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Parallel Lives #1:
Book One:  For Remembrance Lost

Power

A Wheel of Time / Ranma 1 / 2  crossover, 

by John Biles

Other chapters available at
http://www.thekeep.org/~wombat/PL/

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     They were coming.  For days, he had led his little band of 
followers through the mountains, fleeing the men who pursued 
them.  They had climbed out of the foothills and were now slowly 
traversing the trails that wound through the high peaks, normally 
used only by prospectors and the occasional hunter.  

     The men who pursued them were relentless.  They would not 
stop, not until they had captured or killed him and all his 
followers.  Not that he wanted followers.  In one way or another, 
he had saved them all from the white clad men who followed 
them.  The first three had been accused of being Darkfriends.  All 
they had done was to jostle a few Whitecloaks in a crowd by 
accident.  After that, they were after him too.  Finally, they had 
had to flee into the mountains, but even that wasn't enough.

     Jon turned to him.  "Mai says this is a box canyon...we've got 
to back up and find another way out."

     "What, NOW she recognizes it?"  he snapped.  Stupid would-
be guide.  The woman had already gotten them lost three times.

     Mai came forward.  "I'm sorry..."  She hesitated, then went on.  
"I thought this was the canyon with the three big rocks...but 
there's only two.  This one dead ends in half a mile."

     He took a deep breath.  I shouldn't snap at them.  They're 
depending on me...I just wish I knew what I was doing.  "I 
shouldn't have yelled at you.  Just get us out of here."

     Nearby, the oldest of the band, a grizzled old man with a bald 
head and a thick grey mustache turned and smiled at him.  "Don't 
worry.  You've done a good job so far."  

     You should be the one in charge, Alain, not me, he thought.  
You're at least twice my age.  I may fight better than you 
now...but that's only because you're getting old.  He smiled at his 
thought.  Respect for my elders...that's new.  Well, I never had 
elders worth respecting before...  At least I have one other person 
here besides me who knows how to fight.

     The group followed Mai's directions, heading for a way up the 
side of the canyon.  Unfortunately, it was too late.  The 
Whitecloaks had already cut them off.  There was no way out but 
the grave it appeared.

      Despair washed over them like a wave.  Every eye turned to 
stare at him, a man with short brown hair, less than twenty years 
old, clad in stolen clothing that never quite fit right.  They were 
counting on him because he had saved them from death before, 
against the odds.  Somehow he would find the solution, they 
hoped.  

      There was no solution.  There's too many of them to fight.  I 
can't take fifty men with swords...it's not like the fights I had when 
I was a kid.  He laughed bitterly for a moment.  A kid.  That was 
less than a year ago.  If only...If only...He choked off the thought.  
There was no time for regrets.

      At that very moment, he could sense the only possible 
solution, floating out of reach, just beyond his ability to grasp it.  
The Power.  The One Power.  He had seen it, heard stories of 
it...even wielded it.  Yet, it would not come at his command.  He 
couldn't even be sure what had happened had been the power.  
Still, he had heard stories, whispers...what he sometimes sensed 
now had to be the Power.  Floating off to one side, taunting him 
with its proximity.  If he could wield it, he could show them...

      He tried to grab it with his mind and it slid between his 
fingers, somehow getting farther away, without actually 
moving...not that it was exactly in a given place in the first place.  
Do something!  he shouted at it!  We're all going to die!  I don't 
want to die!  I don't want them to die!  The Power ignored him, 
and sat there, existing, taunting him with its lack of activity.

      He wondered for a moment if the Aes Sedai always had this 
much trouble with the Power.  They made it look so easy...she 
made it look so easy.  He remembered again the woman he had 
tried to forget.  His fiancee...  Her image came to mind as he had 
last seen her, before she vanished, they all vanished, leaving him 
behind in a land not his.  They stood outside of Tarabon, near one 
of those great pillars, carved with strange runes.  Her red hair 
glowed in the sunset, flowing freely.  She had undone her usual 
braid, which had surprised him, but then everything about her 
always seemed to surprise him.  The dress had been a surprise too.  
Green silk from Arad Doman.  While she had never been modest, 
she had always resisted wearing dresses, but she seemed 
comfortable in this one.  Her months in the tower must have 
changed her, he thought.  Most people grew harder edged, but she 
seemed to have softened.  He still wasn't sure how she had gotten 
out of the Tower so fast, but then, he wasn't sure how the Tower 
really worked either.  

     If she was here, she'd just blast that canyon side to ash and 
bring it down on their heads...Suddenly, he felt the power.  While 
he was distracted, it had snuck up on him...or something.  He had 
the Power!  Now I'll just...it was at that moment that he realized 
he didn't have the Power...it had him.

     Pain rushed through his body as the entire male half of the 
Source tried to empty itself through him.  He was a vessel for 
surging energy, energy no one could see or feel but him.  The dam 
that had protected him from the power was down and now the 
waters were rushing through, widening the hole.  Soon, the dam 
would shatter completely and it would scour him away, erasing 
him, or maybe worse yet, leaving him to live, but only a shell of 
what he had been.  I've screwed up again, he thought.  I'm clumsy 
and ugly and I can't do anything right.  I can't save these people, 
can't control the Power...I'm doomed.

     A voice spoke in his mind.  I knew you'd give up, you clumsy, 
uncute...A familiar anger flared deep within his mind.  He had 
been taunted so many times.  Told he was ugly, clumsy, couldn't 
fight, weak.  Told he was trying to do things he shouldn't, that he 
couldn't.  That's not your place, they told him.  You can't do that.  
Don't even try.  He had refused to listen, but when you hear things 
over and over, they live on in your head.  So do your responses.  
His response was rage.

     Power haunted his dreams.  All his life, he had feared being 
powerless.  He had lost his mother when he was only five and 
there had been nothing he could do about it.  Crying out to the 
heavens above, he'd begged to be taken if she might live.  Heaven 
was silent.

     Since that day, there had been a core of anger in him, an anger 
nothing ever soothed for long.  He was torn between his rage at 
her loss and his desire to be a peaceful, loving person like her.  It 
poisoned his waking moments with bursts of rage against his lack 
of power, against the strong, against those who abused their 
power, who by their strength reminded him he had no power.  

     It grew now, a firey torrent in his mind, blanking out the pain, 
wiping away the Power from his consciousness.  The power could 
be mastered.  Others had done it.  He had fought his father tooth 
and nail to learn to fight when his siblings had not been allowed 
to.  He had become the best in his town, too.  That had changed...  
there were a lot of people better than him now, but that didn't 
mean he was worthless.  

      The Power rushed at him again.  It sought to dominate, to 
control, to destroy.  That was its way.  It was not mean or evil, it 
simply was the essence of control, the desire to overcome.  All it 
knew was dominance or submission, and all its masters had to win 
their position on top every time they called on it.  He was ready 
now for it, and he refused to submit.

      It sought to scour him to ash, but he would not burn.  It tried 
to crush him, but he would not be broken.  It tried to blow him 
away, but he would not move.  He locked his mind around it and 
struck back with his anger, binding it with the power within 
himself.  He had gone beyond rage, into the calm at the heart of 
the hurricane of his anger.  By turning his anger outward, he 
mastered it, and now he did the same for the Power.

	Proceeding entirely by instinct, he hurled the Power at the 
canyon wall.  He could feel it rushing through him, taste the bitter 
oil of the Dark One's taint on it, smell the sweat of those around 
him.  He heard the cries and the distant explosion as the canyon 
wall ripped apart, spraying gravel and collapsing upon the 
Whitecloaks.  He saw them die, buried beneath tons of gravel and 
asphyxiating on a giant dust cloud raised by the cliff side's 
destruction.

 	Dimly, he sensed the horror of what he had done, but for 
now, he didn't care.  Those around him stared at him in wonder 
and fear.  He could hear their beating hearts, smell their fear, see 
the mixture of hope and terror he had aroused in them.  

	The dust cleared.  The Whitecloaks were dead.  He let go of 
his rage, let go of the power.  It left him, and he felt sorry to see it 
go.  Drained emotionally and mentally, he fainted.

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     He awoke in a cave, dreams of what had happened still 
echoing through his head.  I killed them.  All of them.  They were 
only doing what they thought was right and I murdered them!  
There had to have been something else I could have done, he 
thought.  Guilt washed through him.  

     A hand gently touched his shoulder.  It was Lori, another of the 
few women in his band.  She had been a lady of the evening once.  
Now she was just another refugee.  She smiled, the dim light 
glinting off her bronzed skin.  "Well, most of us are still here.  
Tom and Hari and Rikard all left, for fear of what you had 
done...but the rest of us decided we don't care."

      "That...I didn't mean to...I mean..."  Three gone.  Seventeen 
left.  What are we going to do about food out here?  At least we 
can scrounge some more weapons now...The Whitecloaks will 
bring an army when they find out...if they find out.  And the 
Power...I may not live long enough to get killed by the 
Whitecloaks.  Assuming I stay sane.  He sighed and stood up.  
"Was anyone hurt?"

      "No, everyone is fine.  My lord destroyed only his enemies."  
Her voice had changed, he noticed.  There was...something...a 
more courtly tone...wait...my lord?

     "I'm not a lord.  I'm just a...just a normal person like you."  No, 
I'm not that normal, he thought...if you knew...who I really 
was...you'd probably think I was some kind of freak.  If any of 
you knew.  He thanked the heavens that at least his curse had 
stopped, though this was not how he would have wanted to stay 
forever.  Or where...stranded in a place not his own, a body that 
wasn't quite right.  Still, there was nothing he could do but try to 
survive.  Try to lead those who followed him to safety.  If there 
was any safety.

      He staggered out of the cave into the sunlight.  Everyone was 
huddled around a fire eating breakfast.  It was cold, but the sun 
was beautiful.  Far off, a single bird sang.  Mai sat off to one side, 
sewing something.  It was white, a banner made from sewn 
together... white cloaks.  He coughed at the thought of where they 
had come from.  Her thread was yellow.  She was sewing some 
sort of long sinuous golden creature onto the banner.  "What is it, 
Mai?"

      She smiled.  "I hope I'm doing it right.  It's a banner for you, 
my lord."

	"I can see that..."  He ignored the my lord for now.  "But of 
what?"

	"What else?  A dragon.  All hail Kaneda, the Lord Dragon!"

	A cry rang up around the camp.  But I'm not the Dragon, he 
started to say.  I'm just a lost refugee...This isn't even my world.  
I'm not even supposed to be a guy...But he knew they wouldn't 
listen.  It wouldn't do any good.  Sometimes you have to fight, and 
sometimes...you should just save your strength.  This would take 
all the strength he had.

	A faint breeze began to blow, ruffling Kaneda's blue-black 
hair.  It was cut short now, and had been for months now.  
Already, those days seemed so far away.  His old life was starting 
to fade in his memory, he realized.  His old life was dead, unless 
somehow they found him.  Why haven't they come back for me?  
Doesn't anyone care...

      The nightmare that sometimes plagued his thoughts rose up to 
bite him.  Maybe they're all dead...maybe that thing that brought 
us all here malfunctioned and killed them all but me...Maybe I'm 
really dying and just dreaming all this.  Why did that iddiot have 
to come here in thefirst place!  Just because my sister wanted him 
to get rid of those damn cursed rings...No, he couldn't just drop 
them in the ocean or something, he had to go find a way to go get 
lost in another UNIVERSE!!!!!

      Kaneda felt a hand on his shoulder.  It was Corwin.  "Are you 
okay, Lord Dragon?  You look troubled."  Corwin was an 
Amadician teamster.  His sister, Alya, was a herbalist and healer 
who the Whitecloaks had accused of being Aes Sedai for some 
stupid reason.  He was tall with dark hair and a broad frame.  
Kaneda had saved his sister from being burnt, and Corwin would 
probably hurl himself off a cliff if 'the Lord Dragon' asked him to 
do so.

     "Just feeling...Missing my family."  It's been three months I've 
been stranded here.  Father is probably crying his eyes out right 
now...bawling like a small child.  If he's alive...he must be 
dead...they must all be dead.  They'd come looking for me...It's 
not like they don't know where they left me...  "I don't know if 
they're alive or dead."

     "So what comes next, Kaneda?"  Alain asked.  "We can 
probably stay here a while, but sooner or later, the Whitecloaks 
are going to come looking for their missing troops."

     "We move deeper into the mountains and find somewhere we 
can survive the winter.  We'll build shelters, gather food, and wait 
for spring.  We all need rest."  And I need time to figure out what 
I'm going to do...

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