---------------------------------------------------------------------- W A T E R F A L L S a mystery by Alan Harnum and Chris Willmore ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Based on characters and situations created by Rumiko Takahashi and used without permission. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 2 : Lamia ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Fruits fail and love dies and time ranges; Thou art fed with perpetual breath, And alive after infinite changes, And fresh from the kisses of death; Of languors rekindled and rallied, Of barren delights and unclean, Things monstrous and fruitless, a pallid And poisonous queen. -Algernon Swinburn, 'Dolores' ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Eyes open, but see nothi- Black, all black. A reflection off to the side, maybe Naked. Unclothed and - bound? Chains at sides that Slime. His foot slips and slides he's going to touch the ground his head Not there. Smaller, now, try to run but Choke. A collar. He grabs at it. Pull. Tug. Hooves, now. Too small, no thumbs. Can't hold. Wh- Why? Back. Hands, fingers- Water. *drip* Water. *drip* Cold *drip* Hot *drip* Me *drip* Back to the pig- Drops along his side back nose snout paws fingers Tail and legs. Can't think can't hear What? Can't focus concen- On my head along my sides oh kami wha See high Drop low All fours On his belly, tastes the floor it's salty, dirt, tears, his? "Bweeeeee!" Cry. Try. Depression. Focus. Sizzle. Nothing. For a buildup need stability and in this constant change Dark. Akane. Dark. Bosom. Dark. Ranma. Constant Dark. "SHISHI HOU-" "BWEEEEE!" *drip* Cry. Cry. Collapse. * * * * * The call came after dinner. Akane went to answer it, and Ranma heard only her voice as he watched television. "Oh, hi. How are you?" Pause. "No, I haven't seen him since the... wedding." Pause. He was interested now, wondering who it was on the other end of the line. "It was kind of spur-of-the-moment. And it didn't go very well... yes, actually, I'd really rather not talk about it." Pause. Change channel. Eavesdrop. "Maybe he just got... well, you know how he is, I guess." Pause. "A map... Want me to ask Ranma?" Pause. "RANMA!" Ranma got reluctantly off the couch and walked down the hallway to the phone. "What?" "Akari wants to know if you've seen Ryouga lately." He took the phone from Akane's hand and put it to his ear. "Hey, Akari. No, I ain't seen him. Why?" *"Well, we were supposed to meet for a date. I sent him a map and everything... months ago. I have to do that with Ryouga-sama... very careful planning."* Ranma scratched his chin. "Hmm... well, ya know... he was kinda upset after the wedding." Akane gave him the Death Glare, but he ignored her. *"Why?"* "Uhh... well... 'cause it went so badly for us. Umm..." Akane was, for some reason, looking more and more annoyed each minute. "I'm sure he's just lost. Maybe he forgot the map, ya know." *"Oh, no. Ryouga gets lost, but he doesn't forget things. He's very careful like that. He... he wouldn't break a date with me... would he?"* "Nahh, he wouldn't." Ranma frowned; Ryouga _was_ in all likelihood lost again, but Akari was sounding a little upset. "He likes you, Akari. A lot." *"Oh, I hope so. Do you really think so?"* "Well, yeah." *"I suppose you'd know. You are his best friend, after all."* "Huh?" Ranma blinked. Him and Ryouga, best friends? No way. Too weird. Although... hmm... *"You're always looking out for each other, after all."* Yeah, they did... back when Happosai took his strength away, and with Herb, and Phoenix Mountain... *"Ranma? Are you still there?"* "Uh... yeah. Look, I'll get him to call you if I see him, okay?" *"Thank you, Ranma. Goodbye."* "Bye, Akari." Click. He turned away from the phone, and almost bumped into Akane. "So," she said, mock-pleasantly. "Do you intend to share the details of our so-called wedding with _everyone_ who calls?" Ranma shrugged. "Well, not unless they bring it up first." "I can't _believe_ you," Akane said, with a sigh and a shake of her head. "You're so dense about this." "What?" Ranma was beginning to get annoyed. What the heck was her problem? "We almost got married, you idiot!" "Yeah, so?" "Don't you understand what that means?" Actually, he did, thanks to the colorful magazines he'd found in the old geezer's room, but any phrasing of his understanding would earn him a slap from his fiancee, or worse. So he played it safe. "Uhh... we almost got married?" Akane hung her head. "I don't know why I even bother." Before Ranma could phrase an adequate (or even an inadequate) response, she turned and walked back into the room where the TV blared. * * * * * The hallway's long and dark, and he's stalking down it. The Woman told him to with the buzzing whispers, she said go and seek them and find them and know where they live and when they wake up and when they go to bed and oh the buzzing the buzzing Cracks of light under doors; are they still awake, for it is so late, or do they simply fear the darkness? He doesn't fear the darkness anymore, he likes the darkness, because the Woman is there and why, _why_ were there no silky treasures for him amidst the buzzing of the insects and the candles? So unfair, so very unfair. He can hear them breathing behind the doors so many doors, the boy and the girl, yes them my Champion you will take them too when it is time, the girl so lovely such lovely breasts _oh_ buzzing buzzing buzzing Creak. A door is opening, a figure lit from behind as tiny as he, it is her, his old adversary, no, _fool_ you are not _ready_ to face her yet fool fool fool. Run. Out the window, into the night. * * * * * Cologne ran to the open hall window and glared out after Happosai's retreating form. He turned the corner, and was gone from sight. "Old fool," she muttered as she closed the window. "Finally got the courage to come round here again, after what I did to you last time?" There was an odd feeling to the air in the hallway, almost like a mild electrical charge, except that it was within her as much as without her. It felt more like... insects. Yes, it felt as if ants were running up and down the fleshy anthill of her body through the corridors of her veins. She scratched herself. He wouldn't be back, at least for a while. Not after she'd almost caught him again; the last time, she'd proved quite adequately that she was still his better in the Art, exactly as it had been when they were younger. But that was long ago. No need to think of such things now. Behind her, she heard a door opening. Shampoo walked into the hallway, wearing only a nightshirt and rubbing at her sleepy eyes. "Great-grandma, what going on?" "Nothing, child," she answered. "I was simply chasing away an annoying vermin." Shampoo nodded, yawned, and went back into her room. Cologne perched on her staff at the window and stared off into the night for a few minutes, and then went to her own bed. There she slept, and dreamed of six-legged scuttlers until dawn. * * * * * The drops were coming down faster now, not allowing Ryouga time to think. Though half a boy he felt all pig; his mind was gone, his concentration and all he managed were fleeting, changing glimpses of the life he thought he knew. AkaneOkinawaAkariTokyoRanmaBreadfightsHerbLimeMintShampooSaffron A pain in his chest. The metamorphoses were more frequent than heartbeats now, and his blood-pump would shrink and expand twice in a thump. The pain was good, a constant, a fragment of solidity he could hold on to through the changes and fixate upon to let him know that he was still himself. At first it felt as if a million mouths were rending him with quick and careful bites, but he got used to that. One gets used to anything that stays for long enough, and now... what else did? His body flowed like a river, his flesh was no more substantial than water and far less rigid. It'd collapse, then grow and shrink again until with the increased frequency in changes there was nothing left but an ethereal miasma halfway between being and the void. He found a focus in the pain; it was his identity, it was all that remained. He could no longer look at himself; his point of view was changing too quickly for him to see anything other than a cataract of throbbing crags and cracks that might be stone, and a light transparency around the space his transformations occupied that was perhaps the motion blur of his repeated metamorphoses. And he could no longer cry. It was comforting, in a way. No thoughts except a constant background hum of consciousness, no emotions, no sensations, all was deprivation except for that constant rigid stake of hurt which pegged him to the earth. Was this a prelude to Nirvana? And if he strained himself, he could almost hear a voice from without, soft and tinkling like a temple chime, uttering words he could not understand but which filled him with warmth and longing. Was it a Divine one, welcoming him to the Heavens? He didn't _feel_ enlightened. But then, he didn't feel anything at all, except for the buzzing, and the pain... He liked this; he liked being down here. It was safe and warm, like the straw bed, like his mother's teats, like the tiny bodies of all his brothers and sisters... Teats? No. No. He was _human_, human... Dripdrop. Waterfalls. Dripdrop. Human... Now all sense of 'word' disappeared from the voice. It became as a song... there was melody, yes... the occasional moan, like a hungry animal feeding at last... so beautiful... Soft mists spraying, bubbles, gurgles, the static hum of falling water crashing against boulders... he was... safe... cool. No fear... akari, I'm so sorry. Stay here. With me. * * * * * A red point spinning in darkness unfolds into a spiral with a diamond at its centre. From the coil sprouts a mane of long black hair, and from the diamond a white jewel body. Each of the three lower facets of the gem yields a face with fierce expression and stars for eyes. Below them the neck flows and solidifies into a trunk complete with breasts, belly, navel and wombway. There are no limbs, but the jewel body is marked with those of the thirty-two signs appropriate to its incomplete state. A ruby and blue sapphire bud at the tip of each shoulder, and an emerald at each hip socket. The jewels radiate light-rays of clouds of minor deities, from which arise four arms and two legs, diamond-hard and white in colour but with a surface glow appropriate to the stone. The glow hardens into clothing, loose-fitting and translucent, and the goddess touches your shoulder. The head monk frowned. He broke from his meditative trance, opened his eyes and turned around. "All right, WHO visualised the two EXTRA arms?" * * * * * Ranma's fiancee threw herself down on the couch, scowling, and stared at the TV without any apparent interest. Ranma leaned against one arm of the couch and looked down at her. "What's buggin' you, Akane?" She glared at him for a moment, and then her face seemed to soften. "Nothing's changed." "Huh?" "Is it just going to be the same all the time, Ranma?" "Well, Ukyou left." Pause. "What did you think about what she said in her letter?" "Huh? Which part?" "About... you know. Knowing what to do." "About?" "About all the..." "What's that? Didn't hear the last word." "...engagements..." "Oh. Umm..." Ranma tapped his fingers together uncomfortably. Akane stared at him almost hopefully. "Well?" "Umm... why _did_ you agree to get married?" "Didn't we try to talk about this before?" "Yeah, but then we kinda got distracted when Pop started runnin' around with the Nannichuan, and Ukyou and Shampoo started throwin' bombs, and we never really..." "Did you say it, or didn't you?" Akane's voice had turned suddenly sharp. "Say what?" "In China. Did you say you loved me, or didn't you?" Shit. He didn't want to deal with this again; even thinking about Jusendo, about nearly losing Akane, was like picking open a fresh scab. "I dunno. I was pretty upset at the time." "Why?" "'Cause I thought you were dead, dummy." That would be the end of it, then. She'd slap him and walk away. She didn't. "Maybe I was, too. It was like I was at the bottom of a pit... the deepest, darkest pit ever... and then there was a light shining down from the top, and a voice... your voice... and..." "And what?" "Nothing. It's stupid." Slowly, he reached out and put his hand atop hers. "No. Tell me. Please. I ain't gonna make fun of you or nothin', I just wanna..." Someone sneezed. Ranma and Akane turned their heads with the speed of glaciers, to see Soun, Genma, Nodoka, Nabiki and Kasumi huddled in a pack in the hallway leading out from the living room. "Don't mind us," Soun said with forced casualness. "We were all simply... passing by the area at the exact same time, right, Saotome?" "Yes, Tendo," Genma said with an absolutely straight face. Nodoka sniffled, and dabbed at her eyes with a hanky. "It's so beautiful, isn't it?" * * * * * And on her chest a radiant white Hilfiger, whose emanations are matched by those of a blue Gap at her waist. A golden Tiffany rings her neck, and her furry paws grab your shoulders and lift you off the- Uh-oh. Moist, steamy snorts pelted the back of the monk's shaved head, adding further liquids to its thin covering of sweat. The undersides of his shoulderblades were scraped clean by sharp fingernails reaching deep within him. All his writhing and weak struggles only drove them further into his body. Like a fish on a hook he floundered and tried to see his assailant, but the first rushed glimpse of his murderer came too late, after the wormy digits had found his heart and just before he hit the shoe rack on the north wall. All he'd seen were two glaring eyes, large, liquid and pink-tinged like saucers of butter tea. This final torture was surely punishment for having abandoned the path of Truth for the new Revelation of Romance and Karaoke, and if so, it was just and fair. With the last of his force he raised his head through the mound of leather, heels and wooden stubs to see if he could find a sign of what was in store for his earth-bound essence. And he did. He would be reborn as a bull, or perhaps an octopus. * * * * * Tarou tore through the monastery halls, knocking tapestries and idols off the walls with his flailing tentacles and clutching hands. She was here. She had to be. He swatted another petrified monk into a wall with bone-crushing force, and ground his companion's head into the belly of a stone Buddha. Where is Rouge? he wanted to ask, but his beast form only howled, and the glassy eyes on the bald head before him only stared into space while flies buzzed around the oozing wound at the back of his- Oh, he was dead. Tarou bellowed with laughter, and the roof shingles tumbled against each other like wind chimes. He ploughed on, destroying as he went. She had to be here. The microphones and shoes everywhere... these weren't normal monk objects; monks were silent, chanting, praying things that wore saffron robes not designer jackets and why did he want the girl anyway? Why was he doing this to himself? Why chase this- Flies. Pretty flies, all around him, in his head, in his ears, now his eyes. Born, breed, die in a day. Die in a day. Another monk squashed, and the roof-top shingle-chimes tinkled again. But that wasn't the only noise there was... A rustle, a woman's huff? Where? There. In that room at the end of the hall. Lit by incense, and dark otherwise was a heavily-adorned meditation chamber. A photograph held the main place in the central altar, and around it in two rows leading to the entrance, statues. Large ones. Life-size. All these statues with three eyes, three faces... Two, four, six, a thousand arms, all seated, all enthroned on lotus cushions, staring, blowing, squinting at the flies. Lies. All of them lies. Not alive. He thrust a fist through a stone chest and felt the mineral dust mingle with the half-dried bloody slime his hands were coated with. Not real. He broke off an arm. Not. What. He. Was. Looking for. One the other side, the other row, more interesting. Tapestries of women dancing naked, playing pipes, holding swords and holding each other. Tightly. More statues. Double ones of placid males hugged in spider fashion by women with no clothes and her hands and feet upon his back, her face to his face, her crotch to his and they stayed. did. not. Moved. One of them moved. The top two arms of a six-armed goddess unwrapped themselves from her consort's neck, then she turned and she saw and He saw her. Nude but for a necklace and a towel on the ground below her, she dropped from the statue she'd been plundering and strode towards him. The candlelight licked her curves, casting puddles of luminous warmth across her taut skin. Light patches dissolved into dark patches that shifted and clarified and, oh the sight as she hissed and glared and swayed her way through the flies, her hips and breasts bursting through the dotted curtain... And then they were submerged once more by the insect tide, their million wing-flaps stitching an imposed order into his mind. 'Attack', they said, so attack he did. And he was beaten. Badly. Quickly, too. With the mayflies gnawing at his brain stem, it was hard to think, hard to respond in time. And the Asura was fast, blindingly so, and powerful... that power _would_ be-- Idiot! Don't pass out! "In my infinitely divine mercy, I will allow you the continuation of your pathetic existence. For the deaths of my loyal followers, however, you must be punished." ...flame, sun-bright, searing through the mayfly-clouds... "Severely." ...pain... "There is no vengeance in this. It is only the inevitable return of your actions to your self." For a long time, there was pain. By the time the goddess left, all that occupied Tarou's mind were the smell of his singed fur, the gentle hovering of the flies above his oozing wounds, and thoughts of a comfort-filled return to somebody else's home. * * * * * It had really been too long since he'd seen Nerima, thought Herb. The books and maps open on the table tantalised him with their descriptions of things he'd been foolish enough only to glance at during his visit. Close-packed buildings of glistening white, people wearing all sorts of colourful clothes, human-shaped holes in every other wall and roof, and then there was the lake in the middle of... what was the name of that park, again? The Musk Emperor looked out the window and surveyed his realm. Small. Barren. Pathetic. Boring. Yes, it was definitely time for a vacation. "Cardamom!" "Yes, Sire?" "Pack my bags. I leave tomorrow." * * * * * Tarou stalked the Nerima streets, trying to see the bends and curves of the sidewalk through the black dots in his eyes. Anyone who was in his way moved out of it, or was shoved aside without a second thought. If he couldn't swat the flies, he would swat the human insects who blocked him. Fools; so many fools, always getting in the way, opposing the plans... plans? There had been a plan, hadn't there? Some reason he'd stopped chasing the bitch and flown back here without rest... when _was_ the last time he'd slept? Vague memories of collapsing from sheer exhaustion, of sleeping where he fell on a rough mountain trail as insects nipped at him, stirred; the mayflies devoured them. A rough circle of pain settled down like an iron band around his brow. The mayflies chewed on him contentedly. An old man didn't move quickly enough, and was hurled into the gutter. People stared, whispered angrily; Tarou swung his head back and forth, and they backed away at the look they saw upon his face. Down the alley. Left. Turn at the next block. Past the old woman tossing water with her ladle; yes, avoid the splashing, don't attract any more attention now. Why was he _here_? Name. Yes. Name. A new name. He had a plan to get a new name. If only he could remember it... sit down and think? No. Move. Cross the canal, following the swarmings of the insects. The happy mayflies; live, mate, die. Simplicity; no need to worry about names, or anything else. What was the plan again? Up this street. Down the next. Night began to fall, the sun went down, and the mayflies came out in droves, circling round his head. The streets were empty of people; he was deep into the industrial core and the docks now, and could smell the sea. Why was he taking so long to find... to find... Name. Happosai. The hour isn't right yet. In the doorway of a warehouse, he sagged down and curled his knees up against his chest. The mayflies gnawed at his flesh, tried to make him rise; he drew gasping breaths, and tried to remember... remember... Get up. Remember... buzzing... a voice... NOW. Nearly weeping, Tarou staggered to his feet. Tiny jaws nipped at his ankles until he went the right way. Cross the street. Left, right. Left again; straight. "There you are, boy." Voice. Happosai. A tiny form crouched in the shadows of an alley, with smoke curling from his pipe. Hello, old goat. Cynical, knowing tone; I'm holding the cards here. He knows I can beat him if I change. I've come for that new name. Do I get it the easy way, or the hard way? Maybe the threat of violence will make him give in this time. How about it, old man? But all that came out was: "...name..." "Yes, a name." Happosai drew on the pipe; the ashes in the bowl glowed a bright red. "Follow..." Me. Down the alley. Up onto the roofs. Run. Quickly now; the moon is nearly right. Jump, land, run, jump again. Buildings turned into blurs, blurs into solid walls. The mayflies led the way, a chain of black specks binding the two of them together. Walls fade; blurs reconcile into coherency, into the borders of a park. A sign passes by: Tai Park. Detour around the playground, the swings moving slowly in the wind. Leap the bench. Past the pond; pleasant in the day, no doubt, but a pool of solid black at night. They came to a grove. There were twenty-four tall trees, all in a ring; he knows there are twenty-four, and that they had taken a long time to grow in the right manner. The air was filled with mayflies here; they hovered all around the trees, turning vision almost entirely black. Happosai was in the centre of the grove. Waiting. Step forward. Past the trees. Buzzing... what was the plan? The old man wasn't scared of being beaten up... what was he thinking... he couldn't... NOW. Happosai backed away into the shadows of the trees as Tarou stepped on shaky legs into the ring. Mayflies were everywhere; they bit at everything, inside and out. He saw them flying into and out of Happosai's mouth and nose, almost felt their tiny wings tickling his own throat and nostrils as they burrowed down inside the old man's body. Sight was a haze of dark buzzing, interspersed with glimpses of trees or grass or night sky. And suddenly, the winged insects ceased to buoy his limbs, or gnaw at his brain. They vanished into nothing. Tarou screamed and fell to his knees, tearing at his hair, raking his nails down his face; it was the birth-trauma all over again, the release from the safe womb of the buzzing and the directing voice into the terrifying realization of what had been done to him. Hanks of hair, unwashed for weeks, came away in his hands. Blood ran down his dirty cheeks, and tears. He couldn't stop screaming. Then the woman stepped into the grove, and he did. Instantly. Blue eyes hammered his mind, and he froze like a deer before headlights. Long dark hair seemed to flow off into the surrounding night; her limbs were slender and beautifully formed, and except for the jewelry at her wrists and ankles and throat she was naked as a newborn child. Take off your clothes. His hands moved, shrugging out of his vest, pulling down his pants, until he was naked as her in the grove. There was nothing here but he and she, _nothing_. The woman regarded his body, and his erect sex, as if he were a purchase considered at a market. Ruby lips frowned. "Such an unfortunate waste, you know. If only you weren't so incompetent." He began to open his mouth to ask forgiveness. Her gaze sliced his vocal cords. Don't speak. Lie down. The grass was cool under his nude body, tickling like fingers and slightly damp. The trees - there were trees, weren't there? - seemed to lean inward, as though about to fall atop him. With torturous slowness, the woman advanced. His lust was primal, earth-deep, nearly unbearable. But he wasn't allowed to move; his body was pinned by a force beyond mere physicality. She took another step. Jewelry glinted in the moonlight, and long hair brushed her buttocks and thighs. She was, he realized, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "A name..." she said softly. She smiled with white teeth, and drifted closer. He could smell perfume on her now, and a deeper, muskier scent than that. "A new name..." Like a goddess, she loomed overtop of him now. Her slim feet stood to the outsides of his ankles. Slowly, smiling all the while, she bent her knees and lowered herself towards him. Tarou gasped, finally allowed to breathe, move, speak. His hands came up and clutched at her muscled thighs, trying to pull her down quicker; it was like trying to shift a mountain. "What _shall_ I call you?" she whispered. Her pink tongue touched her lips. Long fingernails stroked down his chest, opening shallow scratches on his pectorals. A feather-light touch circled one nipple. "Ah, yes." She drove herself down abruptly, and Tarou cried out in ecstasy. "Slave." He pumped his hips frantically upwards, and she laughed. "I shall call you 'slave'." Under the branches of the tree, Happosai smoked his pipe, swatted at the fog of flies and waited for his turn. * * * * * Cologne smoked her pipe and stared at the telegram. All night, dreams of insects. Black clouds that stripped her and her kin, everyone she had ever known, down to the bone, as if they were merely wheat before the locust swarm. Then this, at sunrise. Further complications: AM RETURNING TO NERIMA STOP REQUEST AGAIN YOUR HOSPITALITY AND WISDOM STOP WILL ARRIVE SHORTLY STOP BRINGING TRIBUTE OUT OF MY RESPECT FOR YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE STOP FULL STOP HERB OF THE MUSK Cologne frowned, and blew smoke towards the sky. ====================================================================== END CHAPTER 2 ====================================================================== Acknowledgments: As before, we acknowledge our very helpful prereaders--Mike Loader for his valuable opinions, Vincent Seifert for his extensive commentary and suggestions, and the trio of Lara Bartram, Krista Perry and Mercutio for real-time commentary and helpful answers to our respondent questions. -AH and CW