Chapter 2
Splashing knee deep through the frigid water Akane pulled the small Zodiac ashore. She was only about fifty kilometers from Kausu and less than ten from Kunashir. Or Ostrov if you spoke Russian. Fortunately visibility was poor even this early in the afternoon. Low dark clouds lumbering in from the north and west filled the air with fat wet flakes of snow. Shivering in her heavy coat as the wind cut through her wet trousers Akane tugged and heaved the small boat into the sheltering rocks. After making it this far she didn't want to be found by carelessness. Since she didn't have a motor license she'd had to . . .borrow the Zodiac.
That was bad enough. Entering disputed territory was another thing entirely. Actually it wasn't disputed. The Japanese claimed Kunashir and Russia claimed Ostrov. It just happened that they were both the same place. Just because she was in a stol----borrowed Zodiac with no passport . . .panting Akane shoved the awkward craft deep into the rocks, piling scrub brush and drift wood over it. Nope, no problem at all. After all Ranma and his father hand roamed at will through China for ten years and the baka had never heard of a passport. Yanking angrily at a small scrub pine that had survived storm, drought and disease only to succumb to Typhoon Akane, she continued to camouflage the small boat.
"If HE can do it," She muttered to herself, "I can do it. At least there aren't any bears----"
Something skittered out of the brush. A spider. Not a fat, lazy, civilized Tokyo spider. This was a _SPIDER_, the size of a child's hand . . . with a muscular looking articulated body. And a head. This sucker was a carnivore.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"
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"Ivan," The coastguard man whispered to his mate. "Ivan . . .what the hell was that?" Falling and rising the shrill cry cut through the heavily falling snow."
"Just the wind, Uri," Ivan crossed himself, surreptitiously lest the political officer be watching. He turned the wheel a few points north, away from the awful sound. "Just the . . .wind."
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Deciding there were quieter meals elsewhere the spider vanished into the rocks, leaving Akane panting, spider-bashing-stick still firmly in hand. After a few moments Akane lowered her stick. A little proud at having triumphed over the forces of the wild Akane shrugged into her pack and started hiking. This place wasn't much more than a dot on the map, a few square kilometers of volcanic rock with a little bit to scrub and moss to cover the naked stone in places. How hard could it be to find the training ground? There was only one possible path through the twisting nightmare of volcanic rock.
Where centuries of flowing water had softened some of the razor edges to make a hair thin passage. Sloshing over the water covered stones was a little like sawanobori. With the addition of sheets of ice that weren't usually encountered in mountain-stream-climbing. The felt- bottomed shoes normally worn to provide purchase on water slick stone were useless against ice and volcanic glass. Which was why Akane was barefoot, trusting to training and discipline to carry her around the slick knives of obsidian. That was the theory, anyway. Three hours later Akane was a mass of small cuts and slashes.
Stumbling through the frigid water she could no longer feel her legs below the knees. And she was too tired to even shiver anymore. Her foot slipped on an ice covered rock. Akane twisted to miss a spear like outcropping and ended sitting waist deep in ice water. Fumbling to her feet Akane looked around, trying to find the trail in the rapidly fading light. She had to be close . . .she had to be. This was just a small rock . . .she could jog around the whole thing in a few minutes.
"In the dark," a small voice whispered. "Up hill, in the dark? Through ice water?" It had to be close. Or she was going to die.
Exposure.
She'd heard it on the news. They died of exposure. Now she knew . . .knew the little needles that stabbed. Little needles that grew into knives. Until you couldn't feel. Anything. Except your strength, and will and thoughts as they bled away into the cold. Until you just lay down and----
In a sudden burst of anger Akane pounded her fists against her numb legs. She wasn't going to die here. She wasn't going to die. Not here. Stumbling and cursing she slogged through the icy stream in a shambling run. Gasping and grunting, ignoring the dull pain as rocks tore and slashed her skin. Ignored the blood that flowed sluggishly to stain her jacket red. Ignored the frozen rock that turned her feet into raw ground beef. She went down again, a fireball exploding in her head as it cracked into the rocks. She tried to get up, tried and failed. Weighed down by cold and exhaustion; to tired too cry, almost too tired to live she slumped down in the shallow stream. She was going to die after all. She hadn't even made it to the training ground.
A thought came to her cold numbed mind. Slowly, like and old sick woman, she fumbled for the switch to her head lamp. Blindingly useless in the falling snow and reflective ice while she was moving ----but she wasn't moving now. The small electric lamp flared into life and she blinked tiredly as the light bounced painfully off the snow and ice. Blinked again, as she realized where she was, and began to laugh. A hoarse grunting sound like a rusty hinge. Rolling over onto her hands and knees she crawled painfully from the icy stream. Tiredly Akane pawed at the buckles of her pack with hands she couldn't feel, fingers that wouldn't work. Finally grabbing the strap in her teeth and yanked, filling her mouth with the copper taste of blood as the nylon strap ripped her gums and lip.
Upending the pack she pawed through the scattered mess until she found the small orange packet. Fumbling the packet between her useless hands she ripped it open with her teeth. Waterproof matches sealed in a plastic bottle and a bundle of tinder fell onto the rocks. Using her cold numbed hand like a broom she pushed the bottle and tinder into her left hand as if it were a dustpan. Shoving her hand against the ground she forced her fingers closed around the matches she couldn't feel and shuffled on her knees till she reached a cone of wood. Even with the falling snow it was still mostly dry. It should be. It had been drying for ninety years. She knew she couldn't open the sealed bottle; she didn't even try. The strong plastic resisted briefly before splintering between her teeth.
Lifeboat matches, guaranteed to light and burn even in a gale fell onto the damp stones. Akane reached for them with hands that felt like they'd been amputated---- she couldn't pick up the matches! Pounding her hands against the rock she tried to get some feeling back . . .just a little . . .just enough . . .She could see her hands hit the rock with enough force to break bone. She might as well been watching a movie for all the feeling she had. She was going to die because she couldn't pick up the damned matches.
Tears of frustration came to her eyes and almost immediately froze on her cheeks. Growling in frustration she pushed against a pile of matches with the heel of her hand, scraping them across the rocks. Nothing. Nothing? What was she doing? She was so tired. Just a little nap. That's all. Just a little . . .Akane's head slipped down. As she slumped forward her hand dragged matches along the stones --- a sudden burst of light and flame shocked her awake. Igniting the tender she pushed it into the stacked wood. Having exhausted her small store of energy Akane slowly collapsed against the damp stones. Dully she watched the tiny flame flicker and dance in the wind as it ate into the stacked wood.
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The stolid grey clouds that typified the weather over the Sea of Okhotsk had blown away, revealing a crystal blue sky by the time Akane awoke. Muttering curses that would have gotten her mouth washed out by Genma she had a hurried breakfast of cold rice and pickled vegetables. Moving stiffly she stripped off her torn, damp clothes and shuffled over to the swiftly moving stream. Looking at the ice scum on surrounding rocks she shuddered in anticipation. She _really_ didn't want to do this, she thought, before plunging into the frigid water. But she couldn't go before the shrine covered in dirt and blood. Scrubbing furiously she hurried to finish her ablutions before she turned into a girl-sicle. Finishing her bath with chestnut-fist speed she headed for her pack.
Moments later she knelt before a small shrine, naked save for a rokushaku of rough linen. Pulling a sliver flask, tarnished with age, from a silk bag she poured a measure of sake into a stone cup sitting before the alter. Carefully purifying her hands and mouth with the sake she refilled the cup. Clapping three times she placed the cup before the alter. From the bag she brought out a silver dish of tiny cakes she'd had Kasumi make for her. By tradition Akane should have made them . . . Placing the dish in front of the alter the clapped three times. . . .but she needed the spirits on her side. Once more she dipped into the bag and pulled out a pendant on a silver chain. Opening the locket she took a last look at the picture of her mother before placing it in front of the alter.
Clapping, slowly, three times she bowed low before the alter. Sitting upright she pulled a plastic cylinder from the bag. This was another break from tradition, but the contents were too precious to take any chances. The man at the sport shop guaranteed the tube would withstand anything short of direct fire or explosion. She'd bought four of them. Sliding back the hidden door on the shrine she paused a moment, contemplating the polished jade hemisphere rising out of the raw matrix. Reverently she traced the names delicately inscribed there; twelve names. Twelve, in six hundred years. Tears filled her eyes as she read the final name, written by a young man in 1896. Tendou Yau, her great- grandfather. She'd always wondered why he'd changed his name to Night-rain.
Maybe after she finished her training she would understand. If she finished. Unscrewing the top she slid the scroll into her hands. Unrolling it on her knees she began to read aloud.
"You have perceived the root of the Way of The Yellow Dragon. It is said, 'Stand in the midst of the four corners and eight directions, horizontal and vertical, up and down, and pierce them all!' The patriarchs of our school realized that state and transmitted it. Heaven is yang. Yang continually descends to earth as yin. Yin develops and births yang which rises to heaven. This can never be obstructed; it permeates all the worlds. Three scrolls cataloging the techniques and codes of our school have been presented to you. Your entreaties have been sincere, your pledges sound and your petitions granted. Do not neglect the traditions of your enlightened predecessors. Guard them well! Guard them well!"
Reverently she rolled the scroll and replaced it in the tube. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath to compose herself. "Forgive me, masters of The Yellow Dragon. Tendou Yau was my great-grandfather. It is he who should have read those words; should have determined if I were worthy to present myself for training. But he died when I was a child. And my need is great." Licking suddenly dry lips she searched for the proper words. Trying to explain to these ancient masters why she had invaded this sacred place.
"One of great-grandfathers students . . .one he cast out of the doujou . . .has returned. He has perverted the techniques of the Yellow Dragon, using them for theft and murder. And he has . . ." Her throat tightened suddenly, "he has challenged the master of the doujou. My father." Pressing her hands together she pressed her forehead to the stones in front of the alter. "Grandfather died before he could train me. But I have his scrolls. He told me of this place. And what I must do. I am the Tendou heir, and my father's senior student." She didn't think it necessary to burden the spirits of the patriarchs with the fact she was, at present, her father's _only_ student. "It is my place and privilege to defend my family. If I do not defend the doujou then R . . .other people will have to fight. But as I am now, the outcast will certainly kill me. Please allow me to train here." Akane remained in place, her head bowed, waiting for a sign. And waiting. And waiting. Fifteen minutes later she rose and backed slowly away.
"Ummmm. Thank you for listening to me." She would take silence for assent. "I promise to . . ." "Ghi-ghi, ghi-ghi." The sudden bird call startled her. "Ke. Ke. Ke." Answered another bird. "Ghi-ghi" "Ke." "Ghi-ghi . . .Ke . . .Ghi-ghi . . .Ke . . .Ghi-ghi . . .Ke, Ghi-ghi . . .Ke."
"Jenkei?" Akane thought about it. "Well, I suppose I am being a little rash." That wasn't the most comforting thing the spirits could have said. Still, a sign was a sign. And at this point she would take what she could----
"Je!Je! . . .emmou, Je!Je! . . .emmou . . .Je!Je! . . ."
"JajaUMA!" Her face flushed as two new birds started calling. "I am NOT a bitch. Who said that? I'll pound---"
She broke off suddenly as she remembered where she was. "Heh . . .ummm. Anyway. Thank you for letting me train. I will do my best." Bowing she left quickly, before there were any more signs from the spirits.
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The Plum Blossom poles. Akane looked at the poles stuck in the ground in a complex pattern. She'd been doing the Cotton-needle-set since she was three years old. This should be pretty easy----she bit her lip pensively. It _should_ be easy. But something was . . .it came to her then. This was a rock . . .ALL rock. How had they mounted the poles in the rock? And how had they lasted all this time exposed to the weather? Iron . . .iron covered with lacquered bamboo. She could see the pitted metal where some of the bamboo had peeled away. Kneeling she unrolled the first scroll of instruction labeled simply 'Body'. If your mind is not projected into your hands even 10,000 techniques will be useless. Below that was a kata and the number one hundred. That seemed pretty simple . . .until she noticed that this was the form to practice for the _first_ day. That couldn't be right! A quick look at the rest of the scroll showed her that it was indeed correct. There were kata, koan and further instructions covering . . .twenty days.
Akane looked at the scroll . . .looked at the poles . . .looked back at the scroll. One _hundred_ repetitions. In a _day_? Twenty minutes per kata was average. A good time was fourteen or fifteen minutes. She could do it in twelve. But a hundred---- a tiny notation in the corner caught her eye. She looked at it. Looked at it again. Slowly, one eye on the scroll, as if hoping she were wrong, Akane stretched out her hand toward a small stone cairn. Her blindly searching fingers touched ---- Sighing Akane committed the kata and the koan to memory. She had to repeat the Zen poem while she did the kata . . .she dropped the contents of the cairn at her feet with a metallic clank . . .wearing weights. She clipped the padded sacks of iron sand around her ankles and hefted a small iron ball in each hand. Hopping onto the poles she settled into a 'Stone Horse' stance.
"If your mind . . ." " . . .is not projected . . ." Her hands shot forward in a quick one-two motion, fingers locked like a raptor's talons. " . . .into your hands . . ." Her hamstrings complained a little. She should have warmed up first. " . . .even 10,000 techniques . . ." She stumbled a bit as the wide sweeping motions with the weights over balanced her. ". . .will be useless . . ." She winced internally. That one always gave her trouble. "If your mind . . ." Her shoulder muscles complained at the rapid complex motion. The weights were more of a problem than she'd thought. " . . .is not projected . . ." It was going to be a loooong night. " . . .into your hands . . ."
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Akane stared dully into the small fire as she scraped the last of the rice and pickled plums from her bowl. Mechanically she washed it down with strong green tea. She thought about adding some honey as a treat . . .but the jar was on the other side of the fire. A good meter distant . . . She sat, staring across the fire, trying to solve this problem. Looking down, she noticed the cup in her hands and wondered what she should do with it. Slowly the thought seeped through her fatigue clogged mind that she should finish her tea and get back to work. More minutes passed while she tried to remember how to drink her tea. Finally solving this conundrum she turned her vast mental powers to another problem . . .getting to her feet.
Mounting the poles in the absolute blackness of the cloudy night wasn't a problem. After nineteen days of continuous kata, broken only by two meals a day and hurried naps, the Plum Blossom Poles had been burned into her soul. Gripping the iron balls she began. Spirit swift; She stabbed the Stone Man with her hardened index finger. The iron ball remained firmly locked between her thumb and little finger, unlike her first time there was no danger of it's dropping free. mind, calm; The rapid combination slammed into the stone man, right side, then left, with stunning force. body, light; The quick, twisting blows appeared deceptively light. Their true power was evident as layers of stone came free as if they'd been shaved with a razor. eyes, clear; Fingers forming talons around the iron balls she raked the stone man quickly, right- left-right. Without pause the combination was repeated, left-right-left. technique, decisive! Both hands slammed into the practice dummy, jarring it on it's foundations. This was just the warm up. She had to do one hundred repetitions each of the Stone form, Iron from and Drunken form of each set. The exercise cleared a little of the fog from her brain. A little.
I am not struck nor is my opponent hit; unobstructed I move in and attain the ultimate. These dumb koan's were driving her crazy. Why couldn't the patriarch's just say what they meant? Her legs were already burning and she couldn't lift her arms above her shoulders. Those damn weights . . .her back spasmed. As she started the next set, a hot iron stabbed into her belly. Gritting her teeth she kept on. She could do it. Just a few more hours. Just until dawn. She wasn't going to give up. I am not struck; She projected her center of gravity below the surface of the rock. It was an awkward looking stance but supremely stable. nor is my. . .
Stabbing pains in her legs made her stumble, almost throwing her off the poles. She recovered and continued. . . .nor is my opponent hit; Just a little more. Just until dawn. Dancing in the dark, on narrow iron poles she couldn't see, fighting a stone man she couldn't beat. unobstructed I move in There was no beginning, no end. She leaped and whirled, twisted, struck and leaped again. Suspended in a sea of night . . . and attain the ultimate. A golden warmth expanded in her belly, expanding to fill her body to bursting. She felt invigorated. She was getting her second wind.
After death There, on the horizon! you go to hell Dawn! It was the dawn! but die again She'd made it. She---- Between one breath and the next her abused body collapsed. She was already unconscious before her body hit the ground like a broken doll, there to lie in the cold dark hours before dawn.
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Akane pulled the second scroll from its protective container and weighed it in her hand. Even after sleeping around the clock and well into another day she still felt tired. Twisting at the waist while rotating her shoulders she was amazed that she felt as good as she did . . .only a little sore. And amazingly light on her feet. She was stronger and faster than she'd ever been. It was silly to be afr----concerned . . .silly to be concerned about what was in this scroll. Quickly breaking the seal she unrolled the scroll . . .and sighed in relief. This didn't look too bad. The sets were longer, but simpler. And it looked like they concentrated on speed and flexibility drills. Well, she could stand to be a _little_ faster. Reading down she grimaced. More of those damn koans. She'd repeated the koans from the first scroll until she dreamed about them . . .and they still didn't make any sense. Skimming the directions for kata, interspersed with Zen poems she came to a more detailed set of instructions on breathing. Biting her lip in concentration she slowly read the careful brush strokes.
"Ch'i . . .intrinsic energy is . . .original power." Muttering to herself she went down the page, line by line. " . . .Yin ch'i and Yang ch'i are self balancing . . .three levels . . .body . . .ch'i . . .shen, highest level . . .spirit . . .power generated by ch'i is nei jing.
Internal power . . ." Damn. Her lips tightened in anger. More of this stupid ch'i stuff. Stupid mumbo jumbo. What good had it done great grand-father. What good had it done mama. They believed in ch'i. In this stupid spirit energy stuff. They believed . . .and they died anyway. Face twisting in anger Akane wanted to rip the scroll into pieces. Into tiny, tiny pieces and scatter them to the winds. Trembling, she brought herself under control. She wanted----needed ---secret techniques. Nerve strikes, pressure points . . . something to beat that bastards Black Tiger technique.
"Cultivate your ch'i," She read out loud. "relax the entire body . . .inhale directly into the tan t'ien," unconsciously she placed her fingers three inches below her navel as her great grand-father and her mother had showed her years earlier. ". . .when you sense the flow of ch'i . . .condensing breathing . . .feel ch'i transform into jing . . ." Stupid . . .stupid . . .she wanted to throw the scroll into the ocean. She needed a way to break bones, pulp internal organs. Not this touchy-feely stuff. A thought came to her. Ranma used this ch'i stuff. She'd never seen him meditate or condense his breath or any of _that_ stuff. But he, and Ryouga and some of the others did some impressive things. Maybe you just had to get past all the mumbo-jumbo to find the good parts. Maybe she could learn something . . .maybe. Quickly she committed the first lesson to memory and strapped on her ankle weights. A new set, heaver than the last. And the hand weights were connected by a carrying strap.
Snatching up the hand weights in one hand, the scroll and her water bottle in the other she headed briskly for the second training area. Winding her way through the maze of volcanic rock she came to a second set of Plumb Blossom Poles. Almost identical to the first, with the addition of two more stone men, connected by articulated counter weights that allowed for realistic counter strikes when they were hit. Otherwise they were identical. . .except this set was at least twenty meters high.
Licking suddenly dry lips Akane continued into the training area. OK, it was bigger . . .no problem. Akane tried to banish the vision of crawling back to her boat, on her belly like a snake. Dragging her shattered legs----she slowed to a stop. She didn't have to worry about broken legs. The patriarchs had thought about that. Clustered thickly about the base of the poles were dozens of rust pitted iron spikes, each as thick as her forearm. Akane gazed up at the poles for a long, long moment. This was crazy . . .dancing on top of those stupid poles was bad enough. But those spikes ---- She hadn't fallen off the poles since she was six. And the last few weeks had made her even better. There was no reason to risk her life against a gust of wind or something stupid like that. She was going home.
Akane turned . . .toward the poles. Well, she'd try it without the weights. She dropped the hand and ankle weights to the ground. It couldn't hurt to just climb up. She'd just climb the first pole. Get a feel for what it was like. She rubbed her sweating palms against her rokushaku and grabbed the pole as far up as she could reach. She'd see what it was like . . .then she could go do these exercised back on the low poles. Pressing the soles of her feet against the pole she started up. That was it, she could do all these stupid breathing and ch'i exercised and stuff on the low poles. What possible difference could it make? Half way up she paused and looked down. The ground looked really far away. And those spikes looked . . .she tightened her grip on the pole and continued climbing. She'd made the right decision. It was stupid to risk her life -----the pole telescoped in on itself just as she reached the top. The spring loaded section burst the hidden bladder, deluging Akane in a mix of oil and pepper ----blind and helpless she plunged down toward the deadly iron teeth.
Her body twisted, without conscious thought, and her feet kicked her hard away from the pole. Tucking her legs in tight she spun hard, trying to stretch her thrust away from the pole. Still blind she oriented herself to the ground by instinct just as she hit . . .hard. Rubbing the oil from her face with the edge of her rokushaku Akane opened her eyes to find a jagged iron fang less than a fingers width from her cheek. Falling forward on her hands she spewed her breakfast on the cold stones. She couldn't do this . . .she wanted to go home. She----a vison came to her. Ryouga. Lying small and broken in front of the doujou, blood pouring from his mouth. Akane shook her head in denial and Rouga vanished. Replaced by another figure; sightless eyes and blood soaked pig-tail---- Slowly Akane rose to her feet. Strapping the weights around her ankles she slung the iron balls over her shoulder and grabbed the pole as high up as she could.
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Akane stretched her stiff limbs as she prepared for the last day, or night, she thought, looking at the gathering darkness. She still hadn't gotten anything from those stupid koans . . . What the hell did "Moonlight pierces the depths of the pond, leaving no trace in the water" have to do with fighting. Or anything? And those stupid ch'i exercises---- Tiredly she pulled the last scroll from her pack and read it by the flickering firelight.
"Shen" was all it said. Puzzled she unrolled it further. At the very end was a Wing Chun kata, perhaps the simplest martial arts form. And one last koan. Your ancestors lie in the ground. The corpse is here; where has the person gone? When you know this answer you will have a rootless tree, ground with neither sunlight nor shade and a valley that does not echo. Akane flipped the scroll over and looked at the back. She rolled and unrolled it, pulling off the end cap and shaking it to see if there were something hidden inside. Nothing. Damn. Her shoulders drooped in resignation. She was stronger, faster than she'd ever been. But she wanted . . .more. She wanted what her great grandfather had.
What her mother . . . That spark. That inner strength. She remembered her great grandfather, ten years into his second century still vigorous and vital. Her mother----She pushed aside the pain that had been with her so long to remember . . . how graceful and strong her mother had been. How she finished the last day of her life as if it were any other day . . .tucked her into bed, read her a story. And then, as the cancer ate away her stomach and she hemorrhaged to death, wrote a poem of leave taking, sat in meditation and left the world, still smiling. Akane could bear to remember . . now. Then she'd hated them both for leaving her. For teaching about this wonderful power and then leaving her. A little misty eyed Akane trotted toward the final training ground. One good thing about the training on the high poles, at least she'd never be afraid of anything----
Stopping so suddenly she almost fell over her own feet Akane stared blankly at the Spirit training field. Plum Blossom poles. Carefully she edged her way to the cliff edge and looked . . .down. Two hundred feet down----where the waves swirled and crashed against the rocks. Scooting back on all fours she stared out at the Plum Blossom poles, swaying like a basket of cobras. The nearest was an easy ten foot jump from the cliff. Akane clenched her jaw against sudden nausea. An . . .easy jump.
Trembling in fear Akane tried and failed to command her rubbery muscles. She could see herself leaping for the pole . . .slipping on the icy surface . . .the long, long drop to the cold dark water. The wind and waves smashing her against the rocks again and again---- Wrapping her arms around her knees Akane sat, rocking back and forth. It was dark when she finally raised her head. Thunder rumbled through the air and Akane blinked in surprise as flashes of lightning lit the sky. The Plum Blossom Poles, clothed in streamers of blowing snow were like Bon-dancers . . .inviting her to join the dance. She was going to die. With a great sense of relief Akane got to her feet. If she danced on the poles she would die. If she fought the 'outcast' as she was, she would die. If she didn't fight, Ranma would fight in her place . . .and die. And she would follow soon after, by her own hand if necessary.
Moving to the cliff's edge she watched the Plum Blossom Poles dance, as thunder played and lightning lit the scene. But, if she died here . . .if she never came back . . .K'e Lwun would keep her promise. To guard her family. Keep Ranma safe. As calmly as if she were stepping into the doujou Akane leapt into space. Ranma would like China. It was almost is if the swaying pole reached out to catch her. He'd forget her after a while . . .
Arms moving in a graceful arc Akane spun atop the pole, then slid across to the next as if she were not inches away from eternity. She imagined his children . . .his and Shan P'u's. She grinned a little, knowing they'd be little terrors. The wind increased in strength, driving the snow against her bare flesh like icy needles. As long as she was here she was going to solve that last koan. She wouldn't leave, she vowed, until she understood the damn thing.
Her mind turned inward . . .ignoring the crashing waves that hammered the rock face . . .the howling wind that ripped the wave tops off the churning black water . . . nothing existed except that enigmatic zen poem as her body danced and tumbled through the storm. Embracing it as if it were her lover she accepted the storm's fury. Aware of nothing except this last riddle Akane withdrew more and more into herself. It felt as if there was a ball of hot iron in her belly, strangling her. Gritting her teeth she pressed down on the iron, determined to drive it out.
Lightening flashed, illuminating a huge snowflake. Akane could see the sharp crystal purity of the infinitely repeating shape . . .Suddenly her body expanded to fill the universe and compressed to the size of a dot. A heavy sweat covered her entire body as the iron ball dissolved and vanished. The rock face, rotten from centuries of storm, began to crumble. Akane laughed in delighted understanding.
Lightning flashed . . .like weary dancers the Plum Blossom poles fell, twisting, turning, tumbling into the sea.
Lighting flashed . . .
Akane twirled like a delighted little girl . . . head thrown back to catch a snowflake on her tongue.
Lightning flashed . . .
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