Waters Under Earth

A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Alan Harnum - harnums@hotmail.com

All Ranma characters are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, first
published by Shogakugan in Japan and brought over to North
America by Viz Communications.

Homepage at:  http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Bay/9758

Chapter 13 : Hunt's End

Continued from [Ranma][Fanfic] Waters Under Earth - Chapter 13 (1/2)

     Kima felt something impossibly sharp slash through her right 
shoulder and wing as she flew.  She screamed in agony, feeling
blood flow across her back, as each movement of her right wing
began to drive a knife of fire into her back.  The pain of
flapping was unbearable, but she kept it up as long as she 
could, driven on by Saffron's now-silent presence in her arms.  
They were not far from where she'd left Ranma and Cologne.  

     Her eyes welled with tears as she flew, from the pain of the
wound, from knowing that Samofere had been left behind to face
something he could not possibly defeat.  She was feeling faint
now from loss of blood, as the mountain walls soared by to her
sides, the rough earth below her, the blue sky overhead.  The
ground was coming so close, now, how had she gotten to flying so
low-

     She managed to roll as she hit the ground, tucking her wings
and falling on her uninjured side, keeping Saffron safe as she
slammed into the earth.  She could barely feel her right wing;
agony was her world, a throbbing pain whirlpooling out from the
wound on her shoulder.

     She looked up from the ground.  She was so close, right next
to the trail that led off into the recess in the mountains where
Cologne had made camp.  It was less than two hundred feet across
rolling, hilly ground to there.  It might as well have been two
hundred miles.  She couldn't move.  

     In her arms, Saffron began to cry again.  Somehow, somehow,
she staggered to her feet.  She could no longer fly, but she
could run, and she did, smoothing the infant's hair as she
half-staggered along the trail.

     Far behind her, but closing quickly, she heard something
howling triumphantly.     

**********

     "Bird speaks Japanese pretty well," Tarou said, glancing
down at Shiso and then up at the clouds.  "So, you two were about 
to tell me everything that's going on?"

     Suddenly, the raven gave a great cry, a sound with sorrow
running through it, and took to the air, wings beating 
frantically as he flew to the south, over the scraggly trees of
the forest.

     "Huh?" Ranma said, watching the dark shape speed away.  
"What's gotten into him?"

     From far to the south there came a monstrous howl, bouncing
and echoing off the mountain walls, a sound that chilled him to
the bone.  
     
     He heard Cologne softly gasp.
     
     Turning to look where she was, he saw a white-winged figure
staggering from the east, fifty feet away.  She was holding a
small, cloth-wrapped shape in her arms; even from here, he could
see the blood staining the feathers of the drooping right-hand
wing, running down the side of her body.  
     
     "Kima!" he shouted, running to her side, Cologne and Tarou
behind him.  She almost collapsed into him as he grabbed her by
the shoulders; he could now see what she held in her arms was a
familiar baby.  Saffron.

     "Kima, what happened?" he said.  
     
     Her face was almost white, her eyes clouded by pain.  "He's
coming..."

     "Who?" Cologne said.  "Who's coming?"
     
     The howl echoed again, closer, monstrous.  There was fury in 
it, bloodlust, an ancient hunger so deep-running and 
all-encompassing it was terrifying.

     "Galm," Kima whispered in a choked voice.
     
     "Who?" Ranma said. 
     
     "Give her to me, Ranma," Cologne said, plucking Kima from 
his arms.  She carefully took the child from the other woman's
grip and handed him to Ranma.  "Hold that."

     "Hey, I didn't ever wanna see him again-" Ranma said, but he
shut up and took the baby at the force of Cologne's glare.  
"Geez, you're an ugly kid."

     Cologne laid Kima down on the ground and turned her over 
onto her stomach; the right side of her back was covered in 
blood, still slowly flowing.

     "I think whoever cut her shall be here soon," Cologne said.
"Tarou, go and get my bag from by the fire."

     Tarou opened his mouth as if to say something.  There was
confusion on his face.

     "Now," Cologne snapped.  "Before she bleeds to death."
     
     Tarou nodded and turned to run.
     
     Ranma sat down on the grass.  Kima's head was turned to look
at him.  Her eyes were wide, pain in them, as Cologne tore the
sleeve of her shirt off with a ripping sound and pressed it
against the wound.

     "Who did this?" Ranma said, shock and rage in his voice.
     
     "Galm," Kima gasped, and then moaned as Cologne shifted the
compress.  "He's coming..."
     
     "Who's Galm?"
     
     For a third time that howl sounded, rising through the air
like a daemoniac bell.  "That's him, isn't it?"

     "Yes," Kima said.  "You have to protect Saffron.  He's after 
you too, I'm not sure why."

     "Don't talk," Cologne said shortly.  "It will only make it
worse.  Try to relax."

     Tarou ran up, lugging the dark bag that Cologne had carried.
He put it down next to Cologne, then crouched by her.  "Who is
she?"

     "Kima," Ranma said.  "She's from Phoenix Mountain."
     
     "Well, that's obvious," Tarou said.  "There aren't many 
other winged people running around.  Who's the kid?"

     "That would be Saffron," Ranma said.
     
     "Doesn't anyone stay the same age around here?" Tarou said,
shaking his head.

     "Would you two shut up," Cologne snarled.  "Tarou, there's
bandages in there.  There's also a glass jar of greenish-white 
unguent in there, without a label on it.  Get those out for me."

     Ranma looked down at Saffron as Tarou began to rummage
through Cologne's bag.  The infant was quiet, scarlet eyes wide
and staring up at the sky.

     "Samofere..." Kima murmured, eyes closing.  Ranma saw
Cologne stiffen.

     "What about Samofere?" she said softly.
     
     "Left him," Kima said.  "He fought with Galm.  I don't know 
if he's still alive."

     Cologne's face went slightly pale, and only Ranma saw it.
Tarou handed her the bandages and a small jar of greenish-white
paste.  Hands shaking slightly, Cologne opened the jar and
scooped out a handful of the unguent, pulling away the 
blood-soaked sleeve of her shirt and flinging it to the grass.

     "It's a clean wound, at least," Ranma heard her say.  "The
edges aren't ragged."

     She began to rub the cream into the wound.  Kima gave a soft
sound of pain from on the ground, and her eyes closed for a 
moment before snapping abruptly open again.

     "Saffron?" she said.
     
     "It's okay," Ranma said, reaching down with his hand and
lightly touching the rough-skinned, slender talons of her left
hand with his.  "He's with me."

     Cologne was bandaging the wound now.  "That will numb the
pain and help to close the wound."

     "Good," Kima muttered.  "I need to be able to fight.  He's
almost here."

     "You're lucky to be alive, fool," Cologne said.  "I don't
see why you're even still conscious."
     
     And then again, there came the howl, from so close it seemed
to drown out all other senses.  Ranma looked up to see a man of
medium height standing two dozen feet away.  He had a young face,
darkly complexioned and covered in scars, but his hair was a grey
like the steel of a blade.  He wore a vest the same colour as his
hair, and black pants.  His clothing was spattered with blood, 
and Ranma didn't think that it was his own.

     "Ranma Saotome," he called.  
     
     "You're Galm, then?" Ranma said as he rose to his feet.
     
     "I am," the man said.  He looked utterly and completely
relaxed.  "It's time to go now, Ranma."

     "I'm not going anywhere with you," Ranma said slowly.  
     
     "Then I will have to force you," Galm said, and shrugged.
     
     "Who is this guy?" Tarou said, stepping up beside Ranma.
     
     "Beats me," Ranma said.  
     
     "Careful," Kima said, pushing aside Cologne's staying hand
as she sat up.  "I don't think he can hurt you unless you try to
fight him."
     
     "But he hurt you, right?" Ranma said.
     
     "He's following me somehow," Kima said.  "He's not human."
     
     "Certainly not," Galm said, as if offended.
     
     "So what are you, then?" Ranma said.
     
     "Lots of things," Galm said.  "Right now, I'm to take you to
Jusenkyou.  At that point, I can proceed to play with the prey a
little."

     "Play?" Tarou said, frowing and looked down at the 
bloodstains on the ground where Kima had lain.  "This your idea
of playing?"

     "Oh, no," Galm said.  "That just the beginning.  Have you
ever seen a cat play with a bird?"

     Ranma shuddered slightly at the mention of cats.  "Can't say 
I have."
     
     "Oh, it's delightful," Galm said with a smile.  "First it
tears off one wing, then it tears off the other and then it bats
the thing around for a while.  I've always wanted to try that
with something that could really scream."

     Ranma looked at the thing that seemed a man, into those
glowing golden eyes.  There was fire pounding deep inside his
head, but it felt as if it were held back, within a fist of his
mind, controlled, just barely, but ready to be unleashed.  

     And behind it, oh, deep, deep behind it, the killing fury of
the ice, and inside that there was only the nothingness, the
blackness.  And he did not know that if he let it engulf him if
he could come back.

     He turned around, slowly, and bent down, handing the quiet
form of Saffron to Kima.  Her face was still pale, and her side
was still streaked with blood.  Cologne was carefully bandaging
her wound, face hard and intent.  She seemed to be deliberately
ignoring Galm, ignoring everything but tending to the wound.

     Kima took the child from him and cradled it against her
shoulder with a soft, sighing sound.  She looked very young, very
vulnerable.  He hadn't realized how young she was; she couldn't
be more than ten years older than him.

     Ranma stood up and turned back to look at Galm, who hadn't
moved from his position.  He still stood, relaxed, nonchalant,
arms crossed over his chest.  He smiled at them.  His eyes
gleamed.

     Overhead, the storm clouds gathered in looping spirals of
grey.  The fire was lapping at the edges of his senses, begging
for release after such a long confinement.  Behind it, the ice 
loomed like an arctic claw.

     He started to step forward, and then Tarou passed him, 
moving swiftly and easily, dropping into a loose combat stance,
the metallic scales of his vest and bracers gleaming in the sun.

     "Okay," Tarou said, something cold in his voice, something
very angry.  "You want to play, pal?  Let's play."

     "Yeah," Ranma said as he came to stand beside older boy,
staring at Galm, caressing the fire inside of his head.  He knew
beneath his shirt the dragon was moving; he could feel it, like
an electric current.  "Let's play."

     There was a tiny shift in Galm's body, almost imperceptible.
     
     Then he was moving, and Ranma and Tarou moved together to
meet him.  Not, perhaps, for reasons entirely the same, but it
was together they went to face the hound of hell.

**********

     Two voices, speaking, in a room of stone.
     
     "It is begun," said the first, a voice ancient and cracked,
an edge of cruelty to it.  It lacked all the trembling senility 
the speaker usually adopted.  "As it was foretold."

     "Finally," said the second, a young voice, deep and 
powerful, the words elegantly formed.  "We have waited.  We have
done as was asked.  Now we are given what was promised."

     "The master works slowly," the first said.  "But his works
are always achieved."

     The second laughed.  "You sound the fools who speak of
Saffron as our god."     

     "Our lord is all he is said to be and far, far more," the
first said, and there was cold anger in it this time.  "Speak
carefully of him, little one.  He is not some child whining in
his cradle.  You do not wish to rouse his wrath."

     "Speak carefully to me, old one," the second said.  "You
don't wish to rouse mine either."
     
     The second raised his hand, and there was a crackling, as
flame burst into being from nothingness.     
     
     "And your fire will not save you if you rouse the master's,"
the first said, and laughed, an aged cackle that grated on the
ears.  "Nor will it save you if you rouse mine."

     The hand was lowered, slowly.  The flame winked out.
     
     "You need me," the second said almost petulantly.  "I don't 
need you."
     
     "Fool," the first said scornfully.  "You need me.  You don't
have the brains or the patience to pull this off."

     There was angry silence for a moment from the second, and
then he spoke.  "You say some truth.  I know my limitations."

     "And I know mine," the first said.  "The people need a 
king."

     "And a king needs an advisor," said the second.  "Someone to
take care of the little things."

     "And that is why our lord needs us," said the first.  "To
take care of the little things."

     "I see him in my dreams, you know," the second said with a
wistful tone to his voice.  "His wings are bigger than oceans.
His fire is black beyond midnight.  His eyes are the pits left 
when stars burn out.  His beak could cleft a mountain in twain."

     "It is well, then," said the first.  "Let it come.  Let the
flames burn out at last, and the King of Ashes rule in Phoenix
Mountain."

     And he laughed, like a rusting blade scraped across stone, 
and he was joined moments later by the young, strong voice of the
second.

**********

     Tarou and Ranma struck at Galm almost simultaneously, Ranma
with a leaping aerial kick, Tarou with a combination of low,
quick fist strikes.  Galm ducked under the kick, caught Tarou's
blows on his crossed forearms and moved back a few steps as the
other two advanced on him again.

     "Try not to get in my way," Tarou said.  "Maybe you should
just go sit down."

     Ranma didn't even respond.  There was no room for taunts, or
response to taunts.  He was fire, cold ice-fire, pure distilled
rage.  His face and hands were pins and needles, and he could 
feel his heart thudding inside his chest, and he was just barely
maintaining the edge of control.  Cologne was standing near Kima, 
stance ready to receive Galm if he made it by Ranma and Tarou.  
Kima held Saffron, her face deathly pale, the injured wing 
drooped to the side on the ground where she sat, looking as if 
she were barely able to manage even that.

     He snapped a kick at the side of Galm's head, and the 
golden-eyed man caught it and spun through with the movement,
dodging past Tarou's attack and pulling Ranma off balance to
send him crashing into Tarou's side.  The two of them stumbled,
nearly falling.

     "I said not to get in my way," Tarou snarled, and then they 
were parted as Galm slammed into Tarou from the side and bore him 
tumbling across the ground in a rolling tackle.  They landed with 
Tarou on his back and Galm atop him, his hand raised to the air.  
There was a knife in it, long and curving, the inner edge of the 
blade saw-toothed and brutal.  

     Ranma was running, but the knife was already stabbing down.
Tarou caught Galm's wrist with both his hands, grunting with
effort of stopping the blow; Galm smashed him across the face
with his free hand, as Tarou heaved and swung the man off him,
slamming him into the ground as he rose up, his face bloody.

     Galm was on his feet an instant later, and then Ranma was 
upon him, kicking for the hand that held the blade and sending it
spinning into the air.  His other foot came around and struck the
man across the face; he pivoted, foot still in the air, and then
snapped back, striking him again from the other side.  

     Galm took the blows like they were from a child, lunged
forward with a snarl and grabbed Ranma by the collar of his
shirt.  He dragged him forward, slammed his forehead into 
Ranma's, then yanked him back and hurled him at Tarou as the man
approached.  Tarou ducked and shot forward like a bullet, driving
hard blows into Galm's sternum and chest, then finishing up with
a palm heel that smashed Galm's nose flat against his face.  The
grey-haired man never made a sound to indicate any pain.

     Head aching from Galm's blow, Ranma looked up from where 
he'd landed on the ground to see Galm grip Tarou by the arms and
wrench them out to the sides as he drove a vicious knee into the
younger man's stomach.  Tarou doubled over slightly, but blocked
the next blow by twisting his body to side and taking it on his
hip.  Galm still had him by the arms, though, and he raised Tarou
overhead, squeezing the held man's arms against his sides.  Tarou
kneed him in the face once, further damaging the ruin of the 
man's broken nose, but then Galm whirled and drove Tarou at the
ground headfirst.  Tarou twisted at the next second, taking the 
impact with his shoulder, and avoiding having his neck broken.  
     
     Ranma came at Galm, and the man dropped Tarou where he lay
and hit him across the face with crushing force.  He followed up,
moving with blinding speed, grabbing Ranma by the shoulder and
slamming him again in the jaw, then again.  Ranma's teeth clicked
together at the impact, and he saw with horror that Galm's nose
was no longer broken, blood no longer splashed his face.  His
golden eyes gleamed.  

     The man fought with no recognizable style Ranma had ever
seen.  He was horribly fast and immensely strong, but he seemed
to have no technique beyond sheer, vicious attacks.  Ranma sagged
in his grip, saw Tarou rise from the ground and come at Galm from
behind.  Galm ducked under the blow and raised Ranma into it, and
he felt Tarou's fist crash into his cheekbone before Galm hurled
him away and spun, rising from the crouch he'd gone into and
hitting Tarou in the stomach.  He grabbed him by the throat as he
doubled over, wrapping his hands around the other man's neck and
beginning to apply pressure.  Tarou's eyes bulged slightly, and
his hands came up to claw at Galm's eyes.  The man moved his head
out of range and lifted Tarou from the ground with a savage snarl
of pleasure.  

     And then Cologne was there, descending from a great height
to crash atop Galm's back, one small foot on each shoulder.  The
long rake swept down, slashed once across his face, once across
his hands, and then she leapt into the air, somersaulting 
backwards as Galm threw Tarou aside and turned to her.

     "What did you do to Samofere?" she said, holding her weapon
like a staff, crosswise from her body.     
     
     "The old man?  I broke his throat and left him to choke to
death on his own blood," Galm said with the same emotion he might
have used to describe slaughtering a chicken.  

     Ranma saw Cologne's face go utterly, utterly white, like a
statue carved from bone.

     "Liar," she said, grief so raw in her voice it was almost 
visible.  Ranma tried to rise, saw Tarou trying to do the same.

     "It's very difficult for me to lie," Galm said sincerely.
"Though I can, I'm not very good at it.  But I'm telling the
truth.  I broke his wings, his ribs, and then I stepped on his 
throat.  He was old and weak anyway.  He deserved death."

     Cologne gave a scream of rage and ran forward, sweeping the
rake back.  Ranma saw tears in her eyes, sorrow scrawled across
her face.  She was moving so fast she was little more than a 
blur; crimson light rushed up her arms, blindingly bright.  It 
rimmed the handle and head of her rake, flowed off the blades and
trailed behind her like liquified fire.   Her hair streamed back 
in the speed of her passage.  Galm tried to dodge, but Cologne 
was too fast, too fast even for him.  

     She brought the weapon around a wide sweep, a blade of fiery
energy thinner than paper and sharper than a razor forming at the
end.  It hit Galm in the shoulder, tore down through his body,
and sliced him in half at the hip.

     There was no blood; the heat of the blade had cauterized
everything, and Galm did not bleed much anyway.  The upper part
of his body fell to the grass, golden eyes closing, shock on his
face.  The legs folded at the knees and then collapsed, the arm
still attached to the thin remains of the torso and shoulder
clutching spasmodically at the ground.

     Weeping, Cologne dropped the rake to the grass, red aura
vanishing.  She fell to her knees and sobbed as if her heart
would tear in two, as she buried her face in her hands.

     Ranma finally got to his feet, staggered to where Tarou sat,
gasping and rubbing his throat.

     "You okay?" he asked wearily, looking at where Kima sat with
Saffron, looking at where Cologne wept into her hands, looking to
the halved body of the thing called Galm.

     Tarou slowly nodded, turned his head to regard the body of
Galm.  There was blood on his face, from where one of Galm's 
punches had split his lip.  His throat bore the mark of the
golden-eyed man's powerful fingers.  Ranma saw his eyes widen
suddenly.
     
     "Oh crap," Tarou said, and pointed.
     
     The upper half of Galm's body, the head and one arm and half
the torso, was dragging itself towards the lower half.  The eyes
were open, golden-bright and awful.  The teeth as he smiled were
very, very white.

     "Cologne!" Ranma called, but the dark-haired woman only
continued to sob.  He saw Kima beginning to stand to her feet.
He saw the hand on Galm's upper body reach out and grab hold of
the hand on the lower body.  The fingers wrapped around each
other.  A miasma of warping, a sense of air being twisted and
bent out of shape, occupied the space where the two parts of the
body lay for the next few seconds.

     Grey clothing, black clothing, dark scarred skin, all those
flowed across each other for a moment, and then a grey shape 
stood on four legs, the head rising taller than Ranma's waist,
nearly to his shoulder.  It was neither hound nor wolf nor great 
cat, but somehow had the character of all those things.  The coat 
was sleek and grey, the short mane below the jaws a darker grey, 
wild and bristly.

     Its head was vastly disproportionate, more than twice the
size it should have been, the eyes golden and as large as man's
open hand, the jaws big enough to bite cleanly through the trunk
of a great tree and have room left over.  Red-tinged foam dripped 
from the jaws and dropped upon the ground at the beast's feet, 
hissing as it fell and bubbling on the earth like acid.

     The monstrous thing opened its jaws and howled.  A triple 
row of razor-edged triangular teeth were exposed, with longer,
curving sabretooth fangs for the upper canines.  The howl they'd
heard before was the mewling of a kitten to this.  Burning saliva
the colour of blood sprayed through the air as the beast threw
back its head and screamed in rage at the sky.  The light of the
sun itself seemed to dim beneath the force of that ancient voice,
that savage cry of furious, undending hunger as old as the
beginning of the world.

     "Oh crap," Tarou repeated, and Ranma had to agree with the
other man for once, because that just about summed it up.     
     
**********

     The raven landed beside the broken, blood-stained body of
Samofere of Phoenix Mountain.  The old man was still drawing
gasping, heaving breaths through the shattered remains of his
throat.

     "Hello, Shiso," he said in a whisper of a voice.  "She made
it to them, then?"

     "Yes," the raven said.

     "Good," Samofere said, half-choking as he did so.  
     
     "Duty not done," the raven said.  "Not yet done."
     
     "I know," Samofere murmured.  "I know.  But wait a moment,
friend.  Give me rest a while.  I am not what I once was."

     "None are," the raven said.  "They are not what they have
been or what they will be.  They are what they are now."     
     
     "Very well," Samofere said, and he rolled over, driving his
body to motion through the pain of all the broken bones, through
the agony of his shattered windpipe.

     He dug his hands into the earth, spread his wings out as
much he could with so many bones broken in them and draped them
around his body and across the earth, brushing the ground with 
their feathers.

     And then he called, with his mind, with his voice, with his
body and soul, down into the earth, down past the earth to the
stone below, to bedrock, to the roots of mountains.  Down past
the rock to the water flowing below the earth, from the tiniest
trickling stream to the greatest underground river, deep he
called, so far, oh so far, and there was so much pain, so much
memory of what his power had wrought once before, so much 
between.

     And then back, from the earth and the water under earth, 
there came a voice, rising, a tremolo voice so deep it was felt 
as much as it was heard.  The raising of mountains, the sliding 
of continents, if they had been given voice, it would sound as 
this did.  Behind it came the voice of rivers, of the waters
flowing beneath.

     *Duty not done,* the earth whispered.  
     
     *Not done...* the waters echoed, tides in the voice, waves
breaking upon a beach.     
     
     "I know," Samofere gasped.  "I know.  But I must have aid."
     
     *Duty not done,* the earth said.
     
     *Not done, not done...* the waters repeated, rain falling on
mountains.     
     
     "Cologne needs me," Samofere said.  "My brother needs me.
Others do as well.  Give me help, please.  It has been so long
since I used my power.  I feared to."

     *Sin forgiven,* the earth called, mournfully.
     
     *Forgiven, forgiven, forgiven..." the waters said with
sadness.     
     
     "I know," Samofere said.  "But how could I forgive myself?"
     
     But to that, the earth and the water could give no answer
that could be put into words.     
     
     On the earth he lay upon, cracks were beginning to form, 
minute at first, tiny, then opening wider.  From the earth below,
there came the sound of something vast rising, a great rumbling
liquid sound.  

     The earth shifted beneath his body like a lover, and he
pressed his blood-stained lips to her and kissed her, inhaling 
the scent of stone and earth, breathing it in like a fine wine. 

     "Thank you," he said.  "Thank you."

     *Duty not done,* the earth said.
     
     *Not done, not done, not done...* the waters said.
     
     And then, in a hundred tiny geysers first of all that arced
high into the air and fell down in one great tower, the waters
came from under earth.  Arctic-cold, chilling him to the bone,
washing the pain away from him, as bones began to straighten and
knit together, as flesh and muscle formed anew from nothing, as
the waters showered down upon him.

     And when the last of the waters drained away, down through
the cracks in the earth, down to join again with the great 
underground river that flowed from beneath Jusendo to Phoenix
Mountain, from whence it had come, he was healed and transformed.

     Samofere stood up, human now, wings gone.  He brushed back
the long, unbound length of his rich brown hair with an unlined,
dark-skinned, youthful hand.  Waters droplets sprayed across the 
earth, and the earth drank of them hungrily.

     Shiso came down from where he'd been soaring in the air,
landed upon Samofere's broad young shoulder.  

     "Duty not done," the raven said.  
     
     "I know, I know," Samofere said, reaching up and gently
stroking the bird's broad black side.  "It never is, is it?"

     "Not yet," the raven said.  
     
     "So long," Samofere murmured.
     
     "Long and more to come," the bird said.
     
     The bird cocked its head and looked up at the sky, and when
it spoke next the voice was different, deeper, more powerful.
"Once, in a time so long past it has become less than legend, 
there were two brothers, the kings of their people, just and 
wise.  One was golden and fair as sunrise, the other dark but no 
less fair, fair as the night sky filled with stars.  They ruled 
with kindness, and the lives of their subjects were joyous."

     "And then the forbidden conjunction came to be," Samofere
completed.  "And of the purest love was born a child of hate, to 
tear down all that was beautiful, to take the life of the fairest 
land upon all the earth, to shatter kingdoms beneath his feet and
scatter the dust of nations from his hands.  And so cursed became
his name that it was never spoken, and they called him only the 
Ravager."

     "And no one could stand before his power," Shiso said.  "And
the two brothers went below the earth, and they found a power
there, and a promise was made.  And they raised in a mountain two 
statues, two taps to bring the power from the earth below, and one 
was called the Phoenix, and one was called the Dragon."

     "And for three days and three nights, the two brothers 
bathed in the waters called from below the earth, the waters that 
are given the power of She Who Must Not Wake," Samofere said.  
"And they went out to make war upon the Ravager, that the Dark 
should not rule over the heavens or the earth or the waters under 
earth."

     "And one was called the Phoenix," Shiso said, spreading his
wings to the side.  "Power of the air and fire, of light and wind 
and heat, thrown back to the very edge of creation, to die again
and again, and be reborn again and again."

     "And one was called the Dragon," Samofere said, and he 
had his wings again now, as they grew from his back, 
black-feathered and vast, casting a shadow across the ground 
before him.  "Power of the earth and water, of ice and cold and 
stone, thrown to the edge of annihilation, to dance upon it but 
never to cross, to live forever and to never die."

     And then, the Dragon spread his wings, and the clouds moved
away from the face of the sun for a moment, and the light shone
upon them in the glorious highlights of purple and deep blue that
rimmed the feathers.  The raven leapt from his shoulder and 
soared to the north, and the Dragon followed him, flying above 
the cracked earth and below the stormcloud-laden sky.

     From the north there came the sound of something ancient and
primal howling, mad with the desire to kill.

**********

     Before Tarou and Ranma could even begin to move, the huge
creature that Galm had become was leaping forward across the
ground, to where Cologne crouched on her knees, weeping into her
hands, seemingly unaware of anything beyond her own grief.

     "COLOGNE!" Ranma screamed as he began to run.  One of the
huge front paws of the beast lashed out, as large as a man's
head, tipped with brutally hooked, finger-length claws.  It 
caught Cologne, tossed her into the air like a rag doll as the
claws slashed open cloth and the flesh beneath.  The other paw
came up, slamming her body into the earth from mid-air and 
pinning it.  The vast jaws opened, and Ranma knew, knew that he
would not make it in time, and his heart went sick with grief.

     Scarlet foam sprayed from Galm's jaws as he howled, and 
Cologne screamed in agony and writhed under the paw that held her
to the ground like a cat holds a mouse.

     He saw Kima was on her feet, staggering, clutching Saffron
to her.  One wing came up, the uninjured one, and whatever she
yelled was lost amidst the fury of Galm's howling voice.  The
wing came down, a blur, and the winged woman staggered to the
side, thrown off balance by her attack, falling to one knee.  
There was a screaming sound so high-pitched it was almost beyond 
hearing, and the air between Kima and Cologne seemed to peel back 
in the passage of the whipping blades the Mizuchousenzanyoku 
formed.

     They hit Galm like a razored hurricane, slashing deep wounds
into flanks and chest that did not seem to bleed.  He turned from
Cologne, panting like the bellows of a god, red-dripping jaws
open wide, the lacerations of his flesh already beginning to
close.

     A burst of red light blossomed in Cologne's hands, swelled
into a ball and blasted out from her.  Galm was flung away from
her, tumbling across the ground for a dozen feet before getting
to his feet.  There were claw marks down Cologne's side through
the rags of her shirt, deep wounds that seeped blood slowly as
she turned to Galm.  Her face was a struggle between fury and
sorrow and pain.

     "Stay dead, damn you!" he heard her scream.  She raised her
hand and the red energy exploded again, crackling like lightning
at is lashed through the space between them and struck Galm.  
The beast howled and writhed in pain beneath the blast.

     And then he changed, so quickly it barely registered.  There
was a sense of flowing, of the air rippling around him like a
heatwave, and then a man stood where a beast had been.  The 
scarlet power of Cologne's attack lashed around his limbs and
body, but he stepped forward, pulled his arm back and threw,
blindingly quickly.

     Ranma saw the thrown blade strike Cologne in the chest, near 
the heart.  She fell backwards, the power of her aura dying 
around her, hair covering her face as she slowly crumpled to the 
ground, bonelessly, eyes wide with shock and pain.

     "NO!" Ranma yelled as he charged Galm.  He lifted his hand,
uncaring of Cologne's warnings from before about using his ki, 
uncaring of control, uncaring of anything.  He felt tears in his 
eyes.  He felt cold, so cold.

     Blue fire exploded from his hand, fury of his soul made
material, grief and rage manifested in power.  The blast struck
Galm like a hammer, flung him backwards to crash into the edge of
the forest.  Ranma heard trees snapping, saw them falling, as the
grey-haired man was slammed into them hard enough to break 
through them.

     "He won't stay down," Tarou said from behind him.  "I need 
cold water.  I can take him easy then."

     Ranma closed his eyes in frustration.  There was water in
their bags, nearly a hundred feet away.  It had always seemed
whenever he needed it the most, water hot or cold would always
elude him.  

     There wasn't time.  Cologne was dying, or already dead.
They were fighting something that had pulled itself back together
after being torn in half.  He could see Kima had collapsed to the
ground, the effort of her attack having drained much from her.
Saffron's wail was rising high into the air, where he lay next to
the one who guarded him so vigilantly.

     And a massive, four-legged grey shape was climbing from the 
wreckage of the edge of the forest, golden eyes like 
searchlights, jaws flecked with scarlet foam, absolutely and
totally uninjured.

     It threw back its great head and howled again, unstoppable,
unconquerable, challenging.  It was a predator and killer of
impossible power, an inhuman force, of pure brutal strength.  
What answer had he, or Tarou, or even Cologne, what answer had 
they given to this thing but their own human weakness?  

     And then, as if in answer to the howl, as if answering for
them, a voice of thunder rolled in the sky, deep and booming like
a great drum, and he felt the first drops of rain upon his skin, 
before the torrential fury of the storm that had been gathering 
for the last few hours unleashed itself into the wind and the 
driving rain, pelting down upon the earth, changing the shape of 
his body.

     Water dripping down from her bangs into her eyes, Ranma saw
Galm's rushing charge, accelerating with each step, the bloody
saliva streaming from his jaws and marking the path behind him.
The howl split the air, cleaved apart the silence and rendered it
to nothing.

     And she saw, with earth-shaking steps, the monstrous shape
of tentacles and horns and shaggy hair that was Tarou's cursed 
form step forth to meet it, giving an answering bellow that was 
almost as loud as the thunder, almost as loud as Galm's howl.  
The two beasts met in battle, as Ranma turned to go to Cologne.
     
     Ranma hurried to where Cologne had fallen, as behind her she
heard what was probably the closest thing to immovable force
meeting irrestible object that was possible in the physical 
world take place.  She knelt down by the fallen woman.  Blood was 
mixing with rain water and flowing down onto the ground.  The 
rain was soaking Ranma's clothing to her skin, but she didn't 
care, because she was so cold inside it didn't matter.

     "Cologne," Ranma said, staring sickly at the bone handle of
the knife and the exposed length of the blade, straight and
double-edged, not the curving blade Galm had used before.  It had 
hit Cologne on the right side of her chest, driving through the 
black silk of her shirt and into the breast beneath, over the 
heart.  The shirt was sticky with blood.  Cologne was pale as 
snow, her breathing not even noticeable until Ranma touched her 
fingers to the other woman's neck.  The pulse was fluttering and 
weak.

     Her lips were moving, though her eyes were closed.  Ranma
leaned down and put her ear to Cologne's lips.

     "The knife..."
     
     "What?"
     
     "You have to take the knife out.  Do it straight and clean,
one pull.  I don't think it touched the heart.  It's close,
though."

     "Cologne, I don't know anything about-"
     
     "You're the best I've got right know. Put one hand on my
sternum, right between my breasts.  Yank it out as straight as
you can with the other hand."

     "Cologne, I can't touch you there-"
     
     "Ranma," Cologne whispered.  "This is not the time to start
this.  Now will you pull this damned knife out of my chest, or do
I have to do it myself?"

     Ranma could hear Tarou and Galm fighting behind her and
Cologne, the bellowing roar of Tarou nearly as awful to hear as
Galm's howls.  Gulping, feeling the tears running down her face,
she put her left hand on Cologne's chest where the other woman 
had said.  There was the slightest feel of soft curves beneath 
her hand, and she tried desperately to ignore them.  She 
concentrated on the clammy coldness of the skin, the weak breath.  

     She wrapped her other hand tightly around the bone handle of 
the knife; the slight shift made Cologne moan in agony, and her 
eyes snapped open for a minute before closing.

     "Do it," she hissed.  
     
     Ranma did it.  
     
     The knife came out with a sound worse than anything Ranma 
had heard in her life.  Metal scraping on bone, the wet sound of
torn flesh.  The blade was straight, thankfully, such a small
thing to be thankful for.  She heard, vaguely, a bellow of pain
from nearby, the sound of something vastly heavy falling to the
ground.

     Cologne screamed, and then that was cut off in a spasm of
choking coughs.  Blood ran from her mouth as Ranma flung the 
knife aside and pressed her hands desperately over the pumping 
wound.  It did no good, none at all.  She could feel the heart 
beginning to slow, feel Cologne begin to stop breathing.

     "No..." she whispered, tears falling as the rain fell about
them.  

     There was a howl, the sound of wood splintering, another 
bellow, pain in it this time.  He heard the howl again, then it
was abruptly cut off as the sound of something snapping echoed
through the air.

     "GODDAMMIT, NO!"     

     The rain fell down her face, mingled with her tears, and
those fell upon Cologne's body.  She couldn't even feel the
heartbeat anymore.  The blood was flowing so slowly now.  Her 
hands were covered in it, and so was Cologne's chest and shirt 
and the ground.  It was everywhere.

     "No..."
     
     A soft sound rose from nearby, in a moment of silence
between the sound of the combat between Tarou and Galm.  It was
wordless, inquisitive.

     Ranma turned her head, vision half-obscured by the bangs
slicked across her eyes, the red of her hair turned almost black 
by the soaking of the rain.

     The infant that was Saffron lay on the grass nearby, flat on
his stomach.  He must have crawled from where Kima lay 
unconscious, now with Akane's form upon her from the rain.  His 
scarlet eyes were devoid of anything beyond a simple, childish 
curiousity.

     And when Ranma looked into those eyes, just for a moment, 
she saw something staring back at her.  Something hidden, behind 
barriers so vast it could never hope to escape.  But there was a
flicker, a thin flicker, a golden mote dancing in the red of the 
infant's eyes.
     
     There was no way to describe it.  She felt the grief and 
sorrow, the helplessness, melt away.  There was a fire lit inside
her head, not the hot rage, nor the icy burning.  It was a thing
made of gentle sunlight, fire that warmed but did not burn, ice
that cooled but did not freeze.  The rain had soaked the tiny
king's rich clothing to his small body.  Drops of rain shone in
the golden hair, drops of rain glittered on the jewel that hung
in the middle of his forehead, from amidst those odd plumes of 
white hair.

     And Ranma realized, in that moment, what Saffron's fate had
been.  To die again and again, to be reborn again and again, to
be a child forever, to heat and light the mountain home.  That
was his purpose, his only real purpose.  He was a king, and yet 
he was in truth little more than a slave.  A well-treated slave, 
but a slave all the same.

     And she felt in that moment something she never would have
expected to ever feel for the king of Phoenix Mountain, the one
who had come so close to ending Akane's life, to ending her life.

     Rising in her heart, from the furthest depths of her being, 
she felt a pity so great, so absolute, that there were no words
with which to render it.  How long, she wondered, how long had
this gone on?  How many years, centuries, millenia, had this 
cycle of death and rebirth taken place?  

     And somewhere, deep, deep, so far back in those red eyes, 
she saw something looking back, that understood, that was 
grateful, in this one moment, for her pity, for her 
understanding.

     There was light inside her, everywhere, spreading through 
her body like water flows to fill the shape that holds it.  She 
felt it, spreading from somewhere deep inside her, some hidden 
place.  She felt it go from her fingers, lain over Cologne's 
still body, over the terrible wound.  She heard the rattling gasp 
of breath, felt the wound begin to knit, felt cold skin begin to 
grow warm, felt the beat of the heart begin again.

     And then she heard a triumphant howl behind her, and turned
to see Galm leap from the weakly-struggling, bloody and torn body 
of Tarou's beast form and come bounding towards her.  The beast 
lowered its head and simply rammed her; it felt like being hit by 
a small train.  Black stars burst in front of her eyes, and she 
felt herself flying through the air, through the torrential rain 
which was already lessening, and then the ground rose like a 
hammer to meet her.  The air exploded from her lungs, and every 
bone, every inch of skin, sung with agony.  

     She raised her head weakly from the ground to see the 
grey-haired man standing over the unmoving Cologne and the tiny
form of Saffron.  There was a blade in his hands, a feral smile
on his face, and a killing light in his eyes, and then everything
was dark.

**********
     
     The rain was fading away to a light shower, there on the
hilly clearing near the forest, standing in the shadow of the
tall mountains, as Galm looked around.  The great beast the boy
had become was still alive, but he had injured it so badly it
would not be moving for a while.  The girl Ranma Saotome had
become was lying a dozen feet away, unable to rise.  The woman
he'd hit with his throwing knife seemed to have recovered
somehow.  Farther away than the rest, the short-haired young
woman that wore the same clothing as the prey and carried the
same scent was stirring slightly, but that did not matter.

     None of it mattered except the tiny child, the infant at his
feet.  Perhaps it was the rain, washing away the other scents.
Perhaps it was the battle, sharpening his senses to an even
greater height than usual.  But he remembered, now, remembered 
who this child had been, and what the great voice had called in 
his head as his old chains were broken and new chains given, as 
he was thrown out from the vast darkness of his prison to this 
other prison, this bondage to those who could call him, the words 
of that mad, vast, beautiful, infinite voice:

     *Freedom, freedom, freedom, when the child of light is slain.*
     
     But he felt the scent, felt the form, and knew this was no
ordinary child.  He knew what the child was.  That was a part of 
him.  He had the knowledge of what he scented, of some of the 
deeper truths of it.  The child could not be slain easily, but he 
could be slain, by one who knew what he was doing, as he did.

     He bent down and seized the child with one hand, plucking
him up off the ground.  He took a few steps away and sat down,
ignoring how the baby wept.  It was no more and no less a
distraction than the soft sound of the few raindrops still 
falling from the sky upon the ground.  

     He laid the child on his back on the grass, reversed the
knife in his hand so it pointed downward, and closed his eyes.
He let instinct take over, the core of killing that was his very
existence, the brutal, fierce strength of his nature.  He sniffed 
the colours of the child's scent burning before his senses.

     The hand that did not hold the knife came down and seized
the centre of those paired plumes of forking white hair, grabbed
hold of the jewel that hung there.  Yes.  The weak point, the
spot of vulnerability.  Hidden to any but him, but there.  

     The knife plunged down.  The child screamed.
     
     He pulled with his other.  It was like trying to shift a 
mountain, impossibly heavy.  He strained.  Muscles corded his 
arm and shoulder.  And slowly, slowly, he felt it begin to give.  
He twisted the knife in the child's heart, smiled, his eyes still
closed.  The child screamed again.

     And then, with the sound of air imploding, he felt it tear
free in his grip.  He opened his eyes to see what he held.  A
crown, sized for an adult.  It was a band of braided gold and
silver, with the form of a bird at the front.  The wings were
upspread to the sides, and two long plumes descended from the
body, a feathered tail.  A golden chain was threaded through the 
beak, a diamond-cut jewel on the end.  
     
     And the child was gone.  In his place there was a man with
golden wings and hair.  The hair hung down to his feet, covering
his nakedness, but not the great wound over his heart from the
knife.  He was taking slow, gasping breaths, his pale scarlet
eyes half-slitted closed from pain.

     "Brother?" he whispered.  "Brother, what is it?"
     
     "No brother here," Galm said, tossing the crown aside and
raising his knife again.  "Just me.  Just me.  And I'm about as
far from a brother as you're ever likely to meet."

**********

     Ranma heard the child scream, and managed to open her eyes
again.  The rain had slowed in the time she'd been unconscious,
and was now only thin drops across her body.

     Galm was kneeling by the body of a winged man with golden
hair.  His knife dripped blood, and he held a shining object in
his other hand.  He flung it away and raised the knife again.

     There was a scream of rage and grief, in Akane's voice, and
then Kima was crashing into Galm, white uniform hanging loose
around Akane's smaller body.  The attack was useless.  Galm 
grabbed her by the throat, raised her high, brought the knife 
back-

     "CUT THE CHAINS!" a voice screamed from far away, vaguely
familiar, half-remembered.  "CUT HIS CHAINS!  IT IS THE ONLY 
WAY!"

     Ranma sprang to her feet, not even understanding.  She did
the only thing she could; dropped whatever edge of control she'd
maintained, reached back inside herself, and let pure instinct
take over.  Her eyes closed, and then she felt the power flow
through her, burning pain, dark light, icy fire.  A figure loomed 
before her out the darkness, a figure that was a thousand
different shapes.  There was a great wolf with blood dripping 
from his jaws, there was a tall man with black holes from which
carrion worns crawled for eyes and a bow made of onyx and ivory, 
there was a nine-armed man with hair of fire riding on a red
panther and carrying a knife in every hand but one, and that one 
held the skull of a child.  Image overlaid image, a dozen times, 
a hundred times, and hundreds of others, hundreds upon hundreds, 
all at once.  And there was a thin line of silver light 
stretching out from the thousandfold shape, anchoring into some 
unseeable part of that vast sea of darkness.

     She stretched her hand forward and slashed through the 
silver chain as easily as a knife through warm butter.  She felt
the impossible coldness of it as she did, the vast, soul-searing
hunger, for just a moment.  It snapped at her like steel jaws,
tried to drag her down, pull her within that horrible icy chill,
and she knew if she fell into this then there was no return, no
return to anything of warmth-

     And she thought in that moment of the face of a girl, and
dragged herself back from that awful dance upon oblivion's edge.     

     Her eyes snapped open, and she saw Galm still there, with 
Kima in Akane's body held by the throat and dangled above the 
ground.  His eyes were masses of pure gold, pupils and whites 
vanished, irises swelled to fill the entire eyesocket.  Around 
him, the air writhed as if in pain.

     "FREEEEEEEEEEE!" the grey-haired man howled joyously.
"FREE!"

     He began to bring the knife forward.  "FREEEE-"
     
     And then, he and the air around him seemed to unfold, like
the shape of an origami bird unfolds to reveal only blank paper.
For a moment, the space he had occupied seemed to be an inversion
of itself, a negative image of empty space, and then it was 
normal again, and Galm was gone, that last howl echoing in 
Ranma's ears.
     
     With the hand on her throat gone, Kima dropped to the 
ground, swaying unsteadily on Akane's feet.  The curved knife 
Galm had carried, the one with which he'd stabbed Saffron, was 
buried in the ground at her feet, point dug into the turf.

     Ranma stood up and walked over, across the rain-slick grass,
in the cold shadow of the mountain, through the soft caress of
falling rain.  Kima was shivering, hugging her arms around 
herself and weeping as she looked at the golden-haired man upon 
the ground.  It must be Saffron, Ranma realized.  It could be no 
one else.  

     Seeing Akane weep, even if it wasn't truly Akane, made 
something hurt deep inside her.  She reached out and touched that
familiar shoulder, saw Akane's familiar head turn, and the look
in the eyes was utterly alien to Akane, grief and rage, so cold,
so cold.

     "Don't touch me, groundling," Kima hissed.  "Have you not
done enough already?  My king is dying."

     "Kima..."
     
     A shivering sob wracked Akane's form, that familiar face
twisted into sorrow and the dark eyes closed.  "Go."

     "At least put this on," Ranma said, slipping off her blue,
wooden-tied shirt, the black undershirt beneath clinging damply 
to the curves of the female body she wore now, the false form of
Jusenkyou.  "You'll catch pneumonia, runnin' around in that 
outfit in this weather.  It doesn't even fit you in that body."

     Kima said nothing, but she allowed Ranma at least to drape
the blue shirt around her.  Ranma knelt down by Saffron.  He
looked much as he had as an adult the last time Ranma had seen
him, though his hair was entirely golden now, and the white crest 
of plumes with the tiny jewel was gone from his brow.  And there 
was no rage in his eyes, as he slowly drew his dying breaths.

     "You showed me, didn't you?" Ranma said.  "How to heal
Cologne.  Somehow, you did.  Thank you."

     "You are welcome," Saffron whispered.
     
     "Can... can I use it to help you?" Ranma asked.
     
     "No," Saffron said.  "The wound is too great."
     
     "I'm sorry," Ranma said.  
     
     "I am the one who must beg forgiveness," Saffron said.
"Though I do not expect you to grant it.  For what I did to you
and your love in my other form."

     "It wasn't you," Ranma said.  "I know that now."
     
     "But it was," Saffron said.  "It was always me.  I could
see, but I couldn't stop it.  Oh, the Light forgive me.  Oh, 
brother, forgive me."

     "Brother?" Ranma said.
     
     "Is he here?" Saffron said.  "Brother?"
     
     His eyes half-closed, then snapped open again.
     
     "Brother?" Kima whispered in Akane's voice as she knelt.
     
     "My brother," Saffron said.  "Is he here?"
     
     "I know of no brother," Kima said.  "Lord Saffron.  Forgive
me.  I have failed you.  I am beyond forgiveness, yet I ask you
grant it anyway, that I may end my life knowing that your light
shall-"

     "Shh..." Saffron said.  He looked up at Kima, and Ranma
realized he knew it was her, that to those pale, scarlet eyes
flecked with swimming motes of gold there was no disguise 
offered by that false form.  "I could have asked for no more 
loyal a servant than you.  It is my time.  It was predicted.  It 
is done at last."

     He closed his eyes, and whispered his next words.  
"Brother?"

     "I am here," a strong young voice said from behind them.
Turning his head, Ranma saw a brown-haired man in brown robes,
with black wings turned darker by the falling of the rain.  His
green eyes were sorrowful.  There was a raven upon his shoulder.

     "Samofere?" Kima said, softly, wonderingly.
     
     The young man nodded.  "I shall explain later.  If I may 
speak with my brother?"

     "I better check on Tarou and Cologne anyway," Ranma said,
deciding everything right now was so confusing that she was just
going to try and focus on one thing at a time.

     "They will be alright," Samofere said.  "Though I fear your
bestial friend may be in some pain for a time.  The hound wounded
him gravely."

     He turned to Kima, in Akane's body.  "Kima, if you have
anything more to say to my brother, let it be done now.  I must
speak with him before the last of his strength is gone."

     Kima nodded and took one of Saffron's hands in hers.  Ranma
realized with surprise they were human, not the bird talons he 
had borne before.  She brought it up to Akane's lips and kissed
it, gently, eyes closed and tears leaking from beneath the lids.

     "Farewell, my king," she whispered, the sorrow aching in her
voice.  "Forgive me."

     She stood up.  Samofere looked at her sadly, then knelt down
by his brother.  Shiso flapped from his shoulder to land on
Ranma's, gently reaching out to run his beak through her hair.  
He made a soft croaking sound, mournful, sorrowing.

     "What I have to say is for my brother alone," Samofere said.
"If you would?"

     Ranma nodded, saw Kima nod a moment later.  He began to walk
towards where the great form of Tarou lay, hair matted with blood
and soaked with rain, flanks heaving slowly up and down, unable 
to move due to dozens of wounds.  He glanced back, saw Kima 
following behind him, walking on Akane's legs, weeping with 
Akane's eyes, and with the crystal drops of the rain shining in 
the darkness of Akane's hair.
     
     Behind them, they left two brothers, one dark and one fair,
one living and one dying, upon the rain-slick grass.  He saw,
before he turned his head away, Samofere lay Saffron's head in
his lap, and stroke his brow with his fingers, so softly and
tenderly, with such love, that it hurt to see.

     And overhead, far overhead, beyond the vision of any upon
the ground, the black cloud of crows circled for a few moments
longer, and then soared towards Phoenix Mountain, bearing the
news of what they had seen with them.

**********

     There were three who felt Galm's bindings snap, the hidden
chain of power that bound him both to his service and to this 
plane of reality broken asunder.  All of them were far across the 
ocean when they heard, in their heads, a howl brutal as murder 
that echoed through their skulls.  Then they heard it abruptly 
cut off, as he was hurled back through the walls between worlds, 
back to the place of imprisonment he'd escaped from before.  

     Two of those three scowled, knowing their plan was come to
failure.  They had some small compensation in what Galm had
found by sheer chance in Ryugenzawa.  But they were patient, and
could afford to wait.  Other opportunities would present
themselves.

     The last of the three smiled, as he packed his bags in 
preparation for a journey.  He had made many journeys in his 
life; he had been going to and fro in the earth, and walking up 
and down in it.  He thought that this one might be his last.  He 
knew what the end of the hound of hell's binding meant.  As 
before, he walked to the balcony of his hotel room and stared out 
across the cityscape of Tokyo, out across the harbour, out across 
the ocean.  His pale blue eyes were hard, flat, glacial-cold.
     
     He gazed out for a long time, waiting, watching, listening.
There would be a sign.  There always was a sign, if he looked for
it.
     
     Finally, in the night sky above, he saw a black-feathered, 
yellow-eyed shape turn one long circle, and lift its carrion 
voice to the air in a harsh cry that was like laughter.  He 
thought about it for a moment, then decided it was a possibly a
good omen.  

     Then, slowly, he saw something darker than the air around it
falling down from the sky towards him, swaying from side to side
in the air.

     He reached up his hand to grasp it, and saw by the light
shining through the closed glass-fronted doors of the balcony
that he held a greasy black feather in his open palm.  For a
moment, some chance trick of the light made it seem golden rather
than the dank, dark colour it had been at first.

     Overhead, the crow banked to the west and soared away,
sending another cry into the night as it did.  He watched it go
for a moment, then turned back to the feather.
     
     And suddenly, he held only a stain of ashes upon his hand,
long gone cold and dead as if from a fire burned out a century
ago, in the shape of a feather.  He smiled, for he had been sent 
a sign, and one that pleased him greatly.

    The Phoenix was fallen.  And whatever new king would rise
from the ashes, he believed his lord's will would be done.  He 
threw his hand out and scattered the ashes to the wind, and 
laughed and laughed and laughed, as he watched the ashes fall
from the light to the darkened city streets below.