A/N: One hundred years ago, Fire Lord Sozin conquered the world. His first act was to outlaw waterbending and order all those possessing the ability to be executed.
Chapter One
I'm going to die tomorrow morning.
That's what the guards tell me, anyway, when they visit my cell. I've been in here for weeks—I know this only because I've been counting the number of times my meals come.
One day. Two days.
Four days. A week.
Two weeks.
Three.
I stopped counting after that. The hours run together, an endless train of nothingness, filled with different slants of light and the shiver of cold, wet stone, the pieces of my sanity, the disjointed whispers of my thoughts.
But tomorrow, my time ends. They're going to burn me at the stake in the central market square, for all to see. The guards tell me a crowd has already begun to gather outside.
I sit straight, the way I was always taught. My shoulders don't touch the wall. It takes me a while to realize that I'm rocking back and forth, perhaps to stay sane, perhaps just to keep warm. I hum an old lullaby too, one my mother used to sing to me when I was very little. I do my best to imitate her voice, a sweet and delicate sound, but my notes come out cracked and hoarse, nothing like what I remember. I stop trying.
It's so damp down here. Water trickles from above my door and has painted a groove into the stonewall, discolored green and black with grime. My hair is matted, and my nails are caked with blood and dirt. I want to scrub them clean. Is it strange that all I can think about on my last day is how filthy I am?
If my older brother were here, he'd say something reassuring or maybe even crack a joke. I can't stop wondering if he's okay. He hasn't come to see me.
I lower my head into my hands. How did I end up like this?
But I know how, of course. It's because I'm a murderer.
It happened several weeks earlier, on a stormy night at my father's home. I couldn't sleep. Rain fell and lightning reflected off the window of my bedchamber. But even the storm couldn't drown out the conversation from downstairs. My father and his guest were talking about me, of course. My father's late-night conversations were always about me.
I was the talk of the Southern Watertribe. Katara? they all said. Oh, wasn't her mother a bender? Don't they say she might be one too? Daughters tend to take after their mothers you know. Poor thing. Her father will have a hard time marrying her off.
No one meant because I wasn't beautiful. I'm not being arrogant, only honest. My Gran-Gran once told me that any man who'd ever laid eyes on my late mother was now waiting curiously to see how her daughter would blossom into a woman.
My older brother, Sokka, was eighteen and was the budding image of perfection. Unlike me, Sokka had inherited our mother's jovial temperament and charm. When we were very small, we'd play together in the snow and build snowmen and tiny igloos. I would sing sometimes. He would make up games.
We loved each other, once.
My father would bring Sokka new furs and boots. He would buy him exquisite weapons that arrived in port from the farthest ends of the world. He would take him out hunting and fishing; and train him in military tactics. He would remind him of how great a warrior he would become, of how far he would raise our family's standing by rising through the ranks of the empire's army.
Sokka was smart, strong, witty, and cunning. If anyone had the wherewithal to gain a favorable position within the army, it was him. He was a standout in his military training classes, and had been asked by various instructors to enlist in the army since the age of 14. Every time, my father would tell each of them to be patient, that he would not allow him to enlist until he turned eighteen. What a caring father, everyone thought.
Of course, Sokka didn't escape all of my father's cruelty. He purposely bought him boots that were tight and painful. He enjoyed seeing his hands callused and bleeding from all the training he was forced to endure.
Still. He loved him, in his own way. It's different, you see, because Sokka was his investment.
I was another story. Unlike my brother, blessed to be my father's son, I am my mother's daughter. And by her daughter, I mean this: When I was eight years old, Fire Lord Azulon's purging reached its peak and everyone in the Southern Watertribe barred their homes in a state of panic. It was no use. One day, a Fire Nation admiral burst through the doors of our home claiming to have information about a waterbender living within our walls. My parents denied every accusation, until the admiral threatened to kill me if they didn't provide a name. My father remained silent, but my mother admitted that it was her-that she was the waterbender they were looking for. They took her from the house, and killed her right outside our door. My father has hated me ever since. He disowned me and claimed that I was no child of his.
So, yes. You could say I am my mother's daughter.
Fatherless. Cursed to bear the weight of my mother's crimes.
I remember crying in her empty bedchamber many a night, wishing the Firebenders had taken my father instead.
My father and his mysterious guest were still talking downstairs. My curiosity got the best of me and I swung my legs over the side of my bed, crept toward my chamber door on light feet, and opened it a crack. Dim candlelight illuminated the hall outside. Below, my father sat across from a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair at his temples, his hair tied back at the nape of his neck in a short, fire nation style, his coat shining black and red in the light.
I opened the door a little wider, crept out into the hall, and sat, knees to my chin, along the stairs. My favorite spot. Sometimes I'd pretend I was a queen, and that I stood here on a palace balcony looking down at my groveling subjects. Now I took up my usual crouch and listened closely to the conversation downstairs
"I don't mean to insult you, Hakoada," the man said to my father. "You were once a merchant of good reputation. But that was a long time ago. I don't want to be seen doing business with a family such as yours—bad luck, you know. There's little you can offer me."
My father kept a smile on his face. The forced smile of a business transaction. "There are still people in town who work with me. I can pay you back as soon as the port traffic picks up. Watertribe furs and skins are in high demand this year—"
The man looked unimpressed. "Fire Lord Ozai is unconcerned with this territory" he replied. "The ports will be slow for years to come, I'm afraid, and with the new tax laws, your debts will only grow. How can you possibly repay me?"
My father leaned back in his chair and sighed. "There must be something I can offer you."
The man studied my father's face thoughtfully. The harsh lines of his face made me shiver. "Tell me about Katara. How many offers have you received?"
My father blushed. "Offers for Katara's hand have been slow to come."
The man smiled. "I take it, they've heard about her mother. So, no offers for your little disgrace, then."
My father's lips tightened. "Not as many as I'd like," he admitted.
"What do the others say about her?"
"The other suitors?" My father rubbed a hand across his face. "They say the same thing. It always comes back to her . . . heritage. What can I tell you, sir? No one wants the daughter of a waterbender bearing his children."
The man listened, making sympathetic sounds.
"Have you heard the latest news from the capital? Two noblemen walking home from the opera were found burned to a crisp." My father quickly tried to change tact. "Scorch marks on the wall, their bodies melted from the inside out."
I knew what my father spoke of. He was referring to a very specific group—a rare handful of teenagers with frightening abilities who dared to stand against the Phoenix Empire. They were said to be waterbenders, earthbenders, firebenders and weapons specialists alike. There was even rumored to be an airbender among them. Everyone spoke of this group in hushed whispers; most feared them and what they could do.
But I secretly held them in awe. I hated the Fire Lord and all that he stood for. He took my mother, cursing me with the life I have now. But this group dared to fight against him.
If you searched the black market, you'd find flat wooden engravings for sale, elaborately carved with their names, forbidden collectibles that supposedly meant they would protect you—or, at the least, that they would not hurt you. No matter the opinion, everyone knew their names. The Blue Spirit. The Reaper. The Windwalker. The Blind Bandit.
The Freedom Fighters.
My father continued. "All benders are capable of horrible things. I mean, look at what that firebender did to his own people. But aside from that, Katara is no bender. I would know."
The man shook his head. "I've heard that even the suitors who refuse Katara still gape at her, sick with desire." He paused. "True, her heritage is . . . unfortunate. But a beautiful girl is a beautiful girl." Something strange glinted in his eyes. My stomach twisted at the sight, and I tucked my chin tighter against my knees, as if for protection.
My father looked confused. He sat up taller in his chair. "Are you making me an offer for Katara's hand?"
The man reached into his coat to produce a small brown pouch, then tossed it onto the table. It landed with a heavy clink. As a merchant's daughter, one becomes well acquainted with money—and I could tell from the sound and from the size of the coins that the purse was filled to the brim with gold pieces. I stifled a gasp.
As my father gaped at the contents, the man leaned back. "I know of the taxes you haven't yet paid to the Fire Lord. I know of your new debts. And I will cover all of them in exchange for your daughter Katara."
My father frowned. "But you have a wife."
"I do, yes." The man paused, then added, "I never said I wanted to marry her. I am merely proposing to take her off your hands."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "You . . . want her as your mistress, then?" my father asked.
The man shrugged. "No nobleman in his right mind would make a wife of such a girl—she could not possibly attend public affairs on my arm. I have a reputation to uphold, Hakoada. But I think we can work this out. She will have a home, and you will have your gold." He raised a hand. "One condition. I want her now, not in a year. I've no patience to wait until she turns seventeen."
A strange buzzing filled my ears. No boy or girl was allowed to give themselves to another until they turned seventeen. This man was asking my father to break the law.
My father raised an eyebrow, but he didn't argue. "A mistress," he finally said. "Sir, you must know what this will do to my reputation. I might as well sell her to a brothel."
"And how is your reputation faring now?" He leaned forward. "Surely you're not insinuating my home is nothing more than a common brothel. At least your Katara would belong to a noble household."
As I watched my father lean forward, my hands began to tremble. "A mistress," he repeated
"Think quickly, Hakoada. I won't offer this again."
"Give me a moment," my father anxiously reassured him.
I don't know how long the silence lasted, but when he finally spoke again, I jumped at the sound. "Katara could be a good match for you. You're wise to see it. She is lovely, and . . . spirited."
The man looked towards the fire thoughtfully. "And I will tame her. Do we have a deal?"
I closed my eyes. My world swam in darkness—I imagined the man's face against my own, his hand on my waist, his sickening smile. Not even a wife. A mistress. The thought made me shrink from the stairs. Through a haze of numbness, I watched my father shake hands with the man. "A deal, then," he said to the man. He looked relieved of a great burden. "Tomorrow, she's yours. Just . . . keep this private. I don't want anyone knocking on my door and fining me for giving her away too young."
"No one will care." He replied, as he tightened his gloves and rose from his chair in one elegant move. My father bowed his head. "I'll come for her in the morning."
As my father escorted him to our door, I stole away into my bedchamber and stood there in the darkness, shaking. Why did my father's words still stab me in the heart? I should be used to it by now. What had he once told me? My poor Katara, he'd said, caressing my cheek with a thumb. It's a shame. Look at you. Who will ever want a cursed little girl like you?
It will be all right, I tried telling myself. At least you can leave your father behind. It won't be so bad. But even as I thought this, I felt a weight settle in my chest. I knew the truth. I was unwanted. Bad luck. I would be tossed aside the instant the man tired of me.
My gaze wandered around my bedchamber, settling finally on my window. My heartbeat stilled for a moment. Rain drew angry lines down the glass, but through it I could still see the docks where the edge of the village sloped gently into the sea. Tonight, the ocean churned in fury, and white foam crashed against the city's horizon, flooding the canals.
I continued staring out the rain-slashed window for a long while.
Tonight. Tonight was the night.
I hurried to my bed, bent down, and dragged out a sack I'd made with a bed sheet. Inside it were fine silverware, forks and knives, engraved plates, anything I could sell for food and shelter. That's another thing to love about me. I steal. I'd been stealing from around our house for months, stashing things under my bed in preparation for the day when I couldn't stand to live with my father any longer. It wasn't much, but I calculated that if I sold all of it to the right dealers, I might end up with a few gold pieces. Enough to get by, at least, for several months.
Then I rushed to my chest of clothes, pulled out an armful furs, and hurried about my chamber to collect anything of value I could find. My stone bracelet. The betrothal necklace inherited from my mother that my father did not want. I worked in feverish concentration. I added the jewelry and clothes carefully into the sack, hid it behind my bed, and pulled on my soft boots.
I settled down to wait.
An hour later, when my father retired to bed and the house stilled, I grabbed the sack. I hurried to my window and pressed my hand against it. Gingerly, I pushed the left pane aside and propped it open. The storm had calmed some, but rain still came down steadily enough to mute the sound of my footsteps. I looked over my shoulder one last time at my bedchamber door, as if I expected my father to walk in. Where are you going, Katara? he'd say. There's nothing out there for a girl like you.
I shook his voice from my head. Let him find me gone in the morning, his best chance at settling his debts. I took a deep breath, then began to climb through the open window. Cold rain lashed at my arms, prickling my skin.
"Katara?"
I whirled around at the voice. Behind me, the silhouette of a man stood in my doorway—my brother, Sokka, still rubbing sleep from sleep eyes. He stared at the open window and the sack on my shoulders, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might raise his voice and shout for our father.
But Sokka watched me quietly. I felt a pang of guilt, even as the sight of him sent a flash of resentment through my heart. Fool. Why should I have felt sorry for someone who had watched me suffer so many times before? Dad loves you, Katara, he used to say, when we were small. He just doesn't know how to show it. Why did I pity the brother who was valued?
Still, I found myself rushing to him on silent feet, and taking one of his hands in mine. He gave me a worried look. "You should go back to bed," he whispered. "You'll get in trouble if Dad finds you."
I squeezed his hand tighter, then let our foreheads touch. We stayed still for a long moment, and it seemed as if we were children again, each leaning against the other. Usually Sokka would pull away from me, knowing that Father did not like to see us close. This time, though, he stayed. As if he knew that tonight was something different. "Sokka," I whispered, "do you remember the time you lied to Dad about who tore one of his new furs?"
He nodded.
"I need you to do that for me again. Don't say a word."
He didn't reply; instead, he swallowed and looked down the hall toward our father's chambers. He did not hate him in the same way that I did, and the thought of going against his teaching—that he was too good for me, that I killed our mother, that to love me was a foolish thing—filled his eyes with guilt. Finally, he nodded. I felt as if a mantle had been lifted from my shoulders, like he was letting go of me. "Be careful out there. Stay safe. Good luck."
We exchanged a final look. You could come with me, I thought. But I know you won't. You're too loyal. Still, my heart softened for a moment. Sokka had always been a good brother. He didn't choose any of this. I do wish you a happy life. I hope you rise through the ranks and become a general. Good-bye, brother. I didn't dare wait for him to say anything else. Instead I turned away, walked to the window, and stepped onto the second-floor ledge.
I nearly slipped. The rain had turned everything slick, and my boots fought for grip against the narrow ledge. Some silverware fell out of my sack, clattering on the ground below. Don't look down. I made my way along the ledge until I reached a balcony, and there I slid down until I dangled with nothing but my trembling hands holding me in place. I closed my eye and let go.
My legs crumpled beneath me when I landed. The impact knocked the breath from my chest, and for a moment I could only lie there in front of our house, drenched in rain, muscles aching, fighting for air. Strands of my hair clung to my face. I wiped them out of my way and crawled onto my hands and knees. The rain added a reflective sheen to everything around me, as if this were all some nightmare I couldn't wake from. My focus narrowed. I needed to get out of here before my father discovered me gone.
I raced into the storm.
I ran until I had left my father's home behind and entered the edge of marketplace. The market was completely abandoned and flooded with puddles—I'd never been out in the town at an hour like this, and the emptiness of a place usually swarming with people unnerved me.
Then I heard it. The howl of dogs behind me.
I froze in my tracks. At first it seemed distant—almost entirely muted by the storm—but then, an instant later, it turned deafening. I trembled where I stood. My father. I knew he was coming; it had to be him. Had Sokka told my father after all? Perhaps he'd heard the sound of the silverware falling from the roof.
And before I could think anything else, I saw him, a sight that sent terror rushing through my blood—my father, his eyes flashing, materializing through the fog of a wet midnight. In all my years, I'd never before seen such anger on his face.
I tried to run away, but I wasn't fast enough. One moment my father was far away, and the next, he was here, his boots splashing into a puddle. His hand closed around my arm like an iron shackle.
"What are you doing, Katara?" he asked, his voice eerily calm.
I tried in vain to escape his grasp, but his hand only gripped tighter until I gasped from the pain. My father pulled hard—I stumbled, lost my balance, and fell against him. Mud splashed my face. All I could hear was the roar of rain, the darkness of his voice.
"Get up, you ungrateful little thief," he hissed in my ear, yanking me forcefully up. Then his voice turned soothing. "Come now, Katara. You're making a mess of yourself. Let me take you home."
I glared at him and pulled my arm away with all my strength. His grip slipped against the slick of rain—my skin twisted painfully against his, and for an instant, I was free.
But then I felt his hand close around a fistful of my hair. I shrieked, my hands grasping at the empty air. "So ill-tempered." he murmured, shaking his head.
"Where were you planning on going? Who else would want you? You'll never get a better offer than this. Do you realize how much humiliation I've suffered, dealing with the marriage refusals that come your way? Do you know how hard it is for me, apologizing for you?"
I screamed. I screamed with everything I had, hoping that my cries would wake the people sleeping in the buildings all around me, that they would witness this scene unfolding. Would they care? My father tightened his grip on my hair and pulled harder.
"Come home with me now," he said, pausing for a moment to stare at me. Rain ran down his cheeks. "Good girl. Your father knows best."
I gritted my teeth and stared back. "I hate you," I whispered.
My father struck me viciously across the face. Light flashed across my vision. I stumbled, then collapsed in the mud. My father still clung to my hair. He pulled so hard that I felt strands being torn from my scalp. I've gone too far, I suddenly thought through a haze of terror. I've pushed him too much. The world swam in an ocean of blood and rain. "You're a disgrace," he whispered in my ear, filling it with his smooth, icy rage. "You're going in the morning, and so help me, I'll kill you before you can ruin this deal."
Something snapped inside me. My lips curled into a snarl.
A rush of energy, a gathering of blinding light and darkest wind. Suddenly I could see everything—my father motionless before me, his snarling face a hairsbreadth away from my own, our surroundings illuminated by moonlight so brilliant that it washed the world of color, turning everything black and white. Water droplets hung in the air. A million glistening threads connected everything to everything else.
Something deep within me told me to pull on the threads. The world around us froze. The rain stopped, forming a watery dome around us.
My father's eyes widened, then darted in bewilderment at his surroundings. He released me. I fell to the ground and crawled away from him as fast as I could.
My hatred rose to new heights as I rose from the ground to look him in the eyes. "Yes, my mother was a waterbender" I gestured toward the watery dome around us. "But, apparently, so am I. And on this night, I swear to you that I will rise above everything you've ever taught me. I will become a force that this world has never known. I will come into such power that none will dare hurt me again."
Hundreds of ice daggers began to form above my father's head. My hands trembled. My father screamed, swatting desperately at the daggers and then he turned around and ran. Blindly. He smashed into a buffalo yak, tied securely to a post, and fell backward into the mud. The buffalo yak shrieked, the whites of its eyes rolling. It reared on its mighty legs, pawing for an instant at the air—
And then down came its hooves. Onto my father's chest.
My father's screams cut off abruptly. His body convulsed.
The ice daggers vanished instantly, as if they were never there in the first place. The rain suddenly grew heavy again, lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder shook my bones. The buffalo yak untangled itself from my father's broken body, trampling the corpse further. Then it tossed its body forward, ripping itself from the post and ran into the rain.
Heat and ice coursed through my veins; my muscles throbbed. I lay there in the mud, trembling, disbelieving, my gaze fixed in horror on the sight of the body lying a few feet away. My breaths came in ragged sobs, and my scalp burned in agony. Blood trickled down my face. The smell of iron filled my nose—I couldn't tell whether it came from my own wounds or my father's.
"I didn't mean it," I whispered, unsure whom I was talking to. My gaze darted up to the windows, terrified that people would be watching from every building, but no one was there. The storm drowned me out. I dragged myself away from my father's body. This is all wrong.
But that was a lie. I knew it, even then. Do you see how I take after my father? I had enjoyed every moment. "I didn't mean it!" I shrieked again, trying to drown out my inner voice. But my words only came out in a thin, reedy jumble. "I just wanted to escape—I just wanted—to get away—I didn't—I don't—"
I have no idea how long I stayed there. All I know is that, eventually, I staggered to my feet. I picked up the scattered silverware with trembling fingers, retied the sack, and ran away, leaving behind the carnage I'd created. I ran from the father I'd murdered. I escaped so quickly that I never stopped to wonder again whether or not someone had been watching me from a window.
The next day, I was able to secure passage on a ship bound for the Earth Kingdom by bartering my stolen silverware with anyone who would take them. My two days on the ship blurred together. I stayed away from people and kept to myself. But when we landed at the port city, I quickly got off, eager to start my new life. My goal was to reach Ba Sing Se. No one knew me there. I'd be safe. I'd be so far away from all of this that no one would ever find me.
I traveled on foot for 5 days until my exhaustion finally caught up to me. I crumpled in a broken, delirious heap before the gates of a farmhouse.
A woman found me. She was dressed in clean brown robes, and I remember being so taken by her motherly beauty that my heart immediately warmed to her in trust. I reached a shaking hand up to her, as if to touch her skin.
"Please," I whispered through cracked lips. "I need a place to rest."
The woman took pity on me. She cupped my face between her smooth, cool hands, studied my face for a long moment, and nodded. "Come with me, child," she said. She led me to the loft of their barn, showing me where I could sleep, and after a meal of bread and hard cheese, I immediately fell unconscious, safe in the knowledge of my shelter.
In the morning, I woke to rough hands dragging me from the hay.
I startled, trembling, and looked up to see the faces of two Fire Nation soldiers staring down at me, their white armor and robes lined with gold, their expressions hard as stone. The Fire Lord's soldiers. In desperation, I tried to summon the same power I'd felt before my father died, but this time the energy did not course through me, and no water flew through the air.
There was a man standing beside the Fire Nation men. I stared at him for a long moment before I finally believed the sight. Sokka. My older brother. There was a bruise on his cheek, turning blue and black.
"Is this your sister?" one of the soldiers asked him.
Sokka looked silently at them, refusing to acknowledge the question—but he had never been able to lie very well, and the recognition was obvious in his eyes.
The soldiers shoved him aside and focused on me. "Katara of the Southern Water Tribe," one said as they hauled me to my feet and bound my hands tightly behind my back. "By order of the Fire Lord, you are under arrest—"
"It was an accident"—I gasped in protest—"the rain, the buffalo yak—"
The man ignored me. "For the crime of waterbending and the murder of your father."
"You said if I spoke for her, you would let her go," Sokka snapped at them. "I spoke for her! She's innocent!"
Sokka looked at me, his eyes filled with terror. "I'm so sorry, Katara," he whispered in anguish. "I'm so sorry. They were on your trail—I never meant to help them—"
But you did. I turned away from him. I wanted to say to him, Save me. You have to find a way. But I couldn't find my voice. Me, me, me. Perhaps I was as selfish as my father.
That was weeks ago.
Now you know how I ended up here, shackled to the wall of a wet dungeon cell with no windows and no light, without a trial, without a soul in the world. This is how I first came to know of my abilities, how I turned to face the end of my life with the blood of my father staining my hands. His ghost keeps me company. Every time I wake up from a feverish dream, I see him standing in the corner of my cell, laughing at me. You tried to escape from me, he says, but I found you. You have lost and I have won. I tell him that I'm glad he's dead. I tell him to go away. But he stays.
It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm going to die tomorrow morning.
A/N: Hey guys! I love the Zutara pairing so I'm really excited to write this. Yes, I did make Hakoada a super cruel, awful guy; but that's just how it had to be.
And to clarify: The southern watertribe is a lot more modern than it was in the show, since it was conquered over 100 years ago by the Fire Nation. And instead of a chief, Hakoada was a wealthy merchant.
So, what did you guys think of the first chapter? How often would you like me to update? Do you have any suggestions or questions?
I can't wait to hear from you!