-3-
Usagi found herself in a foggy
land, undifferentiated from the sky above. She walked along, quite aware that she was dreaming but unable and unwilling
to will herself awake. The concerns of the waking world were so very far away.
As she walked in this land of
dreams, she noticed the fog lightening after who-knew how long. She was standing on a hill, the fog now that of morning
mist obscuring the land beyond. Dawn was breaking, but the sun was hidden by the gray clouds overhead. Sounds came to her, thundering and clashing of steel. Screams and shouts. It was the sound of battle.
"Nasty business, isn't
it?" said a voice from behind.
Usagi turned and saw a man,
sitting at the top of the hill comfortably. His hair was a deep black and tied in a pony tail that fell just above his
shoulders, his thick bangs almost obscuring his eyes. He wore a uniform of some sort, a blue so dark that it was almost
grey, which had bits of thread hanging off on the shoulders, chest and arms. It was as if someone had torn away all
rank, flag and embellishments from it, leaving behind simply a severely cut suit.
"This is a dream," said
Usagi.
"Yeah," said the man
patiently.
"But . . . I don't think
that I'm dreaming you or this place."
"Smart and cute," said
the man. "You're right. Someone, not me, but someone has used your
dreams to bring you here and now to this place."
"Where am I?"
"Easily answered," said
the man breezily. "That's Tokyo, or what's left of it. And this is
the Battle of Ascension."
Usagi staggered to her knees,
thunderstruck. The Battle of Ascension. If the man was right, she was over a
hundred years in the past, just when her parents declared victory over the forces of Silence and ushered in the New Ag, reawakening a sleeping
world.
"And in about, oh," and
here the man took a pocket watch out and consulted it, "a minute or so, your dad is going to kill the remaining enemy and then your mom is going to lay
down the Foundation Stone of the Crystal Palace, fulfilling the prophecy and bringing about a never-ending age of peace, prosperity, and, I don't know,
free ice cream on Sundays."
"How do you know who I
am? How do you know all this? What is going on?" Usagi cried
plaintively. She wanted to wake up now. She wanted to wake up, and for this
strange dream to end, but it wouldn't. This was becoming too real. She
tried to shut her ears to the sounds of death but it came through regardless. "Who are you?"
The man stood up and walked over
to her and sat down again, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're on a quest and this is the
beginning. Soon, you'll leave this place and me and you'll see something or someone. Then you'll wake up and you'll be on a quest proper. I don't know what, and
right now I don't really care. I'm busy. But that's what's
going on with you. I know all this because when you get to be my age, you learn to see the patterns of things, the
stories that shape the world. And you're at the beginning of an old story.
The only story, really. And my name's Ranma, Saotome Ranma. I know you
because I know lots of things. Not much of an answer, but there you go."
"Father of a thousand
bastards," whispered Usagi.
"First of all, don't
curse. I never liked it when girls use that kind of language. Secondly, there
weren't a thousand, all right? A lot, sure, but not a thousand. And they
weren't bastards . . . leastwise, not all of them. I mean, it wasn't as if there were a lot of standing
churches and government registries around with most of them. Anyway, I loved all their mothers. Honest."
Saotome Ranma was a legend and at
the heart of legends. He collected a million stories around him, and almost as many names. He was called the Warrior Sage, the Trickster Magician, and the Shape-Changer; accursed and holy.
Hero, villain, troublemaker. Everyone from Serenity, to Endymion, to nearly all the kings and queens of old
traced their blood back to him. Creator of Empires was the kindly term. Father
of a thousand bastards the less kind. And he was standing in front of her, looking for all the world like an ordinary
man, though one whose confidence and power blazed like the sun. Usagi remembered some of the romances and love songs
that were written about him, the ones that she had devoured when she was younger, and found to her horror that she was flushing. She darted a look into his eyes and saw the amusement there. Why wasn't her hair
catching on fire? Her face was certainly hot enough for that.
There was a flash of light, gold
and silver, and trumpets and bells sounded above the sounds of battle, silencing them. A second dawn and had come,
dispelling the morning mist. From the plains of the battlefield, scattered with the bodies of the dead amid the few
remaining ruins of ages past, there came a great spire of crystal rising up into the sky.
"Well, that's my
cue," said Ranma, standing up and brushing the grass from the seat of his pants. "And I'm guessing from
the increasingly wispy look you're getting that it's yours, too."
"Oh," said Usagi,
looking down at herself. He was right, she was getting positively ghostly.
"What do you think is going to happen now? Am I going back home or . . . or what?"
"Beats me," said Ranma,
shrugging. Then he smiled, wide and free and slightly mischievous. "But
I'm sure that we'll see each other again. Say hello to your parents for me, um . . . sorry, I never got your
name."
"It's Usagi," she
answered, feeling herself continue to blush even as she became ever more transparent. "Or . . . or
Chibiusa."
Ranma laughed. "You're not so little any more. Well, see you later."
"Goodbye, uh, honored
ancestor," said Usagi as the world before her faded away.
Ranma stared at where the dreaming
girl stood, shook his head with bemusement, and then walked away.
-4-
Back in the gloomy lands, Usagi
felt the same lassitude come over her, though she fought against it and succeeded somewhat. She thought, and thought
hard. If her honored (and very cute) ancestor was right, she was going to be seeing something soon. Keeping the insouciance away with sheer willpower, Usagi strained her eyes to look about her.
From out of the mist and clouds came the tap, tap, tap of boots against a stone floor. The fog cleared briefly
in front of her and there stood a tall woman dressed in black robes, bearing a long metal, key-shaped staff topped with a shining round jewel against a
stylized heart.
"Hello again, Small
Lady," she said.
Usagi stared,
flabbergasted. It was Pluto, Guardian of Time, who hadn't been seen on Earth in years, though of course that meant
little to someone who transcended time and space. Among her parents inner circle, they rarely spoke of her. When she was younger, they had been very close. She even had a special nickname for
Pluto. "Puu!"
Pluto smiled warmly and hugged the
shorter girl, her long dark hair fall down from her and draping Usagi. Pluto had not changed much, as far as Usagi
could tell. Was she younger? Taller?
Less dark in her complex? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Still, the same love,
care, and core of melancholy loneliness in her was the same. She smelled of herself, and it comforted Usagi, bringing
back fond memories. "Small Lady," she repeated.
"I've missed you,
Puu. Where have you . . . no." Usagi interrupted herself, disentangling
from Pluto's embrace and stepping away. "Where am I and why have you brought me here?"
Though still gentle in
countenance, Pluto's voice had a firmness and certitude that marked her as one of the powers of the world. "I
realize that you have many questions, Small Lady, but I cannot answer them just yet. You have one more thing to see
before we can speak. Understanding of this and the previous vision will come in its course. When you return, I shall answer what I will."
Pluto raised her staff and light
shone from it, discrete balls in all the colors of the rainbow. Distantly, there was the sound of hooves and of wings
beating against the air. Golden light shone out of the obscuring darkness and met Pluto's light. Everything became clearer, much as before, though Pluto and the lights disappeared.
Usagi found herself in a foggy
land, undifferentiated from the sky above. She walked along, quite aware that she was dreaming but unable and unwilling
to will herself awake. The concerns of the waking world were so very far away.
As she walked in this land of
dreams, she noticed the fog lightening after who-knew how long. She was standing on a hill, the fog now that of morning
mist obscuring the land beyond. Dawn was breaking, but the sun was hidden by the gray clouds overhead. Sounds came to her, thundering and clashing of steel. Screams and shouts. It was the sound of battle.
"Nasty business, isn't
it?" said a voice from behind.
Usagi turned and saw a man,
sitting at the top of the hill comfortably. His hair was a deep black and tied in a pony tail that fell just above his
shoulders, his thick bangs almost obscuring his eyes. He wore a uniform of some sort, a blue so dark that it was almost
grey, which had bits of thread hanging off on the shoulders, chest and arms. It was as if someone had torn away all
rank, flag and embellishments from it, leaving behind simply a severely cut suit.
"This is a dream," said
Usagi.
"Yeah," said the man
patiently.
"But . . . I don't think
that I'm dreaming you or this place."
"Smart and cute," said
the man. "You're right. Someone, not me, but someone has used your
dreams to bring you here and now to this place."
"Where am I?"
"Easily answered," said
the man breezily. "That's Tokyo, or what's left of it. And this is
the Battle of Ascension."
Usagi staggered to her knees,
thunderstruck. The Battle of Ascension. If the man was right, she was over a
hundred years in the past, just when her parents declared victory over the forces of Silence and ushered in the New Ag, reawakening a sleeping
world.
"And in about, oh," and
here the man took a pocket watch out and consulted it, "a minute or so, your dad is going to kill the remaining enemy and then your mom is going to lay
down the Foundation Stone of the Crystal Palace, fulfilling the prophecy and bringing about a never-ending age of peace, prosperity, and, I don't know,
free ice cream on Sundays."
"How do you know who I
am? How do you know all this? What is going on?" Usagi cried
plaintively. She wanted to wake up now. She wanted to wake up, and for this
strange dream to end, but it wouldn't. This was becoming too real. She
tried to shut her ears to the sounds of death but it came through regardless. "Who are you?"
The man stood up and walked over
to her and sat down again, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're on a quest and this is the
beginning. Soon, you'll leave this place and me and you'll see something or someone. Then you'll wake up and you'll be on a quest proper. I don't know what, and
right now I don't really care. I'm busy. But that's what's
going on with you. I know all this because when you get to be my age, you learn to see the patterns of things, the
stories that shape the world. And you're at the beginning of an old story.
The only story, really. And my name's Ranma, Saotome Ranma. I know you
because I know lots of things. Not much of an answer, but there you go."
"Father of a thousand
bastards," whispered Usagi.
"First of all, don't
curse. I never liked it when girls use that kind of language. Secondly, there
weren't a thousand, all right? A lot, sure, but not a thousand. And they
weren't bastards . . . leastwise, not all of them. I mean, it wasn't as if there were a lot of standing
churches and government registries around with most of them. Anyway, I loved all their mothers. Honest."
Saotome Ranma was a legend and at
the heart of legends. He collected a million stories around him, and almost as many names. He was called the Warrior Sage, the Trickster Magician, and the Shape-Changer; accursed and holy.
Hero, villain, troublemaker. Everyone from Serenity, to Endymion, to nearly all the kings and queens of old
traced their blood back to him. Creator of Empires was the kindly term. Father
of a thousand bastards the less kind. And he was standing in front of her, looking for all the world like an ordinary
man, though one whose confidence and power blazed like the sun. Usagi remembered some of the romances and love songs
that were written about him, the ones that she had devoured when she was younger, and found to her horror that she was flushing. She darted a look into his eyes and saw the amusement there. Why wasn't her hair
catching on fire? Her face was certainly hot enough for that.
There was a flash of light, gold
and silver, and trumpets and bells sounded above the sounds of battle, silencing them. A second dawn and had come,
dispelling the morning mist. From the plains of the battlefield, scattered with the bodies of the dead amid the few
remaining ruins of ages past, there came a great spire of crystal rising up into the sky.
"Well, that's my
cue," said Ranma, standing up and brushing the grass from the seat of his pants. "And I'm guessing from
the increasingly wispy look you're getting that it's yours, too."
"Oh," said Usagi,
looking down at herself. He was right, she was getting positively ghostly.
"What do you think is going to happen now? Am I going back home or . . . or what?"
"Beats me," said Ranma,
shrugging. Then he smiled, wide and free and slightly mischievous. "But
I'm sure that we'll see each other again. Say hello to your parents for me, um . . . sorry, I never got your
name."
"It's Usagi," she
answered, feeling herself continue to blush even as she became ever more transparent. "Or . . . or
Chibiusa."
Ranma laughed. "You're not so little any more. Well, see you later."
"Goodbye, uh, honored
ancestor," said Usagi as the world before her faded away.
Ranma stared at where the dreaming
girl stood, shook his head with bemusement, and then walked away.
-4-
Back in the gloomy lands, Usagi
felt the same lassitude come over her, though she fought against it and succeeded somewhat. She thought, and thought
hard. If her honored (and very cute) ancestor was right, she was going to be seeing something soon. Keeping the insouciance away with sheer willpower, Usagi strained her eyes to look about her.
From out of the mist and clouds came the tap, tap, tap of boots against a stone floor. The fog cleared briefly
in front of her and there stood a tall woman dressed in black robes, bearing a long metal, key-shaped staff topped with a shining round jewel against a
stylized heart.
"Hello again, Small
Lady," she said.
Usagi stared,
flabbergasted. It was Pluto, Guardian of Time, who hadn't been seen on Earth in years, though of course that meant
little to someone who transcended time and space. Among her parents inner circle, they rarely spoke of her. When she was younger, they had been very close. She even had a special nickname for
Pluto. "Puu!"
Pluto smiled warmly and hugged the
shorter girl, her long dark hair fall down from her and draping Usagi. Pluto had not changed much, as far as Usagi
could tell. Was she younger? Taller?
Less dark in her complex? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Still, the same love,
care, and core of melancholy loneliness in her was the same. She smelled of herself, and it comforted Usagi, bringing
back fond memories. "Small Lady," she repeated.
"I've missed you,
Puu. Where have you . . . no." Usagi interrupted herself, disentangling
from Pluto's embrace and stepping away. "Where am I and why have you brought me here?"
Though still gentle in
countenance, Pluto's voice had a firmness and certitude that marked her as one of the powers of the world. "I
realize that you have many questions, Small Lady, but I cannot answer them just yet. You have one more thing to see
before we can speak. Understanding of this and the previous vision will come in its course. When you return, I shall answer what I will."
Pluto raised her staff and light
shone from it, discrete balls in all the colors of the rainbow. Distantly, there was the sound of hooves and of wings
beating against the air. Golden light shone out of the obscuring darkness and met Pluto's light. Everything became clearer, much as before, though Pluto and the lights disappeared.