Creation 



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?"