Honour And Pride

By Beer-Monster

Book II: The Eight Phases

Chapter Eight

The Clouds of Conflict

Ranma felt a yawn rise up her throat, forcing her aching jaw open wide; however the resulting wave of fatigue evaporated as she watched the two stars piercing the black dome of the night sky, two tiny pinholes in the thick curtain of inky clouds that massing around the mountains peak. The wind whispered eerily as it swayed through the trees. Despite the now familiar burn of bruised flesh and damaged muscle that had her squirming against the wall of the cave, Ranma kept her eyes on those two particles of silvery light.

They were oddly comforting to her, as they had been for as long as she could remember. On the road with her father, they had often slept beneath the open sky or huddled in their sleeping bags beneath bushes in desperation for shielding from the rain, the stars visible through the twigs and leaves. Like any other small boy Ranma had had nightmares, images conjured from a child's imagination of what lay hidden in the shadows. Genma had shown little sympathy for his son, and little patience for being woken up by a scared boy crying about demons, ghosts and vengeful spirits. After being clipped across the ear and told to return to his dreams and fight his demons like 'an heir of the Saotome School should,' the frightened young Ranma had strove to stay awake rather than face his fear. Alone in the night, with only the rustling of the trees and his father's bestial snoring, the boy would stare at the sky, his eyes tracing the milky wash of stars painted across the deep blue of twilight, until the monsters of his dreams suddenly seemed small, vanishing as the stars lulled him into sleep.

That kid beneath the stars, used to play a game. He would reach up from his bed roll and close the dark silhouette that was his hand around those tiny points of light, trying to seize them in his fists. Even as a child Ranma had known that he could not reach them, but for a time that only made him try harder.

Ranma let her eyes drift across the black canopy of clouds, seeking the point in the sky that her father had pointed to with pride from a thousand different locations, the spot of the celestial sphere that was home to the star of the Anything-Goes School of Martial Arts. She wondered if there was a star for every ryu, as many paths to perfection of body and mind as there were heavenly sparks against the night; and she wondered if perhaps Miyomoto Musashi or Yagyu Jubei had gazed upward at their stars as they travelled on their warrior's pilgrimage.

"You should be asleep, idiot," came the voice from behind her.

She turned towards Ryoga, a mere presence amidst the sound of rustling fabric and pained groans in the dark cave. If she squinted she thought that she could see him, a black silhouette barely discernible in the dimness.

"All I've done is sleep, for a whole day. I've had enough." Ranma muttered, her body defying his words. The other boy was right; her body felt shredded beneath her skin, every movement an effort rewarded with pain. She felt as if she had carried a mountain on her shoulders and ran across a desert. Each eyelid felt as though it weighed several tons, and each breath send sharp lances jabbing into her side as her lungs pressed on ribs she was sure were broken. However something inside of her would not let her rest; full of unknown fervour, it kept her awake despite her body's desire to slow down, to recover.

"You need to heal, Ranma," Ryoga said, then after a moment added, "If you collapse I'm not carrying you."

"Good, that way you won't carry both of us into a bear pit."

"Shut up, Ranma, this is all your fault."

Ranma sighed. "That's so dumb, I'm not even going to respond"

"Isn't saying that a response?"

A silence dropped into the space between them, even the wind seemed to fall still. Ranma blinked into the darkness and frowned. Damn it! she swore mentally. I really must have been worked over if Ryoga managed to score one past me.

She heard Ryoga sniff at the darkness. "What's that smell?"

"What?" she asked, blinking as she took a slow breath in through her nose. She detected nothing but the crisp, moist scent of the air and the strong aroma of medicinal herbs.

"I though I could smell…pine," he murmured.

Light flooded the cave and Ranma snapped her eyes shut at the sudden brightness, shielding her face behind her arm. Her retina seemed to throb and burn in her head with a sharp ache and she waited for the sensation to pass before opening her eyes to a squint. Motes cleared from her vision to reveal Ryoga, bare-chested and worn, placing an electric camp-light on the rock floor. The plastic hemisphere shone with bright yellow light like a miniature half-sun, cutting trough the cave's gloom.

"Warn a guy before you do that, jerk," Ranma griped, rubbing at her eyes. "A Chinese letch blinded me two days ago, I don't need you repeating it."

"Poor baby," Ryoga said dryly before grabbing his pack and tearing yanking the string loose. "What did you do with that damned salve, Ranma?" he asked rummaging through the bulging sack. "My skin still burns," he added, this time in a barely audible whisper.

Ranma was not surprised as she regarded the lost boy, lips twisted disquietly.

Clad in only a pair of black boxer shorts the mark of Brand's flames was plain on Ryoga's crouched form. The skin on his right shoulder was blistered and weeping clear puss onto puckered and scabbed skin. His lower legs were worse, the flesh of his skin almost purple, tinged with regions that were greyish in colour and looked like cracked hardened candle wax. There were four thin stripes were the layers seemed to have been eaten away, revealing paler skin rippled with angry red stains. Four stripes, the length and width of a man's fingers above a palm sized blister that bulged with white fluids.

It looked terrible Ranma thought, swallowing a lump in her throat. However, she calmed himself with the knowledge that the wounds seemed improved from what she had seen when she had cut Ryoga's charred clothes apart and pealed the fabric from the leaking wounds. Most of the lost boy's lesser burns had receded to a bright pink, as if he had spent days beneath an unforgiving sun, and the layers of skin were already beginning to peel in shrivelled strips.

That stuff of his really works, Ranma thought, rolling up her silken sleeve and staring in the new light at a series of brown bruises that had shrunk beneath a thin, pungent layer of green-white ointment.

She saw similar results on the other boy's body. A large egg on his shin had shrunk to half it former size and was beginning to turn a grimy yellow colour from its former angry blue. The bruise under his jaw had vanished and the purple swelling that had inflated his cheek and brow had retreated to a dull brown that now allowed him to open the hazel eye that had been forced shut. A myriad of other lesser marks had vanished completely, and though the cuts, scratches and scrapes that split Ryoga's skin were still present, they seemed to scab over calmly with no fresh blood.

However, she could see the pain in Ryoga's pained grimace, echoing the same agonised sensations that she struggled to keep stuffed down within her breast. Though the salve was very effective, there were some wounds that were more stubborn. She ran her tongue over her split, ruined lips for what must have been the hundredth time, despite the protests of the abused muscle. A sudden spasm brought a lance of pain rushing through her thigh muscles, forcing her to grunt between gritted teeth. The strange thing was that area bore not a single mark, no cut or bruise but it still plagued her with abrupt and terrible twitches.

Guiltily, Ranma though of the jar of green paste wrapped in cloth at the bottom of his pack. Cologne's salve, the concoction that had sped the healing of broken bones after his fight with Loaf. As potent as Ryoga's medicine was he doubted it had the powers that the Old Ghoul's mix would have, but there was just over half a jar left, and Ranma doubted this would be the last time he, or Ryoga, would find themselves in this state on his quest. Was he right to save it for greater need, when it could help them now, or when he had borrowed so much of the lost boys own supply?

Another spasm shot pain though her leg, but this time she saw Ryoga glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, and tried to cover her groan with an embellished yawn.

"I told you, you should sleep," Ryoga said loftily, thrusting an arm to the elbow in his bag as he continued to search for the salve.

Ranma glowered at the other youth. "Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you P-Chan?" he said archly. "However, I'm not going to let you cuddle up to me like the tomboy. This bod is too hot for you piggy."

"Ranma!" Ryoga snarled, fist clenching around the pack's opening.

"Don't deny it, Ryoga, I've seen that lump you carry in the mornings." Her smirk fell away as if she shuddered dramatically. She forced her sore eyes wide and made them shimmer "Oh how can a beautiful flower like me be safe around such a brute?"

Ryoga's face had become suffused with red, "Wha….I…that's not…" he spluttered.

Ranma fought to keep the grin from returning to her lips as she watched the bandanna clad boy squirm, flushing scarlet to his ears. She knew that it was not the other boy's fault, enough mornings in her true form had taught him that, but it was too amusing to watch Ryoga choke on his embarrassment.

"I guess I won't be able to sleep near you until I'm male again."

"Then it's a good thing I brought this along," a gentle voice said.

The light of the lantern glinted off Tofu Ono's round lenses as he poked his head through the entrance of the cave. He held outstretched a pale, immaculate hand that showed no sign of his journey through forest and mountain. A large thermos was gripped comfortably in his fist, his thumb curled through the ring of the lid that served as a cup handle. He eased the rest of his body through the entrance, garbed in light blue robes of thick fabric that hung to his knees, the loose folds bound by a leather sash around his waist. He wore trousers of brown canvas, tied at the calves and simple sandals, his otherwise bare feet showing no wear from the steep slopes and winding paths of Emei Mountain. His smile was as warm as always as he proffered the thermos to Ranma.

"Thanks Doc," Ranma said with a smile, sloshing the contents noisily. He tore away the cap by its ring and sent the lid spinning with a deft twist of his wrist.

"What bring you here, Doctor Tofu?" Ryoga asked, placing his pack to the side.

The older man's smile faltered, his shoulders slumping as he let a long sigh into the cave. "Ranma," he said with a slow shake of his head. "You've really gone and got yourself in some trouble." His eyes were sad behind his spectacles, as if he mourned something lose to the wind.

Ranma ignored Ryoga's accusing glare, as she fumbled for her voice. "Hey, they started it. That blonde letch called me a…" she trailed off as his teeth began to grind together.

Tofu sighed again, but his smile had returned. "No, I imagine you didn't." He glanced around the cave before lowering himself onto an outcropping of black rock, pushing his glances up the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Master Locke, says that is an unfortunate consequence of their work that they must select the student with the strongest affinity to receive the secrets of their art, not the one who might truly deserve the honour.

"From what I've been told Master Brand is highly talented in the martial aspects of the Fire Phase, but has interest in little else. In that respect he is somewhat like you, Ranma, focussing on nothing but training in the Art and taking on new challenges."

"Please don't tell me you seriously comparing me to that jerk," Ranma grunted in disgust.

"Why not, one jerk is as good as another," Ryoga added.

"Quiet, P-Brain, you're the one who fought him."

Tofu blinked, "Is that so," he said, before his brow furrowed with a frown. "That is odd; I would have thought he would have challenged you, Ranma, since you fought with Master Willow. Although all eight masters take each other as brothers and sisters, Brand and Willow were said to have been brought to Emei from the same orphanage as children, and he thinks of her as a little sister. He is known to be very protective of her. It seems strange that he would not want to fight you after you defeated her."

Ranma felt her stomach drop, the sound of Willow's scream as the Chinese girl was sucked into the hurricane returned to her mind. She shook it away as she jerked a thumb towards Ryoga. "Ask Casanova Hibiki over there."

"Ranma!" Ryoga protested, before his rage was lost in a blush, and the lost boy tried to shrink within his corner of the cave.

"Casanova?"

"Yeah Doc, that Brand-guy apparently thought Ryoga here was making time with his little sister."

"I didn't…I wouldn't…" was all that came from the youth.

"I'm sure you didn't mean anything, Ryoga," Tofu said, waving a placating hand.

"That's for sure, Bacon-boy, is about as smooth as a rock slide."

"Shut your face," Ryoga snapped in reply.

Ranma poked her tongue out at the other boy; hearing Tofu chuckle before she upended the thermos of water over her head and the sound was lost in the ripple of magic. A scream tore itself from her throat, stifled as the cartilage swelled into a masculine Adam's apple. Pain ripped through his body as fat withdrew to allow his beaten and bruised muscles to grow thicker and denser, and his skeleton shifted and rearranged itself beneath his skin, cracked ribs protesting the cursed change. Ragged shudders assaulted him as he settled into his male form. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly, and his lips drew back as he growled his agony out. The pain eased and he slumped against the cave wall, panting as if he had run a mile in a second.

"I'm sorry, Ranma, I should have thought about your condition before handing you the water." Doctor Tofu said sheepishly, scratching at the side of his head with one finger.

Ranma managed a weak smile. "No worries, Doc, I'm the one who dunked it on myself. It was nothing I couldn't handle."

"Yeah, that's why you're laying there boneless," Ryoga remarked dryly.

"Nonetheless I should have waited until I examined your wounds. That's why I'm here after all." Tofu said, flexing his fingers so that he knuckles cracked. "I heard about your fight and it was hard to miss that huge flash of light in the sky. Rumours amongst the Order's students said that Master Brand and Master Blitz were found on the mountain and carried in on stretchers. I've not heard if they've woken up yet or not but I doubt it. I gathered that you two might not have come away unscathed, and would probably find little sympathy around this mountain."

"So you came to treat us?" Ranma surmised. "Thanks Doc"

"Thank you very much, Doctor Tofu," Ryoga added.

Tofu smiled. "Don't mention it, after all you're still my patient, Ranma. I can see that I was not wrong in my guess." He clapped his hands together, blowing on them as he rubbed his palms together briskly. "Let's start with you, Ryoga, since you're already dressed for it. I really need to take a closer look at those burns."

"Hm?" Ryoga mumbled intelligently. "Oh right," he said after a moment, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace. He stepped to the flattest region of empty ground in the cave, his body casting harsh shadows in the electric lantern light.

"Just sit down as comfortably as you can manage and relax your whole body," the doctor said, pushing himself to the tip of his outcropping, within easy reach of the lost boy. "I'd like to see your shoulders and back first if you don't mind, Ryoga."

The young man nodded, adjusting the bandanna on his brow as he sat down as Tofu had directed, his lips again twisting with discomfort as he lowered himself on his burnt legs. He sat facing away from Tofu, head bowed and presenting the blistered skin of his shoulder to the doctor's inspection.

"Tell me, Ryoga. Have you had any abdominal pains since your burns?"

Ryoga blinked twice. "No, not really."

"Any pain when urinating? Do you find yourself having to urinate more often?"

Ryoga eyes rolled upwards, as if trying to regard the chiropractor through his skull with one raised eyebrow. "Uh…no," he said slowly.

"Doc, what does that have to do with his burns?" Ranma asked with his brow furrowed.

"Maybe nothing," Tofu replied with a wide grin, "but everything is connected, Ranma. The ki in his calves is linked to the ki in his bladder and elsewhere. They share the same meridian."

"Meridian?" Ryoga repeated, seemingly as lost as ever.

"A pathway for ki," Ranma said slowly, rubbing at his chin. "Pop said they were like blood vessels but for inner energy. He mentioned them once whilst showing me some old scroll." The paths appearing as a sinuous line, connecting large dots over crude drawings of men with sticks for fingers and swirls for genitals.

"Indeed Ranma. Right now I am using my fingers to release a small trickle of my ki into Ryoga's ki channels. It is like dangling a wire and cork into a river and seeing how strongly it is pulled along by the current."

"So you're seeing how fast my ki flows?"

"Among other things. In particular I need to look for disturbances and imbalances as they are linked to damage to the body. Places where your body has been injured may have too strong or too weak ki flow. Worse, there may be regions where the ki has become too yin or too yang. Unfortunately it's very likely in your case as Fire is a yang phase."

"That's bad?" Ryoga asked, his nose wrinkling and he smelt the air.

"Very."

"Is that why you asked if P-Brain here was wetting himself?"

"Ranma!" Ryoga barked, before wincing.

"It could be much worse," the Doctor said gravely, but then smiled. "However, thankfully the disturbance does not appear to be so bad." The older man said, then let out a soft sigh. "I guess it should be expected since you are both such good martial artists?"

"That helps?" Ryoga asked.

Doctor Tofu nodded. "Haven't the two of you wondered why you both seem to heal so well and so fast. Your study of the Art has enhanced your ki flow and made it more disciplined. It can restore balance to your body and repair damage much faster than an untrained person. As you develop your ki you'll probably find your ability to heal improve. Such fast recovery from injury and illness is one of the benefits of internal martial arts such as Bagua Zhang and meditation." The Doctor adjusted his spectacles and peered at Ryoga more closely.

"Anyway much of the disturbance seems to be rectifying itself. I should be able ease the major problems and let your body do the rest. The extra yang from the fire is fading from the yang channels and the yin channels are becoming stronger. It'll take some time but they should achieve a good balance with only a little help from me."

"Wait, so yin and yang are separate inside the body?" Ranma asked in a rush. He could almost hear the cogs of his mind turn as his brain processed the data excitedly. He felt as if he had found a safe filled with riches, and his friend was slowly giving him the combination.

The doctor lowered his arms in front of him, placing one hand over the other to form a shallow cup from his palms. "Could you give me your left leg please, Ryoga?" The fanged boy obliged, wincing as he placed his heel into Tofu's hands.

"Doc?"

"Just a moment, Ranma," Tofu said tersely, not looking up as he frowned at the red, blistered flesh around Ryoga's leg. His fingers curled around the top of the boy's foot, gently pushing at the hollows between the meta-tarsal bones

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The tea was warm as it ran into his mouth, invigorating him as it slid down his throat. Putting the cup back on the table, he idly ran his fingers over the pair of chopsticks, still in their wrapper as he licked his lips. He glanced up at the clock on the tearoom wall for the seventeenth time, before turning to the window, resting his chin on interlaced fingers.

He could see the man now; rearranging a row of two-for-one boxes of pocky on a sloped table outside his tiny, little market store. The wind made the offer sign flutter and the man squinted against the gust as he clamped a hand on the coloured paper, the thin strands of his greying come-over slipping of his balding pate.

The watcher took another sip of his tea, busying his mouth against the unseemly urge to sigh. He questioned this training, as he found himself doing whenever he undertook the exercise, something that was anathema to his very being in normal circumstances. His life was training, moving from challenge to challenge, keeping himself at the peak of his style and growing. However, this technique, although among of the highest of arts was almost useless to him.

He was usually a patient man. Patience was a virtue his father had thought important. His father would always find a way for his son to learn what was important. However, this technique required a great deal of waiting and effort. Two weeks had passed since he last come to this district, fourteen days he'd had to return wait for the effects. Not only did he have to be here on the day but at the right time of day, the two hour period that marked the shichen of the monkey, when the ki flow surged through the meridians he had pushed at the same time a fortnight past. The strike itself had taken time and thought, like the lion on the plain awaiting its chance to pluck off the weakling. The choice of the man had been as much luck as design in a city populated by such cattle. He fit the desired age bracket. The health and speed of the ki current changed with transition from child, to adult, to elderly and the vital balance between yin and yang was different between genders. To truly master the skill, it was crucial to understand and adapt to the differences. Meridian manipulation originated in medicine; acupuncture, acupressure, shiatsu, but what was used to mend the body could easily be used to destroy it. Doctors needed to be able to treat all in need, a warrior needed to eliminate all who deserved it.

The watcher had practised this art on all types of human in the heaving masses of flesh that filled the cities and towns of the world. It had been a woman last time, just over a year ago, now he returned to the middle-aged man. The choice of this guinea pig had been part-luck part design. He had already decided that some shop-worker among this busy row of quaint stores would be suitable, and had almost chosen a skinny, rat-faced man from vending machine arcade, who had dared to glare at him from behind tiny spectacles. Then he had entered that little marker and saw the man perched, precariously on a foot-stool, stocking the high shelves.

He had seen a golden opportunity and seized it the way a falcon took the mousse in its talons. Sweeping a tinned can off to the floor, he had kicked it with a lazy sweep of his foot, sending it shooting into the leg of the stool. He stopped the shopkeeper's fall with little effort, but for rising bile he suffered to undertake such subversions, catching the man about his hips and using his fingers to push points on the spleen channel on the insides of the pelvic bone. The task was done, but he sealed it by exciting the major yang channel disguised as a friendly pat on the back; biting his tongue until it bled to stay his clawed hand.

That was other failure with this technique. The distance, the lack of the sight, smell and spirit of the Art, and the need for deceit and sneaking. He feared nothing in their world, but he loathed the irritation and time-wasting that these people brought with their reeking fear and their laws. They were just animals grazing and roaming the lands that lay above the greater world, the Watery-world.

A slightly bitter taste, like diluted lemon juice, tingled in the watcher's head. He turned his head towards the café owner who made no effort to hide his furious glare. Eighty-seven minutes the watcher had sat there, monitoring the market and sipping from tea from the pot he had requested when he first arrived, ordering nothing more. The owner's anger was probably understandable to him, but it was just an annoyance.

The watcher returned the glare with a raptor gaze, and let his ki carry his intent into his eyes and seep into the air. The colour drained from the café owner's face and his body stiffened, trembling like a leaf, before he fled into the back room with a tiny squeak. The watcher almost smiled; snakes had interesting techniques, made more useful with a little modification.

A piercing scream brought his attention back to window, where his target was clawing at his neck whilst his body was wracked with wild spasm. His eyes were wide and streamed with tears, the fear evident as he twitched and tossed, knocking his carefully arranged boxes across the pavement with a large seizure. He coughed, released stream of blood which burbled from his mouth, creating a red wash on his white shirt. Then as if his bones had melted he dropped to the ground, glassy eyes staring unblinking at the sky.

The woman screamed again, tears flooding from her eyes as she fell to her knees, shaking the body as if trying to rouse the man from nap. A mob of people formed a U around the body, some grasping mobile phones and jabbing at the numbers.

Nodding to himself, the watcher placed a few crumbled yen notes on the table, he was no thief and slipped out among the flow of customers racing to gawp at the sight. Satisfied his skills were still strong, he walked on to more fruitful training.

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Ryoga's face twisted as the doctor worked, but he made no sound except for his persistent sniffing. Then, suddenly, his hazel eyes widened and he leant forwards, his nostrils flaring as he took in four short bursts of air. "It's you," he cried, pointing at Tofu.

The man blinked. "Hm?"

"You smell like pine trees," Ryoga declared in a voice that made it sound a great crime.

"Pine?"

"Pine? Are you nuts P-Brain?"

Ryoga pushed against the cave with his hands, leaning closer to shiatsu-specialist, his nose crinkling rapidly as he sniffed furiously at Tofu's scent. "I'm positive it you. I've been smelling pine since before you arrived, and it been getting much stronger since you started examining me."

"Since I started… "Tofu narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing above the round lenses. "Is the smell stronger now?"

Ryoga blinked and then sniffed. "Yes it is, much stronger. Why are you frowning like that?" The lost boy lunged forwards suddenly, gripping the doctor's blue robes as tears welled in it eyes. "Is it bad? It is isn't it? I'm going to die aren't I?"

Ranma felt his palm slap against his forehead before he knew he had moved, and buried his face in his palm. "Idiot," he muttered. Can't tell the moron anything without him getting them ass about face. He wondered if the Hibiki's lack of direction sense applied to understanding sentences too.

Tofu chuckled unsteadily and scratched at the back of his head, above his tail of brown hair. "No you're not going to die. In fact it explains your good health." The doctor smiled warmly. "You've reached the next level, Ryoga."

"Next level?" both Ranma and Ryoga repeated in the same instant. Ranma scowled. That had better not mean what it sounded like, he thought, remembering when the lost boy had entered an empty lot with a blast of green energy what seemed like a lifetime ago. Damned pig boy!

"Indeed," Tofu said as he nodded excitedly. "As I'm sure you are both aware that many skills in martial arts cannot be taught but can only be developed from within over time. Most of these involve ki, and perhaps one of the most important is the ability to feel the energy in another person."

"Doc, we can already do that," Ranma said, feeling his stomach untie itself.

"What has this got to do with you smelling of pine?"

"Don't you see, Ryoga you're not 'smelling' anything, you just think you are." Tofu turned towards Ranma, lantern light flickering across his lenses as he adjusted his glasses. "When you said you could already do this, how do you mean?" The doctor paused a moment, and then added "Battle aura doesn't count as everyone can see that."

"I could see and feel Herb's ki in the air after he had used it, and I could feel Willow about to use the Hiryu Shoten Ha."

"How did you feel it? How did Herb's ki look?"

"Well," Ranma said, swallowing a lump as he threw himself back to that battle on the peak of Mount Horai. "It was hot and hazy; the air seemed thick and blurry. It was the same with Willow, except I couldn't see it, but I could feel the change."

"That doesn't work, Ranma." Tofu shook his head. "That was ki in use. To be honest I would have expected your father or Elder Cologne to have mentioned this, but ki cannot do anything directly."

"Huh?"

"Ki is energy it does not affect the world around it directly. Energy is the capacity to act, not the action."

"Doc, you're not making much sense," Ranma said, rubbing at his sore ribs. He shared a quick glance at Ryoga, but the other boy shook his head, his eyes wide.

The man frowned, rubbing at his chin as he glanced about the cave. After murmuring under his breath and emitting several ponderous sounds, then suddenly his looked up and his smiled widened. "Think of a bow, Ranma. When it is pulled the bow stores a great deal of energy in its elasticity, the bending of the wood and the stretching of the string. When you let the string go the energy is released in a violent snap, but it alone doesn't do anything, that's why you need the arrow to turn that energy into something substantial, something that can be used. Your body is like the bow, it can produce and store your ki, but that energy cannot act directly it must be channelled into a real action, a fist, a blast of air or heat."

"I get it," Ranma declared. "When I fought Herb, its not his ki I saw but the wasted and spent heat from his attacks."

"Wait a minute," Ryoga cut in, waving away Ranma's words with a gesture. "What about the Shishi Hokodan, if I'm not using ki to kick Ranma's ass then what is it?"

"Hey," Ranma snapped. "Don't forget who won that fight, Pork-butt!"

"Ryoga, energy has no substance or form, you can't use it to strike or hit a person. When you release ki through you hands into the air, the energy works on the air in a way as your will decides. Although it looks as though you knock your opponent with a ball of energy, it's not the ki that strikes them but rather the shockwave that is produced by its explosive release."

Ryoga remained silent, his brow set in a deep furrow. "Okay," he said after a moment, drawing the word out slowly.

"The point is, Ryoga, that before you could only perceive the after effects of what the ki was used for. However, I believe that you are now being able to feel the potential to act within the person rather than the action itself."

"And ki has a pine smell?" Ryoga asked.

"To you it does," Tofu said, his smile slipping into a smirk. "Or at least mine does."

"Lost me again, Doc?"

Tofu didn't answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the lost boy. He had shifted Ryoga's right foot in his hands, fingers finding points on the edge like a pianist finding his keys. He pushed at the skin with gentle, probing touches, reading the winces Ryoga's face as he began speaking once again.

"Tell me, Ryoga, what did Brand smell like to you?"

"What would I want to smell that jerk for?" Ryoga growled instantly.

"Yeah, Ryoga, you're starting to worry me. Going around sniffing guys." Ranma said wryly, his eyebrow quirked.

"Shut up, Ranma!" Ryoga snapped, baring his fangs and shifting, preparing to lunge. However his snarl crumbled into pained grimace and a low his escaped between his clenched teeth.

"Keep still please, Ryoga," Tofu said firmly. "Stop teasing him, Ranma. I'm serious."

Woah, first Akane and now Doctor Tofu, Ranma thought bitterly.

"Ryoga," the doctor continued. "When you fought Brand, surely you smelt something from him."

Ryoga shook his head. "All I could smell was the burning; the smell of the fire, burnt grass and soil. My own burnt clothes too." The last was said on the crest of a low snarl. There was the smoke too. It was like being in a forest fire whilst New years fireworks went off and…"

"Fireworks?" Tofu cut in sharply, eyes intense behind his spectacles. "You could smell fireworks."

Ryoga frowned. "Not exactly, but as I fought the thought of fireworks in China and Hong Kong and the summer in America, kept popping into my head; And the ones my parents used to take me to see ,when they could find me." The lost boy's voice grew quiet. His hazel eyes seemed lost in the empty space in front of him, until they snapped back to reality and snorted. "Right until the need to dodge a fireball distracted me," he added.

"Don't you see it, Ryoga, how do you smell fireworks where there are none?"

"I don't know, there was a lot of smoke. It was quite weird that fire he threw around," the fanged youth said with a shrug.

"The smell of fireworks is quite unusual. You shouldn't have smelt anything like it unless Brand had soaked his sleeves in gunpowder. However, you didn't smell it."

"I didn't?"

"No, that how your brain perceived Brand's ki, just like it tells you mine is like pine. That's its flavour."

"Is this about food now?" Ranma asked, deciding he had been silent long enough.

The older man laughed weakly as he rubbed the nape of his neck. "I guess flavour is not the best word," he admitted. "But that's how my teachers described it to me. I'm sure you know that ki is linked closely with the mind and the spirit." Both boys nodded but Tofu was already moving on. "Each person' personality and their soul affects the ki within them, so the ki bears a certain character or 'flavour' which is unique the carries the essence of that person. Now I don't know what part of me gives what you describe as a 'pine-scented' flavour, but I suppose I should be flattered it's not something like sour milk." The doctor's face almost split with his wide grin.

"Or Akane's cooking," Ranma added dryly.

"Ranma, leave Akane out of this," Ryoga spat at him, to which the pigtailed boy replied by poking his tongue out.

"That's not nice, Ranma," Doctor Tofu said, his stern voice nullified by the twitching of his lips as he clearly fought a vain battle against an encroaching smirk. "I understand you're feelings, Akane used to bake cakes for me when she was younger. At least I think they were cakes, they were hard as rocks and…" the older man trailed off. "Anyway, Ranma, you should try to be a little kinder towards Akane, and a little more accepting. No one can be perfect, and I'm sure you've seen what a sweet girl she really is. I'm sure she was very supportive of your decision to make this training trip."

The doctor's smile suddenly seemed too bright for Ranma to bear and his eyes dropped, gazing as his hands as they balled at the fabric of his trousers. When Tofu has asked about Nerima and the Tendo's, Ranma had answered enthusiastically, but there were too many things that made his stomach twist even thinking about. He had described Mount Phoenix, its winged people and their immortal king. He had admitted he had wielded magic weapons in a fight for his life in a sky filled with wind, fire and ice. He had withheld Akane's presence in that battle, how he had held her still, naked body in his arms. He had never told anyone how cold, her wet skin had felt, or how that cold had seemed to creep into him and seize his chest in an icy grip and in that moment of loss he had screamed words whose power he had never understood until then.

Unfortunately Ryoga had apparently no qualms in telling how Ranma had left his fiancé behind, and Ranma doubted it would be a flattering tale.

"Doc," Ranma shouted just as the lost boy began to form words. The silence that followed seemed to weigh on the air of the cave after his outburst. He licked his lips as his mind scrabbled for something to fill the void, and pulled up the question that had been sitting sour in his stomach since Doctor Tofu had began.

"Why can't I smell anything?"

Tofu blinked whilst Ryoga's lips curled in to a smirk which revealed his fangs.

"Well obviously I'm far above you now, Ranma."

Ranma growled beneath his breath, muttering curses about piglets, but his gaze remained locked with the chiropractors. Tofu smiled back warmly, the gesture echoed in his eyes as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry, Ranma, I can't either. In fact Ryoga can't actually smell anything."

"But you just said he smelt ki, didn't you?"

"I said that's how his brain perceives ki," the man said, his soft, slow tone adding weight to the word. He held up his right hand, all four fingers and thumb splayed outwards. "Up to now, you've grown up with five senses. Everything you've experienced and learnt about the world has come from seeing, hearing, touching and tasting and smelling whilst your brain processes and stores that information. Now things have changed. Because of your training and your developed ki you've gained a new sense. This new sense is sending signals to your brain telling it about the flow of energy around you, but your brain isn't equipped to handle these signals. It doesn't understand. Your ki sense is speaking a whole new language to your brain. So instead it tries to work in terms of something it can understand, the five senses it is familiar with."

Ranma frowned as he considered the doctor's words, his thumb flicking at the end of his pigtail as it hung forwards, over his shoulder, so that the braid bounced on his chest. "Since you said that you can't smell anything, Doc, I'm guessing that the sense it uses to 'translate' the ki sense depends on the person."

"Very good, Ranma," Tofu confirmed; with a nod and a smile that infected Ranma and made his own lips curve. "It all depends on how a person is used to thinking about ki. I've known some martial artists to feel 'warmth' from other people, or see coloured auras. An old shiatsu master I studied with for a time spoke of meridians as lines of lights, and I'm sure to him they were. It's all about the perspective and paradigm the person uses to understand ki."

"Para…what?" Ryoga said. His mouth moved slowly around the sound as if he was tasting the new word.

"Paradigm," Tofu repeated. "Ki is energy but energy is kind of an abstract idea, and as you know, in martial arts there are a few of them. To really use and apply ki you need some sort of solid idea, a way of thinking about it that you can relate to something you know, something you've seen or felt. That idea is then usually passed through schools and generations of students so that many see ki the same way. For example the Order see ki as music and songs, which is a common paradigm, and its how I was taught to understand the energy. When I was reading the flow of ki in Ryoga just now, it felt like pressing my fingers to a stage plank beneath a grand piano and feeling the music. The flow of ki through each meridian felt like different chords and the imbalances due to your injuries felt like the pianists was hitting the wrong keys, or the strings were out of tune.

"So I'm like a song to you?" Ryoga asked, his brow tightly knitted, "We all are?"

Tofu nodded.

"That doesn't sound so bad. Much better than sniffing at things," Ranma said, shooting the lost boys a wry glance from the side. "So what do I do? And why does Ryoga smell stuff?"

"It probably has to do with his curse," the doctor said with a shrug. "A pig's sense of smell is much stronger than a human's."

The world outside of the brightly lit cave dropped away. The sound of the wind fell silent and the tree branches became still. Time seemed to stop, the space between Tofu uttering his words and them fading from the suddenly tense air stretched as if the words did not wish to slide into the silent maw.

Ryoga leapt away from the doctor as if the older man were about to explode, his injuries seemingly forgotten in his wide-eyed panic.

"You…..how?" the lost boy spluttered amongst rabid pants.

"I can feel it in your ki," Tofu said simply. "When I first began treating Ranma I noticed something strange in his ki; a beat that did not match his natural rhythm. It was quiet and did not seem to affect his ki flow, but something that sounded more intense and angrier. Like someone striking chords on an electric guitar, almost drowned beneath a full orchestra. After some time I came to realise that was the mark of Jusenkyo's curse."

Ranma felt as if something bitter had found it way into his mouth. "So the curse, is always there, a part of me." He had always known it, somewhere inside, but this time being right tasted awful.

"But how did you," Ryoga stopped and swallowed. Beads of sweat had blossomed on his forehead despite the cool night. "How did you know I was…was…" his words fell awake with a choked sound.

"P-Chan?" Tofu finished for him. "Well I knew that Akane had taken in a black piglet. Combining that with Ranma calling you 'bacon-breath' and 'P-brain' allowed me to make an educated guess."

Ranma groaned; the sound muffled by his hand as he rubbed it down his face. There was only one possible result of this revelation.

"Ranma!" the fanged boy roared.

There it is! Ranma thought with a mental sigh. He slammed a hand into the wall of the cave, pushing himself onto his side as Ryoga's fist punched through the stone where his head had been. Pain wracked his body, making his head swim and his muscles scream, but he managed to bring his fist down like a hammer on Ryoga's bare toes.

The other boy yelped and leapt back, before his face twisted into a tight grimace and his legs seemed to buckle, dropping him to one knee.

"Damn you, Ranma," he ground out between his fangs.

"Shut your face pork-butt, he worked it out on his own. It's not my fault," Ranma snapped in return.

"Only because you gave him enough clues," Ryoga hissed, one hand now rubbing at his thigh muscles whilst the other hesitantly rubbed around his burnt calf.

"If you've both finished," Tofu said sternly. "Ranma I need to check your injuries, please take your shirt off and sit here." Though his words were a request, his tone made it an order and Ranma began unfastening the ties of his red shirt. His hands paused below his breast bone as he heard a long sigh released into the air.

The doctor had removed his glasses and was buffing the lenses with one of his flowing, blue sleeves. His bare eyes seemed different, darker and distant in the shadows cast by the bangs of brown hair that were now free to fall over his brow.

"I must say I'm very disappointed in both of you," he said after a moment, hands stopping in their work. He stared towards the lantern, eyes becoming lost in the light.

"I worked in that clinic in Nerima for quite some time," he said in a soft tone. "I was the assistant of the previous owner Doctor Shibuya before I took over when he passed on. I've known the Tendo family, before and after they lost their mother and I've seen the change." His eyes snapped to and fixed Ranma with a gaze that seemed to shrink him inside and made him small. "Those three girls have a lot of love to give and they need it too, especially Akane."

Ranma's heart sank into his stomach so suddenly he could almost feel it clatter on his empty inside.

"I was happy when I first met you, her fiancé, Ranma, and I was pleased when I heard Akane had found a pet to take care of; but well…" he stopped and glanced critically at his spectacles before replacing them on his face.

Ranma felt a sudden chill, as if caught under a drizzle of invisible rain. The skin of his arms rose in gooseflesh. Ranma glanced at Ryoga and squinted. The lost boy was sheathed in a faint, barely visible aura and the air around him seemed to grow thick and heavy. A sickly green shimmer played across his skin, flickering and sputtering weakly like a candle at the end of the wick. He made a muffled, choking noise and Ranma's eyes widened as he recognised the sound as a restrained sob.

"Ryoga, please stop that," Tofu said, some warmth returning to his voice. "Your ki flow is still weak and imbalanced; such depressive energy could make your injuries worse."

"But you're right," Ryoga moaned before crying. "I'M THE BIGGEST JERK IN THE WORLD"

"Glad we agree," Ranma muttered.

"From what I know of you, Ryoga, and your….problem with directions, I'm sure you life is quite lonely. I can see why you would want Akane's affection, so many people do; she's such a sweet girl. I'm just disappointed; I would have thought a martial artist would have more willpower and more sense than to confuse care for a pet for real friendship."

The doctor's words were said in his usual gentle voice but Ryoga jerked like a man flogged. Ranma saw the lost boys lips move and strained to hear a whisper that was barely more than a puff of air. "I do."

"What puzzles me, Ranma, is why you have never told Akane?"

Ranma swallowed a painful lump in his throat and said the only things he could." I made a promise." He paused, licking his dry lips. "I was my fault, kinda."

"Kinda?" Ryoga snorted, but did not look up from the cave floor. "You knocked me into the damned spring. Not to mention I wouldn't have even been there if it wasn't for you."

Ranma's fist clenched, muscles bunching as he restrained to desire to slam his knuckles into the fanged idiots head.

"Ranma?" Tofu said, question blatant in his tone.

"Ryoga had followed me to Jusenkyo," he replied in a tired sigh. "I had just fallen into the Nyannichuan and found what was wrong with me. I was furious with Pop and wanted to get my hands on him. The old man ran and I chased him and…" Ranma shook his head. "I never even saw him," he finished.

"I promised to keep his secret because of the code between warriors. I mean, one splash and the guy is helpless I couldn't let that get out. I didn't expect him to start sleeping with girls though."

"I see," Tofu said slowly. "Ranma, how do you manage to get yourself into these situations?"

"If I knew, Doc, I'd stop getting into them," Ranma said dryly.

Tofu smirked. "I somehow doubt that, it's not in your nature. Just like this mess you've gotten into with the Order."

"That was an accident," Ranma protested immediately. As the words left his mouth he became aware how feeble his defence was. They've always been accidents, but I still end up to my neck in it.

"Yes, Ranma, I know that but…" Tofu's words stopped as he bit on his bottom lip.

"Doc?"

Tofu slid his glasses up over his brow so that he could rub at his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "I'm sorry, Ranma, Ryoga. The Eight Masters of the Order have declared that you must leave Mount Emei and not return."

"What?" Ryoga roared. "Both of us? But this is Ranma's fault?"

"Shut up, Ryoga," Ranma snapped at the lost boy. "If that's what they want I guess there's no problem with it. I wanted to apologise to that girl, maybe beat an apology out of that spiky-haired fag, but I'm not making this trip to make more enemies, just to learn." As he spoke he saw something, a half-wince, flicker across the older man's face. "There's more to this isn't there, Doc?" he asked, his brow knitting as he lifted his gaze to meet the doctor's eyes.

Tofu nodded and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I wasn't sure if I should tell you this Ranma. It could be unkind if not cruel, or it could lead to much more trouble on this mountain. However, it also seems unfair not to tell you when you have a right to know."

"Oh my god, what is it?" Ryoga yelled in a straggled tone. His eyes shot open wide and his hands clutched at the empty air.

"We'll find out if you shut up, idiot," Ranma barked, his exasperation filling his fist as he bounced his knuckles across the other's boys head.

Tofu cleared his throat. "I don't want to give you false hope, boys. It too late, now, but you deserve to know. The Order knows about Jusenkyo."

Ryoga frowned. "Everyone knows about Jusenkyo. There's a even a guide book "

"No, Ryoga, I mean they know it more than anyone else in the world. After I mentioned to Master Locke about the strange effect I felt in Ranma's ki, and said I though it could be the due to curse, he confirmed it for me. He told me that the 'Taint' as he called it was well-documented, and then he admitted that the Order had been studying Jusenkyo and the curse for a long time."

His heart in his throat Ranma found questions falling from his lips before he had thought of them. "Years? How long?"

"Centuries, more likely millennia. He mentioned that the Order had been concerned with Jusenkyo, since before the 'Dark Time' but I'm not quite sure what he exactly meant by that or what time period it could represent. Only that it involved a huge war over the use of the springs."

"Why are they so interested? Why study the curse for so long? What do they want?" Ranma asked, the words pouring out of them.

"The same thing you do," Tofu answered, "but on a much grander scale. Remember, to Taoists, like the Order, nature is divine. The Tao is Law of Nature and it is flawless and absolute, and the most critical element of the Tao is the flow of ki and how it preserves balance against chaos and heat. To the Order, Jusenkyo is a terrible aberration; one could almost say a blasphemy as it leaves a mark on the natural flow of ki in the body, that's why they call it the Taint. However the problem is greater, as Jusenkyo is a product of magic, which to the Order is a perversion of nature. Spellcraft twists the Greater Cycle to some artificial purpose, which to Taoists is abhorrent. A permanent magical anomaly such as Jusenkyo is like an ink spill in the purest spring water, although the water is can still be drunk it is no longer pristine and clear. The Order has extensively studied the cursed hoping that they could find away to purge the taint from their ki flow."

"Purge the taint? You mean they can cure us?" Ryoga burst out. New tears welled in his eyes even as a wide, fanged grin spread over his face.

"I don't know, Ryoga, but Locke said that there was almost an entire wing of the great archive dedicated to Jusenkyo. If a cure is possible, and I am not saying that it is, they would know of it." Then the man sighed and shook his head. "Not that it matters anymore now; the Order have banished you from Emei. They are very protective of their secrets and their knowledge and I have heard rumours that when such lore is shared they often impose very demanding restrictions and a heavy price. However, to be blunt, you've made too much of a mess, boys, they would never share anything with you now." The doctor stared at his lap as he rubbed his moist palms on his robes. "Such a waste," Ranma heard him whisper.

"Damn you, Ranma, you've ruined my chance at a cure!"

Ranma muted the other boy's rage to a distant buzz as he knelt in front of Tofu, hands clutching at the doctors sleeve

"Surely there something we can do, Doc? Whatever they want from me I'll give them it, I'd even apologise to that blonde jerk."

"It's too late, Ranma. The Masters are the law on this mountain and they want you gone."

"Talk to them," Ranma pleaded. "This Locke, is your master right? Maybe he could tell you the secret. We'll hide out here and won't cause any trouble; they won't even know we're still on Emei. After all we can't leave until our injuries are better."

"I don't think so," Tofu said, but this time his denial seemed unsure, less adamant.

"Please Doctor Tofu," Ryoga said weakly. He approached the frowning chiropractor and kneeling Saotome with hurried but still obviously pained movements. His face told a different story. With his awed smile and moist, shimmering eyes he could have been hearing the voice of God. "I need this. I don't want to be Akane's pet. I want to be…"

Ranma felt his face twist into a snarl. Yes, I know exactly what you want, pig-boy! His knuckles turned white as he tensed his fist, the urge to strike the other boy swelled in his breast once again. However, he stayed his hand as the tight frown on Tofu's face began to loosen like a knot gradually coming undone. The knot fell apart as the doctor sighed.

"I'll try, boys. I can see how much this means to you both; but I can't make any guarantees. It's still very likely Master Locke will say no." The older man conceded, a smile slowly slipping on his lips until he was grinning warmly.

"I know, Doc, but so long as you try," Ranma said with a matching smile, his heart bouncing in his chest. Never gonna be a girl again, never gonna be a girl again, a choir sang in his head.

"Thank you," Ryoga gushed, wrapping Tofu in an embrace which made the man's face fill bright red and the veins on his brow swell like chords.

"Ryoga," Tofu gasped. "My back! Can't breath!"

Ranma clutched the lost boys shoulder and attempted to heave the melodramatic Hibiki from his friend. "Ryoga, the plan won't work if you kill the Doc."

Ryoga's arms snapped open and Tofu sagged away like a wilting plant, his arms cradling his sides as he let out a stream of weak coughs. Ryoga's own strength faded and he too slumped to the floor, scratching at the back of his head with an unsteady chuckle. "Sorry, I sometimes don't know my own strength."

Ranma rolled his eyes. He knows his strength he's just too stupid to do something about it.

"Don't worry about it," Tofu croaked in a weak, straggled voice. "Maybe it's a sign I should do some more external training myself, hmm?" He coughed again. "Anyway, if we're to do this, it is important that you two do stay here in hiding whilst I talk to Master Locke. If you do leave don't go far and make sure you're not spotted as it could lead to more trouble. Brand and Blitz are proud men, they are certain to want a rematch.

"Besides, as you mentioned the two of you need to wait for your injuries to heal and your ki to balance. I have some tea whose herbs might help on the latter and for your pain. I also have something that might help those burns Ryoga."

Giving his side one last rub he pushed himself up and settled back onto the rocky outcropping he had been sitting on.

"First I need to get back to work and take a look at you, Ranma. Could you take your shirt off your shirt please?"

Ranma started. "Oh right," he acknowledged, quickly releasing the last few ties on his shirt. His jaw bunched around his clenched teeth as pain shot through his muscles as he gingerly eased the shirt from his shoulders. His bruises seemed larger, spread across his male body and without his breasts in the way he could see the yellowing edges clearly. He grimaced as he set shuffled around in front of the doctor, facing away as Ryoga had done.

"You going to feel my ki like you did Ryoga's?"

Tofu nodded. "I'm going to check your meridians for imbalances and signs of internal injuries."

"Hey, Doc? I think I have some paper and a pen or pencil in my pack. Do you think you could draw the meridians so I could study them?" Ranma asked, fighting a smirk trying to make his voice sound casual despite the excitement stirring in him. I mean, if I'm going to be cooped up in the cave I'll need something to keep busy." I'll be busy, all right. If I'm right, this new trick will come in handy.

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

---

"Amazon kempo," Shampoo answered, trying to peer over the edge of the policeman's clipboard.

His hand froze, pen still pressed on the page where an expanding spot of ink was blotting out the scribbled answers. He looked at her, his face blank and brows knit beneath the shining black visor of his cap. Shampoo blinked, wondering what she had said, and shuffling her feet. The sounds of the cars sliding down the street and the whispers of passing people, muttering with heads together as they stared, all seemed louder in the pause.

"Amazon?" the man said finally.

Shampoo nodded. "Yes, Amazon," she repeated wondering if she had misspoken. "What you say this for again?"

The cop blinked before stiffening, then brushed at the deep blue arm of his uniform jacket with his right hand, pinning his pen to the clipboard with the thumb of the other. "We're just taking a survey. They're been many reported incidents involving martial artists in this district." He paused, fiddling with his belt and making his handcuffs and truncheon rustle softly. "We felt that it would be…um…useful to have a list of local martial artists and their styles."

"Shampoo guess that make sense," she conceded and glanced down at the pantsuit of pink silk that she wore, with ties binding the shimmering fabric tight at her ankles and bracers of tough leather on her forearms. She had been hunting the perverted troll across the rooftops of Nerima and thus was not dressed in the attire of a typical Japanese girl; something that had become more deliberate over the last few days. It was no mystery why the officer had singled her out.

"We can do our job better when we're informed," he said with a smile, which swiftly dropped from his face as his eyebrow rose. "Now, when you say Amazon, do you mean as in the warrior women?"

"Is so," she said with a nod, before she felt her eyes narrow. "Why you sound so odd? You no think women can be warriors?" Her voice dropped to a hiss as she saw the man's gaze drop beneath her face for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"No, no!" he said, holding the flat of his clipboard up in a placating move. "My wife would kill me if I went about saying something like that," he said, offering another smile and a low chuckle.

I doubt your wife has the heart to kill you, Shampoo thought, her lips compressing to a tight line. If she lets you go around staring at other girls' breasts when you should be working, I doubt she is much different from the rest of these outsider-women. She then scolded herself mentally; it was not the women's fault, they were just now finding their strength. It was the men's.

Back home the men were too spineless too look, well except Mousse but that was a different problem. In Japan all the men looked, as if she was a picture in a gallery or magazine, something to be gawped at and leered, even more so because she was foreign. She had noticed that even Akane, the undeserving object of so many fantasies did not get the same kind of looks she got. Worst of all, the one man she wanted to look, the one she wanted to want her, went out of his way to avoid looking. The other elders were right; men were useless.

Then the image of Ranma's determined yet terrified face, seen through the bars of a cage amidst the ringing of the New Year's bell flashed in her mind with a barrage of other pictures. There was Ryoga's blush and fanged growl, and even a few of Mousse, though she wondered how they had got there, smirking behind glimmering blades; but most of all there was Ranma. Something heavy and black seemed to press down within her stomach as she recalled the elder's words again, and they seemed fainter for a moment, until she realised the policeman had spoken again.

"Sorry, could you repeat?" she asked, snapping from her thoughts.

The man frowned, probably doubting her language skills or her brains as most other Japanese did, but obliged. "I was wondering if I could get a few more details about this 'Amazon kempo.' Is it only hand to hand or do you use weapons?"

"Is much of both, many hand form and many weapon styles. Shampoo use Amazon Long Fist, and Sky Dragon styles. Can also use many weapon but best with bonbori and sword." Shampoo concentrated, extending her hand and letting her ki flow as Mousse had taught her, picturing unwrapping an apple from a napkin. The melon hammer appeared; her fingers curling around the carved haft before its huge weight could drop it through the pavement and hefting it for inspection.

The policeman's eyes grew, his pupils suddenly floating in a ring of white. The pen dropped from his fingers and Shampoo's hand flicked out to snatch it from the air. As she held it out, it took several moments for his eyes to dart from her mace to the pen, and then they flicked to her face, and back to the mace, mouth working all the time, like a landed fish. With a shake his pulled himself together and reclaimed the pen with trembling fingers.

"Thanks," he said his voice breathless. He cleared his throat and then spoke again, some strength returning to his voice. "Do you carry the sword with you too?"

"No," she said, not all the time, she added mentally but the officer's tone suggested that she should keep that silent. "Was gift from mother, Shampoo keep in room, is reminder of home."

That was apparently the best answer, as the policeman gave a small, sympathetic smile. His pen whispered on the paper as he scrawled down notes, and Shampoo tucked her bonbori away with a flex of will, the sensation like dropping something into a cloth sack. The writing stopped as the man stared at her hands, and then restarted with a much wilder pace, the nib scraping loudly on the page.

"You have more questions for Shampoo?" she asked, forcing her voice to stay sweet despite her thinning patience.

"No, thanks for your co-operation, Miss. If you could just tell me your address for our records you can be on your way."

"Shampoo live at Nekohanten, you know place yes?" Shampoo answered. She glanced at the cop from the corner of her eyes as his pen stopped halfway through the name of the café.

"Uh yeah," he said pushing his cap up with the end of his pen. "Wasn't that place closed by the health department? There was a foot poisoning incident."

"No!" Shampoo snapped. She took an angry step towards the man, fist already rising from her side before she stopped herself and forced it back down. "No," she repeated in a calmer voice, but her hand gripped the pocket of her silk pants tightly. "That all misunderstanding. Accident with suppliers." She plucked the lie from nowhere, waving her hand towards the officer whilst flashing him the same empty smile she used on high tipping, but stupid customers. "All be cleared up soon and we be open again. You come yes. Ramen is best in town."

"Sure," he said with a smile, sly eyes peering from beneath hooded lids.

A wife indeed? she thought dryly. Maybe if I met her I could convince her to at least hit him a few times.

The cop covered his mouth with a fist as he loudly cleared his throat and returned his eyes to his notes. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask where you are currently living whilst your home is…indisposed."

Shampoo mumbled the name of the tiny hotel that she was cooped up in with her highly stressed Great-grandmother and irritating man-duck, the words coming out of her mouth fast as if she were throwing them at the nosey policeman. The man smiled again, eyes slipping from her face and making her stomach turn. He began to repeat his thanks for her co-operation but she was already storming away. She bounced off of the awning of a greengrocer and onto the flat roof, leaving the wide-eyed cop gawping after her.

Shampoo leapt from roof to roof, fleeing the cop and his clipboard like a pack of dogs, her lavender hair streaming behind her. Planting her foot on the lip of a short wall of a balcony, she vaulted herself high above an apartment complex before allowing herself to drop to the building below her. Metal rang beneath her feet as she landed on the conical roof of a water tower, the structure singing like a dull bell before she pushed herself off into a sideways flip. Landing on the tiles she walked to the edge of the roof, shielding her eyes with one hand as she scanned the skyline for the shrivelled figure of Happosai and his sack of stolen goods.

Her teeth clenched and ground upon each other as she read no sign of the pervert across the rooftops. At her side trembled the same fist which had clenched when facing the policeman, her knuckles white with desire to hit something.

Staring down at the street her eyes found the Nekohanten. Despite the early afternoon the restaurant seemed dark through the windows, the front tables' shadowed silhouettes, hardly comparable to the seat where she had observed couples gazing at each other over steaming bowls of ramen. A sign was posted on the inside of the glass and Shampoo had to squint to read the text.

CLOSED PENDING INVESTIGATION
-MINISTRY OF HEALTH AND WELFARE

Shampoo's scowled deepened. With that sign their reputation was torn, perhaps irreparably. It would be hard to keep business after this debacle. She was surprised at the bittersweet taste that left in her mouth.

She wondered why she would be sad if the restaurant closed. How would it hurt her? Why her Great-grandmother had decided to open the place was a mystery to her, one that had tugged at her mind for her first few weeks in Japan, playing at her as she learn to dress up food, found shortcuts across the rooftops on her bike and discovered the smile that was most eagerly returned by her customers. Eventually the question was lost in the business itself, in the races through hot springs and suggestive mushrooms, dismissed as a ploy to get past immigration. However now her husband had vanished, there was little to distract her mind from its musings.

She was a warrior not a waitress, or so she told herself, avoiding the tiny voice that asked if that was still true. There had never been any doubt before had stepped onto the challenge log. Ranma had changed that, changed everything. It was not just the attacks by winged Minotaurs or the wooing by legendary ghost cats, it was the small everyday things that had been turned inside out and upside down.

In her village she had often helped to provide food for her people, but by joining in the hunt with her Warrior-sisters, stalking prey over harsh terrain. Her father had taught her how to cook, and she found it very relaxing, but it was private. A duty she shared with her family; one which respected and cemented the bond between herself, her father and her Great-Grandmother. Now the preparation of food was en masse, the ingredients fresh and the taste excellent, but her smile was fake, barley maski9ng a desire for tips she would have once found laughable.

Her position as an Amazon warrior, just come of age, was not a varied one. Like her sisters, her hours were given to three causes; her fist, her family and her people. That was the life she had been destined to when she was born into the warrior-caste. It was a hard life, steeped in honour and obligation, where a slip could ruin one's family, but it was all she had been ever wanted.

Now her life revolved around a ramen shop; often filled with schoolboys and salary men who spent more time with their eyes on her than the menu board, and a had man who lived with another girl yet still wanted her to cook for him, before leaving with her heart in his pocket like a key ring. A job and a husband. This was not the life of an Amazon.

It's their life, she sneered mentally, glaring at the people below her. Outsiders.

She scanned along the street; the street that she had lived on for almost two years, but now somehow seemed foreign and unfamiliar, as if she were looking at a photograph of a street in a distant city. A blur of blue appeared in the periphery of her vision, making her head snap around to stare in the distance where the roads crossed. The blur resolved into a policeman's uniform, and as she squinted Shampoo could make out another of those damnable clipboards. He appeared to be interviewing two figures, women by their height, one with a weapon strapped to her back.

Curiosity tugging at her, Shampoo strode to the edge of the apartment building that she stood atop, and stepped off the roof. Kicking out against behind her, she dove forwards and gripped a phone line in her fist. Ignoring the numbing tingle of the electricity she yanked herself forwards, giving her the momentum to land on the slanted roof of a house with a loud thump. A gasp drew her attention to a matronly woman in the garden below, head covered with a kerchief, who paused in the act of hanging washing and stared up at Shampoo with wide eyes. The Amazon scowled and the woman quickly gathered her washing and hurried inside.

Shampoo loped across the roof to the front of the house and hopped onto the chain of fences that ran along the street. She followed the improvised walkway at a swift trot, speeding up to vault across the gaps that open up where streets and alleys bisected her path.

She kept her eyes on her quarry, now clearly seen to be two young girls. The tallest was of an age with her, dark brown hair bound with a stiff roll of bandages which lifted the locks up above her crown before letting in flow in a tail past her shoulders. Thick bangs were cut straight at harsh angles revealing intense eyes which were fixed on the questioning policeman. Her companion, sister Shampoo guessed seeing a ghost of resemblance in their features, was younger by three or four years. Her slightly lighter her was cut shorter, fanning over the base of her neck, but was tied with an unusually large scarlet ribbon. They were wore similar dress, much like the uniform of a schoolgirl, except that the tall one wore a navy-blue blazer buttoned primly across her stomach and barely covering her hips rather than the more typical white blouse and neckerchief worn by her sister. Both girls' skirts were divided down the middle as if for horse riding but eldest wore tight black leggings similar to those worn by the spatula girl, whereas the hems of a pair of blue spandex shorts peeked from beneath the younger girl's pleated, blue dress.

Shampoo chewed her lip thoughtfully as she slipped from the fence top on the other side. Those modifications were made for combat, she noted considering the slits cut into her own skirts, except those went up the outer sides past her hips. Her brow also furrowed as she considered the strange weapon born by the older sister, made of shaped rattan cane, it appeared to be a large rugbeater. Not the strangest weapon she had ever seen, especially since coming to Nerima, but still one to earn a frown.

She slipped closer, the words the eldest was exchanging with the cop becoming clearer with each step. Creeping through gardens and leapling over walls as if stalking a mountain lion through the forest, her soft slippers barely made a whisper as she stepped across grass lawns and concrete driveways. Finally, she dropped into a squat as she drew even with the strangers, crouching on her haunches with only the thin barrier of the fence between them.

"As I said before, Officer, we're just passing through to see some rela…friends." one of the girls said, her voice flat and her words spoken with prim precision and measured propriety.

"I understand, Miss, but I have my orders," a man said in a calm tone. "I appreciate your cooperation and I can understand how this may seem a little odd. All I need is a few more details."

"No problem," the other girl chirped excitedly as if her words burst out of her like a firework.

Her sister appeared to be more cautious. "What kind of details," she asked slowly, her tone larded with suspicion.

"Just a little more info on the style you practise. For example is that…uh…thing on your back a weapon?" The policeman paused for leaving the question hanging and Shampoo assumed that the girl had responded with a nod. "Do you use others?"

"I use a ribbon," piped the younger sister.

"A very pretty one too," replied the cop's voice warmly. Shampoo barely repressed a snort.

"Hush, Kurumi," the first girl said haughtily. "To answer your question, Officer, we have both done some moderate training in several weapons in the past but we do not use them much anymore. We only use the beater and ribbons that you see us carry, which is for defence and training only. We travel a lot and I'm sure you understand why two young women could use a little extra protection."

"Of course," the policeman replied sombrely. "Some places are becoming less safe, everyone needs to take care, women especially."

Shampoo's stomach turned. She knew she should not be surprised at his words but they still seemed like a slap. However, it was the casual way that the girl fostered his comment that made her bile churn like a rotten scallop. To think I had thought her a warrior, she thought bitterly. These outsiders will never grow to be more if they encourage their males by wearing their bridle.

"Is your style based on hand to hand combat?" the officer spoke again after clearing his throat. "A form of karate or jiu-jitsu or perhaps kempo?"

"Our school uses whatever works," the older girl declared, her voice every ounce as regal as a queen proclaiming from her throne.

"We practise Anything-Goes martial arts," the other girl, Kurumi, peeped.

Shampoo's widened and a breathy gasp slipped out before she clasped her palms firmly over her mouth. She pressed herself tighter against the fence, laying her ear against the rough wooden planks. Her brow furrowed as she pursed her lips. More students of Anything-Goes? That tickled something in her brain, something she thought she should know.

"Anything-Goes?" the man said, a touch breathily. "I've heard of your school. You're quite….famous around here. There is a dojo not far, will you be staying there?"

"Yep," the youngest answered happily.

"No, Kurumi," her sister snapped. "We will be visiting the Tendo dojo, Officer, but we have no plans on staying too long."

"But Natsume…" the girl's words became muffled and indistinct.

"No, we have to continue training. Even if we do not have the dojo we must be strong enough to be the heirs of the Anything-Goes School of Martial Arts."

"The heirs?" the cop spluttered. "You're the heirs?"

A ball of ice had formed in the pit of Shampoo's stomach and the cold seeped through her body, numbing her mind. Her thoughts were silent, unsure how to react or process the new information. She licked her lips and drew a slow breath, flexing her fingers and feel carved ridges pressing into her palm. Eyes widening, she quickly glanced down at her right hand to see her hand curled around the haft of her bonbori. Staring at the painted surface of the mace, Shampoo felt warmth flood her, purging the cold in her gut and making her lip curls into a small smile. Hefting the weapon she nodded to herself.

No matter how much these this upside-down country and the ways of the milk water outsiders softened her sense; or how falling in love with an amazing but exasperating idiot of a man had addled her wits. The core of her being still held a warrior's heart and it knew what should be done.

Shampoo had tried to be the partner her husband, a Japanese teenager, would expect and would want by their ways, to be a mere girlfriend. Where had that gotten her? Her pride cracked, her dignity in the gutters and her husband off where only her ancestors knew. Her Great-grandmother was right: that was Mousse's mistake and she would be damned if she would not learn what he had not. It was time to act as an Amazon wife should, and part of that was fighting the battles her groom could not. No sister of the Nichieju would let someone take what belonged to her consort. Shampoo would fail them by letting these chits steal her husband's place.

Her aunt had often told the tale of Wen Mei, who had hunted and challenged a band of the legendary Wudan swordsmen for taking her husbands basket of vegetables. The records say that she had scattered their leader's body across a field, each limb driven into the soil like planted turnips.

The annals recorded that Wen Mei had rose to great honour within her people, becoming the Prime, the Matriarch's chosen second. Her words were well known amongst the Scroll of Voices. The path of an Amazon warrior lies in the heart not the head, for it alone know which step will lead to glory.

Letting this wisdom sink in slowly, Shampoo waited for the policeman to finish his interview, like a hawk on its perch, waiting for the mouse to leave its hole. It was not long, a few minutes of short, meaningless questions about the girl's travels and plans, and their replies which were all variations and rewording of 'We don't know'. As she pushed down the desire to tear down the fence in front of her and charge the usurpers, those minutes seemed to stretch into hours. As she heard the cop thank the sisters and say his goodbye, Shampoo dismissed her bonbori, feeling a twinge of reluctance at losing its soothing weight.

She held herself back as the girls' voices, mostly the chatter of the younger sister, began to dim. Then feeling butterflies drum her guts with anticipation she leapt over the fence to the road and began to follow. She did not prowl along their trail like a leopard on the gazelle's heel but stalked behind them blatantly, a lioness presenting herself to the herd before it spooked.

Eventually her prey did, the older one gripping her sisters shoulder firmly, pulling her to a halt before whirling around.

"Why do you follow us?" she asked, politely but firmly, just short of a demand.

"Maybe she's lost?" Kurumi suggested, with wide eyes and a small smile.

"She's not lost, Kurumi," Natsume said, her eyes narrowing. "Concentrate, Kurumi, can't you feel it?"

The younger girl's face scrunched up and she squinted towards Shampoo, as if she expected her to suddenly change shape. Finally she shrugged and shook her head.

Shampoo noticed this but locked eyes with the taller girl. "So Phoney-girl recognise challenge, have some skill after all. Shampoo glad to hear it. Would have big guts to claim lie if not."

"Phoney-girl?" Natsume repeated slowly, flicking her tail of brown hair back over her shoulder. "Who are you and what do you mean by lie?" Her lips twisted around the word as if it were something foul.

"Name is Shampoo, I warrior of Joketsuzoku. And lie mean you claim what not true. What else lie mean?"

The younger one seemed to sense the tension that charged the air with a silent hum. The cheer dropped from her face, replaced with a hesitant frown that wavered as if it did not belong. She stepped sideways, closer to her sister. "What do you want from us?" she asked. "We haven't done anything to you?"

"Insult to Shampoo Airen is insult to Shampoo."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Natsume pronounced stuffily, pulling sharply at the hem of her blazer. "And you're clearly quite mad, so we'll go."

"No!" Shampoo growled. Her bonbori appeared in her hands and she pointed it towards the older sister with a fierce stabbing motion. "You spit on husband's honour you not spit on Amazon's." Too often she had let the people of this town, this country dismiss her people and her ways. If they did not deride them outright as the brainless customs of an ignorant, backwater tribe.

However one of those customs was that grievances must be aired before a warrior can claim combat. Swallowing a deep breath Shampoo forced her voice to be calm. "You claim be heirs of Anything Goes School, yes? Shampoo's Airen, Ranma, is only true heir of pervert man's school. That make you liars and f...fraud," Shampoo paused a moment to silently curse herself for tripping over the rarely used word. She adjusted for the slip by injecting more venom into her words. "In China is big, big crime to take person's name or take claim person's place. Is big insult to true person and family. Is also big shame to let go unpunished."

"So you have come to punish us, is that it?" Natsume concluded flatly, her fine eyebrow arching. Her eyes flicked towards Shampoo's hands. "Those melon hammers suggest you're taking this very seriously."

Kurumi shuffled, inching closer to her sister but she stood on the balls of her feet. She lifted one hand behind her, fingering the lose ties of her giant red ribbon.

Shampoo nodded. "Is so. Ranma not here to defend honour or defend place, but husband honour is wife honour. I make challenge instead, by right of heart bond." The last words called to ritual that meant nothing to those not of the Nichieju, or its enemies, but it felt good to hear herself utter them. The words steeled her as she adjusted her grip on her maces.

"Wait," Kurumi said suddenly, her big eyes blinking rapidly. "Ranma? You don't mean Ranma Saotome?"

"Yes," Shampoo confirmed, before her eyes narrowed. "You know Ranma?" she asked suspiciously. Her beloved did seem to meet far too many women for her liking, and few of them were what she would call unattractive.

"We do," Natsume replied in a measured tone, which was completely dashed by her sister's following out burst.

"But he's Akane's fiancé! Why do you call him husband?"

"Ranma is Shampoo's husband," she snarled. She could feel the muscles of her jaw bunch until they ached as she ground her teeth. While she had learnt to live with the Tendo claim, which in itself galled her, but she despised being slapped in the face with it. "Akane is small...obstacle. Be dealt with in time."

"What do you mean by 'dealt with?'" Natsume asked; a sliver of steel beneath her prim voice.

"None you business," Shampoo snapped instantly. I wish I knew, a small but bitter voice whispered in her mind. She stuffed it down with her rising temper.

"Akane is our friend," the young one piped hotly. There was some fire beginning to show there after all.

Shampoo waved away the comment with a flick of her wrist as if batting it aside with her bonbori. "Shampoo think you should more be concerned about own selfs." She fixed the older girl with a sharp glare and came to the heart of the matter. "I accuse you of great crime. Do you wish to challenge or accept punishment."

"Punishment?" Kurumi repeated quietly. Natsume lip twitched and Shampoo thought she could see the girl's fist trembling around the death grip she had taken on her skirt.

"Reasonable punishment," the Amazon replied, allowing her lips to form a smirk. "Strip naked and Shampoo switch with bamboo cane. Furinkan high school not far, that be good place."

The pleated fabric fell from Natsume's hand as it opened convulsively. Kurumi gasped loudly, pressing both hands over her mouth. Their eyes of both seemed huge as they openly goggled. Blood suffused Natsume's face, turning her skin scarlet. Her mouth worked but no sound came out beyond a barely audible croak.

"Well?" Shampoo asked, repressing a snicker.

"Switched?" Kurumi squeaked breathlessly.

"In public no less!" her sister shrieked. Her body quivered and her face twisted with seemingly enormous desire to rein herself in. The hands that had taken a death grip on her pleated skirt relaxed one finger at a time before smoothing out the fabric. She then pulled at the bottom of her blazer and brushed imagined dust from her chest. When she lifted her face again her expression was flawless, like a statue carved of ice. She laid a hand on the younger girl's shoulder, who returned a small smile before scowling at Shampoo.

"I have no intention on letting anyone harm myself or my sister," Natsume stated in tones of iron. Not for you or your imagined crimes. We have done nothing wrong, so I have no choice but, as you say, to challenge your accusation."

Shampoo nodded, hand tightening on the haft on her bonbori. "Shampoo thought might. You not seem weak, coward, but no can be sure with liar-girls."

"We're not liars," Kurumi snapped with hard stamp of her foot.

"That for you to prove now."

Shampoo warily took her eyes from the sister, scanning the familiar streets. Her eyes rested on a large square building, one she must have seen a thousand times yet never really noticed until now. Perhaps because it was so plain and ordinary, just another apartment complex, each window set in its own niche in the white walls like arrow slots in a palisade. Colourful garments hung from short wires stretched across these tiny balconies, flapping in the wind.

"Up there," Shampoo said, pointing towards the buildings roof. She could not see any water towers, vents or other obstacles; a flat square of space shielded by a shallow wall. A perfect arena.

"You follow, yes?" she threw over her shoulder towards the pair as she loped down the street.

When she was sure that the sound of footsteps on her heels was her opponents' she leapt onto the fence and then as she came to the building, pushed herself into a mighty jump. A woman walking past her window gaped, her coffee cup falling from her fingers before screaming as Shampoo approached. She kicked out before she could crash onto the balcony, her foot catching its steel fence and vaulted herself up the remaining floor until she touched down on the roof.

Kurumi followed in her path, earning another scream from one of the apartment's as she used a balcony as a stepping stone. Her balance wavered as she landed upon the shallow wall on the roof's lip, but she caught herself easily and stepped forward. Shampoo grimaced as the older sister managed to leap the three stories in a single bound.

"You sure you not change mind?" Shampoo asked as she strode to the centre of the rooftop, scraping a foot over the black tarmac to test her footing. From the corner of her eyes she noticed a slightly raised platform, embedded with a steel trapdoor. That could prove a problem.

Natsume had doffed her blue blazer, revealing a loose white blouse, buttoned to the top and drew her rugbeater. "Not if you still mean to have us switched naked in a high school. Besides, the tenets of Anything Goes do not allow us to refuse a challenge."

"Shampoo see you no quit lie. For sake of husband, Shampoo no quit. We fight."

The tall girl nodded stiffly, her face still blank and cold. Her sister stepped forward one hand pulling a long length of scarlet silk from her bow, but Natsume cut her off with an out flung hand in her path.

"But Natsume, we fight together. One mind and one body," the young girl protested.

Natsume spared a smile for her sister that did not touch her eyes, eyes which never left Shampoo. "Remember what we decided last time, Kurumi. It can no longer work that way. We must become strong in our own rights. Only then will we be worthy heirs."

"I fight one, or both. No matter to Shampoo," the Amazon shrugged. "Both lie so both must be punished."

"I'll take the challenge for the both of us," the older girl replied firmly. "My sister can act as witness."

Shampoo nodded but said nothing. There was nothing more to be said. Her fingers shifted on the carved grip of her bonbori as Natsume took a place opposite her, spinning her beater in her hands. Kurumi stood between the pair but far enough to Shampoo's left that she would not be caught in their collision when the battle was joined.

"Um," the girl mumbled, shuffling her feet.

"Don't worry about us, Kurumi," her sister said testily, before smoothing her tone. "You know what to do."

Kurumi chewed at her bottom lip but raised a trembling hand into the air.

"Begin," she cried, bringing her arm down in a slash.

Shampoo needed no more invitation and immediately charged at her opponent. This was her right. This was her place, her calling. This was who she was. All she needed was to remember it.

She opened strong, hefting her right mace high and bringing it crashing down like a like a thunderbolt, lunging forwards with her left knee bent and putting all her mass into the blow.

Natsume dodged with a single, large step, sliding forwards at an angle so that Shampoo's mace slashed through empty air and crashed into the rooftop, spraying up chunks of tarmac.

Shampoo heard the air begin to sing and dropped to one knee, ducking her head as the song crested into a wail. The air above her was torn asunder as Natsume's beater cleaved through the space her torso had been with a violent backhand slash. Glancing up she saw tiny strands of lavender dancing and spinning in the air. Tucking her bonbori in close, Shampoo rolled over her shoulder as her opponent completed her spin.

As the gathered herself on her feet, she quickly spun to find her foe. The mask of ice had cracked on the other girl's face as she roared and swept her weapon through the empty air.

Shampoo was not sure why but her senses screamed at her to block. She brought her maces up before her chest in a cross and something, nothing slammed into the metal spheres with enough force to make the steel ring like a bell. Harsh vibrations trembled through the haft and into her hands, making her grimace and flakes of bright paint fell from the heads.

Ancestors! she gasped mentally. The air around her grew cold in the wake of Natsume's attack, sending a shiver through her. She pursed her lips, realising this woman was far more formidable than she had expected.

It doesn't matter, Shampoo told herself, gritting her teeth. She claims your husbands place. She insults the mate of an Amazon woman, this is your duty.

"Amazon not give up," she whispered to herself and threw herself into another rush. Stretching her arms wide, she swept her bonbori inwards, dashing into a running version of the movement Two World's Collide towards the tall girls legs.

Natsume stepped back nimbly, almost flowing from the hammers' paths, beater raised defensively.

Shampoo twisted her wrists so the steel spheres would not crash into each other, cocking one mace over her left shoulder and the other under her right armpit. Lunging up with a yell, she thrust her weapons forwards, the cross hafts streaking for Natsume's chin before swinging the hammer heads outwards.

The haft of the rugbeater rose softly, almost floating up against Shampoo's elbows but with enough force to nudge her attack from its target as its owner slipped down. Natsume's fell onto her back, dropping quickly but seeming to land like a feather on the hard roof.

A hard gasp followed by a weak splutter slipped from Shampoo's lips as she folded around the kick that had thrust up into her gut. Holding her breath to keep what little air remained in her lungs, she struck down with a bonbori but her opponents other foot lashed around in a circle, catching the edge of her hand where the haft protruded and flinging it from her grasp. The heavy weapon spun through the air before landing with a hard 'thunk' on the rooftop.

Shampoo grimaced, taking a deep breath to feel her chest and snapped her now free, left hand down, then seized Natsume's kicking leg, still pressed against her stomach, in a vice like grip which made the other girls wince. Summoning as much strength as she could into that one arm, she stepped back on one leg and threw herself into a hard twist throwing her opponent by the ankle like an Olympic hammer.

Natsume hit the ground and bounced once before sliding to a stop, miraculously keeping hold of her weapon. She did not tarry long though, gathering herself up quickly but with jarred, pained movements. Her face was screwed into a tight grimace and her divided skirts had ridden up to her pale thighs revealing fresh scrapes on her knees and legs.

Shampoo waited for her opponent to bring herself up, barely holding her mace in check as she eased it in her grip. She had made a True-challenge for the right of redress. She could not smash the defendant like a bug. However, as soon as the soles of Natsume's shoes pressed flat on the tarmac, Shampoo swung her arm forwards with a cry and launched her mace.

The bonbori darted head-first towards the older girl like a comet, and Shampoo bolted forwards in its trail. She ducked low as she ran, hands spread behind her. Her fingers flexed with a staccato crack finding the looseness and agility needed for an assault on her opponent's meridians.

Flowing springs set. Shampoo thought with a hint of a smirk after dismissing the knockout point on the base of skull in favour for a string of points along the bladder channel. Sudden, overwhelming incontinence would end the fight just as well but it would add the extra touch of humiliation. Very suitable for a usurper.

A high wail rose as Natsume sliced the wicker blade of her rugbeater through the air before her, and Shampoo found herself blocking her own weapon as it reeled back towards her. She thrust forwards both hands, bracing herself against the hard impact. Her palms stuck as the head of her bonbori collided against them, the shock lancing painfully through the bones of her hand and arm. Unable to stop her rush, Shampoo was forced to twist from the path of the hammer and wrench it aside, sending it clattering and leaving her to defend herself with her bare hands as Natsume attacked.

Before she could recover her guard a high roundhouse kick struck her shoulder. The blow did not hurt but made her stumble to her left side as her opponent swung her beater towards that flank. Shampoo shifted her body away to her right, sinking onto her back leg and dropped her forearm to block the attack. She hissed loudly. Her flesh felt as if lashed by a flail, despite her bracers, but also cold like a winter wind.

Shampoo pushed herself forwards and became the crane; she stood on one leg, the three stiffened fingers of her hand striking towards the cluster of nerves beneath the curve of Natsume's jaw like a beak plucking a berry from a tree.

Natsume rotated her wrist, a tiny effortless motion but it brought the beater around in an arc, knocking aside Shampoo's hand. However, the Amazon snatched the thin wooden haft and pulled it back with enough force to make the brown-haired girl stagger as she clung to the weapon.

The crane became a precious duck, speeding its way through lotus flowers. She thrust her body forward, raised leg stamping back to the floor. She dropped her hips into a squat, squared stance as her fist slammed into her opponent's chest. Her knuckles stuck the girl between her breasts and sent her reeling back head over heels, a cry following her fall.

For a moment the girl lay flat on her face, beater arms length away.

"Natsume," her sister stepping into a run but then stumbling to a stop as the older girl pushed herself onto hands and knees.

Natsume coughed, spitting a long string of saliva onto the roof. Then, as if that was all that bothered her, she reached out, took hold of her weapon and stepped back onto her feet. Her lips were drawn back into a wince and she rubbed at her sore chest with her hand but her blue eyes were still cold steel. She released her chest to grip the rugbeater in both hands, holding it tilted before her at chest level like a katana.

Shampoo approached slowly this time, a prowling lion on the plains. She extended her left foot, pressing down with the toes of her slippers before smoothly sliding her right foot to her left heel. Her body flowed forwards but her guard was solid, the edge of her hands extended like blades.

Natsume came to meet her, moving much more rapidly with fast but simple strides. The beater began to spin in her hands, tracing smooth figures of eight in the air. Then, with out any pause in the torrent, she stepped forwards and swatted at Shampoo's face with the wooden edge.

Shampoo was a woodsman; her hands, pressed together above her head, were her axe and she swept it down against the attacking weapon as she would have timber. The beater was struck down past her hips and she became the crane once again, spreading her wings.

The forearms aimed at her jaw only skimmed Natsume's brown hair as she ducked. One hand left the beater to come over in an arch and pound a backfist into the Amazon's floating ribs.

Shampoo grunted; a rush of expelled air catching in her throat as her lungs caved in her chest. Taking a quick step back and cocking her fist, she was surprised to find the edge of the rugbeater pressed along her diaphragm and her body sent sliding back by a hard shove which left her badly winded.

She found that there was still some air in her lungs as Natsume slid into an explosive side kick and it was forced out in a ragged gasp that brought frothy spit spilling onto her chin. Her mouth worked, opening and closing like a landed fish, as she tried and failed to suck in much need oxygen. However a familiar banshee song pierced her ears and she threw up her hands, forearms crossed at the wrists.

The air attacked her, solidifying and whipping her with a stinging slash. Her silk blouse tore, her sleeves hanging in shreds around her elbows as her forearms took the brunt of the blast. Strips peeled away from her shoulders and flew away in shimmering spirals.

She had not noticed that she had squeezed her eyes shut until she opened them. She relaxed her arms pulling them down from her, but still kept them guarding her chest level. A thick stripe of angry red stretched across both arms where the wild wind had missed her bracers, a single but broken line as if she had been struck with a wide leather strap. Her left hand had been forward of the other and a bead of blood slid towards her elbow.

She's dangerous with that thing, she warned herself, narrowing her eyes at her opponent's rattan weapon. A small part of her trembled, telling her that this was a fight she should not have started. She crushed it, peeling her lips back in a snarl. She was an Amazon, to her people there was no such thing as a fight she should join or an opponent she should not rise to. This fight was her right. She would win. Victory was in her veins; all she had to do was disarm her foe.

She abandoned Long Fist and slipped into the combat stance of the Sky Dragon Fist. Weight sunk on her back leg, her front foot poised with her toes barely touching the rooftop and her heel turned outwards. She presented only her side to her opponent, one arms extended hand open with the other cocked across her breasts.

"You play with wind like sissy or come at Shampoo, Liar Girl?" she taunted. The style was more suited at receiving charges than giving them, but after watching her husband she had figured out how to incite someone to rush at them.

Natsume sniffed. "We are the heirs of the Anything-Goes school," she said flatly, ignoring Shampoo's glare. "I am not going to fall for one of our school's most basic ploys."

Natsume came at her but once again at no more than a fast walk, her beater held at a downwards angle in both hands, its tip scoring the tarmac behind her.

If that's what she wants, Shampoo thought, lunging forwards and throwing herself into a handspring. Her feet had barely touched the floor again before she was leaping over Natsume's head. She tumbled end over end as she passed over her foe, her feet towards the sky and her launching an uppercut that scored the girl's tall tail of hair as she ducked.

Natsume reacted fast, turning quickly and slashing backhand as she spun.

Right way up once again, Shampoo kicked her legs apart in a midair split so that the swipe that would have cut her from the sky whistled beneath her. Tipping forwards, she landed on her palms and sprung herself back up, her opponent barely dodging back as both of the Amazon's feet shot up like a mortar shell.

Flipping back Shampoo pushed both hands out, redirecting an angry swat of Natsume's beater. As she landed lightly on the ball of her right foot she thrust her left into the girl's midriff. Shampoo kept up the pressure, kicking her left leg up high into her opponents chin, and letting her momentum carry her up and over into a backward somersault.

Natsume's head flew back and her body staggered in jagged steps to keep on her feet.

Shampoo heard a gasp come from the Kurumi, and from the corner of her eyes she watched small girl shuffle on the spot as her desire to help her sister fought with her duty not to interfere.

The distraction cost her, Natsume recovering well and throwing herself into a rapid flurry of slashed, the wooden blade cleaving the air. Shampoo slid back as the girl chased her, fending the weapon off with her bracers, wincing as the stinging rattan sank through the leather.

She grunted as the beater's tip stabbed into her gut. The wood flexed, stealing power from the blow but the impact still stunned the purple-haired girl and her guard lapsed, allowing Natsume to lean over the weapon and slam a heavy punch into her jaw.

Flashing lights consumed her vision and the world seemed to spin as she stumbled backwards. Her leg bucked and she thudded to one knee, but she barely noticed the sharp pain through the ringing inside her skull. She shook the stars from her head and blinked away the blurs that swam through her eyes, forcing herself to her feet, ready to fight.

Shampoo pushed forwards, hoping her opponent would not notice how unsteady her legs were. She tried to become the charging leopard, streaking forwards and striking towards the taller girl's face with her fore-knuckles, her fist like a paw. However her mind danced and the form wavered, Natsume easily slipping aside and whipping the lower haft of her weapon into her ribs like a cosh.

Shampoo coughed but managed to leap to the side, robbing the next blow of its power as Natsume extended her arm straight, forming a backhanded swipe. The flat of the beater bounced off of her side but she paid it no mind, leaping to summon the Sky Dragon once again.

She whipped her left leg in an outwards arc towards Natsume's head, but was blocked by the curled rattan face of the rug beater. Grimacing with effort she wrenched her body into a twist, turning her hips over and launching a roundhouse kick downwards. Her foot crashed into the cords of muscle between the girl's neck and shoulder.

Both legs up high, Shampoo landed hard on her side, but her opponent toppled like a felled tree. The two girls glared at each other as they lay on the rooftop, daggers and blades exchanged unseen in the charged air. Shampoo returned Natsume's stare with equal thunder and then added more, which was returned with interest. They picked themselves up simultaneously, never breaking the invisible battle. Natsume had a hand pressed at her neck, whilst Shampoo nursed the elbow that had jarred against the roof as she had landed.

They stepped forwards as one, each coming into range, ready to attack. Natsume swung her rugbeater down like a giant fly swatter, looking to smash Shampoo to the ground.

Shampoo stepped into the attack, thrusting up both forearms to take the blow on her leather braces. Wind whipped around her body as if a small hurricane had been dropped on her. Her hair flailed around her head, clawing at her face and eyes like a lavender veil. Despite this she threw a punch at her opponent's heart.

The blow struck clean, forcing Natsume to take a stunted step back, a muffled grunt escaping her lips.

Pushing at the rooftop with her legs, Shampoo sprung up into a backwards somersault, using her momentum to lash first her right foot then her left into the taller girl's chin as she flipped over.

Natsume's head flew backward, a thin trail of blood and saliva streaming into the air and she bit her lips. The force of the blow knocked her from her feet but she managed to find them again, retaining her balance by stumbling backwards with fast, unsteady steps. One hand clamped over her lower face with her beater held limp in the other, she glared arrows of fire over her fingers.

As soon as her feet touched the roof again Shampoo lunged forwards as the cobra. She spat forwards two stiffened fingers like a forked tongue, jabbing hard into the crease of Natsume's elbow. Her finger tips sank deep into the kyusho cavities either side of the thick tendon, and the other girl's hand snapped open. The rugbeater clattered on the ground and Shampoo moved in for the kill, the cobra uncoiling into an elephant. She swung a hollow fist like a great trunk into Natsume's gut.

The other girl's stomach seemed firmer this time, Shampoo's fist bouncing off Natsume's tensed abdominal muscles. Her blow only pulled a small hiss of expelled air from between her opponent's teeth even as two hands gripped her wrist and wrenched it aside. Her head jerked forwards, as Natsume pulled her arm across her torso, and was met by a violent palm heel strike that almost unhinged her jaw.

Her vision went black but for sparks of lightning flashing in her head as it seemed to whirl and heave. As she blinked away the streaming lights she became aware that her captured limb was being tied up. The arm was folded back until her fingers brushed the back of her shoulder, Natsume's arm wrapped through the loop and supporting the hand that was clasped over Shampoo's knuckles. Her wrist was bent inwards in a harsh swan neck shape, the pain making her knees buckle and allowing Natsume to take her down with an effortless push.

The other girl followed her down, holding the lock in place. Shampoo knew she needed to get out, trying to string together senses still disjointed by the last blow. As soon as her shoulders bumped against the rooftop, before the wrist hold could fully sink in, she kicked her far leg up. Her foot struck a glancing blow, bouncing off Natsume's shoulder and side of her head, but it was enough to make her grip weaken allowing the Amazon to pull her arm free and roll to the side.

As she came to her feet, Shampoo saw her opponent lunge for her fallen weapon and rushed to intercept. The sky dragon rolled over the earth as she jumped onto her left hand and sprung forwards, foot descending in a viscous arc. Natsume danced back and Shampoo's heel cratered the rooftop beneath, grinding the tarmac down as she spun to kick the rugbeater and sending it skittering out of the other girl's reach.

Shampoo dropped her weight onto one leg, bending it to a right angle with her front leg stretched before her. The snake crept down the vine allowing Natsume's wild roundhouse kick to pass through open air above her head, the folds of her divided skirt stirring Shampoo's lavender tresses. She then pushed forwards, the snake growing into a dragon that played with two pearls as she slammed both fists into her opponent, one against her sternum and the other the abdomen.

Natsume staggered back, but swiftly recovered into a new stance. She held her left side forwards, arm bent with her forearm guarding her stomach whilst her open right hand was at held palm out near her brow.

Shampoo kicked low, a rattlesnake shaking its tail, but her opponent slipped back with a large, sweeping step. She pursued quickly, becoming a swallow banking in the sky, her right hand swooped upwards with the inner edge aimed beneath Natsume's jaw line.

Her wrist touched Natsume's as the other girl fended the blow and seized her forearm, the contact was soft but unyielding, like a mother holding the hand of a wayward child. The taller girl stepped forward and twisted, allowing Shampoo's attack to continue its arc, but under her control. The Amazon's own momentum pulled her forwards into the spin like a leaf on the edge of a whirlpool, a gentle hand on the back of her head trapping her. Natsume glided in, reversing the vortex as she released Shampoo's arm and swept her arm up, bicep lodging under Shampoo's chin. The sudden reversal of forces overwhelmed Shampoo, lifting her from her feet and spitting her from the spiral.

She flew over the rooftop before landing face first, skinning the flesh from her palms and bouncing her head off the tarmac. The ground seemed to spin beneath her as she pushed herself up, hard coughs spluttering from her mouths and sending jolts of pain through her ribs.

"Liar girl sneaky," she growled when she managed to get her voice under control.

Natsume said nothing, simply stared from behind a mask of ice as she assumed her peculiar stance. And waited.

Shampoo glared at the other girl as she pushed herself to her feet. She's sneaky but not strong, she thought. I am strong, strong enough to smother her. She smiled as she made a show of brushing the dust from her silk trousers. I can just run her down like a dog.

With two great steps she was soaring into the sky again, body pulled back like a bow as she shot towards her opponent like an arrow. Her foot streaked at Natsume's head, forming the fang of the sky dragon. The air split around her, rushing past on either side with the sound of fluttering silk and screaming winds filling her ears. The dragon was the bringer of storms and rain, its fangs summoned bolts of lightning, it pierced all.

Just as her foot was about to stab through the tall girl's head, Natsume moved forwards. She did not step or jump but seemed to glide past as if she walked on the winds. The step was enough to make Shampoo foot miss its target, instead skimming across Natsume's blazer and she slipped forwards, the two women passing like trains on different tracks.

Natsume floated upwards, scooping Shampoo's calf on her forearm. The touch was soft, a gentle nudge but Shampoo's leg shot upwards, her foot pointing at the sky and still arching further, dragging the rest of her body into a wild spin. She flipped and twisted in the air like a bird with a broken wing, the disturbed winds cleaved by her flight now buffeting her as she dropped to the ground, head bashing against the rooftop before her body fell brokenly after her.

The world became fluid and insubstantial, fading and blurring like ripples on a pond. The ground beneath her rolled and heaved like waves, tossing her mind about like dinghy on stormy seas. The light in this world grew and dimmed and sometimes vanished into blackness. She felt a bump that made everything tremble, and some vague part of her said that she had tied to stand but the ground had turned to water beneath her feet. A voice spoke to her, seeming no more than a distant echo spoken through an endless tunnel.

"I take it this mean that I am innocent of whatever you accused me of?" it said, pausing before speaking again, this time the words seemed as shouted into Shampoo brain. "We are the heirs of…." the voice vanished as lights flashed in her head.

She could see a hand stretched out in front of her, she believed it was her own but it was long and bendy like rubber.

"No…" she said, her voice sounding small and weak. "No, Shampoo must kiss…."

Darkness rolled in.

The wail of sirens brought her back to reality with a spinning head and a rolling stomach. Scalding bile surged into her throat but thankfully dropped down back leaving her neck burning. The ground beneath her had become solid one more and she managed to push herself upright to a sitting position, rewarded by another toss of her stomach.

Her opponent and her sister was gone, leaving her on the rooftop, now empty but for her dropped bonbori and spattered with scratch marks, dents and crumbled tarmac. A cold feeling filled Shampoo's heart and seeped into her bones. She had lost. Xian Pu, Champion of the Young Warriors, fourth in a line of proud Amazon battle leaders had been defeated by an outsider. Again.

As the sirens grew louder, Shampoo slowly began to string together the sound with the growing numbers of police in town and her place on the roof of an occupied apartment complex, used as a battleground for martial artists. It was time to pull out.

Her body ached and screamed as she stood and moved to the closest of her discarded maces with tottering steps. The effort of tucking the hammer into nothing almost made her faint, but she managed to stagger to the other mace. Now it was simply a matter of cold water. She doubted those idiots would arrest a fluffy pink cat even if they knew of the curse.

Then she would demand the training her Great-Grandmother had promised. Her husband would not be cowed by defeat, and Shampoo would have the spirits turn their backs on her before she let a man show more heart than her.

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

Natsume sagged against the wall as soon as she saw her sister turn out of the mouth of the alley. Her chest felt as if she had been struck by a cannonball, she wanted to pat herself to check that her ribcage was not dented.

Boy, could that girl hit hard.

Ever since she and her sister had first began travelling the country to improve the skills that had initially been planted by their false-father, she had known that fighting challenges and testing herself was a vital part of their path. Still, being stalked by a violent foreigner with strange hair and bizarre customs was not something she had included into that plan.

Remembering the girl's accusations left a bitter taste in Natsume's mouth and an uneasy feeling in her stomach, but she stamped the sensations down.

Last time she had visited Nerima, both sisters had accepted their defeat with a grace Natsume was proud of, especially in her flighty sister, and had relinquished any claim to the Tendo dojo. They had never any true right to the training hall to start with; Soun Tendo was not their father, and so the building would go to Akane as was proper. Though she could not bear to share the burden with Kurumi, she had abandoned the thought of ever finding their true sire. They were orphans and she must come to accept it.

However she could not give up their travels or their training, even if there was no perfect hero to welcome them back into his family, she would not let all they had spent their lives on be wasted. The man who had planted the love of the martial arts into two lonely girls was Happosai, Grandmaster of the Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu. As unpleasant as the gnarled little figure had seemed, he had still told them that they could carry on the Anything Goes School if they became true martial artists.

Though the memory of the mighty, benevolent father had all been a lie; that fact was still true and it was worth fighting for, though she did not relish the thought. She did not fear Akane, the girl's skills might be equal or perhaps past her sister's, but the true Tendo daughter was still levels beneath her own.

However, she liked the younger girl despite the discomfort of their early meeting and the bitter results of their first battle. Despite her uncontrolled temper and an attitude that sometimes seemed childish to Natsume, Akane Tendo was a very kind and likable person with a heart of gold. She had shared her food with two weary travellers (one of whom was more of a bottomless food pit than a demure girl) and welcomed them into her home. Even after the mix up over their parentage and the fight for the dojo, Akane had swiftly forgiven them and they had parted as friends if not sisters. A future duel with Akane often seemed an inevitable part of her quest to be the true heir, but Natsume hoped it would not come for a long time.

But this wild girl, Chinese by her accent and the patterns of her fighting style, had not challenged her on behalf of Akane Tendo, but for the claim of Ranma Saotome.

Natsume had only the barest of recollection of the pigtailed boy, who was also sometimes a scarlet haired girl, something that still sent shivers down her spine. They had not spoken much during the time she and her sister had stayed at the Tendo home, but he was always friendly if a rough around the edges when they had crossed paths. He also appeared to bear very strong feelings for Akane, if not the moonstruck romantic love the girl would clearly have preferred, whatever she said. However, Nastume was certain that the boy was exceptionally skilled, after all he had single-handedly nullified the attack that she and her sister and spend years of sweat-soaked, agonising training perfecting.

Though she was confident of victory over Akane, Ranma was a complication. She knew herself and the wide array of skills she had to draw on, both in single combat and paired with her sister, her other half. However, she had seen little of his abilities, but a feeling in her gut told her that was the tip of the iceberg, imposing yet nothing compared to what still lay hidden. She was also sure that Ranma himself was still not aware of all that was to be found beneath the waves. This Shampoo, who had named herself his wife, complicated things even further.

Thinking about the purple-haired attacker brought Natsume back to the crushing pain in her chest. Though she had never been on the receiving end of a blow, she had been aware of Akane's extraordinary strength but this girl was even stronger, faster and more skilled. Natsume had not doubted that she could defeat the girl, although she had to admit that the sudden barrage of flips and airborne kicks took her by surprise. From her first attack, a violent hammer blow with her mace, to her last, a flying kick with so fierce the air itself seemed to flee from its path; Shampoo's fighting method had seemed based on pure force. Attack without thought of defence was rarely a sound strategy and ultimately led to her victory, though she had moved too close in her final defence. Shampoo had made herself into a hurled spear; her foot a piercing point that tore Natsume's blazer open and sliced the blouse beneath.

To cling to some trace of propriety, Natsume found herself hiding in the alley; clutching the torn fabric in her fist to prevent her breasts from spilling free. Kurumi had run off to find a doctor's though Natsume thought it unnecessary, she had been hurt far worse before, and would have preferred a new shirt.

She began to hear sirens wail through the air. Police she guessed, remembering the uncomfortable inquisition she had her sister had endured before the purple-haired girl had made her challenge. However, she hoped that beneath those loud squadcar cries, was the call of the ambulance she had asked Kurumi to call for Shampoo. It had seemed wise not to be around when the girl awoke, but she had suffered a nasty head blow, and it would have been disgraceful to leave her without sending someone to care.

"Xian Pu!"

The high-pitched cry rang out over the rooftops made her jump, hand falling from her shirt. The sound of billowing fabric came from overhead, but as she looked up all she saw was a flash of white vanishing behind the buildings above. As she craned her neck her hips brushed a pair of steel trashcans, filling the closed alley with a scraping that bounced between the walls like a robotic death cry.

"Xian Pu!" the voice yelled again, growing closer until a figure dropped from the skies above. Natsume gripped her rugbeater tightly and held it defensively in front of her.

The man, boy she amended as he appeared to have a year or two than Natsume herself, was very tall with shining, midnight black hair. His garb identified him bluntly as a martial artist; unlike her own clothes which maintained a shroud of the mundane over the functional His blue trousers were loose except for the small ties at his ankles and he wore plain, soft soled, slippers. The shape of his body was hidden behind the folds of a billowing white tunic, with wide, voluminous sleeves that obscured his hands. His features were dominated by a gigantic pair of glasses, with thick, jam-jar lenses that bent light until all was visible of what lay behind was a swirl of colour. Despite the way his head turned rapidly, switching his from gaze from one wall to another in desperate search, he carried himself with a subtle grace that Natsume knew well and she tensed herself in readiness.

The boy's glare fixed on her and he leant forwards slowly. She thought she could feel the touch of his eyes peering at her from beneath those huge lenses, and she firmed her grip on her weapon's haft.

The boy started, "I'm sorry," he said suddenly and stood upright, folding his hands within his sleeves. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Natsume's eyes widened before she took hold of herself and they narrowed. She would not let her guard down at some polite words. However it would still be rude not to respond.

"Don't apologise, you couldn't have known I was here."

A sudden wind blew through the alley with a faint, hollow croon, and Natsume became aware that she was standing in front of a boy she had never seen with her blouse torn, her cleavage and bra bare to the world, and the mysterious youth.

Her face grew as hot as the sun and she clamped her arms crossed over her chest to hide herself, almost hitting her own face with her beater. She opened her mouth to drive a piece of her mind at the leering pervert in front of her, but the words died in her mouth. He was not looking; those spectacle-hidden eyes had never strayed from her face. A surge of admiration and respect seemed to warm her body through the chill air, but it was marred by the tiny part of her that felt slightly insulted.

She was then aware of the jabbing pain in her chest, beneath her arms that in her shock were pressing tightly against her bruised sternum. The wince and muted hiss escaped before she knew she had formed them, and soft, ghostly footsteps warned her of the boy's approach.

"Are you hurt?" he said, stepping closer. His tall form suddenly seemed giant; consuming the narrow alley. With one hand covering herself it was awkward, but she tried to form a defensive stance, hefting the flat of her rugbeater like a buckler.

He stopped, taking as step back, regarding her weapon with affront. Then his head shifted and suddenly his face flushed with scarlet, though she barely got a change to see before he hurriedly spun on his heel, presenting her with his back which seemed to tremble slightly.

When he turned back to face her he had removed the thick glasses that had obscured his face; which caused Natsume to miss a breath. The boy was surprisingly handsome, behind those ugly glasses. The planes of his face were strong but fine as if carved from soft angles in well-polished but hard marble. However the eyes that glimmered like sapphires possessed such life as to erode any comparison to a statue, and made her think it a vile crime that such eyes were kept shrouded behind enormous, blurring lenses.

"Don't worry," he said softly. "I…I'm…Well I can't see much without my glasses." He eyes fell from her face to the ground and he seemed to shuffle and shift where he stood. "But anyway," he continued after a moment, looking up again but with his gaze now landing about a foot to her left. "Are you hurt?"

"No…no." she replied after the moment it took to find her voice. "It's just a bruise. I forgot about it for a moment and it's still a bit sore."

He nodded with a small smile. "I've done that myself a few times. Must have been a recent fight?"

Natsume blinked then nodded. "Earlier today, how did you know it'd been a battle?"

The boy shrugged. "You're obviously a martial artist, though with a weapon I'm not familiar with, and trust me that is very strange. Also, I've done it myself more than once, bumping bruises. There are a lot of martial arts battles in this neighbourhood." His face twisted into a scowl. "Mostly the fault of an arrogant, pervert who used to live nearby and took advantage of young girls and stupid laws before running off like the dog he is." He grumbled under his breath, before he started and trailed off into shaky laughter. "Sorry, I got side-tracked. Things around here are…complicated."

"I've heard," she said slowly, remembering events with the Tendo's and Ranma's curse.

"However, despite all that, there is a Doctor's office nearby. Doctor Saeba is not quite as good as Doctor Tofu was, but he knows what he's about."

"That's not necessary," she said, ignoring the hollow pain under her hands. "I'm just waiting for my sister, to…find me something to…cover myself." The last words were said in a breathless rush, her face felt so hot she was sure that her skin would melt.

"Oh, of course," the boy said, a blush colouring his cheeks. Then he was a blur of motion; one hand pulling open the wide mouth of his left sleeve like a cloth sack as his right delved inside, sinking past his elbow. "I might be able to help," he said as he rummaged in the cloth folds.

She felt a small smile curve her lips at the ridiculous sight of this young man wrestling within his own garments, like he was trying to pull a wild, rambunctious rabbit from the bottom of a vast hat. Her brows were furrowed, until her eyes flew open wide when the boy pulled several feet of heavy chain from the sleeve, and kept on pulling.

Streams of steel links followed, coiling on the alley floor, many ending with spearhead, iron balls and sharp claws. The lengths of braided roped and the strings of yo-yos felt to the ground, entwined with the chains. After several long moments the chains subsided, but was followed by what appeared to be a plastic training potty, shaped like a duck of all things. She giggled when he pulled out a large statuette of Mickey Mousse, and the sound shocked her when it rang in her own ears. She never giggled. Her mirth evaporated and her laughter became a high gasp when he drew out a long, curved sabre with a viscous looking blade, followed by a long handled horse-sword. Both weapons joined the mounting pile with a heavy clash of metal. Finally he pulled a long swathe of white cloth from the sleeve; gripping it with both hands and shaking it lose, revealing a copy of his own white tunic.

"Wear this, I've got enough to spare. You can't spend all day in this alley."

"I couldn't, it'd be too much trouble, and I'm sure my sister won't be long."

The boy shrugged. "Like I said I've got enough of them. Consider it a courtesy between martial artists. Nerima can be rough for new fighters."

"Well…" she began but Natsume knew she could not refuse now and set her rugbeater aside, propping it against the alley wall behind her. With a small smile of thanks she took the large tunic from the boy and threw herself into it, almost losing herself in the sea of white cloth. She almost stuck her head through one of the large sleeves before she found the right hole and looked out into the alley once more.

"Thank you." she said with a bow. "My name is Natsume Te…just Natsume. If you tell me your name and I'll find someway to repay you. I promise."

The boy blinked. "Well could you let me know if you've seen a pink cat with bells in its fur? Or a dazzling, beautiful, radiant young girl with hair the colour of lavender petals?" As he spoke, his eyes became distant and his expression lost as if touched by an angel's light. Natsume felt something sink inside herself.

"I think I've seen a girl like the one you describe." Well not exactly as he described. She doubted anyone could truly appear like that, at least anyone in the real world. "She was near a large apartment building not far from here." She described the building upon which she and the girl had fought, giving the name of the street she had barely noticed as she fled. After a moment, silence thick in the air as she bit her bottom lip she added. "She seemed to be looking at someone on the roof, quite angrily."

His eyes grew wide and the colour drained from his face. "Oh, my darling," he spluttered before launching himself upwards without another word. Moments later she could hear his voice cry across the rooftops like the howl of a lonely wolf."

"Xian Pu!"

She sagged against the wall of the alley once more, this time sinking down until her bottom hit the ground with a bump. The wind whispered between the narrow walls and she drew her knees to her chest, wrapping the folds of her borrowed tunic around herself like a blanket. When Kurumi returned they would try and find somewhere to camp for the night and then look for some food, and maybe a few odd jobs to earn some money. The excitable girl would be disappointed at missing the chance to visit Akane and her family and would no doubt sulk. She would get over it though. Natsume was not in the mood to talk to anyone today, not another martial artist, and especially not one with a rival claim to her school.

The place of heir of the Anything-Goes School, a little-known style founded by a perverted troll, might not seem much to most people, but it was all she and her sister had in this world. It was enough to live for, to fight for, though Natsume hoped the next fight would not be soon.

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

Brand awoke to find himself staring at the familiar sloped ceiling with its scarlet sunburst motive, red rays converging over his heart. Pain then began to shoot through his body as if it were seeping into his flesh and bones from the air around him; his side blazed and his limbs felt heavy like lead. His eyes drifted closed once again, and he tried to picture a flickering flame, searching for a centre, a hub upon which the wheel of his mind turned, the eye of his storming energy, the axle his body moved around. He focussed himself on the fire, basking in its glow and warmth.

Then he realised he truly was warm, hot even. His skin felt slick and clammy beneath the thin sheets that were heavy with sweat. Mumbling with irritation he scrambled and kicked the clinging fabric off.

"Eeeew!"

The sudden cry made him jump, followed by a grimaces as pain lanced through him in protest at the movement.

"Cover your shame," the voice grumbled. "This is a sacred mountain for those seeking enlightenment, not the destination of a gay hiking trip."

Brand turned to the voice, squinting and the blurs of pink, blue and yellow until they resolved into the indignant face of Willow; the skin of her eyelids dark and sagging and her golden hair dishevelled. Then remembered her words and it slowly came upon him that he was naked as he lay in the bed. With a gasp he scrabbled up to cover himself with the damp sheets, but the pain halted him with a hiss and he was forced to continue the task in slow, laboured movements.

"Sorry, Sister I…" he licked his lips, they were dry and cracked. "I was hot."

"Yes we're all hot," the girl grumbled, "but Locke said that it stays on; though he may change his mind now that you're up."

Brand saw that she was not wearing the silken, Phoenix-mantle of her office. Instead she was clad in a faded pair of blue jean and a pale green tee-shirt, stained with a darkened patch were the material had soaked with sweat. Shadows danced across her face which was bathed in flickering, orange light. The light and heat filled the entire room flowing from the blazing fire.

The chamber of the Master of Fire was one of the larger rooms in the dormitories, as befitting his rank, but it was not a large room. One of the rare beds lay beneath the sloped, sunburst ceiling next to his small writing desk and the chair in which his sister now sat. On the other side of the room was a bureau holding the meagre possessions of his own life and beside a chest locked with a trick of fire. However the true mark of the room was the great hearth, five paces wide and half again as tall as he was, yet it was filled with bright, dancing flame.

There was a mat before the earth, made of woven reeds and marked with a circle divided into white and black by a sinuous line. Around the Taijitu, spread the eight trigrams serving as guides for his feet and his soul and he danced his art, synchronising himself with the Greater cycle and feeling it surge through the wild flames.

"You're an idiot, you know that, Brand?"

Brand frowned at the blonde girl from his bed. "I'm sorry, Willow, I didn't quite hear that but I'm sure it was sympathetic."

"I said you are an idiot. Add to that a jerk, and a muscle-brained, testosterone-driven ape." She let out a sound that was half-sigh and half growl, scrubbing a hand through her blonde locks. "There was a split-second I thought you might have done this to restore our honour, my honour after my defeat. Then it passed like any moment of stupidity."

"Willow, that's unfair," he protested angrily but she carried on as if he had never spoken.

"What I can't quite figure out though is; was it your paranoia about Ryoga's intentions or the way you were practically drooling after you heard about Saotome."

"I did fight for your honour. I know Hibiki's type," he spat fighting down a surge of memories that ate at his stomach like acid.

"So it was Ryoga. Is it me you're lying to, or yourself, Brand?" she asked acidly, before her shoulders slumped as she sighed. When she spoke again it was in a soft, almost warm voice. "We know who you are, Brand, what you are. We don't say it because you are one of us, a Master of Bagua Zhang, it would be unseemly for us to speak of such things and less for those who follow us to know."

"You've never been one to stand on propriety, sister," Brand growled. "What are you blithering about?"

"You're a fighter, Brand, not a scholar. Only an idiot would miss the hunger in your eyes when Locke told us the rumours of Ryoga and Saotome fighting Herb and Saffron. You wanted to fight them, not for me or for the Order, for your own sake. If you weren't a prude about duty, you'd be running of to Qinghai to challenge Herb yourself."

"Nonsense," he spat, but it sounded weak to his own ears. He rolled to his side facing the wall, ignoring the pain and discomfort that was little compared to his unease at facing her and her words. After a while he swallowed a hard lump and said, "We are martial artists."

"That's true, but that is but a part of what we are. You know that. Yes, we have the right to make challenges as masters of our art. Yes I took that right and may have even enjoyed it, the heat of it, before I realised I was outmatched. But are we are more than that, much more."

"What's your point, Willow?"

"My point is that what is but a small element of the Art to us is the heart of it for you."

He felt a hand lay gently upon his shoulder and he lowered himself onto his back once again, and his sister was smiling down at him warmly. Her hand moved gripped his and gave it a gentle squeeze as when their hands were much smaller; what seemed another lifetime ago.

"That's who you've always been, even at the orphanage, you we're always scrapping around with the other boys. Especially the ones that picked on me."

"Why are you saying all this, Willow?"

The girl's smile widened and she gave his hand another squeeze. Then she moved like a flash, rapping her knuckles across his forehead. The blow was not hard, chastising not harmful, but his head felt stuffed with needles and her fist made his head ring.

"I'm telling you this so you can learn to be honest, you idiot. If you want to make challenges do it like a martial artist, with respect and honour. Not by thinking with the hairs on your chest before your brains; and definitely not by using me as your excuse."

"Willow, it wasn't an excuse."

Willow placed her hands against the mattress, leaning close until her inky shadow, cast by the harsh light of the fire fell over his face. She seemed to loom despite her smaller size, womanly outrange ringing through her aura like a wailing tone blown through a flute.

"You can't fight every man I talk to and think it's for me. Ryoga was a nice guy, not someone I need protecting from. I don't need protection full stop! I am not Mei Li."

Brand jerked in the bed as if struck, as if stabbed by a sharp blade of rotten memories and had then had salt rubbed into the wound.

"Go away, Willow," he snarled, wrapping himself up in the soggy sheets like a shield.

"That's hardly a nice thing to say, Brand," a thin, raspy voice said accompanied by the creek of the ancient wooden door.

"Come to lecture me as well, Locke," Brand grumbled as he turned to the gnarled old man. Despite his withered appearance, and thin white hair the Master of Lakes glided into the room with a ripple of emerald silk. Cloud followed on his heels, an imposing sentinel in black prowling into the room like the lion that was emblazoned in silver thread on his breast.

Locke chuckled. "I have been lecturing you since you were a boy with mudded knees, Lord Brand, and you have been ignoring me for as long. Why would I bother now?" he hefted a carved wooden box by its handle, and Brand could hear the contents rattle inside with the chink of glass. "I'm here to check on you and, now that you're awake, force some rather revolting tea down your throat."

"You used to do that when I was a boy too," Brand said dryly. "So is it medicine or punishment?"

"You dare to joke!" Cloud bellowed; his voice like a crack of thunder. He surged forwards towards the bed, his face like a thunderhead in a black sky. Even Willow shrank from his advance. However Locke flung out a skinny arm across Cloud's path, almost lost in the voluminous sleeves, but it stopped the larger man like a barrier.

"No, Cloud. It is not his fault. He couldn't have known. No one could," the old man sighed as he set his case on the writing desk. "I'm not even sure about it myself."

"What? What happened?" Brand asked, feeling his head begin to pound.

"You're idiocy nearly got Tyde killed that's what!" Cloud spat.

Brand's voice died in his throat as he tried to speak. He felt his eyes widen as he looked at the two men and his jaw drop open. Cloud was trembling with barely repressed rage that burned like blue flames in his eyes. Locke stared at his case, shaking his head slowly, a sad frown further creasing his wrinkled face.

"I understand your pain, Cloud," Locke said softly, "but we have to keep our heads. This is just an unfortunate circumstance, no one is at fault. I know that hurts, but finding someone to blame wouldn't make things better, and we shouldn't make it our goal."

"Easy for you to say," Cloud said through gritted teeth, but he did seem to relax, by a hair.

"Wait, what happened? What circumstance?" Willow asked, giving voice to the question when Brand could not find his own.

Cloud opened his mouth, but closed it with a click, his jaw tightening before he turned his back to them.

"She had a seizure," Locke said, smoothing the folds of his robes. "Quite severe, its sent her meridians into chaos and set back her recovery weeks if not months. It took place at the same time your and Blitz fought the two strangers on the mountain."

"Dear heaven," Willow breathed. "Is she okay?"

"I've given her something to sleep and hopefully that will keep her from doing anymore harm to herself for now. The impure cells of her blood are the result of weak yin in response to uncontrolled, weak yang flows so both poles must be strengthened and balanced simultaneously; a difficult task at any time."

"Surely it's a coincidence." Brand said, the words weak and breathy. "How could our fight affect her, so badly?"

"Tyde's condition had left her hyper-sensitive to the flow of ki around her, especially in the phase of her affinity," Locke said slowly. His gnarled face looked very old and tired as he rubbed his fingers along the length of his pale, white beard.

"We had been using this to aid her recovery, which is why we moved her to the house by the falls. I hoped that the energy of the rushing waters would work through her affinity synchronise her with the Greater Cycle, and help her restore the balance of her meridians. I did the same for you and Blitz whilst you were unconscious, which is why it is so dreadfully hot in here," the old man glared at the huge, yellow flames in the hearth, tugging on the collar of his robe.

"Unfortunately," he said with a sigh, "she is also sensitive to disturbances and impure-intent in the water phase, such as Jusenkyo's taint."

"This is because of Saotome's curse?" Brand asked with a scowl. He had known those outsiders would be trouble.

"My guess is that both of them are cursed. I doubted the effect would be so severe if it had just been Ranma; and if Hibiki was one of the martial artists at Jusenkyo then it is likely he too is cursed."

Willow made small, choked sound in her throat. Brand glanced over to her body she need to meet his gaze. Instead her she stared at the floor, her green eyes lost in the space above the floor mat, disconnected from the room around her. Brand scowled but turned back towards Locke; there were more important matters to contend with.

"Are you sure the curse could do this?" he asked quickly. "This has never happened before."

"Aoqun's death was filled with rage and the thirst for vengeance, dangerous and destructive drives. For that residue to mark the ki of two powerful martial artists, young and hot-blooded in combat could infect the local ki flows. Like a drop of oil in a mineral spring, it will pass but the water will carry a tinge of the contamination in its taste. It won't affect most, but to someone in Tyde's condition even a mere tinge can be disastrous."

"So what do we do?" Willow asked suddenly, sweeping her bangs from her face. "We've already banished them from the mountain."

"And we're just supposed to wait until they leave!" Cloud snapped turning from the fire. In the harsh orange light he was a god lit by an aura of divine fury, the Jade Emperor preparing to drive evil from his land with the wrath of heaven. "No, we must see that they leave this place, leave Si Chuan immediately."

"Don't be stupid, Cloud," Willow snapped. "What do you want to do, send 'secret police' or soldiers to 'escort' them off the mountain? We're supposed to be peaceful scholars not the Reds."

"I don't care!" Cloud roared. "If I have to I'll go myself and physically throw them down them mountain."

"Cloud, think what you're saying?"

For a moment Cloud's face seemed to crumble, like the clay statue of a mighty warrior cracking and falling apart to reveal another carving, this of a small, frightened young boy. He turned back to the fire and Brand thought he could she the man's broad shoulder trembling.

"I know what I'm saying, Locke, and I hate myself for it," he whispered in a voice so soft that Brand had to strain to hear it. "But I can't lose her. I don't care what it does to me, or what I have to do, I can't lose her."

To be continued…

Glossary

Meridian – A pathway through which ki flows to different parts of the body. There are six yang channels and six yin channels which maintain the balance of ki and nourish the organs and extremities.

Shichen 'large hour' – A two hour period of associated with a specific time used by Chinese astrologers to split the day into twelve parts. Each shichen is named after an animal of the Chinese zodiac.

Prime – Amazon rank; second in command of the Amazon armies in times of war.

Scroll of Voices - A record of quotes of past Amazon's judged to be great, including warriors, healers and teachers. Required reading for Amazon children.

Right of Redress – In Amazon culture it is a right to accuse and demand punishment or reparation for personal or familial slights.

AN: I must apologise to all of the people out there for the years delay in writing and updating this story. I was in the final year of my degree and decided that I had to concentrate fully on my studies. Perhaps I should have given some warning, but I'm not a fan of writing author notes when you want chapters, but maybe that was wrong. Again I'm sorry.

Thanks to Rob for all his help and Brain for letting me bother him.