitude to
the Lady. He didn't seem in the least in awe of her. If anything, the
devotion in his eyes when he looked at the Lady was tinged not with awe
but with sadness, as if she were a beautiful bird, trapped in a golden
cage. 

They passed through the gates without difficulty, and entered a large
marketplace. The Lady said they should get rooms at an inn before moving
on, and led them briskly through the marketplace. She paused suddenly,
when she realized that Ranma had stopped. He was standing at a
glass-smith's cart, staring at a crystal rose. She went over to him. 

The vendor, an old woman, wrinkled but still standing tall, and with
the appearance of one who was once beautiful, spoke up. "You like the
rose, child? There is a story about it. Many long years ago, a great
sorcerer fell in love with a beautiful dragon in human form." 

Ranma started, staring at the Lady, who wore a bemused expression. "He
gave her a rose like this one, as a token of his love. But his rose was
not just crystal, like this one. It was crystal, but it was alive too,
and every month, the rose would blossom, and then its petals would fall,
and finally the bud too would fall, and then a new one would grow until
it blossomed." 

"I know," he said softly, "I've seen it." 

"What do you mean, child?," the vendor asked sharply. "There was only
ever the one crystal rose..." Then she realized what he must mean,
and the anger left her voice. "Ah, you mean you've seen a rose like
this one before, and heard the story? I am sorry for telling you what
you have already heard."

"No, no," Ranma protested, "I've seen the rose you spoke of." His eyes
held the Lady's. Tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks. "It sits
alone in a crystal vase in a locked, walled garden in the grounds of my
castle. Its petals are blood-red, and the water in the pool beneath its
stand is full of them, hundreds upon thousands of petals. But the Lady
it was given to never goes to look at it."

The vendor looked peeved. How dare this young sprout mock her story.
"Don't tell me such stories, boy. The Lord of Fey castle is...," but she
was interrupted by the soft voice of the Lady.

"Dead. The Lord you speak of is dead, and Lord Fey speaks the truth. I
have not been to that walled garden since the day he died."

The vendor gasped in awe, and dropped to her knees, bowing her head to
the ground. "I'm sorry, Lord Fey, Lady. Please forgive me. I meant no
harm."

"It is alright, please, stand up." Ranma insisted. She stood slowly,
looking at the Lady with awe and sorrow in equal measure in her eyes.
Ranma turned back to the Lady. "Perhaps, dear Lady, it is time you had
another rose to look upon." Ranma gathered his ki, and thinking back,
picturing the twists and turns of the magic that he had seen in the
original crystal rose, bound the threads and strands together, trapping
some of his ki within it, and plucked from the air a white crystal rose
in full bloom, and bowing, handed it to the Lady. "Take this, my Lady,
as a token of my word. I _will_ free you from your bondage." 

The vendor gasped in awe, and the Lady reached out her delicate hand and
took the rose, tears still falling silently from her eyes. She reached
out and held Ranma to her for a long minute. "Thank you, my Lord and my
love."

Ranma turned to the vendor, and looked at her with stern eyes. She 
shivered under his youthful gaze. "You reawakened my Lady's pain with
your story." His voice had grown suddenly hard and cold. She quaked
before him, fearful her life had reached its end. 

His young voice became suddenly soft and sweet. "And thus you gave me an
opportunity to ease it. I thank you." 

Again he gathered the magic bonds, but twisted them in a different way,
and did not trap his ki, though he used it to guide the threads, and he
plucked from the air a second rose, whose petals alternated between red
and white. 

"Take this, with my blessing. Its petals will not fall. But when a
couple comes to you, let them both touch it. If the petals turn red,
then you know they are in love. Pluck the blossom from the stem, and
sell it to them, and another will grow in its place. And if one alone
come to you, and ask for the story, tell them all, and then let them
touch it, and if it turn white, then know that their heart is pure, and
sell them the blossom." 

He bowed to her again, and they turned and left, leaving her with a
fortune in her hands, gaping after them.

The Lady looked at him, hiding her emotions behind a veil of curiosity.
"That was a most impressive speech, Ranma. Will the bloom truly do what
you say?"

"Certainly," he replied. "It was a simple thing to remove the single
strand that caused the petals to fall. Beyond that, adding a simple
resonance to touch was easy, I just sort of made it sensitive to ki. I
guess it would have been harder if I hadn't gained such a mastery of my
ki when I learned the Tai Chi Chuan."

"Indeed. Your mastery of both ki and magic makes you quite formidable,
and equally unusual." Her words were complimentary, but calmly and
baldly stated. Inside, she was struggling to hide her true astonishment.
Once more he had truly surprised her. It was extremely rare, of course,
for someone to learn magic as easily as he did. He could often replicate
her feats after a single observance, something veritably unheard of. She
had realized that it was his ki abilities that let him so easily dispel
magic, and had suspected it played a part in his amazing ability to
duplicate her effects so easily. 

Yet she had never imagined that he would so easily be able to not only
replicate, but extend and innovate upon a magic whose casting he hadn't
even been able to witness! Many were the wizards and sorcerers who could
go no further than reproducing effects they were painstakingly taught,
or learned from aging manuscripts and scrolls. Few indeed were the
gifted individuals who could truly create new spells. Yet Ranma had
understood and replicated a spell over a hundred years old simply by
observing the after-effects of its casting, then immediately, and with
no real time to plan or study, taken it in a new and unique direction.

Further, she knew that at the time it was cast, it had been a major
effort for Lord Fey, taking him several months, and leaving him weak and
drained. Ranma had cast it for the first time with a wave of his
fingers, from an at the least several week old memory of the original,
then done it again, in a different fashion a few moments later, and
showed no signs of strain. It hadn't looked hard for him at all. 

She felt a momentary shiver of fear. Maybe she should insist he give up
on freeing her? No, she couldn't, and he wouldn't. Yet for him to
succeed, he would have to be able to see the female principle... She
felt again that sensation of fear. If Ranma, with his spectacular ease,
were to see both the warp and woof of the tapestry of existence, would
anything be beyond him? It was a very good thing they were going to see
her sister. The thought of someone with that much power, insane, was
terribly frightening. She also realized the importance of never teaching
anyone the combination of skills that gave him this frightening power
over their reality.

---

A week and a half later, they were making their way, much more slowly,
up the slope of a mountain. At the Lady's insistence, they set up camp
well before nightfall, and built a large fire. Beorn was worried they
would attract bandits, until the Lady told them they were getting close
to her sister. "It is very unwise to surprise a dragon. We must be
obvious in our approach, so that she has time to study us. If you get to
close to a dragon, before she has decided you are potentially not a
threat, she will attack with her full fury, just to be sure." She smiled
benignly at Beorn, who just cringed. Not even Ranma's excellent cooking
soothed him this night, knowing that they were exposing themselves to
attack, precisely so that a dragon would notice them.

Arkus was no longer watching them. They had passed into the domain of an
elder dragon, and he could not risk catching her notice. He was driven
to distraction, however, by his curiosity. What could they possibly
want to go there for? Were they actually going to meet the dragon? Or
perhaps there was something else in the region, that they were seeking.
Facing a dragon would be foolhardy, even for the new Lord Fey, and this
dragon had not been responsible for any recent depredations, that he was
aware of, nor was it known to be guarding any particular priceless
artifact.

Arkus was spending many sleepless nights, fretting over their 
incomprehensible behavior. They had taken on that worthless man that had
been Ereth's prey as a companion, and even he had come to damn near
worship the boy, in spite of Arkus' coaching. He should have been
suspicious enough to resist. Was this possibly the form the boy's gift
had taken? There were no answers, only more questions.

The next day, the small group trekked higher, and again they stopped
early, and built a large fire. This time, Ranma brought out his golden
flute, and poured his heart into it, trying to calm himself, and find
his emotional center, before he was forced to face his own fears.
Ranma's senses were stretched to their limit, so he was the first to
notice the stealthy approach. It took his mind only a moment to put
together the clues, and recognize the panther for what it was. Almost
the same moment his extended senses registered 'CAT!' they responded,
'no, dragon'. He could feel his fear curling in his belly, and
deliberated half-lidded his eyes, focusing his attention on the
ki-dragon winding around the lithe form.

Beorn yelped when a sudden blue blur sailed over the fire and past him.
Ranma simply watched the silky panther, with a coat the color of a dusky
sky, and kept playing. But now he was playing to the cat, a light air
that seemed to sing of butterflies, and sunshine. The cat growled, low
and deep, refusing to be influenced, and Ranma returned to a more
serious air. The panther eyed him for a long minute more, then turned
and padded to the Lady. The Lady reached out, and took the panther's
head in her hands. 

"This is foolish, my sister. Ranma's fear is not a plaything. It has a
terrible power." The cat just grinned, and lay its head in her lap. A
moment later, she was a gorgeous blue haired woman, wearing a tight
bodysuit, a rippling midnight blue, her head still in her sister's lap,
staring up at her eyes.

"Its been far too long, my sister. You know I would have come for you,
and killed that fool Lord, had you only asked."

"I could not ask it, and you know it well, sister my love. And I will be
wroth with you if you kill him now." She lazily stroked her sister's
blue hair. 

Suddenly the blue haired woman stood, and in a flash, she was seven feet
tall, and wearing blue armor. She scooped her sister up into her arms,
and silenced Ranma's cry of dismay with a glare. "You've had her to
yourself for too long, boy. She'll be close enough, have no fear for 
her. But tonight, she's mine. We have a lot of catching up to do." Ranma
remained tense and ready, until he saw the Lady's elegant arms rise up
to drape around her sister's neck, and hold loosely, Then he bowed
deeply to them, as the blue-armored figure leapt into the air, and away.
He sat again, and returned to playing his flute.

In a high tower of her hidden castle, Alana's sister lay her gently on a
bed, and pulled up a padded chair beside her. Alana looked at her. "What
would you have done, Sylie, if he had succumbed to the fear?"

"I would have killed him."

Alana choked back a sob, "No, Sylie, you mustn't. I love him!"

"I know you do. But I understand the workings of the spell. It can't
bind to a dragon. As long as he lives, you risk his death, and being
bound to another. If I were to kill him you would be free of your bonds,
completely."

"No," Alana sighed softly, "I wouldn't."

"What do you mean?," cried her sister. "I have seen the magic... it has
not changed. Why wouldn't you be free?" Her sister was visibly upset.
She had half-planned on failing to free the boy of his fear, and being
forced to kill him in self-defense... now her plan was in danger.

"I love him, Sylie. I love him with a love that goes far beyond what
that damned spell made me feel for Fey. I love him, Sylie, as a mother
loves her son. He makes me so proud. You should have seen him, Sylie,"
she said, sitting up and taking her sister's hands. "Facing up to Lord
Roga and beating him by fighting him to exhaustion, then refusing to
kill him... happily accepting blindness for three months, because I
asked it of him... Facing Lord Ereth and his Huntsman and hounds, and
winning without injuring a single one of them. And Sylie, in
Wintersdark, you remember the old lady that sells the crystal roses?" 

"Yeah. I never liked them making money off your love and your pain like
that... but I've bought a few of them. They helped me remember you," and
tears were in her eyes now, glistening drops of liquid gold, "remember
why you left me."

"Well, she told him the story, like she tells everyone. And he tells her
he's seen it. That's the first time I realized he had found the locked
garden. It shouldn't have surprised me, I guess. I know he can jump that
high easily. He knew right away who the story was about. And then,
Sylie, after he told her he had seen it, and described it, and told her
I never went and looked at it again, he gave me this!" Alana pulled
out the white rose.

"My word! Did he create it on the spot?" she asked in wonder.

"He did... from a several week old memory of the end result, he created
this white rose with a flick of his fingers, Sylie. You remember how
exhausted Fey was after he made me the red rose, don't you, Sylie? Ranma
just turned, and did it again. He gave that old lady a ki-sensitive
rose, whose blossom would never fall on its own, with red and white
petals, that he says will turn red if touched by two people in love, and
white if touched by one person pure of heart. He created that spell, a 
ki-sensitive spell, not two moments after casting the original spell the
first time! And it didn't strain him in the least, Sylie. He mastered
one of the martial arts from his world, Sylie, in three months, and took
it beyond what these withered old men could do, men who had spent their
lives studying it! He took their art, and thought about it, and used it
to teach himself to fly."

"That little stripling can fly?"

"Indeed, he can. He's been my wings ever since. He mastered the Shining
Darkness in five days, Sylie. I think that's why he didn't go crazy when
you barged in on us like that. He must have been focusing on the dragon
in your aura."

"Alright, enough already. You can stop extolling the virtues of your
son, now, Alana. I'll help him, and I won't hurt him. But I don't want
to hear another word about him. I want to talk about you and me, now.
We've missed far too much of each other's lives, Alana."

"I know, Sylie. I know."