Old Wounds, part 2

By Kyokukou

Disclaimer : I don't own the characters from Ranma 1/2 only the characters that 
I write myself . So please don't sue me ! But if you try to use my characters 
.....there will be ...unpleasant consequences if I find out . Do not repost or 
reprint this without my permission , however if you do ASK there is a good 
chance I will let you .


" Touch is one of the most important senses for comfort. If you don’t touch 
someone you love you’re little closer than a picture and a phone call."
                                            -Michael Straud


Chapter 16
would they be haunting or lovely 


    Once more her household was at peace. Only herself and Akane and Otama were 
still awake. Her father slept more or less peacefully. The snores of a Panda 
could be faintly heard from her seat in the kitchen. Nabiki had fallen asleep 
only a few minutes ago. It still puzzled her that she could never sense Ranma, 
no matter how hard she tried, unless he consciously wished her to. So she had to 
physically go to the guest room and peep in to see if Ranma was asleep or not, 
or even in the room for that matter.
    In his stay, she had learned of many peculiar habits and abilities of her 
and her sisters’ possible betrothed. One of which was the odd fact that Ranma 
did not sleep much, however, when he did it seemed to be a deep, peaceful, 
dreamless slumber. Still, occasionally she had seen him writhe in his sleep as 
if having a nightmare, but it always passed fairly quickly.
    This night, she found Ranma asleep. Feeling adventurous this night, she 
approached him. After all, despite his skill and senses, Ranma did sleep like a 
stone at the bottom of the ocean. He did not stir a bit when she sat down next 
to him. The loud snores of Ranma’s pandafied father seemed to add a lighthearted 
humor to an otherwise somber scene. 
    He looked so peaceful. His breathing so slow and shallow that she had to 
squint for a while before she could perceive the rise and fall of his stomach. 
In the low light even the scar, that cascaded from over his left eye down to the 
opposite corner of his mouth, faded from sight. Now she knew who inflicted that 
upon him, and why. He could never look at himself in the mirror without being 
reminded that on the eve of his wedding night the woman whom he thought loved 
him nearly cleaved his face in twain. But hadn’t he gone on to love again? Not 
once but three times more? All this in only what, four years?
“ Will I ever understand you, Ranma?” She whispered, not hearing her own voice.

   (“Saotome-sama!” A voice roused him from his sleep.
“ What? What is it?” He asked as he shook his head to clear the sleep from his 
mind.
“ There is a ronin in town! He says he is looking for the one who breaks swords 
with his hands! Saotome-sama I think he wishes to kill you!” 
    Now fully alert, he looked down at the small figure of the village girl who 
had woken him. She was the village elder’s granddaughter, and his personal 
servant for his stay after he had defeated the bandits that had held the small 
village under their sword. The poor girl had only met him two nights ago, 
already she thought of herself as his vassal. The poor thin thing was barely 
twelve. Then again, he was only fourteen, so why did it feel like a decade’s 
difference existed between twelve and fourteen? 
“ The bandits also wanted to kill me.” He said it with a confident chuckle. 
    As he had hoped, his projected confidence effected the girl instantly. She 
looked up at him in awe and smiled.
“ I think I will break my fast with your grandfather before I see this ronin who 
may or may not wish to take my life.”
“ Yes ! Saotome-sama!” Eager to please, the girl leapt from her kneeling 
position and ran from the room. Now that she was gone, his expression darkened.
“ Who would want to see me?” He thought as he dressed. “ Just some curious 
samurai with too much time on his hands? But what samurai would have time on his 
hands during this time of constant war? Think back to history class, Ranma. When 
did the period of warring clans stop?...I knew I should have paid more attention 
in history...”
    Feeling very stupid, but being very sure not to show anything but relaxed 
confidence, he sat down at the head of the table and ate breakfast with the 
village elder.
“ I know it must be bothersome to you, Saotome-sama, but I must thank you again 
for freeing my village.” The elder bowed low to him before starting on his own 
breakfast.
“ It wasn’t any great deed.” He dismissed, wolfing down his meal just shy of an 
impolite speed. “ I just kept walking to and from here until they attacked me. 
That was all.” 
“ Be that as it may, Satome-sama, we will remain in your debt.” Suddenly, a new 
tone fluttered into the aged man’s voice. “ Perhaps my granddaughter could start 
repaying that debt?”
    It took all his self control not to spit his drink from shock.
“ After all, she’s young and pretty. Rare qualities to be found in those 
unpromised, neh? She’s well worth six koku or more. And she’s an unplucked 
flower at that, neh?”
“ Father!” A middle aged woman stormed up to the old man. “ I don’t care how 
honorably aged you are! You’re still a dirty old man! You will not sell my 
daughter!”
    He had been about to nod in agreement when the woman sighed and continued.
“ You will give her away politely. Without any cajoling of our honored savior, 
Saotome-sama.”
    Once again, trying not to spit out the nice warm tea for shock. Was everyone 
in his village nuts?
“ I think the matter can wait until after I have met this ronin.” He said.
    Politely, as if he were full samurai both peasants quietly nodded their 
assent to his decree. Only the honorably aged could speak to him politely 
without first being acknowledged. It was kina eerie at first, but after a while 
he got used to the respect. But the automatic subservience of peasants still 
unnerved him, he felt guilty doing anything around them. 
    The rapid beat of feet on the dirt floor alerted him moments before the 
young girl burst into the room. 
“ Saotome-sama the ronin is here!” She cried.
    He meaningfully started on another helping of rice. All the while thinking 
to himself: “ Keep cool. Act as if he were no more threat than the old man.”
    Lightly shoving the girl aside, the mystery figure walked in and stood a 
respectable distance from him and the elder. 
    The ronin was short, but long of arm, and built solidly. Resting on his back 
was a notachi, a great sword. By eyeball measure, he guessed the blade itself to 
be nearly one and a quarter meters long. By the man’s movements, he guessed that 
the ronin could weald its length and weight quite well. Though he continued to 
eat as if nothing was wrong, he guessed the man to be of greater threat than all 
the bandits and their hitokiri had been.
“ May I ask why you wish to see me?” He began after a few more bites.
    The ronin’s voice was deep and rough. “ I wanted to know how strong a man 
had to be to break blades with his hands. Where is your father?”
    For a moment he did not know whether to be insulted or to take advantage of 
the fact that apparently the man did not think he was the one he was seeking. A 
little of both seemed the best compromise.
“ My father is either at Buddha’s hand or well into his next life.” He answered, 
and went back to his meal for a moment.
“ I see, then despite appearances you are the one who breaks swords with his own 
hands?”
“ Yes, despite appearances, I am he.” He put just a little hint of annoyance 
into his voice.
    Which did not escape the man’s notice. “ So sorry. A man should not 
trust appearances. For is it not appearances which deceit is based upon?”
“ True, quite true.” He agreed politely. 
“ So, rumor tells of a man who fights empty handed with those who hold swords 
and wins?”
“ I have done so before.” 
“ Then may I ask a demonstration?” The man reached behind, to his pack rather 
than the huge pommel of his sword, and withdrew a odanbira.
    Never taking his eyes off of the young man before him the ronin slowly drew 
the blade from its sheath. 
“ Once the blade is broken it cannot be repaired.” He told the man, inwardly 
reading himself for an attack. 
“ I would gladly give this blade to see such skill.” 
“ Fine.” He agreed.
    The attack was sudden and aimed to kill, but it still smacked of a testing 
blow instead of a all or nothing assault.
    It was a stab for the heart. Dropping his chopsticks, he lanced out with a 
palm to turn aside the blade’s point, away from himself and the old man. Then, 
in one motion he snapped his fist back and into the flat of the blade, at the 
apex of its almost imperceptible blend. The sharp report of it snapping left a 
ring in everyone’s ears for a second.
    With calm detachment, the ronin examined the sundered blade. He smiled at it 
before sheathing the remaining blade and returning it to his pack. 
“ Thank you for letting me see such skill. But I am afraid I must rudely ask, 
how can one so young be so skilled?”
“ Ask my father.” He answered, hoping it would be cryptic enough to satisfy the 
man.
    It was. The ronin smiled and laughed a little, before politely excusing 
himself. He pretended as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and 
finished his meal. Not bothering to even look at he shattered remnants of the 
blade on the floor.
    However, the whole time he strained his senses for any trace of the ronin’s 
return, any hint of a ambush. It was doubtful that anyone who would have tracked 
him down would be satisfied with only one demonstration and not a fight.
    Despite his constant vigilance, he never caught a hint of anything out of 
the ordinary, and those he asked told him that the ronin had long since left the 
village.
    The only reward his awareness granted him was the hint that someone familiar 
was approaching. Someone who had a tenacity in them, a drive that conquered even 
his own innate rancor and despair.
    Ryouga exited a startled peasant’s home with an expectant look upon his 
face, which resolved into thankful joy when his own eyes locked with the 
eternally lost boy’s. 
“ Ranma! I’ve finally found you!”)


    “ Will I ever understand you, Ranma?” 
The words thrashed about in his mind as the dream of his mind faded into the 
dream of the waking world. From practice that had started in even the early days 
of his father’s tutelage nothing changed outwardly when he awoke. His body did 
not stir from the slow patterns of sleep, but his senses took in everything.
    His father stirred in his sleep, the bulk of his panda form changing the 
pitch of his deep snore. Chemical light filtered in from the streets, the hues 
of the room corrupted by the man made light. At least the intermittent flashing 
that such florescent light provided no longer drove him to distraction. Dust 
sparkled in the discontinuous light like snowflakes caught by candlelight. 
“ Will I ever understand myself?” He whispered, so softly that only his own ears 
would hear the question put between the rhythm of rumbling snores.
    Always now, he dreamed of the past. Not since his return had he had a night 
of real dreams. A night of things that never happened. Instead he seemed to be 
condemned to relive the past, moment for moment, a night at a time. Tonight the 
memory had been almost pleasant. Of the period when he wandered Japan alone, or 
with Ryouga when he could find him. He had yet to do more than kill in self 
defense then. Another night, weeks ago, the memory had been particularly sweet. 
It was of the time that he had spent the day at the mountain shrine with Megumi, 
and the night with her at that shrine, making love under the endless sea of 
stars. The past was not usually so kind to him. 
    Last night it had been of a foul memory. When he served his lord as a loyal 
retainer, instead of the Living Kodachi. When he held a few loyal men as his own 
retainers. Almost half of which, died under his command as the wars between 
clans rushed out of all control. 
    Last night he relived the taking of a small outpost on the edge of his 
Lord’s holdings. In his idealism as a youth of fifteen he thought he could use 
pure wits and a small show of force to cow the outpost into surrender. The 
gambit of taking the outer guards alive as a show of both mercy and force 
combined with words that he thought might be persuasive, cost four of his men 
their lives. Overcome with the loss of his men he decided on a tactic that might 
not cost the lives of anymore of his men. After all, those in the fort preferred 
death to surrender, as the captured guards proved by killing themselves at the 
first opportunity. So he challenged the fort, he would duel with their best 
until either they surrendered or he was dead. A heroically stupid choice. 
    First they had sent out a little man, almost his own size. The man closed 
the gate behind him, bowed, and introduced himself as Sanmura Hiro, and attacked 
with almost insane ferocity. However, he defeated far better opponents with his 
hands alone. Now trained in swordsmanship he killed Hiro in less time than it 
took for Hiro to draw his sword. Undeterred the fort sent out ten more men, each 
dying a little quicker than the last, as the task became more and more horrific 
for him to continue. The eleventh duel was with a woman, she had stood out for 
more than her gender. She had approached the duel as if the whole affair were 
boring. 
    She attacked with a speed that had exceeded his own, disarming him with the 
first exchange. However, he had left a gash along her cheek and down her side. 
The shock of actually being injured balked the arrogant woman just long enough 
for him to switch his mindset back to that of fighting hand to sword as he had 
done for so long. When she next attacked he snapped her sword arm and broke both 
her knees before she could react. The woman had seemed to be merely puzzled when 
he beheaded her after recovering his own sword.
    The duels dragged on for three more lives after hers. Finally both himself 
and the man commanding the outpost had had enough of the game. Almost 
simultaneously each declared an open attack on the other. The gates burst open 
and samurai flooded out swords drawn. The battle had been far more bloody than 
the duels. Ending only when the last of the men of the outpost finally breathed 
their last. 
    His men praised him to the highest. Screaming his name to the skies as their 
victorious leader. Later bragging to others about the prowess of their leader, 
that he would have slain all the enemy one by one himself if not for the 
desperate attack of the enemy. That he was so clever as to demoralize the enemy 
by forcing the dishonor of capture on the enemy’s guards and flaunting it in 
their faces with mocking requests of the impossible, surrender. The blood of 
those he killed haunted him, but the praise and curses of those alive struck 
deeper at the time.
    His breath altered the eddies and streams of the almost invisible dust in 
the weak light. He watched endless patters in that dust that hung in the night 
air. All the while searching for the pattern that would explain himself to 
himself. Why did he not dream anymore? Why was it only memories of the past 
instead of dreams about past memories? 
    Dust to dust is the only answer dust has. He closed his eyes and waited for 
sleep, and more memories. Wondering, would they be haunting or lovely? 



    She lolled about, just for a change of pace from lolling. Akane was so very 
boring when she was asleep. Though they were easily able to ‘talk’ to one 
another mind-to-mind and even manifest together in that mental sanctuary, 
neither was able to enter and share the dreams of the other. So, Otama lay wide 
awake as Akane slept blissfully. Eyes closed, body flaccid, and the sheets drawn 
up over the face. It was a very boring time when all you could do was listen to 
the sound of your host’s body breathing. 
    A long time ago she had discovered that if she took control of Akane’s body 
while she slept Akane would wake up later mentally rested but physically tired. 
Since then, unless Akane had homework or such she refrained from doing more than 
using Akane’s senses when her dear friend slept. 
    But it was so very boring to simply lie there and do absolutely nothing! How 
she hated sleepless nights. Very well, back into the head. 
    For all its unearthly beauty she was slowly beginning to loath their 
sanctuary. As slowly as one loses strength from disuse, or vigor with age.
    To her dear one, Akane, their sanctuary looked like a traditional home. To 
her it was a traditional temple set atop a mountain, like the one she spent her 
first eight years of life in. The only thing that both their minds agreed upon 
was the garden in the center courtyard. Each and every feature of that paradise 
their minds agreed upon. She often spent hours there, thinking, trying to become 
one with the beauty and bliss that enveloped her in that misty light.
    Tonight she was much too sick of that garden to do more than briefly look 
out into it. Into the violet light of night as it played among the beauty there 
in the endless dance of light. She did not wish to watch a dance that was only 
in her mind. Instead she hurried to the library, one of the stranger mysteries 
of their sanctuary. A library that held a vast number of books. None with 
titles, but each one filled from cover to cover. Volumes of knowledge that 
neither remembered ever having. Some where books of memories, Akane’s, her own, 
a mix. Some where pure knowledge written as if it were a ‘how to’ of the world. 
A scant few sometimes contained magic or martial arts. The majority seemed to be 
the writings of their collective subconscious. A sprawling diary of what they 
would never know of themselves. 
    Tonight reading was not on her mind, but there was an air to the Library 
that was different than any other part of their sanctuary. It was a lack of the 
dreaminess that permeated the rest of the temple. Here time seemed to pass 
slower, but thoughts came clear and crisp as emotion became muted. Akane, a 
creature of emotions and of extremes, rarely came to the Library. The 
restraining of her emotional turmoil unsettled Akane most of the time. However, 
at the moment she would rather prefer her own turmoil restrained.
    There was no apparent light source in the Library, but always enough light 
to see by, to read by. She wandered among the western style book shelves, her 
eyes roaming over bindings with no title. Books that differed in a thousand ways 
save for the unmarred spine. 
    On a note of practicality she guessed what time it might be in the world, 
and decided to choose something small. That could be finished before Akane 
awoke, but that would occupy her until she could sleep or until morning.
    Rows and rows of books of all sizes and ages surrounded her. She walked for 
a quarter of an hour before something caught her eye. It was so small, barely a 
centimeter thick and as tall as her own hand. She paused as she picked it off of 
the bottom shelf. 
    After almost three years of residing in Akane she was almost used to seeing 
Akane’s hands instead of her own. This was one of those moments when she could 
not help but compare herself to her dear one. Her own hand was smaller than 
Akane’s, as she still was trapped as a fourteen year old while Akane grew closer 
and closer to a full woman every year. Her own hand seemed so small and pale to 
Akane’s strong hands that held the light dust given by hours and hours of 
training outdoors. 
    The moment passed and she continued on to someplace fitting to sit and read.

         Saotome Ranma, also known as the Living Kodachi, and Ranbaka. Who is 
  he? What is he? Why do I think about him so much? She needs me now more 
  than ever, but I think about Ranma instead of her? He’s a stranger. She’s
  practically a part of me. She IS a part of me, she’s become a piece of my
  soul. I don’t ever want to let her go. I don’t want to be free if it means
  being apart from her! I hate myself for that. Why can’t I grow up, why 
  can’t I do what I know is right. Ranma is the problem, but I have grown up
  just enough to know that he’s also the answer. Someone help me. Someone tell
  me I’m doing the right thing. I don’t want to hurt her. I love her more than
  I will ever love myself. I-

    She shut the book slowly, having cut her reading short by closing her eyes 
to the pages.
“ What is this? Akane’s thoughts?” She stared down at the closed book’s cover as 
if it might open itself if not watched. 
    In the past both Akane and herself had come upon books that held their own 
or the other’s thoughts on a subject or person. Her favorite comedy, in fact, 
was a long book that was just a long ranting monologue of Akane’s distaste for 
English class and their half barbarian teacher. 
    It had become an unspoken consensus between them that the other was free to 
read whatever they found in the Library no matter how personal. After all, there 
were few to no secrets between them.
    But she did not know what to make of this book. Was it Akane’s feelings 
about what exactly, every book in the Library had a single subject no matter how 
odd or obscure. She flipped to a page somewhere in the middle.

         -that scar. I can’t help but imagine what he looked like before his
  face was ruined like that. I mean, he’s not ugly now by any means. Luckily, 
  his scar doesn’t sink into his skin like most facial scars. It’s almost 
  more like a birthmark, a discoloration than a scar. But when he smiles, when
  he makes any sort of overt expression it gets in the way. His smiles are 
  always just a little saggy on the end that the scar ends at. From what I
  remember from anatomy class I guess those facial muscles are partially 
  severed, only scar tissue holding them together. But it always give a little
  ‘off’ taint to his expressions. The lopsided smile, an eyebrow that won’t 
  go up all the way when he raises them. It’s not bad…just a constant reminder
  that sticks in the back of my mind when I’m around him. I can’t help but 
  wonder what she thinks about him, really thinks about him. Every time one
  of us brings it up we end up arguing. It hurts so much to argue with her.

    Once again she shut the book. Apparently Akane’s thoughts of Ranma mirrored 
her own in so many respects. She really liked the older boy, but she desperately 
wanted to keep her distance from him because of that. After all, what would 
happen if she did indeed fall in love with the boy? How could he love a girl 
that he could never see, never really touch. He wouldn’t even know what she 
looked like, sounded like, felt like. 
    She really did like Ranma, but apparently Akane liked him just as much if 
not more. She needed to find a way out of Akane’s body now more than ever. If 
only to touch Akane and Ranma with hands that weren’t stolen.