Spirit Trials and Lotus Tiles: A Journey of Sokka
Spirit World Requiems:
The Beginning of The End
Trial 1: Memories and Time
The last thing he could remember were the frantic cries of his sister, the calling of his friend, and the rush of the wind as the Forest Spirit carried him along. The last thing he had felt were the crushing fingers of the Spirit as it held him and pulled him along away from the village.
Where was he now? Surrounded by an unfamiliar landscape, lying uncomfortably on a large tree root, and chilled to the bone by the damp air. The hazy fog was settled deep the woodland area all around. Swampy water sat unmoving, their murky waters settling against the trees and creating a ring of slime. The air was still and stifling and was filled with a smell of age. This place was very, very, ancient. Probably older than the earth itself.
Sokka wasn't used to being someplace so sacred. The jungle-like greenery all around him was so alien that the Water Tribe boy knew he wasn't in the Earth Kingdom. He wasn't quite sure where exactly he was, or how long he had been there. A terrible bump had developed on the back of his head and it was still throbbing so it couldn't have been that long. An eerie silence hung over, almost as if the trees themselves knew he was not supposed to be there.
A silver moon provided light in a dimly lit pavilion, but the illumination came from elsewhere as well. A lamp that cast a thin, soft, green-yellow light. The fire was not of the human world. It produced no heat and was utterly still, like it was not real, simply a wax flame. The strange lamplight sent shivers down Sokka's spine as he looked curiously over at the squatty pavilion.
It looked completely deserted so he meandered towards it, avoiding stepping knee-deep in the marshy green water. A spell-wind rustled his clothing as he stepped towards the wooden steps of the dark structure. Sokka cocked an eyebrow. 'Right...' He tried to speak, but couldn't. The boy's lips moved but no sound emitted from his open mouth, just a shocked gasp. His hand flew to his throat, massaging it with exaggerated movements, trying to speak.
Never trust a weird forest. Sokka shrugged, and with the movement slipped, and landed face-first in the water. He rose spluttering and silently cursing; his clothes were now sopping wet.
The lamplight glowed brightly for a moment, drawing the boy's attention over to it. Fire. Warm. Good. Instincts, of course, to be warm and safe. Sokka slogged over the pavilion where the lamp was housed. At the steps, hesitation overtook the warrior.
The soft wooden steps were dark with dampness and age, their thick planks worn smooth by the passing of many feet through time. The boy knew not why he faltered, only that he did and that still in the gloom the lamplight called to him. He shoes were heavy with wet and they sloshed as he trod up the small flight. When he reached the top, Sokka took a good look around. More than half of the pavilion was enveloped in darkness, the half he could see had a thin coating of slime on the floor. He was careful not to trip and fall as the boy tip-toed curiously over to the little strange lamp.
His eyes blurred for a moment, but Sokka shook his head clear. Stroking his chin, the warrior looked at the lamp with an untrusting, inquisitive, gaze. He decided against leaving it there, so there was naught left to do but take it down and explore the rest of this alien world he had been dropped in. The only thing he was thankful for was that the Forest Spirit was not around any longer. One less threat to deal with. Arm outstretched, Sokka reached for the iron handle that the lamp hung on.
"I suggest that you do not do that," a voice warned him from behind. Sokka spun around, searching through the dim greenish lighted area for the source.
He spotted a monkey, dressed in a greenish robe, meditating. The warrior ignored him and reached for the lamp again. But he stopped halfway there. 'Wait a second, were you talking to me?'
There was no sound, only the passing of air through his windpipes.
"No," replied the monkey, "I was talking to the teapot." the animal's tone was quite serious. Apparently, the monkey could still hear the stranger. He regarded the boy with a keen, old, eye. He had seen much in his time, but this boy, there was something wrong with him. The monkey couldn't place it. But one thing was clear, the blue-dressed boy was not from around there. He didn't even look to be a spirit. This was, after all, the Spirit World.