Identity, by Muphrid. A tribe of Chinese sorcerers captures Ranma to purge emotions from the hearts of men. A continuation story, set after the end of the manga.
What's going on here? Shampoo led a party of her people and others to rescue Ranma from the Sorcerers, but now that he's safe, the weight of tribal law bears down on her.
Wounds of a Warrior
Chapter Eight, Act Four
Rice, soybeans, noodles, tofu. Ginger, sesame oil, soy sauce, cinnamon. These and other ingredients make up Chinese cuisine. While a chef measures out her needs in terms of cups or teaspoons or kilograms, a simple laborer—a delivery girl—counts the restaurant's needs in bags or cash, whether it be the Chinese Yuan or the Japanese Yen. Whatever is used and consumed over the course of one day must be replaced by the next, and that requires counting. There was a word for this task, one Shampoo hardly liked.
Inventory.
It was the fine art of counting boxes or examining sacks of rice. Weary and tired, Shampoo tapped a pencil at air, tabulating cans of soybeans. In furry slippers and pink pajamas, she took inventory of the Cat Café's storeroom, a maze of shelves and cardboard boxes. When she finished tabulating the cans, she scribbled lazily on a ruled notepad, and with crossed eyes, she started on the boxes of tea. It was monotonous, repetitive work. She loathed it. Over the course of several days since returning to Japan, Shampoo had taken inventory on that notepad, and in the margins, she'd started to do some calculations of her own. The room was six strides by eight, in her judgment, with four levels of shelves on each wall and a pile of rice sacks and boxes in the middle. Assuming she could swing a pair of maces twice every three seconds, how long would it take to demolish that storeroom and rip the nails from the walls with brute force? What about the whole restaurant? Or the entire block?
Not long enough, she thought. It would be over in a heartbeat, and nothing would change.
Six o'clock on a Wednesday morning, and it was no different from any other since returning. The warrior who'd led her people against the Sorcerers was reduced to a simple peon away from home. Work began early, with inventory and a supply run to the market. That was her part, and she dealt with it as best as she could. Once the Cat Café was adequately supplied, she had time to herself, and she used it as she saw fit:
She followed Ranma and Akane.
She'd done it discreetly at first, from a distance. While they studied at the library with Ukyō, Shampoo had little to fear. Foolish though Ranma was for taking to Akane, he was hardly bold when it came to matters of the heart—or at least, he didn't used to be before he took Akane on a date.
Shampoo frowned. No, that was a mistake—a misconception about him, something she'd neglected to realize. Ranma could be bold in such matters when pushed far enough. All along, she hoped to present herself as the only girl who could fight by his side as an equal. She thought, if she offered her body's pleasures to him often enough, he'd wear down and take her in a fit of temptation, but in truth, Ranma was stubborn, in both combat and matters of love. Against implacable foes, he might retreat or regroup if he lacked advantage, but he never gave in forever, and when angered, there was no one more fierce.
Shampoo knew that well. Though the bruise on her wrist had long since healed, she could still feel it—the pressure of his steely grip. When she'd attacked Akane, Ranma intervened. He stopped her. He wrenched the bulbous chúi from her hands, and it was all anyone could do—all Akane could do—to rouse him from his rage, to keep him from snapping Shampoo's arm in half.
And that wasn't the most recent time he'd rejected her.
#
After the debacle over the Sorcerer defector, the Amazons were at last able to tend to their wounded, asses their losses in warriors and equipment, and address the lingering matter that had driven the Amazons to war in the first place: the Last Right of a wife, Shampoo's right to lead an expedition in search of Ranma, the man she was meant by law to take as her husband. On his safe return to the village, the Last Right had been fulfilled, and it was time for Shampoo to face judgment for what she'd done.
She presented herself before the Council of Elders—in front of narrow-eyed Bindi, whose skepticism and edge had only increased in the shadow of horrific losses at the Sorcerer village; bald and weary Thanaka, who looked a decade older for his part in pushing for war; and never-changing Surma, who regarded Shampoo with a steady gaze, unflappable in the face of uncertain times. The hooded figures of the Silent Nine surrounded Shampoo, their eyes hidden and thus inscrutable. Shampoo stood alone by the meeting fire until Cologne and Ranma emerged from the thicket to join the Council in session.
"Welcome, Saotome Ranma, son of Nodoka and Genma," Elder Surma began, for in matters of procedure and decorum, her position as Third Speaker gave her the prerogative to begin the Council's deliberations. "The Council convenes in open session to assess the state of your betrothal to Shampoo. You've stated that you have no intention to wed Shampoo willingly. Is that correct?"
Cologne whispered a translation in Ranma's ear—not all the Council understood Japanese, so it was deemed fairest to conduct the session in the Amazons' native tongue—and when she finished, Ranma's response was simple. "It is," he said, and Cologne made his sentiment known to the others on the Council who couldn't comprehend.
"Then the Council will make its judgment on this matter," said Surma, "that it is not in the interests of the Tribe to use our collective force to keep you here and compel you to consummate your union."
Shampoo twitched. They were letting him go? They'd let him walk a free man out of the village when every able body could stand in his way? What about her duty? What about the law that demanded she make him her husband? Did that mean nothing to these old fools?
"It is our hope that you'll consider what our people have sacrificed to help free you," Speaker Surma explained, "and that in future conflicts with the Sorcerers, we may count on your aid."
"Anything to drive those bastards from Jusenkyō," said Ranma.
Unbelievable. They were selling her out. The vaunted elders of the village had bought Ranma's good graces at a price of Shampoo's honor. A low, low price in their eyes, perhaps, but Shampoo wasn't about to let them get away with it. "Elder," she began, "may I speak?"
"It is your right," said Surma.
"Then I ask if what I hear is true," said Shampoo. "The Council of my Elders set law for the Tribe: that any girl who is defeated in fair combat by a man must marry that man if she is able and unwed. From age five, we're taught that the finest warriors should journey from the village and discover the outsiders' world, that we should find strong men out there and bring them home. Council has ability to decide, yet you sacrifice my good name to make yourselves feel safer. You know what that shame would mean for me."
"Allow me to answer this charge, Third," said Bindi.
Nodding, Elder Surma stepped back. "The First Speaker will make her remarks."
"The Council's duty is to protect the interests of the village and the rights of the people. It's true; you won't receive the Council's support in this matter, but pursuing Saotome Ranma is still your right, and if you can compel him to stay in the village and become your husband by your own doing, the Council will honor the deed."
The Council's judgment: if she could defeat Ranma, all would be forgiven.
"Wait, what does that mean?" asked Ranma. "It's a fight?"
Yes, Airen—we fight, and I throw the first punch.
Ranma sidestepped Shampoo's fist, and the Elders of the Council abandoned their seats, clearing the area around the fire.
"This is grossly improper!" said Speaker Bindi. "There cannot be violence in the Council's presence!"
These Elders—they hid behind rules. They'd tried to bury her, to silence her so she'd never get Ranma back, so Amazon and Sorcerer would never meet on the field of battle again. The Council's rules meant nothing to Shampoo. Proving that she was every bit a fighter as Ranma, that she was deserving of him and his children—she thought of nothing else. For that, she traded blows with the man she loved. The ringing as his fist impacted her cheek, the crunch as he threw her against a tree trunk—they fueled her passion, her drive to match him. She gave as good as she got, landing a knee to his gut, scratching with her nails across his face, but even then, Ranma fought with one hand tied behind his back. He knew impressive magics that he could draw upon, knowing how they'd turn the battle in his favor, yet he held back.
"This won't change anything," said Ranma, ducking her furious blows. "Even if you could beat me here, what then? Is that really good enough for you, that you have to take me down so I'll stay? What happens after that? You tie me up and make it official?"
"If that what it take, yes!" she cried. "A thousand times over!"
A sweeping kick drove Shampoo's legs out from under her. Her hip thudded on the hard earth.
"Isn't that sad?" asked Ranma, towering over her without finishing her off. "Don't you want someone who loves you?"
"You will," said Shampoo. "Ranma only have to see what Shampoo can offer. Shampoo make Ranma love her in time."
Ranma frowned. "You might be right."
Really? Ranma was…beginning to see her as a woman? To appreciate her?
Ranma's fingertips glistened with frost, and Shampoo felt cold. A crushing, icy weight pressed against her neck on all sides. It pinned her to the ground, and she clawed at it, coughing, choking, gasping for air. A band of ice shackled her neck to the earth, and though she pulled and scratched at it with her hands, her fingers slipped off the smooth, wet surface.
"Great-grandmother!" she called out. "Help me!"
"Careful, Ranma," said Cologne. "If you attempt to kill a member of the Tribe, our justice will no know borders."
"Relax," he assured her. "Nobody dies today, but I think I've made my point. You can't hope to beat me, Shampoo. Stop trying to. Stop trying to make me love you when I don't. That's the reason you haven't gained my favor. You were never willing to accept no for an answer."
Ranma headed down the slopes from the Council's meeting place, and Shampoo reached for him with outstretched fingers, as if to hold on to one last image of him before he left her sight. "Great-grandmother, stop him!" she cried. "Help me win this battle!"
But Cologne gently shook her head. "I've helped you before, Shampoo. This time, I can't. There's too much to lose by pursuing him, child. Too much to give up."
That was a lie. A convenient lie she'd convinced herself of. Like the Council, Cologne feared the Sorcerer threat more. She was counting on Ranma to be their ace in the hole, the one to bring down Sindoor's empire and shed light on a decades-old mystery.
She cared for her missing granddaughter, Ceruse, over her own living flesh and blood.
Without Ranma at her side as her husband, Shampoo had no place in the village. Unlike the last time, when she'd come home empty-handed, there was no question of law to give her temporary shelter. She'd been given a reprieve once; she wouldn't get another. If she returned to the village without Ranma in tow once more, the shame and stigma she'd incur would be unspeakable. As it was, everyone in the village must've known her plight and thought her pathetic and unworthy because of it. No matter how powerful Ranma was, her people expected—they demanded—that she take him back with her and bear his children. It was the law. For the good of the village and the Tribe, it was the law.
Not that her great-grandmother hadn't tried to change it. Though she refused to help subdue Ranma, Cologne argued before the Council that the law was outdated and of no use. "The children Shampoo would bear can't help fight the Sorcerers," she pointed out. "They would take too long to raise and grow, and this time, men and women have fought and died for the Tribe in equal numbers. There is no more reason for this law. I know, because I helped to enact it!"
But the Council rejected her plea, in large part because Shampoo herself refused to ask for such an act of pity. To her, the pursuit of Ranma was by no means finished. That Akane had his eye for the moment didn't mean any relationship there would last. And to remind herself her task was incomplete, she wore the Choker of Silence—the quartz necklace that, in her native village, would condemn her to speak only to her family and no one else. Though the Council had dealt her no punishment, Shampoo was dissatisfied. It wasn't enough to go back to Japan and continue pursuing Ranma as she'd done before. She wore the necklace as a constant reminder of what awaited her if she failed. That way, she'd never relent in her pursuit.
"Shampoo." At the door to the storeroom, Mousse peered inside. "Shampoo, can you hear me?"
Hearing was one thing, but she forbade herself to answer him. He wasn't family. Anyone else in the Tribe, anyone who wasn't family, would see the gems around her neck and treat her as anathema, but Mousse was stubborn and foolishly devoted to her. Even that Choker of Silence couldn't keep him away.
"You're not talking to me still? Please, why don't you forget about Saotome? We can live in exile together. I would stand by your side forever."
Shampoo jotted down supply tallies, counting up cans of peas.
"Right, you only have eyes for him, don't you? Well, be still your beating heart, then. You have an opportunity to see him."
To see Ranma? Shampoo looked away from her notepad, staring blankly.
"Get changed," said Mousse. "Ryōga was just on the phone. The Sorcerers are back, and they went after him. He's in a hospital. Ranma's probably on his way there, and we should be going, too."
#
"It was a quarter to one."
His eyes bloodshot and inflamed, Ryōga lay flat on his back. He gazed upward, toward the ceiling, with a dull and unfocused look. A crowd of visitors gathered at his side. In the front row, Cologne, Akane, Ukyō, and Shampoo stood. Behind them, Mousse polished his glasses. The Sorcerer Kohl in his female body tapped his staff on the floor, pondering, and Ranma—
CRUNCH!
And Ranma snacked on a packet of saltines. Unconcerned with the noise of his munching, Ranma earned dark glares from several of the others, to which he only shrugged. "What's the problem?" he said. "We skipped breakfast coming straight here. It's not like she'll die, right?"
All eyes turned to Ryōga once more, who shook off his fatigue, carrying on. "It was a quarter to one," he recounted. "Ranma and Akane-san had left about an hour after dark. All afternoon, we'd gone through my father's journals and souvenirs, looking for some clue where he might be or what he learned about the Sorcerers while he lived among them. I couldn't remember the year he visited them. I thought it was sometime before I'd been born, but I couldn't be sure. I kept looking through his writings until midnight. When I woke up, the smoke detector was blaring. Shirokuro didn't like the sound of it; the noise confused her. Trying to keep her calm, I didn't see who burned my father's journals or how many of them there were. It was all I could do to save the rest of Father's library before it turned to ash."
Crunch. "You should've run after them," said Ranma, his voice muffled with his mouth full. "Stuff can be replaced. Not finding the Sorcerers who did this isn't something you can take back."
Akane shot him a dirty look. "Really, Ranma, can't you show Ryōga-kun some kindness? He's in pain right now!"
"It's not like he has third-degree burns over seventy percent of his body," said Ranma. "Looking all zoned out like that—he's just being melodramatic."
"Excuse me, Hibiki-san?" A nurse peered into the room. "Hibiki-san, I have good news. It seems your dog is only suffering slight ill effects from smoke inhalation. You can see her now."
"I can?" Ryōga bolted upright, and he scampered off the waiting room sofa, meeting the nurse at the doorway. "I can see Shirokuro now? She's going to be all right?"
"Yes, just follow me." The nurse led him down a side hallway, out of sight.
Crunch. "Don't know what you guys were making a fuss about," said Ranma. "We're in an animal hospital, and you're all crowding around him like he's on his deathbed. What's the deal?"
"Ryōga-kun was up all night worrying about Shirokuro," said Akane. "You could be more considerate."
" 'Considerate,' huh?" Ranma snapped a cracker in two, popping one of the halves into his mouth. "Here's me being more considerate—if the Sorcerers had attacked while the three of us were still in that house, somebody might've ended up in a real hospital instead of criticizing me at a vet's."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means! Next time, don't come after me just because you're curious or whatever! It's not like the two of us needed help looking through books and things!"
"Maybe if we'd had more help, we could've found out what Ryōga-kun's father found out before the Sorcerers attacked!"
"That's what I'm saying," Ranma concluded. "You being there didn't make a bit of difference, so you shouldn't have come in the first place!"
"Oh really!"
"Yeah, really!"
Back and forth they argued, and for Shampoo, though it was a typical sight, she relished it all the same. The underlying reasons why they fought were no help to her—Ranma, concerned for Akane's safety, wanted her as far as possible from danger, yet Akane, wanting to be a good partner to Ranma, ignored his warnings. Their combined stubbornness and refusal to confront such feelings gave Shampoo fodder and ammunition. Their fighting inspired hope. At some point, the worries and insecurities they'd never admit to one another would dwarf whatever attraction they felt. Every harsh word they traded was further proof that Shampoo was in the right. Patience would reward her, as long as she chose their weakest moment to strike.
And she wasn't the only one with such thoughts on her mind. From the double-doored hallway, Ryōga returned. Neither fatigue nor smoke could keep him from staring intently at the scene before him, shaking his head in disapproval.
"Well?" Shampoo asked him innocently. "Dog is doing well now, yes?"
"Huh? Oh, yes, she's going to be fine. They just want to monitor her for a few more hours to be sure." Looking past Shampoo, Ryōga narrowed his eyes, looking at Ranma, then Akane. "What's that about?"
Shampoo pursed her lips. "Who can say? Why they fight make no sense to Shampoo."
"It's a crime," he muttered, shaking his fist. "Akane-san is so genuine and kind, yet Ranma abuses her at every opportunity."
Shampoo fought back a roll of the eyes. Ryōga's deification of Akane bored her, but it played in her favor, so it was in her best interest not to mock him. While Ranma and Akane's latest spat was encouraging, Shampoo wasn't so naÏve to think it would sever their relationship. That would take work. It would take cunning and manipulation. It would take the efforts of not only her but an ally or two, and as allies could go, at least Ryōga wasn't competition for Ranma, too—at least, rumors of a magic fishing rod incident aside.
"Do you know the lengths he went through to lie to her yesterday?" said Ryōga. "He crafted an elaborate story about how I wandered into town, how P-chan had fallen ill overnight and needed medical help. It took him less than a minute to put that together, and he said it all to Akane-san's face with no hesitation, no guilt. He's a monster, you know. Always has been."
Shampoo frowned. "Ryōga lies to Akane, too."
"But that's different!" he insisted. "I'm not the who's supposed to tell her the truth even when it hurts. I'm not the one who's job it is to shelter and protect her." He let out a breath, deflating. "I'm not the one she's in love with."
Whatever double standard works for you, pig boy. Shampoo leaned against the wall. "If left alone, Ranma and Akane could marry, even if it bad for both of them. Akane is blind to Ranma's flaws. You know this, don't you?"
Ryōga nodded solemnly.
"Something must be done about it," she argued. "Before it's too late."
"What do you mean? What are you suggesting?"
"Only that we talk. When one see Ranma and Akane fight, tell the other and discuss. We find way to break them up. Is for their own good. Is good for us, too."
"Why should I work with you? You tried to kill Akane-san, remember?"
Shampoo gritted her teeth. Really, you try to kill a rival one time, and no one else would let you forget it. Things were much easier when there was more slapstick comedy in their lives and people overlooked such things. "Shampoo know Ryōga not let that happen. If two of us keep working separate, we may fail. Ranma and Akane live happy ever after, or worse—unhappy because they no should be together, but what done is done. Is irresponsible not to do all that can be done to break them up. Ryōga think so too, yes?"
"Perhaps." Ryōga stared past her, at Akane. "As long as she's happy…"
You mean, 'As long as she's happy with me,' don't you?
Shampoo and Ryōga shuffled back into the waiting area, and with the group reassembled, they could discuss their next move. Ranma and Ryōga resolved to head back to the Hibiki home, salvage what they could, and bring it all to the Tendō residence for study. While the journals were most likely unreadable, Ryōga thought his father's last souvenir package would hold the key—if they could only figure out where and when most of the stuff came from.
"The box?" asked Kohl. "You mean—you mean the Guard didn't touch it?"
"When I made it downstairs, the box was untouched," said Ryōga. "They must not have known it was anything important."
Kohl frowned at this, but he said nothing more. Lastly, for the full explanation, Ranma recounted how he met with the Sorcerer rebels, who tipped him off that Sindoor's target was Ryōga's father.
"These rebels," began Cologne, "how many are there?"
"Five, plus Rimmel," said Ranma. "If they really mean to fight Sindoor, there'd better be more of them. Personally, I want nothing to do with that rope-maker bitch, but they'll go away faster if we get what Sindoor wants—either that, or she gets it herself."
This talk of rebels intrigued Cologne, and she pressed on about their capabilities, their level of infiltration—most of which Ranma couldn't or didn't want to answer. He could barely point out the direction they left the high school, but what little he had said clearly affected Cologne—and Shampoo as well, for though the great-grandmother and her kin had different motives, both relished the prospect of renewed conflict with the Sorcerers. Even the most humiliated and despised warrior could earn back her respect in service of the Tribe.
And if battle came, Ranma would see how Shampoo handled herself, too. She didn't need protecting and fawning over like Akane. She wouldn't hesitate to do dark deeds in his name or doubt her own capabilities at the most inconvenient moments. Akane's doubt and self-righteousness nearly got all of them killed. It did get them all mind-controlled so that any Phoenix tribesman who got close enough could give them orders and command their thoughts at will.
None of that mattered to Ranma, though. He fought with Akane one minute, and the next—with the meeting at the animal hospital adjourned—he walked her to the bus station like nothing was wrong. He could forgive and forget Akane's sins, but not Shampoo's. He was blind to depths of Akane's flaws. All Shampoo had to do was bring them to light.
"I see what you're doing." Ukyō caught Shampoo outside the animal hospital, falling into step beside her. "First me, then Ryōga. Who's next? Kodachi?"
"Flower girl?" said Shampoo. "No."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Already approach her. No can work together. Laughter get annoying after not too long."
Ukyō scoffed. "I see your point. It's the way she holds her hand in front of her mouth, right? With a tilt? And then she just keeps laughing and laughing, even when the joke stopped being funny a long time ago."
"Make Shampoo want to feed her to her crocodile."
The okonomiyaki chef shot her a harsh look. "Clever. Look, you have to know Ryōga won't let you harm Akane-chan—or if you do, he'll come after you just as hard as Ranchan will."
"Whatever it take to win Ranma," said Shampoo.
"That's why it'll all be for naught. You're willing to go too far."
Shampoo narrowed her eyes. "And you aren't?"
Ukyō shuddered, looking away.
"Thought so," said Shampoo.
"You do what you like." Ukyō took a step, walking away from Shampoo and the hospital lobby. "But you'd best be careful. The last thing you want to do in going after him is make yourself into something you're not, something you wouldn't want to be."
What foolish sentiment. The only person Shampoo should make herself into was one Ranma would love.
#
By no means was that the view Shampoo had grown up with. More often than not, warrior girls of the village—the ones trained to seek out strong men and empower the Tribe with their young—carried with them an air of instinctive superiority. Even to the man who'd defeat her, no woman of the Tribe seriously considered the possibility that she'd fail in enticing him to be her husband, if indeed such a man could best her at all. Bad enough was the humiliation Shampoo suffered—being defeated in fair combat by another girl during the tournament that should've marked her ascension as a up-and-coming, great warrior. To find out he was a man instead and wouldn't bow to her charms or be coerced instead…
Well, she wouldn't let that the specter of failure sap her resolve. She'd seen others come home without their husbands. Their families quietly tucked them away, never to be seen. If they walked around in daylight, they cloaked themselves in shawls to hide their faces. Shampoo wasn't so weak. She wouldn't cover herself, but if she had to transform her very essence and being to do what the law compelled her to do, so it would be. She faced the possibilities without fear, for nothing else mattered to her. The Tribe's law was the word of gods. She could no sooner give up or surrender to failure than cut her own heart out. She would no longer be a warrior if she did such a thing—regardless of whether others in the Tribe thought so, she would know it herself.
The path back to Ranma's good graces and respect from her people lay in showing her prowess as a warrior. Ranma had shown her up because he knew the best of both magic and physical combat, but her skills in martial arts—whether practiced in exhibition or weaponized on a battlefield—were still the key to Ranma's favor. He knew what sacrifices she'd made to rescue him. Whatever anger he felt over her attempt to kill Akane had surely died down. Why else would he restrain himself in front of her? Sooner or later, he would understand what Shampoo had to offer. War with the Sorcerers was once again near, and Akane wasn't the right person to watch Ranma's back. Ranma must've known that, or he wouldn't have made her stay home while he sought out the evidence the Sorcerers hoped to destroy.
Thus, she welcomed the prospect of the Sorcerers' return—as much as her great-grandmother did, though for different reasons. When Cologne made for the telegraph office and commanded Mousse and Shampoo to close the Cat Café to guests, Shampoo smiled to herself. It meant Cologne would seek the Council's approval to enter this fight, and knowing how persuasive her great-grandmother could be, Shampoo had no doubt Cologne would win it.
What she didn't expect was for the hours to pass dully into afternoon until, at last in twilight, three knocks rang against the main door. Cologne would see no need to knock, surely, and when Shampoo answered the door, it wasn't the small old woman she found there, either.
"What's this?" said Elder Surma. "Why are you wearing that necklace? I'd know if you were silenced. Allow us to enter. Cologne wishes it."
Elder Surma, Cologne's trusted disciple and Third Speaker of the Council. Us referred to her and the warrior who stood as her escort. She was shorter than Shampoo, only by the thickness of a few leaves, but the height of her eyes gave it away. Her hair was dark and shiny and cut at the level of her chin.
"You remember young Marula, don't you? She's to be my protection while I'm here—and, perhaps, much more."
Marula—the girl who found wreckage outside the spring ground, giving the first substantive proof that the Sorcerers had returned and Ranma needed help. She'd joined Shampoo's party and become lost within the mountain, ending up a prisoner to the deranged Sorcerer priest Henna. In her grotesque experiments, Henna doused Marula with a mixture of spring waters, turning her into a impossible creature, and Henna would've done worse if Ranma hadn't intervened. He rescued Marula, but the Elders kept Marula off the front lines for the rest of the conflict. They must've known she was weak for letting herself be captured, or perhaps her curse crippled her. What other explanations were there?
But Marula, just a year younger than Shampoo, faced her senior with confidence and respect, the look in her eyes encouraging Shampoo to speak despite the necklace that hung around her neck.
"Shampoo? Who's that at the door?" Mousse came up from behind, peering around her to get a good look at the guests. "Oh, Elder! Please, come in, both of you. Sorry for making you wait; we just weren't expecting you."
"It's no trouble, Mousse," said Elder Surma. "There was no time to send back to Cologne that she should prepare for our arrival. The Council met as soon as possible to discuss the situation and the best course. And so, here I am."
Showering the Elder in pleasantries, Mousse showed Surma and Marula into the restaurant. It was unusual enough to see an Elder of the Council away from home, but Surma was armed—with no more than a simple dagger, granted, but in the hands of someone trained by Cologne, even the most basic of weapons could be immeasurably lethal. Marula, too, carried a weapon: a pair of dense metal spheres, bound together by braided rope—a double-headed meteor hammer, which she kept tied to her belt. Surma knew there could be combat. She was prepared and ready for it. Why else would she come to Japan armed, and so quickly at that?
"What, if I may ask, is the Council's decision?" asked Mousse.
"To meet with the Sorcerer rebels and gauge if they are worth our support," said Surma. "It was a reluctant move. Truly, the Council had hoped—or I should say, the First Speaker had hoped—that the Sorcerers would wall themselves off in their village and we'd hear nothing more of them until they rebuilt. That they're willing to move on Japan so quickly puts many on the Council ill at ease. Cologne is seeking out these rebels as we speak. Hopefully we can soon discuss the matter in person."
"And you've brought a bodyguard," observed Mousse. "Hello again, Marula."
The girl with the meteor hammer bowed slightly.
"Not just a bodyguard," said Surma. "If some agreement with the rebels should be made, Marula here will run point to guarantee our interests."
Marula beamed with pride. For a young warrior, there could be no greater mark of status and standing. Completing a mission for the Council would instantly garner respect from the other villagers. It was a testament to Marula's ambition to accept this task, but such an unwavering pursuit of goals meant nothing to Shampoo. What mattered was what would happen when Amazons and Sorcerer rebels worked together to thwart Sindoor. Marula, or someone like her, would be in the lead, taking command and earning all the pride and glory that came with it—the pride and glory Shampoo wanted for herself. Marula wasn't just another girl from the village there to make her bones.
She was Shampoo's replacement.
#
Within the hour, Cologne returned to the Cat Café with a posse of Sorcerers in tow. "Wouldn't have taken so long if you'd told Ranma where you were going," she chided their leader. "Didn't you people think to do that?"
"The Outsider seemed in no mood to hear us out," said Rimmel. "But we're glad to see the Riverfolk have as little love of Sindoor as we and are willing to do something about it, unlike the Outsider whose sanity is at risk."
The rebel leader, Rimmel, was a woman in her mid-twenties, or so Shampoo guessed, and the image of someone so young negotiating with Cologne and Surma was a strange sight indeed. Nevertheless, Rimmel steadfastly maintained she was the leader of the movement, and the Amazon Council would have to treat her as such. Cautiously, Cologne and Surma discussed the rebel movement's ultimate goal—the deposing of Sindoor, the restoration of free magic use to the village of the Sorcerers. It was an alliance of convenience more than anything. Rimmel freely admitted that many within her ranks were suspicious of the Amazons, wary that the their old enemies would take advantage of divided Sorcerers to conquer them.
"If that is your fear, there's nothing we can say to put you wholly at ease," said Surma. "There are factions within our people who do wish revenge on the Sorcerers for the deaths of their kin, both in the past and recently. One can hope they will see reason, but even as a Speaker of the Council, I cannot guarantee it."
"You're a terrible negotiator," muttered Cologne.
"On the contrary, Teacher. I hope my frankness will convince Rimmel here of our sincerity."
The discussion at the main negotiating table went on unabated. The other rebels, five in number, milled about the restaurant and partook of Cologne's hospitality. Mousse served the guests with soup and meat buns while the two girls, Shampoo and Marula, sat together at a round table, watching the leaders' discussion unfold.
"So it is," said Marula, observing the negotiations with interest. "I'd heard the Third Speaker was completely honest and idealistic. She lives up to her reputation."
Save for the one time Cologne convinced her student to lie, ensuring the Amazons would march on the Sorcerer's Den, whatever the price. Nevertheless, with the red choker around her neck, Shampoo said nothing.
"You still won't speak?" Marula raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "The shame from returning home without your husband is that great?"
Shampoo eyed the younger girl, nodding once.
"They shouldn't judge you so harshly," said Marula. "Most girls turn twenty before they're sent out looking for strong men. It's unfair that you should be bound by law when you weren't prepared like anyone else would be."
It took boldness to speak out against the laws of the Tribe, and it was a thoroughly modern perspective to ignore another's failings and shame as easily as Marula did. Sensing a friendly viewpoint, Shampoo undid the choker of red quartz and laid it on the table. "I don't complain," she answered. "Making Ranma my husband is my task, and I bear it."
Marula smiled to herself. "I can see why. I met him, you know, inside the mountain at the spring ground. He's very strong, very powerful."
"Yes, he is." Shampoo beamed. "Our children would be so strong! And he can't stand anyone being better than him at anything, so you know if he didn't turn out good at love to begin with, he'd get better. He learns quickly."
The younger Amazon giggled, and Shampoo laughed with her, drawing momentary glances from the negotiating table.
From then on, the girls lowered their voices, keeping their conversation discreet. In Marula, Shampoo found not a rival but a kindred spirit. Though they'd studied under different masters, as young warriors of the Tribe they'd endured many of the same rituals and trials. Where Shampoo crossed the stream of a dozen stones in eight steps, Marula traversed the gap in seven but took an arrow to the shoulder for her trouble. These shared experiences helped the girls bond, but inevitably, Marula spoke of more recent trials—ones Shampoo had heard about but never cleared herself, having spent the last year largely abroad. When Marula assumed she knew the secret of the Trial of Fire, Shampoo crossed her eyes trying to think of how to safely walk over a bed of hot coals while fending off five assailants.
That was what Shampoo lost in chasing Ranma—a year of training that Cologne couldn't fully replicate away from the village. It was no matter, though. When she made Ranma her husband, she would have plenty of time to make up for missed trials.
"So you think you can convince him, then?" asked Marula. "Or defeat him?"
"Absolutely," said Shampoo.
"I don't see how. Sorcerers by themselves are weak—or at least, weaker than the Elders told us—but Ranma can fight well without magic. With it, how will you best him?"
"Who says it has to be in battle? And even if it is, Amazons beat Sorcerers before, no magic needed."
Marula frowned, sitting back. "As long as it doesn't get in the way of the Tribe's security."
"What do you mean?"
"We have Sorcerers to fight now. Being distracted with a man is no good for that."
"Ranma is first for me; everything else is second."
"What point is there in being allowed to come home if there's no home left to return to?"
"Pursuing my beloved won't destroy the village in the process."
"If you say so." Marula sipped a cup of tea. "My teacher would say that's a reckless attitude."
Shampoo grimaced. Who was this younger girl to tell her how to behave or think? Shampoo was experienced. Shampoo was a warrior. This girl in front of her got herself captured and humiliated with a curse ten times more foul than Shampoo's. "You always think what your teachers tell you to?"
"No, but I do think he's right. When the Elders offered me this chance, I was surprised. Teacher thought this would stay in your family if the Elders were pleased. That it hasn't means the Elders were afraid you or Speaker Cologne would put personal interests over the village's. That's the only reason someone else will be in the lead—someone like me."
The older girl made a fist under the table. "So, even though you'd speak to me, you still judge me and what I intend to do."
"I just don't understand," said Marula. "If someone like you with great skill chooses to spend her efforts on herself first instead of the village, I can't see any good coming of that. If you were to lose Ranma, no one in the village would respect you that way—not because you lost him, but because you put him first."
And someone else would make her name be forgotten—someone like this Marula, who described herself as a reluctant agent of the village's will. She couldn't understand Shampoo, as much common history they might've had. She'd never lost to a man and tried desperately to win him over. Someone like Marula, who prided herself on service to the Tribe, might deliberately lose to someone beneath her to get married quickly and get that duty out of her way. It wasn't unheard of. Someone truly ambitious within the Tribe wouldn't leave her husband to chance.
So Shampoo looked upon that friendly face—the only one she'd seen in ages—with scorn.
"I'm sorry," said Marula. "Did I say something wrong? I was only trying to help."
Shampoo's eyes flared with fury. She flipped the table, knocking Marula back in her chair. "I want no help from you! You pretend to be friendly, but you mock me with every word! I will make Ranma mine, and no one like you will tell me to do it differently!" She kicked at Marula's side, landing a blow to the girl's ribs. "No one!"
Marula clutched a ball of her meteor hammer and chucked it, clocking Shampoo across the chin. The elder girl's ears rang, and she stumbled backward, searching for something to put her weight on. She steaded herself on a table at a booth, and to even the odds, she took a metal napkin holder, raising it overhead.
"Enough!" Cologne stepped between the girls, pounding her walking stick on the floor. "Shampoo, upstairs to your room. This is a negotiation, and you will not disrupt it over petty matters."
"But Great-grandmother—"
"Be silent!"
Rubbing her sore chin, Shampoo left the restaurant on the ground floor with Marula still nursing her side, a half-dozen Sorcerers watching in utter confusion, and Cologne's damning gaze on her with every step.
#
Dusk turned to night, and Shampoo shut herself in her room while the negotiations downstairs continued. Mousse gave up reaching her after knocking three separate times at her door. To pass the hours, she sat before the television and fought turtle-men by jumping atop their heads and throwing the empty shells as weapons of doom. It was diverting—this "Family Computer" system and its assortment of games—but it was also meaningless. The warbling sound and blocky graphics served only to blank her thoughts.
Alas, Shampoo had no chance to save the Mushroom Princess, when she reached the final stage, a voice at the door disrupted her play.
"Open up, child."
With one button press, the game froze, and Shampoo rolled over. She climbed to her feet and went to the door, and there she found Cologne, who waddled inside unopposed.
"You'll be happy to know that despite your temper with Marula, the rebels have seen fit to enter into an agreement with us," said Cologne. "It's but a tentative alliance, subject to mutual approval, but it's a start."
Shampoo shut the door. Even if the rebels would have nothing to do with the Tribe, Shampoo would follow Ranma's path. There was no question of that.
"And it was all I could do to convince Surma that you should still have a part in this. Aren't you going to thank me?"
Cologne threw the Choker of Silence at Shampoo's feet.
"Or will you go back to wearing that thing again? You left it downstairs, you know. You took it off to speak to her quietly? Or was it to scream at her instead?"
With her toes, Shampoo grasped the necklace and threw it upward. She caught it in her right hand and undid the clasp, wrapping it around her neck once more.
"I don't know what Marula said to you, and I don't care," said Cologne. "You must mind your temper, child. You must know restraint, or you will do yourself great disservice, pursuing something to the exclusion of all else."
"Like you did disservice to yourself?"
Cologne narrowed her eyes, saying nothing. She must've realized it—the contradiction, the hypocrisy of it. She started a war for her granddaughter, for Shampoo's aunt Ceruse, and everything that'd happened, even in recent times, was for that long-lost girl. Not for Ranma, though that was a plus. Not for Shampoo's honor. For Ceruse, Cologne had willingly deceived the Council and murdered Keema to keep the secret, and she was lecturing Shampoo on restraint?
"Don't look at me like that," said Cologne. "Listen to me. You must learn from your elders."
Shampoo scoffed. "From their example? From your example?"
A pained expression on her face, Cologne sighed. "Don't be a fool. What you should learn from are my mistakes. I ignored what Ceruse was telling me—the unhappiness on her face—and for that, I paid a heavy price. Had I not done my utmost to convince her to go through with the union, she would be with us, and the war never would've happened."
"Then, you stopped me from attacking Akane when she defended the Sorcerer, from freeing myself as Ranma walked away, because of that?"
Cologne's brow furrowed. "No good can come of attacking him or his heart directly, child. Perhaps before, when he was still uncertain and malleable, but that is not Ranma anymore. You should realize this."
And though it was convenient for Cologne's one and only goal not to anger Ranma, Shampoo should ignore this fact and focus solely on the wisdom her great-grandmother imparted upon her.
"It's too late for me to change my legacy, child," said Cologne. "It's not too late for you. Not yet."
Of all the wisdom Cologne tried to give her that night, that was the piece that rang truest.
The rebel Sorcerers retreated to their encampment, and Elder Surma and Marula stayed the night at the Cat Café, but while others slept peacefully, Shampoo lay awake, pondering Cologne's words. She was right about another thing, too: Ranma had grown bolder, more determined and deliberate, and he was much less shy about showing feelings. She saw it two days before—it was Ranma, not Akane, who had the idea to go on a morning date together. That much was clear even from a distance, the great distance that separated Ranma from Shampoo as she watched from her bicycle in those early Monday hours.
Cologne had advised her to be restrained and patient, but what she really meant was something more profound—Shampoo had to be willing to fail, to let her goal go unfulfilled, to not stake all her value and worth on the pursuit of Ranma, or else she would repeat the mistakes her great-grandmother had made.
Be willing to fail? No warrior was taught to do that, to accept defeat. No doubt that was what had driven Cologne before, and truly, she'd paid a high price. To resign the post of Second Speaker was a long fall indeed. To use a friend to cover up a crime was a ruthless and driven act, one Shampoo hadn't questioned, but clearly Cologne had. Few matriarchs in the Tribe would admit such regrets—regrets she wished desperately Shampoo wouldn't make her own. There was only one way to be sure of that.
Could there really be a life for her without Ranma?
On the face of it, there were possibilities. Some members of the Tribe lived permanently away from the village, wandering because they'd failed to bring their husbands home or as envoys to the People's Republic, bringing ancient arts to their grand army. Regardless of her path, if she stayed away from the village, no one from the Tribe would take her as a wife. No one but Mousse, and she convulsed at the thought of his touch. What possessed him to show her undying loyalty she'd never understood. As for the idea of marrying a stranger, or not having a family at all…
Why would she want to contemplate those possibilities when Ranma was nearby, when thinking of his strength, his muscles, only fueled her sleeplessness? Frustrating it was, yes, but at least it made her feel something. Spending the rest of her life among strangers, lying with a man a fraction as strong as Ranma, made her feel nothing at all.
To sort out her confused thoughts, Shampoo left the Cat Café, twin chúi strapped to her back. Her mind may have been muddled, but her path was clear. Despite the dark of night and the signs with symbols that were gibberish to her, she made a beeline to the Tendō home, parking her bike by the main gate. Many a time she'd plowed straight through the walls of the house, but that night, she decided to be more subtle and covert. She didn't need to see Ranma. She knew his face and image well enough.
Instead, she scaled the walls to the second-floor balcony, the one screened from the interior by a sliding glass door. Inside, a girl slept peacefully under the covers of her bed. Darkness washed out the colors of her nightgown and sheets, but Shampoo paid them no heed anyway. Akane was the important one. If she lost Ranma, it would be to Akane, to her more likely than anyone else. Why did he favor her so?
"You were never willing to accept no for an answer."
Shampoo felt dizzy on her feet. She grabbed the balcony railing for support. How could she have forgotten? Ranma had told her the same thing as Cologne, just in a different way, and if that was the reason he wouldn't have her…?
No, no, it wasn't true! It was impossible! Akane was no better than her. Akane wanted him just as much as she did. She just had a different way of going about it. She pretended. She was insecure. If Ranma had chosen someone else, she would be livid. She'd abuse and torment him even as she'd yell repeatedly that she didn't want him. It'd all be a lie, a game. It was the way Akane manipulated Ranma. They were no different from each other, so why should Shampoo be content to surrender?
Why shouldn't she break through that glass door and bash in Akane's skull? She'd tried before. That day, less than a month before, Akane had acted like she was so superior. She rubbed Shampoo's nose in the dirt. She thought she could bathe in Ranma's love and let that wash away her need. Let there be no mistaking it: Akane needed him just as much as Shampoo did. Their needs were incompatible. Only one could be satisfied, not both.
So Shampoo could murder Akane. She could murder the Tendō girl in her own bed, and that much, Ranma—the new Ranma—would never forgive. Slights against himself he seldom punished. Slights against Akane he would pay back ten times over. He'd hunt down Shampoo and kill her, just as he promised, and though he'd have only hate for Shampoo in his heart, that would be better than his indifference, his apathy.
As long as he didn't forget her. As long as he couldn't make her nothing, like the dead warriors who'd become ash and disappeared on the wind.
The balcony door was unlocked, and with the tip of her finger, Shampoo silently slid it half-open. There was no breeze, and only the occasional sound of tires on the road disturbed the night. Shampoo removed the straps that held her weapons to her back and gripped the handles of the two chúi. She tip-toed over the threshold, for like her great-grandmother, she would accept neither failure nor defeat.
Creak.
Mumbling to herself, Akane stirred, rolling over in bed. Shampoo's helpless prey raised no defenses, and that incensed Shampoo all the more. Akane thought herself so secure, so safe in Ranma's embrace that she neglected to be watchful, to protect herself. For that, Shampoo would punish her. No one else should be happy with Ranma, and Shampoo would gladly accept his wrath, if only to keep from enduring the painful thought of him finding pleasure in another woman's flesh. Shampoo stepped closer, towering over Akane in her bed. The first strike should be swift and brutal. Never give your prey a chance to fight back if you can help it. That was true when hunting at the outskirts of the village, and it was true then, at that moment, as she raised a bulbous mace overhead to strike. It was for the best, really. This way, she wouldn't have to struggle with the slow, throbbing pain of losing Ranma. When Ranma inevitably came after her, it would be quick.
And it wouldn't change that she'd been defeated—nay, that she's accepted defeat and done her most to mitigate the loss.
All she had to do was accept that she'd lost.
She lowered the head of the chúi and stared at it, at her subdued reflection in the sheen of the metal. The bruise on her chin marred her complexion. Her hair, disheveled from sleep, was unkempt. Defeat was all over her face, yet that image only emboldened her. Why should she surrender? Why should she listen to an old woman who refused to heed her own advice? And Ranma? He was wrong. He was wrong about Akane and what her motives were.
Killing Akane would be the ultimate concession, the final admission of Shampoo's defeat. It was a coward's move, meant only to allay her fears, and she did fear. She feared Ranma would continue down this deluded path toward falling in love with Akane, but she wouldn't let that dominate her. All she had to do was show him who Akane really was—petty, insecure, and weak—and he would see. He'd have to, or he'd be a fool. Even then, he'd still be worthy of her, for Shampoo could imagine no one else to take his place.
She shut the glass door and descended the exterior wall as quietly as she'd come. At least something had come to Japan and disrupted the monotony of her existence, the boredom of counting cans and sacks in the Cat Café's storeroom. In hindsight, she considered that might've been the last moment of peace she'd see for some time. Her good standing in the Tribe and Ranma's love were distant to her, waiting to be reclaimed, and though she'd long thought both tasks easy, for the first time in weeks she admitted to herself something crucial:
She was afraid. She felt fear.
Fear was the only thing that could take her to Akane's bed and come within an arm's length of killing her. Warriors should understand their fears and never turn away from them, lest they find themselves slain in battle for their ignorance. She did fear for her future—that much she couldn't hide any longer—and for that, as she stopped at an intersection, waiting for a signal to change, she looked over her shoulder toward the Tendō home.
Whatever I do, I do for you, Ranma, my airen—most beloved and dear to me. Am I not beautiful to you? Am I not strong? Tell me what I must do to please you, and I'll do it until you will me to stop. Is my love not enough for the both of us? Are you so without mercy that you'd make me live in shame?
She shivered in the cold night air, feeling no warmth from the thought of him for a change, yet as she turned to cross the boulevard, a flash caught her eye. The night was overcast, and the clouds smeared out the light of the moon into a broad glow, but the flashes were distinct and discrete. Lightning sparked among the clouds over the Tendō home. Bolts arced back and forth there…and only there.
Like the lightning that drew the rebels to meet Ranma, except nothing good would take place in the dead of night. Shampoo pedaled into the intersection and turned back the way she came. Steering with one hand for a moment, she retrieved a mace with the other and sped back to the walled-off residence. Sure enough, on the nearby rooftops, she spotted the shadows of Sorcerers in the moonlight, and her heartbeat quickened. In Ranma's defense, she would show her true strength, and no failure to win him would erase the glory she earned on the battlefield, in service of the Tribe.
For that, she hit the brakes, and the bicycle tires screeched to a halt on the sidewalk in front of the main gate. Drawing her second mace, she leapt off the bicycle, ready to meet the Sorcerers with all her might.
Next: The evidence of Ryōga's father and his travels lies in the Tendō home, and the Sorcerers will not yield until they take it or destroy it. Coming June 22, 2012: The conclusion to "No Place of Sanctuary" - "Divergence"
For notes and commentary on this chapter and others, check out my blog at westofarcturus [dot] blogspot [dot] com
