The discussion, needless to say, had become heated. Kisada wanted Bayushi Shoju's pristine face on a platter, and made plans to send Ranma on a mission to ensure this; most of the other Crabs in the room grunted approval at Kisada's graphic descriptions of humiliation and dismemberment. O-Ushi and Ruri advocated a more standard approach, helping the Emperor from his throne, serving him as was the responsibility of all. Nori was trying to sort out an alternate path, one that would save the clan, but depose the Daimyo. All were fighting for what they thought was best for the Empire - and, to a lesser extent, for their own positions.
And, to Ranma, it all felt so petty. He sat back, answering when asked, but none of this felt right. Armies of men fought for power and land and prestige; armies of gods and demons fought for souls and worlds. He'd met deities and demons, and dealt with them both; he knew what they wanted, and it had very little to do with the continued survival of the Scorpion clan or, for that matter, who sat on the Emerald Throne. This meeting would decide nothing in the end. The meeting's emphasis on the human aspect of the fight was a search for the wrong answer to the wrong question.
Then he felt it - and had to fight his gag reflex. By the looks on the faces of those around them, they had felt it too, but didn't know what to make of it. Ranma looked around, seeing with eyes sensitive to ki, and knew instantly.
The earth had a rhythm to it, one he knew intimately from his time working with ki. This rhythm changed with time and circumstance, and the little souls of those who called each place home. Within the realm of a cemetery, it carried with it dark tones, a stillness interrupted by shadowy whispers; amidst the fields of play, when nature wrapped around him like a comfortable blanket, it carried laughter and light, a playful chuckle and tug along the wind. On the wall, the rhythm carried the dark agony and urgency of a thousand passions dueling for survival, an energy Ranma had used well in his time on the Wall.
Now... the world around him felt like a hundred graveyards and battlefields come together into one place. He could almost feel the sticky ochre of goblin blood beneath his boots, or the whisper of a tormented soul on his shoulder. He stood up, coughed once, and bowed his head; for some reason, words couldn't do justice to what had happened.
The first of the Black Scrolls had been opened. Within days, Fu-Leng would return.
***
Konomi, exhausted from finishing the scroll, felt the world around her, and smiled weakly. Soon, the world would be remade in Fu-Leng's image, and she would have her revenge. She heard the dark gratitude within the voices, with instructions to rest and recuperate. Konomi knew why, of course; in her state, she would not survive another scroll.
She heard a lullaby in her head as she found sleep creeping up on her...
See other episodes by Nightelf
(Posted Mon, 11 Nov 2002 17:11)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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