Kliza turned and directed a sharp glare at her younger brother. "Don't mince words with me, Laermornan." Her voice dripped with scorn for her inferior. "You had a reason for asking what orders were given to Distanfae and it was more than mere curiousity. I sensed fear in you when you asked. You know as well as I that he's had that rune sword for two years, and that quicksilver golem for six months. There's been no secret made of Matron Vitrue's having ordered him to produce a new rune weapon for her. Why so curious, little brother?" There was no affection in the words of the dark-skinned beauty, only malice, suspicion, and scorn.
Laermornan's dark face flushed with fear and an anger he dared not express. He stared at the floor, his face partially concealed by his long white hair, unwilling to meet her eyes. "Because I know my brother, Kliza. To give him leeway with his orders is dangerous."
Kliza's eyes flashed. "So jealous of the second-boy's stature in our mother's eyes, are you? Do you truly think Distanfae would dare betray our mother?" Kliza's hand flashed out, grasping Laer's shirt and pulling him to stare into her beautiful, deadly face. "I don't want to hear of this again, Laermornan. Your jealousy has gone quite far enough."
Laermornan wanted to protest further but dared not. Inwardly he wondered. What would Matron Vitrue do to Distanfae if he was right? It was but the merest rumour he'd heard, but if in truth Distanfae had been ordered to make a rune weapon without their traditional limitations, they could all be in for terrible danger. After all, was not the ability to be controlled by another a limitation?
---
"Surely you see this is madness? Do not do this, Distanfae!" Laermornan Vitrue's dark face was flushed with fear and anger beneath his long white hair as he stared at his younger brother. "I warned you against pursuing these foolish studies of human magics! They've led to madness before, you know this! You must build in controls for the Matron!"
Laer paused in his pacing to direct a pleading gaze at his brother, who lounged in the comfortable chair placed near the easel on which the remnants of diagrams and scrawls could still be seen. The chair's purpose there had confused Laermornan when Distanfae first brought him to the room and began to explain his plan. It became clear though, when Distanfae retreated to it upon Laer's interruption. Distanfae seemed curiously unaffected by his sibling's discomfiture, merely watching him with a cool, calculating smile.
With a visible effort, Laermornan broke off his tirade, focusing his attention once more on his smirking brother. When he spoke again, it was in a calmer and quieter tone. "You must realize that you are not the first to attempt such a thing?"
"Of course, dear brother. I am not so foolish as you seem wont to think me." His voice held a silent warning that Laer interpreted easily enough. Distanfae was quietly warning Laer that his words of madness were coming dangerously close to insult.
Laermornan sighed then nodded slowly, resuming his seat even as Distanfae rose. He waved one hand wearily, gesturing for his brother to continue, though every word that came from his brother's mouth was confirming the fear he had been forbidden to speak further of.
"Thank you. Now, as I was saying, I have found the means to create a weapon that is indestructible..."
Laer groaned inwardly but couldn't help interrupting. "Surely you mean virtually indestructible, brother; nothing is completely indestructible. I may be a warrior and not a wizard but that does not make me a fool. Any sword can be broken, no matter how strong the spells that are on it. It is simply a matter of how much force is required."
His brother actually stopped and graced him with an appraising look followed by a wry smile. "Indeed, brother, you are correct. However, there is documentary evidence of weapons of this particular variety that the gods themselves have sought to destroy and yet failed. I suppose that as you say, they cannot be truly and completely indestructible. Let us say then that there exists no known force powerful enough to cause their destruction."
Laermornan's eyes widened. "If what you say is true, Dist, then how is it that these humans have not conquered all the world?"
Distanfae smiled humourlessly. "Indeed. That was one of my first avenues of research. First, let me state that my materials for this work come not from this world nor even this dimension." He smirked at his brother's clueless expression. "Let me put it this way. The humans who created these things are not from this plane of existence. Furthermore, while the magic that I have is human in basis, humans are not the true creators here. They have merely adapted the creation of vastly more powerful evil races in the plane from whence my information comes. More to the point, these evil races do, in fact, rule nearly all that is in that plane.
"However, my research has also indicated that the primary point of failure here is that while the weapon may be indestructible, the wielder is not. Furthermore, the creation of these weapons involves the capture and permanent imprisonment of a powerful soul, which hardly gives the weapon a strong reason to protect its creator.
"Indeed, it seems that these weapons often do not reach their full potential until they come across a wielder who fits with their personality... much like more ordinary intelligent magical weapons."
Laer idly fingered the tassels on the arms of his chair as he contemplated his brother's words. "Am I to understand then that you have thought of a solution to these complications?" Perhaps his brother was not so foolish as he had feared.
His brother's face seemed to be lit from within as his excitement broke through the emotionless shell he ordinarily displayed. "Precisely! Allow me to explain. You are aware of the existence of the quicksilver demon?"
"The ones that a recent exploring party was nearly destroyed by? Yes... although I thought there was some question as to whether they might not have been golems, left over guardians from some long ago wizard." Laer was careful not to reveal the extent of his knowledge about them, nor that he knew already that Distanfae had acquired one.
"Oh, yes, Laermornan, there was considerable question about those. It might surprise you to know that I managed to obtain one. They are neither demons, as has been the popular supposition, nor are they golems. They are a form of living metal, constrained in human form and infused with an elemental spirit."
Laer raised his eyebrows. "I thought you said they weren't golems? I thought that a golem was something inanimate with an elemental spirit bound to it?" He might not be capable of making one, but Laer was a trained warrior; he had fought golems before and had learned of them in the warrior's school.
Distanfae shrugged. "There are certain subtle distinctions between elementals and golems but they aren't really important. The point is that after I negated the spells that created it, I had a living metal. Not intelligent, mind, but aware. It is capable of behaving like a liquid, taking on the shape of its container. It is also capable of retaining solid form. Furthermore, it can mimic forms. I am sure that whoever discovered it found it perfect for creating cheap golems, since it can take a more precise form than the best carver or silversmith could give you.
"I've run a number of tests, including summoning elementals into the metal. Without a constraining spell, the metal can be shaped by the will of the spirit within, or even by the will of one merely touching it, if it has no spirit. It will also absorb other metals, as if consuming them. With proper coaxing, it will absorb other things as well.
"That has given me the answer, elder brother, for with what I have left of the living metal and a supply of mithril and adamantite, I will create an indestructible weapon that can change its form and can wield itself."
Laermornan shook his head doubtfully, not noticing that his reaction had caused his brother to palm a poisoned dart. "Wield itself? Surely the first Matron it attacks will simply banish it to another plane and then where will we be? Granted that a weapon that wields itself is less danger to you, for it is not obvious to whom its attack should be attributed, but the Matrons will doubtless have spells to handle tracking the controller of such items. I do not see how this can work. If your attempt displeases our Matron you will not long live."
"Too bad," his brother sighed, flicking his wrist. He watched his brother collapse. "But I can't take the chance that you'll speak of this. If you can't be convinced, then you'll simply have to forget."
With that he set to casting the spells that would ensure his slumbering brother would forget all about this little conversation.
---
Ranma rose from his steaming corpse where it lay against the cold wood of the dojo. Nabiki and Kasumi, to his surprise, had tried to convince his mother that he must have done all that could have been done, but she was adamant. No man amongst men would ever allow his fiancee, family, and friends to be slain, even if he did slay their killer.
He wanted to go to the grieving girls but knew there was nothing he could do for them now. He was a failure. He was no man. He deserved the curse that had been placed on him, for he had failed everyone.
He hung his head in shame and sadness, unable to bear to look any longer upon the anguished faces of those who would have been his sisters, had he not failed them, and waited for the end, for the gods to take his spirit.
He was not in the least expecting the frozen hook that pierced his chest with a frigid chill, sending a burning, freezing pain searing through him. The sudden shock of pain broke through the barrier of depression and loss and he reached out as the chain attached to the hook began to tug at him and grabbed at that which was closest to hand in a vain effort to secure himself.
His hand passed without obstruction through his dead body until to his surprise it snagged on something within. He grasped it tightly even as the hook pulled sharply. The object pulled free of his body as he passed through the dojo wall and his eyes widened with sudden horror as he stared at the glowing ball of white light. It could not be his soul, for surely that was what he now was. His body was dead and the only thing he could think of that this might be was the curse, and it terrified him.
In his desperation to escape whatever fate awaited him, for nothing good could be signified by being hooked like a fish, had he caused the curse to follow him into the afterlife? His horror was confirmed as the ball seemed to seep into his hand and as the white light passed down his arm, it became more slender and shapely. "Even in death," he murmured, finding it suddenly meet that he should become a woman in death. He had not been a man in life, why should he be allowed to be a man after life?
He felt his grasp on consciousness fading as the light spread and when the light finally reached his head, darkness consumed him. When he recovered awareness he was completely female in form. He had a sinking suspicion that the curse would no longer switch him. He wasn't sure why he thought that, yet it somehow seemed appropriate. His own mother had deemed him less than a man and if what he suspected were true, he... no, she, would probably never be a man again.
A soft laugh filled with delight and mirth echoed around her and she struggled to lift her head. After a moment her tired muscles responded. That doesn't make sense, she thought even as she raised her head, I'm dead, why do I have muscles still?
She was surrounded by a faint shimmer of white light that seemed to form a cylinder around her. Beyond it she saw the figure who was laughing, a man with sharp features, pointed ears, dark skin, and white hair that reflected the glow that surrounded her. Was this her judge?
He stepped forward and, having restrained his delight, sketched a deep bow in her direction. By ingrained response she bowed in return even as she wondered where she was. Was this the afterlife? Was that freezing hook really how souls were brought to the next plane? Or was she here to be reincarnated?
"Despair."
The word seemed to echo throughout the room and strangely seemed to have been said in a number of languages at once. The overlapping words did not interfere with the clarity of the speech and the meaning was not obscured.
"The pinnacle of skill you reached and it was not enough and so now you despair," the voice continued and Ranma saw that the handsome man was speaking. "You've nothing left to live for, have you?" He nodded when she gestured her assent.
Ranma wanted to protest, thinking that perhaps he was asking if she desired reincarnation, but what was the point? She couldn't beat Saffron, she couldn't save anyone, she failed her mother, and she was dead already anyway. She dropped her head, unable to hold on to even a spark of defiance. Let him do what he would. It could hardly be more than she deserved for her failure. At the least she could retain this measure of honor; that she would not protest the judgement given in the afterlife.
"You are a great warrior," he asked, though the tone of the question made it clear that he knew and expected but one response. She nodded once more. "What is your name?"
She struggled for a moment to decide how to respond. Ranma was her name and seppuku had restored her honor, leaving her within her rights to claim the name Saotome, but she felt a deep pain in her gut at the thought of being reminded, every time someone said her name, that she had been a man once, that she was a failure, that she had failed everyone she had ever known.
"Saotome Ranko," she replied finally. She was somewhat surprised to note that her voice sounded just as it always had in spite of her being a spirit now, or at least, as her female voice had always sounded.
"I can offer you a second chance," he said and she looked at him in puzzlement. "I can give you life again and a chance to change what happened." He held up a restraining hand at her eager expression. Reincarnation? She had feared that her earlier response and acquiescence had removed that opportunity; but a chance to change what happened? She could be reincarnated in the past? "You would not share in that change, however. That is to say, if you prevented the deaths that led to your despair, you would then never have despaired. A paradox, if you will. It would undo itself and your effort would be in vain."
Ranma slumped in disappointment. Even if she had to remain a girl forever, at least her mother would never have had to lose her family, her father would keep his life, her friends and her fiancees would live. Yet even this, it seemed, was still beyond her.
"There is a way," the man continued. "I can place your soul within a rune weapon, an indestructible weapon. The power of a rune weapon is such that even the gods themselves cannot destroy one. In such a form, even paradox could not destroy you and both your old self and your new weapon form would exist at the same time. But you yourself would be left alone, for those you failed would have you still, as you were then."
Not reincarnation then, she realized. She was no longer certain that this was the afterlife, but it mattered little. She stared at him, eyes wide and hopeful, hands clasped together. Did it really matter what this was, whether the afterlife, or who knew what else? She already feared that she had been cursed to be a woman forever, would it be so different to serve in a weapon? She imagined being a sword like her mother's. Swords had honor, they carried the honor of families, if in that way she could redeem her failure, could she refuse?
If even after death she could still triumph, how could her mother look at her with disappointment in her eyes? She nodded eagerly, not trusting her voice.
"You would live forever," he said in a warning tone.
She shook her head and waved her hand, "Doesn't matter."
"It might take hundreds, even thousands of years." Again she indicated that she did not care.
"What could you give me for this boon?"
Ranma slumped. A being of the afterlife or no, he wasn't giving free gifts. A moment later she brightened. He wasn't hiding the strings, either. She wouldn't find out only too late that there really was a cost; he was showing it to her upfront. But what had she to offer? Her face sank again and she shrugged listlessly. "I have nothing."
"You think you have nothing to offer? You have your skill, do you not? Offer me your fealty, warrior, your sworn loyalty to obey me as your lord until my death, and I will grant you this boon." Ranma was startled but a moment's thought made her realize that what she was being asked for was much the same as any samurai had given his daimyo, and was not she of samurai stock? Besides, what could he ask of his sword? That it kill? If she had been more willing to kill when she fought Saffron, she might have saved everyone. She wouldn't make that mistake again.
"How long?" she asked warily. "You said I'd be immortal. If you are too, I'd be stuck forever. How would I save my family then?"
He nodded. "A wise caution. Until I die, then, or a thousand years hence."
She considered slowly then remembered other tales she'd heard. "Will I age?"
"You will grow older, but only in mind, not in body or form."
She tried to think of anymore loopholes then sighed. I ain't Nabiki, she thought despondently. If he's trying to cheat me, it ain't gonna be hard. But it is a chance, a chance to regain my honor and to save my... to save everyone. For just a moment she wondered if she ought not reveal that she was a man, that there be no dishonesty on her part in accepting this. A sudden fear struck her then. What if he demanded proof and she could not give it? What if he took back his offer? This might well be her one and only chance to undo what had been done, to correct her terrible mistake. Could she take any chance on losing it? Inwardly, silently, she swore an oath, that the oath she would next give might be an honest one; "I renounce my manhood and my given name. From this day forth, I am Saotome Ranko only."
"I swear on my honor," she said aloud, hoping against hope that he would accept her oath and give her this chance, even if it took a thousand times a thousand years, "that until you die or a thousand year's hence, whichever comes first," thanks Nabiki, I guess I did learn something after all, "I will obey you in all things, if you faithfully grant me the chance to prevent the deaths that led to my," ahh... what was the word he used, "to my despair."
---
Distanfae nodded in acceptance of the warrior's oath. "So be it." He had been surprised that the powerful warrior he had sought had been female and human. Females might be the stronger in his race, but he was fairly confident that it was the opposite amongst humans. Still, though she was a tiny one, the strength was obvious in the well-muscled curves of her naked form.
Distanfae watched with pleasure as the captive beauty was released into the boiling pool of magically endowed molten metals, a mix of adamantite, mithril, and the living quicksilver metal, which in spite of the name it had been given was unquestionably not mercury, though its appearance was quite similar. Strands of molten jade and onyx, liquified by magic, threaded through the dark and light tapestry of the metals. His attention was caught by the sight of a fresh strand of red curling through the mixture. "Now where did that come from?" he wondered, "It's not as if she were an item of magical power, to be drawn in by the spell as a new element, she should be no more than a bound soul."
He waited as the mixture cooled. It retained its liquified state due to the powerful enchantments laid upon the jade and onyx, designed to extend the attributes of the mystery metal to the other four components while preventing the metal from completely absorbing the other elements of the mixture. When he deemed it cool enough he left the room. In the next room, already prepared, a scrying pool awaited. He barred the door then activated the pool.
The destruction of magic objects often caused considerable damage and he wasn't entirely certain that what he was going to try to do would work, so he intended to accomplish it from a distance. Casting a spell that would allow him to move the objects in the room, he picked up the simplest of the prepared items, a ring of eldritch missiles.
It was a very minor item of power and its destruction would not be more powerful than the number of missiles it held, at least to his estimation. Lifting it, he cast it into the liquid pool, still swirling as the immense spell energies he had released continued their work.
The ring vanished into a stream of gold but there was no sign of the half-expected explosion. Distanfae barely resisted letting forth a cry of exultation. "This will secure my place among the names of the greats!"
The ring was quickly followed by a wand of lightning magic. Once it was completely dissolved, a wand of fire magic, then water, air, and earth in quick succession. Each wand was among the more powerful of the non-unique wands, bearing in addition to the basic powers of their element, the power to summon elementals from the realms they accessed.
They were among Distanfae's most prized possessions yet he had never had the opportunity to use them. After all, his first use would likely be his last, for if his Matron knew he had them, they would be taken in moments. By binding them to his servant, he gave up the ability to use them directly, but they would never be able to be taken from him. Of course, technically, he was tasked to make this weapon for the Matron, but if it served him and he served the Matron, then he fulfilled the letter of his duty.
The spell was beginning to wind down, so Distanfae wasted no time supplying the next items. The cloak of shadows would allow his creation to travel from shadow to shadow and to cloak herself in shadows that would hide her even from the heat-sensitive eyes of his kin. He knew all too well the dangers of possessing a flashy or obvious magical item, even if that would fit his Matron's desires better. It would also allow her to form a sphere of darkness, mimicking one of the innate abilities of drow, particularly drow nobles. The ring of flight would ensure that she could emulate their ability to levitate, as well as allow her, in sword form, to act as a dancing sword, a sword that wields itself.
Lastly, an amulet of faerie fire would duplicate the drow talent for the colorful, unburning magical fire that they used for decorative purposes. The amulet was in fact stronger than a drow's native abilities, being used to manipulate the permanent glows left, especially those created by drow that had since died. Any drow could readily control their own faerie fire, but manipulating that created by another was far more difficult.
That constituted the larger part of his collection of magical items, at least the ones with considerable power. Most of the remaining items were defensive in nature. He didn't really care to supply his creation with any defensive magic. Weapons of this sort were indestructible, according to all the texts he found. What would the point of further defensive magic be? Besides, while he might not be safely able to wield offensive magic, the defensive magic he owned could well save his life. If after it did it was taken as a prize by his mother, the Matron, well, it would have served its purpose by then at any rate.
The last item lay on the table where the other items had been set out. He gazed at it for a long time, uncertain whether to risk trying to add it. It was a straight blade, about five and a half-feet long, of green jade, with a simple hilt. It was also a weapon of exactly the sort he was making. It claimed to be the soul of an ancient celestial dragon and its knowledge had been the impetus for his effort. He had no doubts about the likelihood of his surviving while trying to wield that sword. He was no swordsman and its indestructibility would be little comfort as the poisons of his kin destroyed him.
Glancing at the pool, he hesitated for a long moment. He hoped, though without much assurance, that even after his creation had taken shape, after the formative magics cooled and died, it might still be capable of absorbing other magic items into itself. Indeed, he was somewhat afraid that it might need to, might hunger for more. Another rune weapon, though? That seemed a bit much to hope for. His hesitation was enough and the decision was taken from him, for even as he watched, the swirling stilled and the liquid in the pool pulled away from the edges, rising quickly and flowing into its base shape, a simple sphere.
Distanfae nodded slowly to himself as he reentered the chamber where his new weapon lay. He had gone too far, sacrificed too many of the house slaves to the spell to take a chance on causing it to fail now. Besides which, the danger of the spirit of the other rune weapon being still active in the combined weapon was too great.
Moving carefully through the room, he eased past the now quiescent sphere to where the second half of his creation rested on a shelf. It was a thin wire mesh of gold and mithril. He lifted it up and set it lightly upon his thick white hair, where it instantly vanished, passing through his hair to bind itself to his head.
Bound together in the creation process, the thin mesh and the vari-colored sphere were inextricably linked. Distanfae was too careful to trust to the traditional means of controlling such powerful magic, particularly not when he had made changes to its design that had never been attempted before.
His insurance in place, he reached out and splayed his hand across the sphere, not quite touching the surface. Breathing deeply and tensing his hand to pull away if aught went wrong, he lowered his hand until it came into contact with the sphere.
When nothing untoward occurred, he firmed his grip and turned his hand, lifting up the sphere. Even as his hand turned, the massive sphere shrank until it rested easily and lightly in his palm. He admired his new weapon for a long moment then wrapped it in cloth and concealed it within his robes.
He turned to the door then paused a moment, reconsidering. The priestesses of the house, his mother and sisters, often kept spells ready that would let them feel the direction of another's thoughts, or know if truth or lies were being offered them. He had to keep this new weapon a secret until he had it trained, lest its incompetence bring upon him his mother's wrath, and while he had timed events so that his path from these chambers to those he intended to use for training would be most probably empty, perhaps he did not need to take even that risk.
Slipping his hand within his robe, he insinuated it into the cloth covering until his fingers came once more into contact with the smooth orb, still slightly warm from its recent heat. Ignoring the aura of depression and despair that was the captive soul, he made the first true test of his creation. Under his breath he muttered the command words for the cloak of shadows. A feral grin lit his face as the shadows on the wall lengthened, embracing him. A moment later he stepped forth from the shadows of an alcove in the training hall he had chosen.
The walls were a matte black and the entire hall was wreathed in shadows, the only light coming from statues above the alcoves, limned in the soft ethereal glow of faerie fire.
Removing the cloth wrapped bundle from his robe, he strode to an alcove at the head of the room where awaited a pedastal. Upon the stone column he placed the cloth, unveiling the weapon, tucking the cloth in around its base that it might not move.
He stared at it for a long time, marveling at his success. He had gone beyond the humans whose spells he had worked from, beyond even the great evil intelligences that had crafted the first rune weapons. "You will be ranked with the great artifacts," he thought to himself as he looked on his creation, "the creations whose name every wizard knows, whose creator's name every wizard fears."
Reaching out once more, he lay his hand upon it. Instantly his awareness of the despairing soul within was renewed. Muttering under his breath he invoked one of the powers of the light mesh helm that lay hidden beneath his hair and this time when he withdrew his hand from the sphere, that awareness remained.
Stepping back into a neighboring alcove, Distanfae focused his attention on the soul in despair. "Awake," he commanded it. Receiving no response, he pressed upon it with his will, forcing it to return to awareness.
"Where am I? I can't see anything, I can't feel anything?" He heard the youthful female voice say, the same voice with which she had spoken to him before, though he heard it only in his mind. It was in a language unfamiliar to him but that mattered little, for the magic ensured that he understood and was understood in his turn.
"Form an eye and then you will see," he suggested.
"Form? How? What do you mean? Who are you? Where are you?" There was a hint of anger in the girl's tone. Distanfae was unsurprised. He knew that the spirit he had taken would have, at first, no idea what it could now do, nor how to do it. That she would be confused, perhaps even forgetful of the events that so recently took place, was also within the scope of his plans and expectations. Through the helm he brought his will to bear and forcibly altered the form of his weapon, forming on the surface facing into the room a lidded cat's eye.
He felt a shudder run through the spirit at the strange feeling but before he could speak again he felt through the helm the eye opening. "You learn quickly," he commented smugly. When a second eye formed beside the first and opened as well, a frisson of shock ran through him. Quickly indeed! He had not been expecting such prowess from one who had been but a warrior.
A moment passed before the voice cried out again. "Where are you? And where am I? There ain't nothing here but an empty room!"
The uncertainty and frustration in the girl's mental voice restored Distanfae's composure. There was no reason to be concerned when she learned more swiftly than expected, it could not but help him.
"You died and I brought you back," he said dryly. "Now you will never die. In return, you will serve me."
"What?!" There was a definite anger to the voice now, but it faded almost instantly into resignation. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters now."
"Besides, how'm I supposed to serve you when all I got is eyeballs?"
"Indeed," he replied, wondering momentarily at the rough nature of the girl's speech. Could she be as young as she appeared? He knew humans had far shorter lives, so her appearance of being in her early fifties, to his eyes, was probably well in excess of her actual years, but he had assumed that a soul of sufficient power would have required time to reach that power and so had theorized that the soul's power had kept the body young, or that perhaps her mental image of herself was as she had been in youth and so her soul had kept that form. The tone of the words made him question that theory. "You will need a more useful form. I will impose it on you and you will remember it, to take it again when I require it of you."
Without waiting for a response, he bent his will against her form once more. The sphere rocked forward then rolled over the cloth and off the pedestal, striking sparks from the floor where it struck. It rolled for but a moment before it swelled suddenly, growing upward, a shimmering reflective column of black and silver that quickly took on a more solid form.
The shape she now took was that of one of his former slaves, a strong woman of his race, though a commoner. Her life had been taken in the crafting of the spell, as had that of a male slave, their lives supplying their form to his control. She was larger, in proportion, than the slave had been, topping six feet by several inches and towering over him.
He released his grasp of her form finally. He had held on to it for several minutes after imposing his slave's form, while he shifted about the various materials that made her up. Imposing the form had worked well enough but had left her with curls of different colors running all over her body, even her hair. So he took extra time and submerged all but the adamantite over her skin surface, giving her the proper black sheen, then eliminated all but the mithril from her hair. It wasn't quite the snowy white of most of his kin, but it was far closer than that strange mix of silver, black, green, and red.
She remained as motionless as a statue until he moved forward behind her and spoke again. "You may move."
That final permission activated a secondary magic that tied her spirit's expectations and intentions to the body's simulated muscles and organs. A sudden shuddering breath heralded its success. She took a stumbling step forward then swayed before catching her balance.
"Too tall," she murmured then raised her hand to her lips as if surprised to hear her voice, deeper and rougher than the voice of her soul.
"You will grow used to it," he said and she spun to face him. She was still too new to the body to properly handle it, however, and the spin threw off her balance. She tumbled to the floor. She struggled to rise for a moment then pulled her legs beneath her, raising herself into a kneeling position and looked up at him.
"You! I know you," she said, her eyes widening. "I remember you..."
"Yes," he said, smiling softly. "And well you should, for I am your lord now."
"No," she hissed, shaking her head, her silver locks swaying with her motion. "I serve no-one!" She glared up at him in defiance and he chuckled softly. He had been expecting that, which was one reason he had created his helm. As well as giving him a conduit for control, it also served as a path for spells to affect her soul, for otherwise that which she now was would prevent any such attack.
"Do not move," he said softly and with those words the magical connection between her spirit's intentions and her body broke. She could still change form, if she knew how, but he did not expect that she would realize it.
While she knelt, motionless, he produced a powder and cast it in the air between them, muttering and gesticulating. She watched in wonder as the powder hung in the air, then began to glow softly. It swirled suddenly then coalesced into three symbols she did not recognize. A white light sprang from his hands, turning blue as it passed through the symbols, projecting light and shadow over her. He did not wait for any response, for he could feel the spell take affect and her resistance wane and then vanish entirely.
"Now rise, and learn once more to move." This time he mentally activated the spell, rather than verbally speaking its command words. Best not to make the connections too obvious.
Distanfae watched in silence as the woman struggled once more to her feet. At first she moved unsurely, wobbling occasionally as her balance escaped her. As with forming the eye, though, she displayed remarkable adaptiveness and was soon flowing through the moves of an intricate dance of leaps and strikes.
She showed no modesty or concern for her lack of clothing but Distanfae took no notice of this. He was used to females of his own race, who displayed little concern regarding such proprieties. Indeed, many of the rituals of their worship were performed in the nude.
---
A verbal command echoed about her but she ignored it. Moments later she felt a rising pressure as her return to consciousness was forced. "Where am I?" She asked. She realized that she couldn't hear her voice, then other lacks made themselves known. To herself she murmured, though once again she heard nothing, "I can't see anything, I can't feel anything?"
"Form an eye and then you will see." The words echoed around her, sounding strangely familiar.
She protested then fell silent as for the first time she could feel her skin. She concentrated all her attention on that sudden sensation, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea as she felt her skin changing, warping and rippling. In spite of the unsettling sensation, she forced herself to pay attention. When the changes ceased she wondered what had been done, for the only thing that had changed from her perspective was that she could still feel her skin.
He must have made me an eye, like he told me to. She struggled to open her eyes. It felt like she was half-asleep and trying to wake up. I'm sending all the right signals, she groused, why does nothing happen? An image formed in her mind, an image of an eye, and she tried to connect its appearance with the feelings that she had experienced during the change she had undergone.
Maybe, if I just... With a shuddery ripple, the eye reshaped into an open state and she could see once more. Delighted at her success she immediately went on, ignoring the words in the background, to form a second eye and open it as well. Even with two eyes, however, she could see nothing of particular interest and complained once more. She felt irritable, as if something was wrong, or wasn't working. It took her several moments to realize that she wasn't blinking, though her eyes weren't watering either.
She heard that voice once more and it took a moment for it to register. The last words she heard clearly, however. "You will serve me." Her anger flared for a moment as she objected but she couldn't sustain it, though after a brief return to her earlier despair the humor of her situation struck her. "Besides, how'm I supposed to serve you when all I got is eyeballs?"
She felt external pressure then a sudden sharp blow. Instantly she was growing, changing, a far more complex and wild series of changes than the formation of her eyes had been. In the blink of an eye she had gone from having nothing but eyes to having everything back, though she was not released for several long moments, while indecipherable changes continued.
She heard his voice again, but this time she actually heard it, heard it with her ears, not just her mind. The change was startling, perhaps more than the reshaping of her body had been, for in one moment she was motionless, capable of moving even her eyelids only by changing their shape, and in the next it was as if nothing had ever happened to her. She was breathing and moving perfectly normally, even if her breath had been a bit jerky there at the start.
Her balance was slightly off though and she took a step forward to correct it, only to completely misjudge the move. She swayed for a moment then murmured, "Too tall," in surprise. She had experienced the strangeness of suddenly being too short the first time the Jusenkyou curse had changed her from a well-built young man to a remarkably petite if well-endowed young woman, but she had never experienced being too tall before.
She heard a voice behind her again and spun to face it only to find herself in a heap on the floor. She sought to rise before giving up and settling back onto her legs to look up at the man who had spoken to her. Her recognition sparked a momentary conflict that was resolved when he revoked her ability to move, startling her and forcing her to realize that there was very little she could do to resist him.
The powder that he cast into the air between them she at first thought to be a sleeping powder or the like, such as Kodachi had once used against her. When it remained in the air, suspended by nothing at all, she felt a deep wariness. This was magic, unquestionably, and magic had never been a good thing for her.
Light washed over her and then she was taken back into the memories that had become hazy with her return to a corporeal form. She watched as he propounded his arguments again and she agreed to serve him. For a moment she felt that she should object but as the memory faded it fit in the holes within her own memory. It was real, she decided. She had sworn and she would honor her oath to the best of her ability, for the sake of her family and friends. She remembered more than merely what he showed her, as well. With the reminder, she remembered both the oath she'd sworn to him and the oath she'd sworn just before, when she had renounced her name and her manhood so that there would be no mistruth in the oath she gave him.
She fought against a sudden and stifling fear that rose in her. She had expected to become a sword, not to have a human form again, a female form. She had sworn to obey him in all things, what if... She forcefully thrust the thought from her mind. She was a Saotome, she would honor her oath, no matter the cost. It was her only chance to redeem her failure, to save her friends, her family, her father. Her fear was washed away by a sudden realization. She had a body, she was not just a sword! After she saved them, she would be able to see her mother again, to hold her, be with her! Surely, after what she had done for them, they would accept her, even if it had to be as a daughter? She would have her family again.
Taken from her reverie by her new lord's command, which once more gave her body to her control, she rose as he had ordered and began to learn her new body. Different as her new body was from what she'd known, it was far more familiar than what she'd experienced in those few moments of awareness as an undifferentiated sphere, and this was not the first time she'd had to get used to a change in form.
She quickly realized that the biggest difference between her current body and the one she'd had before is that only her hair responded to anything other than her direct intent. It swirled about her believably as she spun and struck, but her breasts did not so much as shift on her chest as she moved.
They were not all that was not reacting as expected. Even as she pushed herself to move faster, her breathing remained even and steady when she was paying attention to it and ceased completely when she was not. It was several minutes before she herself grew aware that her breathing was starting anew each time she turned her attention to it.
She stilled quite suddenly when she realized that and in the ensuing silence she realized that she could not feel her heart beating, then jerked when a hand fell on her shoulder.
Her senses warped then went dead as her body was once more twisted and altered. Finally a single eye was formed and returned to her control. Opening it, she found herself in the hand of the man who had made her, staring into a mirror at her own eye, set in the pommel of a long curved sword.
"Enough training for one day," he stated. "I've other things that must be done lest I raise suspicion." He looked her over. "Still too obvious," he muttered and she felt him reshaping her again. This time she was able to watch in the mirror as he reduced her length until she was little more than a dagger. He tucked her into his belt, eye facing outward. "Don't move your eye if anyone is looking at you," he ordered her.
This time she was awake and aware when he invoked the ability that took him through the shadows to his rooms. Even as her single eye watched the shadows stretch out to swallow him, she felt the response within her to his request, felt herself causing the shadows to move, even though she was neither deliberately nor consciously causing it.
"What was that?" Her query, though voiced from her perspective, was once again silent due to her lack of a voice, and his response was equally silent.
"That was one of the abilities of the magic items I fed you during your creation. You are to inform me if you grow hungry."
"Oh," she said. She wondered what the connection was that had made him comment on her hunger but refrained from asking. His words led her to examine herself for hunger, of which she found none.
He had not told her not to move and whatever magic it was that had allowed her to move almost normally still seemed to be in effect. When he had first given her an eye there had been no indication which it was, whether left or right, nor had she been able to blink or look about readily. Now though it was clear that the eye he had left her with was her right eye, and she could blink and look about just by trying to do so, just as she had been able to when she had her full body.
The implications of that were fairly clear, even to her. If she resisted, she'd be a statue. That certainly limited the usefulness of her martial arts ability. Not that she could reasonably resist, having given her oath. She realized then that this was just such a string as she had feared and made a mental note to bring it up with him. However he was accomplishing this, if he was still doing it a thousand years from now, her promise might prove irrelevant.
She briefly considered raising her ki, remembering that certain forms of pressure point induced paralysis could be overcome by redirecting her internal ki flows, but rejected the idea. He had warned against merely moving her eye if anyone could see, he would certainly have still greater objections to her glowing.
She held her silence therefore and in that silence she watched as he moved about his room. It was a strange sensation, much like when she had accidentally eaten the magic mushrooms and become five years old once again, to look upon everything from the height of her lord's belt. It seemed almost surprising to her that the level of her eye was stranger to her than the fact that she was seeing only with one. She knew from having to learn to fight with different handicaps that one needed two eyes for proper depth perception. While she knew that she could not possibly have accurate depth perception with her single eye, it seemed unimpaired. Of course, a simple referral to memory pointed out that it was no different than closing one eye and she had never noticed any particular lack when doing that, yet somehow she felt as if everything ought to look flat, even though it did not.
She continued to watch in silence for most of the remaining day, observing her lord's interactions with his other servants and slaves, and with his superiors. She was interested to note, in that vein, that he seemed to show deference exclusively to certain women, never to men. That observation sent a definite shudder of concern through her. She had had more than enough experience with Amazons for one lifetime but it was looking disturbingly like she was involved with another group of them.
She also noted that the majority of the people he encountered had dark skin, pointed ears, and white hair, yet facially they looked, if not Japanese, at least Asian. She also saw a few individuals that looked deformed. The first one she spied received her sympathy for his deformities, his rough green skin, small size, and ugly, exaggerated features. When she saw several more that looked similarly deformed, she began to question her conclusion. Perhaps these were victims of Jusenkyou? Or could they be actually something other than human, like kappa, or the houzanjin, the people of Pheonix Mountain?
As it turned out, she had little cause to concern herself about whether she was visible. It seemed the magic that let her move normally was more responsive than she had anticipated, for whenever she entered the range of another person's eye she found her link suddenly severed, her eye held motionless. She did push his rules enough to test and lower her eyelid during one such time, when the one causing the effect was one of the green-skinned people; she made sure that the misshapen creature was not actually looking in her direction and from his lack of reaction she was sure that her defiance had gone unnoticed. She had to reshape her eye to lower the lid, rather than being able to simply close her right eye, but it did work. It also sent a wave of uneasiness through her, knowing that she had deliberately disobeyed him, her lord. It felt almost relieving to know that she could do so, yet she found she had no wish to anger him. At least he had not placed a geas on her to enforce her oath. Not that such would ever have been needed with her, of course. She would not risk losing her chance at redemption, her chance to regain her honor and her family.
Besides which, he had already captured her soul even after her death at her own hands, then given her an amazing new body that he seemed to be able to reshape at his will. More importantly, while she had been able to duplicate the reshaping trick and felt confident that she could also accomplish the traveling through shadows that he had used her for, she was all too aware that she felt nothing that could be replicated when he activated or deactivated the connection that allowed her to move normally.
To be certain, she could reshape her body and could move in that fashion, as she had already demonstrated by opening and closing her eye, but the concentration that required was at odds with performing her martial arts. Her art was meant to be done without direct thought, her mind free to work on strategy while her body fought the direct action, moving at the speed of reflex. She could still accomplish that when he turned on her link, but without it?
When he returned to his chambers, he closed himself in, locking his doors, then placed her on a table. He pulled a chair close and sat beside her, looking into her eye. "Memorize the shape you are in, then reshape yourself into a sphere," he ordered her.
Ranko concentrated, knowing that even had he not made it an order she would have done as he asked. She needed to learn all she could about her form, its strengths and weaknesses, if she was to succeed in her quest. If he was willing to guide her, to teach her, then she would put all her effort into learning whatever she could from him.
Focusing her senses on her form, feeling the long sharp edge of her blade, the curve of her cross-guard, the softer wrappings of her hilt. Once she felt she understood the form she was in, she began drawing her blade in. Since the pommel was nearly spherical already, she sought to retain it, and her eye, pulling the blade into the pommel, followed by the cross-guard and then the hilt, as the spherical end-piece swelled in size.
Finally she was once again a simple sphere though she retained her eye, looking up at her lord. He shook his head. "All the way."
Sighing internally, she closed her eye and then unmade it, becoming a perfectly smooth, round sphere. "Now I want you to find each different component of your make-up and bring them to the surface." Feeling her confusion, he continued, "You are formed of several things. Primarily, you are composed of what I will term 'quicksilver,' which is a reflective silvery metal, mithril, which is also silvery, but without as much blue in it, and adamantite, which is black. There is also onyx, a black stone, and jade, a green stone. There is a red substance that I haven't identified, and there should be strands of gold, silver, and a number of other minor elements from the magic items I fed you. Since these things have different colors, it is important that you become aware of them, so that you can reshape yourself into a form retaining the proper coloration."
Ranma thought about the different colors she'd seen in the mirror when he first made her into a sword and nodded to herself. Her blade had been silver. She had had a black handle with silver accents, and her eye had been green instead of the deep blue she was used to.
She turned her attention inward, no longer having any external senses except those of her 'skin,' and focused on finding the different elements that made her up.
She found the quicksilver first, though she didn't know what color it was, nor that it was the quicksilver, as she had no way to see it. It felt different somehow from all the other elements that composed her; more alive, more responsive to her touch. She focused on it, moving it outward to cover her surface and was surprised to note an immediate increase in sensation. Her sense of touch and temperature granted by her skin and the connection that her lord had not yet revoked from her was significantly enhanced by passing through the enlivened element. She felt as if she could feel the very grain of the wood on which she rested. She could even trace the subtle changes in the direction of the weave of the cloth her lord had wrapped around her base to keep her still, the variations between the angle at which the different folds met her surface. After a moment she heard her lord's voice in her mind. "That is quicksilver, or so we shall call it."
Reminding herself that she had a task to perform, she decided to return to this substance later on. She wondered if it would improve her sight if she were to use it to form her eyes.
Moving on, she sought next for the most common element. Finding it and taking a hold of it, she found it seemed hard and unyielding, though it responded to her efforts and flowed to coat her exterior. It was as if she had suddenly been wrapped in cloth. Her senses were muffled and vague. She could barely differentiate the soft cloth from the hard wood beneath her, detecting only the deviation in pressure between the light touch of the cloth resting against her and the stronger pressure of the wood supporting her weight. Again he informed her. "This is adamantite."
Even as she reached for the next element, wrapping herself in what she soon learned to be mithril in place of her adamantine shell, she felt her lord's hand light upon her, not lifting nor moving, just resting upon her. She stilled for a moment, waiting for him to speak, but when he did nothing more, she returned to the task she'd been given.
This new substance felt lighter and more giving than the previous, though no less strong. It was more sensitive, particularly to the warmth of her lord's hand, though she could not resist letting the lively metal she'd first found flow to the surface beneath one of his fingers. That gave her a wonderful sensation of warmth and more, it gave her flavor. She could taste the salt on his skin, feel the ridges of his fingerprint, even follow the pulse of blood through the capillaries in his fingertip.
She reveled in the sensations for a minute then withdrew the quicksilver lest lingering overlong anger her lord. "Watch it," she warned herself. She had to remember that much as she was used to teachers like Cologne and her father, whom she was free to antagonize, if she angered this teacher, he could do worse than rap her head, or suck her ki like Hinako. He could strip her of her ability to move; worse, he might be able to remove her soul completely, send her on to the next world as nothing more than a failure.
Returning her attention to her current coat, she noted that it felt energetic, though not lively. Where the sensitive metal had felt alive, this merely felt charged, as if it were full of energy, waiting to be released.
The next material gave her some difficulty, for it did not want to take a perfectly smooth form. Instead it seemed to want to form sharp flat edges, always at precise angles. It was unresponsive to pressure and reacted hardly at all to the warmth of her lord's hand, yet somehow she was still certain where everything touching her surface was. It took her some time to realize that some of the responses it was returning were off compared to the other materials. A bit of experimentation, as she moved a bit of quicksilver about herself to compare the sensations, made her believe that this sharp edged substance was reacting more to the light falling on it than to the touch of her surroundings, for the 'off' regions all seemed to extend in the same direction, to a similar degree, compared to what she sensed with the quicksilver.
Her subsequent attempt found a substance remarkably similar to the first sharp-edge substance. It formed planes at a different angle but otherwise reacted very similarly. The biggest difference was that when she coated herself with it, she still felt sensation beneath it. Moving quicksilver directly beneath it confirmed this. Whatever it was, it was transparent to some degree.
It was becoming harder to focus on further substances, for the remaining materials were far smaller in overall quantity to what she had been working with. It took her some time to realize that one of the substances in particular, a very soft substance that was easily formed and quite sensitive to heat, was in fact a singular substance. The cause of the difficulty was that there were innumerable divisions within it, not of varying substance but of differing feel and behavior. Remembering her lord's comments, Ranma wondered if she were not feeling somehow the different powers of the items she'd been fed, as he put it.
Far more startling, however, when she came upon it, was a rough substance that when left to itself formed into twisted ropes that then intertwined into flat planes. She felt it for some time with the quicksilver, wondering at one point if it wasn't her braid, before realizing that it was the same as the fabric that was bunched around her. Feeling it more directly, actually experiencing it rather than using her other substances to feel it externally, she found it was the source of the response to the command he had given that had taken them through the shadows.
---
Distanfae sat back and waited, watching the variegated sphere intently, until its surface became quite suddenly a silver with a hint of blue. Concerned about the consequences of coming into contact with the quicksilver before his weapon had attained complete control of it, he waited until it turned black to reach out for it, though he told her what it was. It turned suddenly silver again as his hands came into contact with it and he stilled instantly. He very nearly pulled away before recognizing the whiter sheen of mithril.
While she was distracted by her ordered explorations, he slipped silently into her mind, delving into her memory and personality. He very quickly located several key problems. "How curious," he mused to himself, "a warrior who avoids killing."
He slipped into place a temporary shield that would ensure her attention remained on her task until he relieved her of it, then set to work. An unwillingness to kill would make her useless in his society. He was careful not to attempt to remove it. Leaving her with holes in her mind would be a good way of setting a trap for himself at a later date. Instead, he very carefully rerouted her impulses, working around her strange notions of honor, unaware that she had already done basically the same thing after having decided that her honor now dictated she not hold back from the killing blow lest she fail her family a second time.
Finding a barrier in her soul he searched her memories until he learned what it was. For a time he considered merely strengthening it, until a better idea occurred to him. Once more he changed the pathways of her mind, ensuring that the sensation of cats would no longer trigger her fear. Debilitating fears were hardly a useful thing in his consideration, but the final result of her fear had value of its own. Two triggers he placed, that would allow him to activate or deactivate her feral state at will.
He withdrew then, feeling his shield's strength waning under the power of her mind. For a time he rested his hand on her still, thinking over some of the things he'd seen in her mind. He had by no means explored all of her memories but he had seen enough to know that she had experienced magic before, and had been both male and female at different times. Perhaps once he'd gained her confidence, she would tell him her story and he would learn what magic was like where she was from. He could, of course, simply take all that he wanted to know from her mind but he thought she would be more inclined to work faithfully for him if she did not feel violated. There was no need to push too quickly, he had time and to spare.
"That is enough for now, Ranko. We will speak again in the morning."
---
Ranko waited impatiently, frustrated that she had no way of gauging the passage of time. Several times she sought to find sleep but always it eluded her. Finally she could wait no longer, feeling bored beyond belief, and mentally crossing her fingers in the hope that her lord would not object, she formed an eye and opened it. She was all too aware that where her father had beat her for disobedience, a samurai's lord had the right to claim her life if she disobeyed an order, or even for no reason at all. She trusted that her lord did not intend such, else why would he have saved her in the first place, but she was not foolish enough to push it, at least not until she had had time to learn how far it was safe to push him. Silently she thanked her luck that her lord had not removed the connection between her spirit and her body, allowing her to easily look about.
She had to shift her eye's position on her surface about herself but finally she found what she sought. There across the room a large bed held the sleeping form of her lord. For a time she was simply content to watch him, wondering what he was. At first she had thought him an agent of the after-life; now, she was not sure what he was, though he looked human enough, apart from the white sheen of his hair, which looked strange on someone who was lacking the other usual signs of age, his ears, which came to points at the top, and his skin, which was a deeper black than she'd seen before, with a hint of blue instead of the usual brown. It was, at least, more interesting than feeling nothing but a black emptiness, without even the comfort of dreams.
When he began tossing and turning and then crying out as if in pain she quickly roused from her reverie. "So, I'm not the only one who has nightmares," she mused. "Well, if I can't sleep, then I also can't dream. I guess that means no more nightmares." She watched him for a few minutes more, feeling a growing irritation as he tossed and moaned. "I wish he'd quit that." It occurred to her suddenly that his well-being was part of her duty as a samurai. That thought seemed to inevitably draw up another, and she shuddered as she unwillingly remembered that even male samurai had at times been used for a more... physical... form of comfort for their daimyo, but she pushed that thought aside. There was nothing she could do if it happened, so best not to think about it, and simply hope it never did. "I won't let fear keep me from my duty," she growled to her recalcitrant mind.
Mentally asking his forgiveness, though he had not exactly ordered her not to do anything in particular, she shifted her internals about, thrusting the heavier materials to one side, so that she rolled forward and fell from the table to land with a thump upon soft carpet. Surprise stilled her for a moment when she landed with her open eye pressed against the carpet fibers and yet felt no pain, but a whimper from the bed returned her to motion.
Trying hard to remember, she swelled into a womanly form, trying to take the form he had given her. Looking down at herself, she shook momentarily in disgust. She looked rough, like a child's clay figure. Colors were mixed and bunched across her skin in a manner painful to look upon. Her hair, far from the thin, silky, and vibrant strands of red that had once characterized her, hung in lumpy cords, like mottled threads of yarn. "Yet another reason to protect him. If I want to stay a martial artist, I need his magic."
She tried to utter a soft curse but it came out as a garbled moan and she shuddered once again. Turning to the bed she took a step towards it and immediately lost her balance, fetching up hard against the wood side. Moaning another curse she gave up on trying to move properly, and reshaped herself into a rough semblance of a woman lying already upon the bed.
Rolling onto her side she looked on the troubled face of her lord and felt a pain deep within. She knew what it was to struggle through nightmares with no-one to care. She had had horrific nightmares ever since her father trained her in the Neko-ken and not once had he ever sought to comfort her. The trouble was, she did not know what to do to ease his pain... and get him to stop groaning like that. "Should I wake him up? No, he might be angry if I do; then what?"
She tried to think of what one did in such a situation. Her memories of her father and mother were of little help but finally she remembered one particularly bad night, when she had awoken in Kasumi's arms being cradled and rocked, Kasumi's hands stroking her hair.
She shifted closer, feeling thankful that while lying down she did not have to worry about maintaining her balance. Trying not to think about what he might think of this, or how he might take it, she deliberately suppressed her inner disquiet. Reaching out with her lumpy, misshapen arms, she drew him to her, running thick fingers through his soft white hair, in attempted imitation of Kasumi's comforting behavior. "Damn, this sucks." He quieted instantly, pressing against her. She looked at herself again and groaned inwardly. He'd hardly get a good night's rest sleeping on the equivalent of hard rocks. She shifted the softest materials to that side of her, that she might not hurt him, and glancing down, she saw a fine black cloth with gold glinting beneath.
When she felt him begin shifting as if to awaken, hours later, she reshaped herself into a sphere as quickly as she was able. Reaching out to the black cloth within her she fumbled for its trigger, trying to mimic her lord's use of it, and fell through the shadows onto the table. She waited uncertainly, once more reduced to merely feeling.
"Don't let him want that from me," she growled at the kami, unwilling to even voice what 'that' was. "I didn't let fear keep me from my duty, don't punish me for that." It was not a completely unfamiliar experience; she had spent most of her time in Nerima all too aware that honor left her little choice; but at least then her honor had led in multiple directions and she had had some excuse to resist honoring one commitment when to do so would break another. Now she had no such shield to hide behind.
Finally she felt the touch of her lord's hand upon her. "You were in my bed, last night," he said to her.
"You had a nightmare," she retorted defensively, torn between the familiar desire to offer insult to reduce her cursed attractiveness and the newer and still stronger desire not to hurt her chances of changing her past.
"I understand, Ranko. Thank you," he said calmly. Ranko would have gaped at him if she had had a mouth. He had actually listened to her? He had believed her?! "Wait here while I get ready, then we shall return to the training room."
Ranko did her best to wait patiently, playing around with her elements to occupy her mind. She was beginning to get painfully bored when an idea struck her. Once more she formed an eye, but this time she formed it at her center. She gathered the material she had determined last night to be at least partially transparent and formed a channel of the substance from her eye to the surface. As soon as it reached her surface she saw light and she cheered inwardly. The next thing she noticed was that everything seemed to be a shade of green or black. "Must be the jade," she decided of the transparent substance.
Unfortunately, the scene she was able to observe was as static and unchanging as her own senses, leaving her just as bored as she had been before. "Man, not being able to sleep sucks," she thought. If she had had a body she would have sat bolt upright when another thought struck her. "If I can't sleep... oh, man, what if I can't eat, either?"