Tenchi Muyo! And its related characters are the copyrighted property of Pioneer and AIC. I do not own any of the characters, nor would I ever want to. I mean can you imagine what it would be like trying to keep Washu from "improving" all my electrical appliances? I'd wake up some morning and find that my house's interior was 400% larger than the exterior- which would be pretty boss until I also discovered the forty-foot lightening generator that had a nasty habit of exploding, or the genetically engineered squid-bear that had gotten loose in my basement. Not to mention what would happen when Washu wanted a "guinea pig". Yeek! Pioneer can keep their characters; I'll just stick to watching them on my VCR. So now, without further adieu.. UNTIL ALL THE STARS ARE DUST (part 2) By John Meszaros .Watch, and I will show you the inner workings of the universe. First: I give you a rose. Beautiful, is it not? A tiny scarlet lady crafted of the supplest silk. Yet its beauty is but a transitory thing. Look- I crush it in my hand. the scarlet lady is no more. Now observe this: a scraggly, thorny thistle. I crush it in my hand. See- I open my palm, and here it is still. In fact, it has even turned the tables by cutting me. The lady is no more, for she exists in isolation, alone atop her high throne of green. She cannot change in response to her world, and when that world is interrupted, she dies. But the thistle, he lives on. Because he has learned to adapt to the crush of my hand. His world is forever fluid- constantly in a state of motion. That is the way of the universe: all things must learn to evolve and change, or else their destruction is a certainty. -Aganoto, a rather eccentric Juraian philosopher-poet of the early Onizano Era. ...However, to fully understand the universe, it is also important to realize that that which appears to be coincidence is often Fate in disguise.. - a later aside said by the aforementioned Aganoto To My Dearest Princess Ayune of House Tushiro, from daimyo Juteinoru of House Mituno I have given my name at the beginning of this letter because I want you to know as soon as possible from whom this letter comes. Oh Wondrous Lady of the Dawning Reeds, how many times have I captured a brief glimpse of your fair veiled form through the lattice fence of your father's garden? How I long to see your face in its entirety, how beautiful it must be. I know you are a woman of learning and the arts. Many times has your father shown me your exquisite poetry. Many times have I caught a glance of one of your philosophical books lying upon a bench in the garden (I know them to be yours, for I have seen notes in your handwriting carefully inserted between the pages). If you would but consent to marry me, Princess Ayune, the joys that it would bring to my heart would be indescribable. ---(At this point there are several inkblots and unfinished characters. It seems as though the daimyo was having a hard time composing this last section)--- With regret, I must speak of another reason for our marriage. Dark Tides have descended upon the lands of Jurai. A nightmarish horde of marauders has been cutting a swath of murder and destruction throughout the countryside. They sweep into villages at night, and slaughter people in their beds- men, women and children all. No one has seen these vile perpetrators, for they strike with a swiftness and ferocity that leaves no survivors. I fear these monsters are a remnant left over from the dark days of the late Emperor. In his cruelty and tyrannical zeal, our former ruler attacked many border kingdoms and destroyed many homes. I dread the thought, but these murderers may be an enraged group of rebels, seeking revenge for their families. Though twenty years have passed since parties unknown finally assassinated the Emperor, and though the new Emperor has made many attempts to reconcile with those who were annexed, scars can often run quite deep. Too deep to ever be healed. The only hope is to find these beasts and eradicate them. Sadly, the other daimyos are all too busy warring with each other to muster up enough forces to combat this evil. However, if a treaty were to be formed between your father and I, perhaps we could unite our troops and form an army of avengers strong enough to strike down the murderers. Beautiful Lady of the Dawning Reeds, I know you to be an intelligent woman. Please, unite with me in wedlock so that our love may grow stronger and, together, we might save our beloved Jurai. -Love letter from daimyo Juteinoru of house Mituno, circa 1832 BGE (Before Galactic Era) ***The blackness scratched along the ground, moving jerkily like an animal with a broken leg. For many years, It had torn through the land, ripping apart the hated Jurai. In truth, It did not think about why It killed, for complex thought was a thing completely alien to It. Its absorption of the one in the swamp had been incomplete; while It had gained the ability to live, Its mind was little more than an animal's. And, like an animal, the blackness had instincts, though these were only of the most rudimentary sort. Its main drive was simply the desire to kill. This It had done with the most exuberant zeal. Its animal intelligence allowed It pleasure at least, and this pleasure only came when It was destroying the Jurai. That night, however, the tables had been turned, and the predator had become the prey. A party of loyal knights had come upon the blackness while It was in the midst of another slaughter. They'd nearly torn It to ribbons, gouging and piercing Its entire body with their swords and spears. In the end, the blackness had escaped by sheer luck and sailed into the night. Finding a dead tree, It had hallowed up inside until the warriors had been forced to break off their search. Now It limped Its way through the woods, desperate to find some place to rest and let Its wounds heal. A low, cream-colored light suddenly shattered the forest's darkness. Hesitantly drawing closer, the blackness found Itself lying before a large country manor. The glow was the flame of interior lamps, softly visible through the thin rice-paper door of the back patio. The house was set upon numerous stout wooden legs that provided a foot-high area of space beneath the floorboards. It was to this space that the blackness retreated.*** The room was warm on this midsummer night. Outside, crickets and frogs sang their evening hymns in the manor's garden. Yukito lay on her side, facing the wall. The front of her light blue night-kimono opened to let the occasional breeze cool her skin. The bedclothes had been left folded in their drawer, for they would not be needed in this heat. She had no pillow, but the thick mat of her rich lavender hair formed a perfect cushion below her head. She smiled as she watched a mounted horseman glide across the wall. The horseman was a construct of light, a shadow created by a candle's flame projected through a small tin lantern. Behind Yukito, her daughter giggled as the little toy lantern spun beneath her tiny fingers. She apparently hadn't seen the shadow-man that raced across the wall yet. "Hinaha," said Yukito, still lying on her side, " look at the man up there." She pointed an arm towards the figure on the wall. The young girl's wide scarlet eyes slowly followed her mother's gesture. "Oh!." She giggled again. Yukito sat up; drawing her knees under her chin as Hinaha toddled up to the white stucco wall and hesitantly placed a petite hand up to touch the man of light. She giggled again as the glow that composed the horse's foot was projected and distorted onto the back of her palm. "Wow." she said Yukito smiled wider this time, squeezing her eyes to slits beneath her cheek muscles. "Look," she said, pointing to the lantern in the middle of the lacquered wood floor," he comes from that little candle there." Her daughter walked back to the toy and gently bent down to look at the carved silhouette up close. The candle's flame picked out deep flecks of purple in the ruby seas of Hinaha's eyes. " Is that what Papa was like, Mama? Was he a brave warrior like the light-man?" Yukito frowned. A single tear traced down her pale cheek. " Come here, Hinaha," she whispered tenderly, opening her arms. The little girl walked tentatively to her mother and snuggled into her lap. Yukito's arms wrapped gently about her daughter. " Yes, Hinaha. Your father was brave, just like the light-man. But he was never a warrior. He was too peaceful for that." She hugged her child closer, relishing the warmth of the little body despite the heat of the room. " Your brothers were brave men too." " Mama, " said Hinaha with the openness of someone who is too young to fully understand death," where ARE Papa and Anato and Amanu and Gohi?" A thick knot formed in Yukito's throat. She bent her head so that her purple hair fell down and mingled with Hinaha's. The silence in the room was almost deafening, broken only by the faint pat-pat of tears as they fell on Hinaha's long lavender hair. The little girl looked up, realizing something was wrong. " Mama?" " Oh. I.I'm sorry Hinaha. Your father and brothers, they were such courageous men. They.they've gone to be with the gods, Hinaha." Thinking about Watare and the children brought such pain to Yukito's heart. They'd been the most kind, gentle men anyone could ever hope to know. She recalled all the warm summer days she'd spent with her husband in the countryside, watching as her boys chased grasshoppers through the fields. As winter came near, they'd go out to the orchard and watch the cherry-blossoms weave their wispy dance as they fell to the ground. She remembered the time her eldest, Anato, had come home proudly waving a wooden staff which he had carved himself. Then there'd been the time the middle boy, Amanu, had first discovered his passion for calligraphy. He'd become so enraptured by his new-fund craft that he'd actually taken down one of the sliding doors and used it as a canvas to compose a poem. Then, of course, there'd been Gohi the youngest, whose love for the wonders of nature and the spiritual world had led him to an apprenticeship under the wise priest who had dwelt not far from their little village. Of course, all this had occurred before Hinaha had been born. When Yukito's first girl-child had come into the world, the memories only seemed to grow brighter still. Even before she could walk, Hinaha had displayed a love for the simple wonders of her world (much like Gohi, Yukito realized). The little girl had enjoyed nothing more than to wander about in the woods near their house, climbing over the rocks and poking her head into every nook and cranny she could find. This constant exploration had given the little girl an agility and coordination that was remarkable for someone of her young age. Those had been happy days. Then the marauders had come. The word was first received a year ago. A village had been decimated during the night, all its inhabitants murdered in their sleep. Immediately, a militia had been put into service to patrol the area. Yet, despite their best efforts, the men could never find the killers. And so the attacks had continued. One by one, villages were slaughtered in the night. Until one day, someone escaped. Somehow, a young boy had managed to flee the massacre of his home. He ran through the forest until he reached Yukito's village. His eyes were glazed with madness. He ranted and raved for almost half an hour, screaming about not many, but one single attacker: a great black cloud that descended upon people and tore them to bits. He kept howling about the horrible way it shrieked and roared as it charged through the streets. Surely the boy's tortured mind had been playing tricks on him. No single beast could cause so much havoc. Desperately hoping to catch the killers in the act, the men of the village had gathered together. Watare and the boys and gone with them. Though they'd never raised a knife except to cut rice, they knew they had to protect the ones they loved. If they did not find the monsters, their village would soon be next in the path of destruction. Before the men had left, Watare had held Yukito in his arms, telling her that he might not ever come back, but that he would forever protect her. And with a final kiss goodbye, he and his sons had left. They'd never returned. Yukito had labored hard in the following days, desperately trying to make ends meet. Though a knot of pain perpetually clogged her throat, she managed to persevere against the odds for a time. After all, she still had a very young daughter to take care of. In the end, however, the farm had fallen into disarray. Soon the tax collectors came, and mother and daughter were left homeless. But all had not totally been lost. Mito, a kind old poet who lived nearby, had taken pity on the destitute pair and invited them to stay under his roof. In return, both Yukito and Hinaha helped out the servants with the daily chores of running the household. Yukito hugged Hinaha deeper into the folds of her night-kimono. The soft cotton of the little girl's yukata slid slightly beneath Yukito's fingers like gauzy oil. Affectionately, Hinaha laid her head on the warm area of skin between Yukito's breasts. The long strands of her purple hair melded fluidly into the folds of her mother's kimono. Though the tears still fell from Yukito's eyes, she was smiling once more. " At least I still have you." She said. They sat this way for a while, daughter cradled in mother's lap. Outside, the night creature's continued to chirp away, accompanied now by the slow, solid thunk of a bamboo deer-scare in the garden. The candle inside the toy lantern began to grow low, softly dimming the room to darkness. The bright disk of the moon cast a moth-white mist through the thin rice-paper door that led out onto the walkway. The faint sound of creaking boards outside in the hallway gradually ebbed into the stillness of the room. Yukito looked upward with recognition. It was only old Mito going for one of his moonlight walks through the garden. Soon, the faint sounds of his murmuring began as the master composed another poem. *** The blackness woke suddenly from Its fitful sleep. It had not realized that the structure It had hid beneath was occupied. But there it was: the sharp, slow creak of floorboards being pressed under feet. The ragged wisps that constituted the creature's claws began to flex in and out. It was in pain, and the only way to relieve that pain was to do what It did best: murder. Silent as the planets in their celestial orbit, the blackness began to move towards the sound.*** The night was warm and dry out in the garden. There was a crispness to the air which spoke to Mito, told him of cicadas and tree frogs, newly-formed buds and ripe-colorful fruit. A cool wind stirred up from the southern half of the garden, beyond the small wicker fence, a faint signal of the coming autumn. Mito approached his favorite wooden bench and eased his old body down onto it with a sigh. Before him spread the small artificial pond, whose surface was accented here and there by bright sprays of lime-colored duckweed. A large rock rose in the center, its top flattened to hold a tiny bonsai tree and its ceramic pot. Beneath the water's face, the oranges, whites, red and blacks of the koi fish glinted subtly as the creatures swam in the glow of the full moon. Mito looked up and grinned slightly "Ah yes, and a fine good evening to you, jo'o-sama," he said, extending a hand up so that his palm seemed to form a bowl that cradled the lower part of the pale white orb. The moon was ever a source of inspiration for Mito. A poem began to form on his lips: Her cloud-touched face of ice Rings as a bell, as a heron's cry Against the silence of black. Mito's high brow furrowed deeply, drawing his bushy eyebrows together to form an albino caterpillar above his eyes. Something wasn't quite right. A simple nana-kyuu-nana poem would not pay appropriate justice to one who was as grand as Lady Moon. For this special subject he would use the compositional style he had dubbed "Tapping the Song of Reeds and Plains." It had been a few days since he had composed such a poem, and certainly tonight was a perfect night to do so again. Mito leaned back upon the lacquer bench and closed his eyes. He concentrated upon the sounds around him: the frogs and cicadas, the wind in the trees, the rhythmic thunk of the deer-scare. Remaining motionless, he let his auditory senses expand out further, flowing over the grass and rocks and wood to pick out the subtler sounds of his surroundings: the occasional flick of a koi's tail underwater, the tiny crack of an insect's legs as it scuttled through the trees, even the warm, regular heartbeats of the people who slept within the house. The area of Song continued to grow around Mito, spreading out in all directions, bringing the sounds of all the countryside to the old man's ear. All this was not mere noise, however. It was, in truth, the very heartbeat of the land. The soul that gave all things in the world form. Mito was, in essence, mentally and auditorialy connected with the entirety of the world. Finally, a primal hum began to grow in Mito's ear. It was the echo of countless years gone by in silence, of the light of the stars and of the heavenly winds that brought forth autumn. It was the Song of the Moon Herself. Now, listening to the moon's inner voice, Mito could compose a poem more befitting to Her splendor. Barely above a whisper, Mito spoke again: One of the ice face, Singer of autumn and spring Dark leaves dance at your feet I listen Wearer of the black mantle, You tell the people of bending reeds, Cold sleep on the horizon I listen Dweller at the world-chamber's ceiling The turning of your heartbeat makes The land turn white and blue I listen. Mito sighed deeply, content with his new work of craftsmanship. He repeated it again in his head, then again. Then once more to memorize it. His mental web was still open to the world. The old poet could hear the subtle waves of life force ebb and flow all about him, invisibly painting the picture of reality. Wait! What was that?... Something was amiss. There was a place within the energy flow that seemed to be..vacant was the best word for it. A void. A blister in the tapestry of the spirit world where the threads had come unraveled, leaving behind a hole. Mito got to his feet very carefully, as if he were afraid that he might break something were he to move too fast. He turned his head to look at the source of the void. Beneath the raised patio of his house, there lay a billowing cloud of blackness. *** It paused momentarily. There was something different about this Juraian. It seemed almost like the man was somehow connected with the blackness, as though the threads of his being mingled with the threads of Its being in some way. However, the thing did not ponder this problem long (if indeed a beast of Its low intellect could ponder anything). It was in pain and Its instincts told It to kill. It leapt.*** A scream tore through the house, startling Yukito and filling her heart with terror. " Mito-sama!" she yelled, jumping to her feet. Hinaha dropped to the floor, her scarlet eyes wide with fear, her body trembling like a tiny bird. " Hinaha, wait here," said Yukito, " promise me you won't leave this room." "Y.yes, mama." Stammered the little girl. Yukito whirled around and ran out into the hallway towards the garden yelling " Mito-sama!" Hinaha sat in the near-dark for what seemed like an eternity. She could here nothing but the heavy thumping of her own terrified heartbeat. The room had suddenly grown cold. Hinaha grabbed her mother's futon and wrapped it about her small body. In silence she waited. And waited. And waited. A second scream shattered the night. It was her mother! "Mama!" cried Hinaha Forgetting what she'd been told, Hinaha leapt from beneath the futon and ran after her mother as fast as her legs would carry her. With agility honed through several years of forest-exploring, Hinaha rounded the houses corners, her lilac hair spraying out behind her. Turning the final corner, Hinaha burst from the dwelling, out onto the main patio that led to the garden. Now it was her turn to scream. Before her stood Yukito, paralyzed with horror at the scene taking place in the garden. Mito was suspended three feet in the air, held in the grips of a monstrous shadow. The thing was huge, perhaps eight feet high, and obsidian black. It resembled an inverted teardrop: a grotesquely bloated upper body tapering to a thin, ragged "tail. Its skin was alive with motion as hundreds of ragged tendrils whipped along Its surface. Two thick trunks jutted from the upper region, ending in numerous long hooks that now held the old poet firmly by the throat. Worst of all though, was the blackness' mouth. It was a wide, V-shaped slash of red along the thing's middle, opening wide to disgorge a long, rasped tongue. Hinaha screamed again, and tears began to flow from her eyes. Bright, perfect tears that sparkled silver under the light of the moon. *** Something was definitely different about this Juraian, the blackness could feel it in Its core. As It squeezed the fragile old body between Its massive talons, It felt a sort of.. connection with the man. As though It could see right into his mind. This intrigued the blackness. A delicate new treat had come into Its claws. An impulse struck It suddenly, rising up from deep down in its primitive subconscious. It recalled the night It had been born in that lonely pool in the swamp. The night Its elemental nature had drawn It to the angry one who stood at the water's edge. It remembered, through the angry one's own memories (which still existed dimly inside Its brain), how It had latched onto the aforementioned being and dragged him into the water, where It had then absorbed him into Its body, transforming It into a living creature. The blackness wanted to do that again. Tendrils of jet oozed from the blackness' body, slowly creeping their way over the old man. The Juraian was already dead, so he put up no resistance. The tendrils flowed into his mouth, eyes, even the pores of his skin, absorbing him into themselves. Then an odd thing happened. That feeling of connection that had so fascinated the blackness suddenly became a crushing strength. It was as though the entire world were pushing on the blackness, drawing It into the old man's corpse, beating into It with the force of a thousand angry fists. The shadow lost control of Its body and was viciously sucked into the ever-growing void that seemed to be forming within the old man's mind. Trapped within the human, the blackness was assaulted by a million angry voices. A complex web of shrieks, chirps, heartbeats, shouts, cries, hums, grindings and a myriad other sounds flooded Its mind. Then too, there was the energy. A radiant field of pulsing force beat down into Its brain. Searingly hot, yet frigidly cold, it tore at the blackness with an intricacy that baffled the creature's simple psyche. The shadow-being looked out upon this field of sound and energy, and was changed. The sight of the planetary weave warped Its mind, twisting and spindling the animal brain into avenues of thought that had been totally alien to It only a few seconds ago. And as Its mind expanded, Its intelligence grew as well. Its glimpse at the universal tapestry had induced a supernatural evolution. The blackness was no longer an animal, It had become a fully sentient being!*** Yukito screamed once more as she watched the horror disappear into Mito. Another, higher cry caused her to spin around. There was her daughter, pressed against the stuccoed side of the house, her eyes wide with terror. "Hinaha!" Yukito swept the little girl up into her arms and bolted through the patio door, running with the speed that only a mother with an endangered child can muster. She was dimly aware of servants emerging from the rooms to either side of her. "Run!," she yelled to them," get away from here!" Yukito burst into the main room of the mansion, leaping down to the dirt floor that ran through the middle of the elevated chamber. Not bothering to even grab her sandals off the step, she flew into the hot air of the woods. Pine needles and thorns bit into the flesh of her soles, but still she ran, until finally she tripped and fell, rolling down a hill. Instinctively, she curled into a ball about Hinaha, protecting the girl from the brunt of the fall. When at last they reached bottom, Yukito sprang to her feet once more and rushed to a thick, leafy bush that lay nearby. She pushed Hinaha beneath it, making sure the girl sat well back within the protective branches. " Wait here," she said, " I'll be back." "Mama! Where are you going?" asked Hinaha. Silver tears were running in two streams down her scratched cheeks. " I'm going to help the others escape. Please, Hinaha- stay here." Yukito's stance was strong and solid as she stood in the gully. The left half of her night kimono had been torn away, and a thin trickle of blood ran from her temple. She bent down and hugged her daughter tightly, planting a warm, soft kiss upon her violet hair. " I love you, Hinaha." " I love you too Mama." With a heavy heart, Yukito let go of her daughter and turned to race up the hill, vanishing into the trees. Under the bush, Hinaha began to cry softly. It was suddenly very, very cold. (End, part 2) The plot thickens. Well, how'd you like that, eh? Things look a bit bleak, but they'll get better soon, I promise. Send comments, criticisms, et cetera to: avomvrorskek@hotmail.com Sayonara!