Things worked out quite well for Ranma over the years. Even Genma picked up a thing or two. There were a few complications along the way, but Genma figured they were nothing couldn’t handle, as long as he kept ahead of them.
In a small clearing a little distance from their riverside camp in the trees, Genma stomped his foot hard onto the ground, concentrating his sorcerery through the blow. By way of answer, the dirt spat out a piece of bedrock, about the size of a man’s head. Genma swung the stout branch in his hands, and putted the rock towards Ranma.
Ranma grabbed a piece of metal fencing, tearing it off and simultaneously channelling his will into it with a whispered word of power. The broken metal straightened and flattened even as Ranma slashed at the rock hurling towards him. The makeshift sword creaked in protests, and sparks flashed out as it clove into the stone. A flick of his wrists sent the halves flying to either side.
Genma had already acted; ignited the club with a word, and leaped into the air, brandishing the flaming torch. Those flames burned hotter than they should, and fanned out in front of Genma as he descended.
Ranma uttered a cry of command, and in answer a croak erupted from the river. A gelatinous frog, about the size of a small dog, leapt onto the bank, its throat already bulging. The mouth parted wide, and released a torrent of water at the burning brand.
Metal bit deep into damp wood, but the weight of Genma’s landing caused Ranma’s feet to plough trenches in the river mud. At a word from his father, the sodden timber burst into sudden green life—fresh foliage sprouted and wrapped around the makeshift sword.
Ranma hastily released his grip before his hands were entangled. He tumbled backwards, one hand dipping into his belt pouch even as he flipped from handstand to upright. Ranma shattered the clay rock against his head, then tossed it.
Genma dove away as the thunderstone exploded beneath his feet, evading the brunt of the eruption. The dazzling sound echoed through the clearing, and rung in his ears. He raised the green bough protectively in instinctive anticipation.
Ranma echoed his father’s opening move, calling up a hail of buried river stones around him and propelling them towards his father with a series of rapid palm strikes.
Genma’s green club shed greenery as battered aside the hail of stones while he shook off his dazzle. Even so, his last remaining bruise–away poultice would be used up before morning, he suspected. Another trip to a corner apocrypha would be in order.
As prearranged, a kettle whistle signalled an end to the match. Both paused warily, then lowered their guard as one, and bowed. Genma set off to make the tea, while Ranma bent over his summons.
Sorcery was the grand art most directly applicable to the Saotome school of martial arts, though the unorthodox form they employed was a lot more hands on. A touch of Divination to help predict your opponents moves never went awry.
Alchemy and Enchantment were sometimes employed to supply useful tools—such as flash bangs, smoke powder, spider–walk glue, or a cloak of anonymity—but mostly for preparing healing salves or repairing the enchantments on second hand camping gear.
Genma claimed to be morally opposed to using Summons to do all the fighting, but admitted they could provide useful assistance with simple chores; such as fishing. He was also quite familiar with their use as ‘guard dogs’.
Then there was Magery. Thaumaturgy didn’t lend itself to martial arts all that well. Like Alchemy and Enchantment it required time to set up, but unlike them didn’t produce tools that could be used in combat, unless you were able to set up an area ahead of time.
“Nicely done, Splash,” Ranma encouraged, patting the summoned beast on the side of the head. “Did you have any luck fishing before I called you out?”
“It’s not a pet boy,” Genma grumbled from the fireplace. It was an old argument. Genma felt that you had to show the summons who was boss, and not coddle it.
Ranma smirked but said nothing. The argument over domination or respect had worn out need for words. Besides, he felt that he had results on his side. His summons basked in his appreciation for a moment more, then popped out of existence like a soap bubble, leaving behind a puddle of water and a brace of fish.
Genma grumbled some more, and shifted uneasily to hide his bruising, when his son strung the fish up by the cooking area, then picked up his cup and held it out. The kettle scuttled over, tipped over, and poured out. “Well, my boy,” he conceded magnanimously, “I suppose your skills haven’t gotten too rusty at that school … even if you had to call in that beast for help.”
“Just using what ever came to hand,’ Ranma sniffed pointedly then lifted the cup to his lips. His eyes clouded over as the tea fumes swirled into his nostrils. “There’s a storm coming,” he remarked as the vision faded.
Genma looked up with a frown. “The sky’s clear enough.”
“It’s not that kind of storm,” Ranma corrected, trying to decipher the clouded vision. The best he could do was, “There’s trouble brewing.”
“Ah,” sighed Genma, who’d learned not to dismiss Ranma’s Glimpses, mostly untrained as his divination gift was, it was uncannily accurate at times. “Time to move on already, then?”
It was Ranma’s turn to frown. “What have you done this time, Old Man?”
“Me?” exclaimed Genma with all the innocence he could feign.
Ranma snorted, then sighed and frowned again. That didn’t actually feel right. It was as though whatever was up this time was not of his father’s making.
Since his son wasn’t going to elucidate, or accuse further, Genma picked up a knife, took down a fish, and began to slice. He paused. “Where’s the guts?”
Ranma peered down at the empty belly then shrugged. “Dunno. Inside Splash?”
His father shuddered. How did that even work? He sighed, then resumed filleting.
Predictive divination was actually a fairly accurate art, if you know what you were looking at. Diviners who speak in cryptic phrases, don’t do so because of arcane mystery. It’s simply a sign that the diviner doesn’t understand what they are foreseeing—as Ranma often didn’t. The true nature of storm of trouble Ranma foresaw a brewing was: …
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(Posted Mon, 25 Jan 2010 22:59)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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