Tendou Akane sat in the doujou staring at a small glass vial
about the size of her little finger. It had been three years since she'd
found The Book. She still couldn't read most of it. The characters were
too strange. She'd been wildly disappointed to find that the characters
she learned in school didn't match the ones in The Book In frustration,
she copied a few and showed them to Sensei Hisao. Sensei told her that
these were very old characters from before the restoration. Akane wasn't
sure what the restoration was; she just knew that she couldn't read the
writing. When sensei asked where she'd seen the characters, Akane lied
and told her they were off an old tea box she'd found while playing. She
would never tell anyone about The Book.

It didn't matter that much that she couldn't read the writing,
for more than half The Book was pictures; pictures of bone and blood
vessels, pictures of pressure points and chi lines, pictures of vital
spots and kata and exercises. And she'd memorized them all, every page,
every line and every move. Memorized them, copied them with brush and
ink, copied them with sweat and tears 'til they were burned into her mind
and body. Every night, when the house was asleep, she'd sneak down to the
doujou and practice. Slowly at first and painfully, she'd pushed herself
to master the techniques until finally she'd completed the basics.
Jumping rope two thousand times with ankle weights and doing four
thousand sit ups hanging upside down from a bar. A thousand tsuki-waza
with each hand, first against straw covered wood, then stone, then steel.
Two thousand keri-waza 'til her feet were bleeding. Iron palm strikes to
empty a bucket of water 'til the palms of her hands blistered and peeled
off. Spear-point strikes in buckets of sand that ripped away her finger
nails and scoured away her skin. Always the emphasis was on attack Never
any defense. Speed did not seem to be important, but strength was and
accuracy. Power and precision. That was everything . A single powerful
first strike. And now... now... She could drive a twelve inch nail
completely into block of iron-wood with one blow. A forty liter bucket
emptied in ten minutes under a barrage of palm strikes, and she could
drive her spear-point hand elbow deep into a packed bucket of wet sand.
Finally she'd finished the beginning exercises and come to this;
the small glass vial in her hand. The glass vial that had been so
carefully protected and hidden in the spine of The Book.
Akane couldn't read most of the characters even now, but the
pictures had been very clear. The strikes of this technique were few,
simple and direct. There were nine hand strikes and four with feet and
legs. Unlike 'Musabetsu Kakuton', there were no aerial techniques, and
unlike any art Akane had ever heard of, there were no defensive
techniques described. None. All of the kata were for massive crushing or
piercing blows to a vital point. The pictures had also shown clearly that
all of what she'd learned and endured to this point were aimed directly
at this... at this tiny glass vial and what it contained.
Following the pictures exactly, she'd prepared for this night,
secretly, quietly, over the past four days. Nothing to eat or drink had
passed her lips for three days. Hardest to fool had been O-neesama. Once
or twice she thought O-nnechan had caught her hiding her food. Finally at
breakfast this morning, Akane had dumped her entire breakfast on the
floor in a seeming tantrum.
She'd had to wait almost a month from the time she felt she was
ready... a month until she had the house to herself. Well, not all to
herself. Papa, O-neesama and Nabiki O-neechan had gone to the beach.
Akane had been denied this treat as punishment for her tantrum and left
at home with Mrs. Odaki. Now Mrs Odaki was in the house watching TV,
"knowing" that Akane was asleep safe in her bed.
After Papa and the rest left for the beach, she'd taken the
herbal purge she'd made following the instructions in The Book, Those
characters had pictures of the plants over them for reference. This was
followed by a sweat bath to purify her body.
Now she sat alone in the middle of the empty doujou wrapping
linen bandages tightly around her legs. Around and around her legs 'til
they were numb, then tight around her chest, binding her right arm tight
against her chest. Her head was also bound with thick leather and cotton
padding. Now for the hard part. From the pictures, it was obvious that
this procedure was meant for two people. Akane had no one to help her.
Taking the vial in her still free left hand, Akane crushed it under her
nose. There was a pleasant minty smell just before a fireball of razor
blades exploded through her head. Fighting to remain conscious, she
opened her bleeding fist, gulped down the bloody contents of the crushed
vial and shoved the carefully carved mouth protector between her teeth.
Dazed and battered from the roaring in her head, Akane blindly thrust her
left arm in the special sleeve she'd made and rolled sharply to the
right. The straps she'd tied to the door frame pulled tight under her
body weight and synched that arm tight as well. Akane lay for a moment,
wrapped like a mummy, eyes burning, mouth and tongue lacerated by the
corrosive mess of blood and glass. Dimly, the distant spark of her self
wondered if she'd made a mistake, done something wrong. And then it was
too late, as the first seizure hit. The contractions shook her like a
terrier shakes a rat. Her body bent back like a bow until only her heels
and the crown of her head touched the floor. Only the tight linen
bandages kept her spine from splitting like a rotten twig. As suddenly as
it had come, the contraction passed, dumping her to the doujou floor like
a gutted carp. The next contraction hit and the next and the next;
tossing her around the room like a doll in the hands of a careless giant.
Finally with a tremendous surge like a tsunami crashing against the
beach, Akane gave one final convulsion that split her linen bonds like
wet rice paper and left her to fall back limply to the floor.
Terrified by the noise from the doujou, Mrs Odaki had called the
police then run upstairs to find Akane's bed empty. Showing a bravery
beyond belief, she'd gone to the doujou looking for Akane. . . and found
her. Found Akane's nude and bleeding body. And cradled her small charge
in her lap, crying over Akane's bruised and bloody form, never noticing
one bruise that faded like water running down a drain.

***************************************************************************