for hnery: o captain, my captain
—
It takes the third call, harsh as a whip's kiss, to actually make you remember your name.
You had no idea, in life, that you could come undone like this, but here you are, unravelled completely. Yes, you believed in spirits. In a casual, distant sort of manner. But now you believe, and that is why you are before them, trembling.
"Noatak, son of Yakone, raise your head!"
You do. You are not sure if you have a head anymore but you raise it. Things are muddled, unfocused, unclear. The parade of bestial spirits glares down at you in wide watercolor swaths, and you beg, hopefully not loud enough to hear, that this is not another punishment.
"We will release you when we see fit," one snaps. "For the hubris of saying you speak for us."
You did not beg quietly enough.
There is a sudden stillness. A few solid beams of light become a figure that is almost familiar, the great disc of the moon behind her, flowing robes at her feet. Yue the blessed, Yue the divine. Yue who bends down now to whisper in the ear of so many other spirits. They huff. They sigh. They listen.
"We have decided," one rumbles, as the moon herself smiles at you, "that you will be sent back, to be your mother's daughter, instead of your father's son."
You are about to ask them what they mean when the world suddenly dissolves into pitch-black.
He knows full well that both of you want to get out of here, but nobody said your probation officer wasn't above being petty. For every minute you made him wait, he'll keep you three extra. Probably bitter about his job, to boot. Probation officer isn't exactly glamorous, not like even the beat cops who get to brag about their metalbending. You're sure he's a bender, of course, but probably a wash-out from metalbending training. That's why he's stuck on a desk.
He hates you, and you know it, but you stare at him patiently for the remaining fifteen minutes before asking if you can go. He says yes, with a snarl.
"Don't you fucking dare be late next time. Just because I've been assigned you doesn't mean I have to like it. Some of us still remember who's Equalist trash around here."
Hate. A funny thing. You used to be so full of it, just like your probation officer still is, but now you're not. Spirits know you've tried to be; hate was a good motivation, hate could get you going. But now all you have is greying hair, a threadbare coat, and aches in your bones. And a hardass probation officer.
The New Equalist soup kitchen is busy as ever. They are turning people away and you didn't even think to go in, not today, before one of the fresh young faces runs after you. "Sifu Tien, Sifu Tien!" Sifu. You've never been more unsure of a title but it seems to please the young hopeful things to call you such, so you let it stand. "We saved the last for you, I'm sorry there isn't more…"
Thin soup in a wax-paper cup. You smile and thank the boy. Spirits, it kills you to see how happy he is, how he bounds back to the soup kitchen even to deliver more bad news. Spirits above, it kills you to know that some of them even think of you as heroic. And maybe you were. At least standing by Amon's side, you had someone to fight. But that fire is all ashes now, isn't it?
The soup is the sort you drink, not the type you eat. Just enough to keep body and soul together. You think. You hope, anyhow.
Your apartment would be bigger if you could finally unpack Amon's trunk, but instead it looms in the corner like the man himself did, eating up all the lantern light and leaving only bones of shadow. You can't make yourself angry over it, just like you can't make yourself be angry over anything these days it seems. You are just too tired. Too awfully tired.
And so you find the pallet on the floor, and you sleep.
You do not expect the moonlight to wake you. You do not expect the moonlight to speak.
Her voice is shining, like temple-bells and fireflies, and wakes you gently. "Lieu. Open your eyes, Lieu Tien." You're obedient, and you do. She is shimmering above you, the ceremonial robes swirling around her as if in water, her hair white as starlight and pure as snow. And so Yue smiles at you.
You believed, sure, in a far-off and distant way. But now you believe, and you are trembling. You raise your hand and point at yourself, asking a silent question.
"Lieu Tien, son of Minh and Tuyen. Lieu of the Thousand Blows, Lieu the Avenger, Lieu the second-in-command of the Equalists. Once husband to Aei and father to Lan. Then the beloved of Noatak, whom you know as Amon."
Yes. That is you.
Aei and Lan. You try not to think of them, just like you try not to think of Amon. Most days you don't accomplish such a task. You'll see a dress of the type Aei would wear, a toy that Lan would have loved, back several lifetimes ago when you were just a bullied farmer sick of having to pay protection money to the local Earthbending gang. Back before you buried your child and then your wife after learning how harsh the consequences of a lack of protection could be. Back before you joined the Equalists. Before you fell in love again. Before you lost your love once again.
Yes. That is you.
"I come with a message, Lieu Tien," she sings, her voice so perfectly heavenly that it is sweet on your ears like sugar on the tongue. "I am taking a risk by being here. But the Spirits have talked amongst themselves, and reached a decision. My compromise, as it were. It will be important for you to play a role in what comes next, Lieu Tien the Steadfast, if this is to end well. Or you can choose to walk away. I cannot choose for you. But I can tell you this: your love has been returned to you, and is on the beach below."
She turns her divine head, and smiles, looking out the window to the beach below.
"And I would hurry. The tide is coming in."
Water.
Blue-black - bitter - water billowing, reaching over you, grasping for you, rolling you over and over again -
Bubbles from your nose -
You reach out. A hand, you have a hand again - your hand? Your hand - it is wrapped in blackness, in seaweed?, no, in hair - your hair -
Saltwater slams into you again - it is relentless -
You breach the surface - the air burns cold in your lungs -
Another wave and the blackness takes you.
If he had been going any slower, Lieu perhaps would have minded the cold. As it was the puffs of steam from his lips just seemed to be evidence of how his body worked hard to cope with his running gait, as if he had traded in a heart for a steam engine. He was good at running. Perhaps other men could outdo him in terms of sheer weight hauled about, but his sinewy calves were like cables of steel, and he could keep going at this pace forever if he felt so inclined.
The city was quiet so late at night. Cold enough for dew that would perhaps edge into frost later. But for now the stretch of Yue Bay was quiet and drenched in moonlight.
His coat was perhaps a bit too threadbare and patched, but running kept him warm enough. Besides, he had a purpose.
Lieu figured that when you were told to do something by the Moon Spirit, you should get to it.
There were tangles of seaweed and driftwood at regular intervals. Scattered detritus of the city that had floated out from the sewer to the ocean and then attempted to crawl back to where it came. A broken children's toy in among the wreckage. Something twitched deep within Lieu's chest: it looked familiar, though he couldn't immediately place it.
And then, in among the seaweed, a larger lump.
He jogged as quickly as he could before crouching down. There was a tangle of brown-black hair, sticky with dampness, familiar in tone and texture. He swept the hair away from her face, and held her hand over her face. A soft tickle of warm breath. She was still alive.
Crouched down in the sand, brushing wet hair from her shoulder. It was what he needed to see. An old scar. A familiar scar. Framed on darker skin, but he knew just how it had been made. He had seen the dagger flash over Amon's skin and draw blood, and he had been the one to stitch it up that night. It was a rare moment of weakness. Amon had mutely held onto Lieu's leg even as he worked at the stitches, and then, later, his hand. There hadn't been need for any words that night. Just intertwined fingers desperately clutching at one another.
The scar was all Lieu needed to see. Mutely, he took his coat off, crouching down and wrapping the woman up. He even chanced a small kiss to her forehead as he lifted her up into his arms and started to walk back to his cheap apartment.