Avatar: Warlords
Several weeks ago:
"Wanted in all of the five districts of the capital city of Yong Da, the condemned is presently found guilty of the crimes of assault, murder, robbery of citizen, caravans and, or banks, destruction of property through the use of earth bending, acquiring stolen goods and bank notes, selling stolen goods, arson, and, contrary to the laws of our fair city, the condemned is guilty of possession of an unregistered iron-equaliser. Therefore, according to the powers vested in us by our current ruler, Lord Shen, commander of his army and conqueror of the desert..." At the mention of their lord's name, several people shifted uncomfortably and the judge stopped for a moment to eye the public, which was plentiful even as the sun reached its dark zenith. Several flakes of ash went carried over by the wind and the judge frowned, shielding himself with his duster coat.
"We sentence the accused standing before us to lay beheaded until death occurs, and, whatever gods he acknowledges, may they have mercy on his soul."
The executioner, a dark skinned man the size of a bull, went ahead to push Sarnai, the accused, on his knees, and when the latter did not bend down, he kicked him down, to which the crowd let out a moan of surprise.
"Proceed," cried the judge nodding. He rolled up the paper containing all the details needed for Sarnai's execution and retreated towards his carriage. A blonde haired woman shook her head.
"Filth, rats, disease infested trash."
The judge glanced towards the execution block where Sarnai waited his death, pinned to the ground by one of the men so he won't struggle. The executioner checked the edge of his axe one more time and raised it high towards the pale sky. A few women in the crowd cheered but the voices quickly died out in anticipation. That single moment seemed to last an infinitude, but when the axe came crashing down, the crowd moaned louder than before, and the faint of heart turned their sight or covered their eyes. Then, not a blink of a moment later, a yell caught the judge's attention just as he climbed the fine carriage pulled by no less than two horses.
People were running away from the execution as if the dead himself rose, headless. It wasn't that. Instead, the headsman lay dead on the ground in a pool of his own blood, multiple ice shards buried deep into his chest. They sparkled quite bright in the sun. Half a meter away was the axe, or at least its handle and splintered edge. It took him a moment to digest the information that Sarnai escaped, but by the time he recovered his senses, the condemned was long gone.
-o-
Part 1: "A shadow of the past"
"A millennia has passed since the Apocalypse, a catastrophic event brought forth by the third Harmonic Convergence. The centuries went by and our ancestors began to forget words such as unity, prosperity and peace.
A millennia of war and death... It feels like an eternity.
The Apocalypse destroyed so much of our world...
First, the very pillar of strength and unity, the former Earth Kingdom, split and cracked under pressure... It was inevitable, as the lords clashed in deadly combat for control. This destruction caused a veritable power-void to be filled with the most cunning, more violent of men, most devious and bloodthirsty, battling over the now divided land, only ripe for conquest. These men became the Warlords, feared across the very curvature of the World.
Forced into a corner, the Fire Nation called its benders back to the islands and has allocated a defense budget of world conquest proportions, amassing resources and training conscripts for many decades. It completely closed its borders and adopted a drastic change in its regime in order to defend against these lords of war made by the Apocalypse itself. In the face of such unstoppable and inhuman catastrophe beyond the pall of man's comprehension, what could a nation do if not reinforce itself?
During the height of the Apocalypse, in its darkest days, the Air Nomads have been annihilated as a solitary, independent nation and many were forced to reform into small societies, mostly affiliated with the northern warlords.
Nobody escaped the continuous onslaught of War and a dark force tumbled across the world like a plague. It turned father against son, great men rose and greater men fell, all of them vying for military dominance, forever clashed in deadly combat for control over the now divided land, ripe for conquest, forever squabbling and plotting.
Such is the state of this world. A perpetual strife to survive, a continuous battle for a breath of air, an endless war for supremacy.
It is not a world for the weak, nor the kind, nor the good..."
The Avatar opened his eyes with a start, and the nightmare stopped.
-o-
Si Wen town, at the hideout of Mister Gold:
Grishma watched the black flakes falling down like snow, but of course it never snowed in this region despite the cold. No, this was ash, coming from a perpetual screen of dark haze covering the sky. She squinted her eyes at the entrance and waved her brother, Javaid, to come closer and duck behind the bar.
"I'm gonna tear that Kwon a new asshole…" she said, ducking lower as the door to the entrance got kicked open.
"Calm down, Grishma," muttered her brother. "How did you know they were going to come here anyway?"
"I had an inkling," responded Grishma nodding towards her shattered bottle of whiskey. The conflagration attack that she barely escaped from has been so intense that it instantly ignited the contents of the bottle, turning it into a grenade. There were many small burns and wounds on her face and arms, but most were already fully healed.
"An inkling you say? So, has Yaran finally decided to lend me a hand, or what?"
"Don't believe that for a moment, Javaid. These lords wish nothing but to expand their power," bitterly responded Grishma. "We're just pawns in a game of fools."
Javaid turned and grabbed Grishma by the shoulder. He hated to see her fall into bloodlust.
"That's why I said to calm down. Can you really blame Kwon from wanting out...?"
Grishma suddenly raised her injured hand, which was already in the process of healing, though she intentionally slowed down the process. From the holes made by the broken glass, blood came rushing out until it turned into a crystallized crimson blade, kept intact by her blood bending. Javaid scratched through his hair. Of course he knew what sort of mentality drove her, and Kwon would soon die for daring to not only betray Yaran, but attack them in their own hideout. She was just like that, the person who would stop at nothing to kill and maim.
"There is no going out, not from this!"
Suddenly she jumped from behind the cover. Beyond the bar, a man with the face of a gorilla, the one who kicked the entrance open, was advancing carefully, his guard up in anticipation. Behind him there was another, skinnier person with pale skin and darker hair. The fire bender named Kwon, who used to work with Yaran until the betrayal. Grishma lunged forward, pushed by an insatiable hunger for blood, but was blocked by a wall of stone made by the gorilla-faced brute. He stepped in front of his partner-in-crime and thumped the floor, sending out spikes of rock propounding through the wood. Grishma dodged them and pirouetted around and out of view. Somewhere close by, a red light came into existence and soon after, a wave of flames drowned the room, engulfing everything and turning it into ash. Grishma ducked under the cover of a stone wall made by Javaid just before the flames hit, but the brute rushed in and split the wall with a heavy punch. As he did so, Grishma jumped high up with the clever usage of blood bending, and attached herself to the ceiling with blood-made claws. Not wasting a moment, fearing that they might counterattack, she bounced back at the enemy's throat. She missed by a hair as the brute ducked down to dodge the cut, but she quickly recovered her stance and kicked him straight in the face. Leaving him no time to react, she grabbed him by the shirt and kicked him in the stomach. He spilled blood through his nose.
"Kwon!" he coughed, losing his composure. "Kwon, help...!"
But nobody responded, nobody but Javaid.
"Kwon just became the most realistic statue," he said. The brute named Tai Zhou struggled to get back on his feet but was kicked again in the chest.
"Don't move a muscle, damn you!" said Grishma, kicking him on the ground and extending her blood edge towards his throat. They were already defeated.
Suddenly he felt a palm touching his shoulder.
"I currently have four fingers on your back," said Javaid, barely whispering in his ear. "As soon as my fifth touches you, you'll be turned into another realistic statue of gold, do you understand?"
The man spoke with conviction and confidence. Others would ponder the words, talk in hushed, unsure tones. It could only mean... Tai Zhou dared to turn his head, and came face to face with Javaid, a dark-haired youth with a dry smile and a scarred face.
"Mister Gold?" Tai Zhou stuttered. His bladder almost failed. Behind Javaid, Kwon stood upright, his arms stretched, agony on his face. He was completely turned into gold, every detail, every part of his body, clothes, hair and all. The last moment of his life, the moment of his death, forever kept intact in pristine form. What a terrible way to die, thought Tai Zhou.
"In the flesh, so to speak" answered Javaid. He flicked his hand and suddenly caught a piece of wood from a broken chair, thrown at him by Grishma. Only three fingers touched it but as soon as all five did, Javaid dropped a solid piece of gold on the ground, instead of wood.
"Then you must be," said Tai Zhou, turning towards Grishma, "you must be Grishma. They say you're siblings but..." He looked up and down at her, "you don't look like brother and sister at all." Where Javaid was pale and lanky, Grishma was tall and muscular, with massive breasts and dark skin. By now, her hand was already healed, so great was her power.
"We're not really blood siblings, idiot," said Javaid, infuriated. "Anyway I think you know what's going to happen now."
-o-
Somewhere in southern Si Wen:
"You returned sooner than expected," said the soft-spoken figure, gulping down a teacup of gin like it was medicine. Almost instantly, his face turned red like a tomato and his eyes watered, but the burning sensation brought forth new life into his limbs, sharpness to his mind.
From beyond the darkest corner of his room, only one eye blinked open.
"The battle barely lasted an evening. Lord Shen has successfully claimed Yong Da."
"He has made himself quite comfortable inside of those walls, no doubt..." nodded the nobleman.
"Comfort breeds weakness," responded the shadow. "The losses were great on his side, nonetheless. He won't hold for long before one of the neighboring lords move to conquest... Ah, and they will."
"You made sure of it?"
The shadow did not answer.
"Yong Da has fallen, and it will continue to do so until nothing else remains but a grave," said the nobleman contemplatively, talking back to himself as if the shadow was never there though it knew everything of the plan. The shadow was, after all, the hand who carried out his will. "The greatest city this world has ever known, turned into mush, emptied and filled with ourselves..."
"It's not what it used to be, not after so much war, Lord Yaran," agreed the shadow. "The walls are no longer reliable against the newer generations of earth benders, strapping young men who break stone like bread, grind it to dust. Zino predicts the city will his' within the week if his son's plans come to fruition and surely I say to you, Zino plans for conquest. That, I have made sure of."
"Yes, I am aware of his plans," said Yaran. He took another gulp of gin. The drink emanated a foul, oily smell. "He has been openly recruiting and kept away from skirmishes specifically for this. Only a fool would be blind to it. Tell me, what happens to you when Zino loses his war?"
"He won't," the shadow corrected Yaran, raising her voice. "He has amassed a large force. Rarely have I seen such potential, and he is a ruthless while still following our agenda. The future of this territory will be good under his rule, I believe," he continued with an amused tone in her eerily-vibrating voice. Only her one eye sparkled.
"Honestly, you're putting too much hope into this Zino."
"For good reason," the shadow snapped, interrupting the lord. "I do what I do best, Yaran, never forget that!"
"And what about Master Arata? Surely we can't ignore the fact that the man who singlehandedly took down Ba Sing Se has taken residence in Yong Da and is aiding Lord Shen."
"None of your immediate concern, as long as you take care of income, keep the gold flowing. I'll do the rest. Within the year, you'll be on top of an empire. You heard me, I said empire!"
It almost sounded like a threat.
Yaran sighed, appearing tired and suddenly, much older than he actually was. A long, agonizing silence followed during which neither of them wanted to speak their mind.
"You don't like the sound of that," said the shadowy figure. It wasn't a question.
"It all seems so out there. An empire? Never has there been a successful empire in history."
The shadowy figure grinned from beyond the cover of darkness, showing a set of large teeth. The rest of her face was obstructed.
"I told you. Leave everything to me."
-o-
In the slums of Yong Da:
"The world is about to break once more and weeps for salvation. The great former Avatar, glorious in victory as she was, has died a brutal death at the hands of War. The shockwave of her fall radiated out across the world in a brutal display of epic proportions and unspeakable horror. What followed?
A time of death.
A time of silence.
A time of decay.
Fleeing refugees scatter across the barren landscape, the last scions of the noble families who once ruled the Earth Kingdom took arms and became the Warlords, splitting the land in between their greedy claws. Hundreds of thousands lie dead, their mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers with them, entombed in ash and waste. The sea seethes and boils on the coast of the Fire Nation, as the remnants of the world are cast into eternal war. War without end. Even the open sky no longer gleams with light, as clouds of cinder blot out the sun. The harvests are blighted in the fields, and hardships untold spread like a disease, from one corner of the world to this other.
The civilized world has been thrown into a perpetual state of disorder the likes of which have not been seen since the Apocalypse, and now the vicious Warlords of stone, rock and sand hold dominion. The world is once again thrown in the hands of War, even in the hidden valleys, crannogs and ravines of Si Wen region, where the town of Si Wen is situated. Protected by the harsh Warlord Yaran who holds residence there, and fierce in their independence, the population must fear for their survival, as the other Warlords come to storm upon neighbouring Yong Da, eager to seize the surrounding territory along with its fall
In this century of blood, a thousand-thousand men will meet their end, but some, not many, will survive and become stronger of it, even in the ruin-dotted land. They will not like it, they will hate the world they have been plunged in, but will survive regardless. Javaid, known as Mister Gold, is one of them."
The Avatar woke up drenched in sweat. The nightmare of an Apocalypse has plagued his sleep once again.
"The master warned me of this..." he said, rubbing his eyes. The world seemed so painfully bright, so alive in comparison to his nightmare.
What he has witnessed of the past, the extend of the horrors their ancestors have suffered had no measure in the waking world. Surely the wars today still injured and killed, but it all happened on a much smaller scale. In comparison to the Apocalypse, wars today were held between rats.
"War..." muttered Sarnai, his voice trailing off. "Si Wen... Mister Gold..." The thought of the Apocalypse returning made him sick to his stomach.
-o-
At the "Bloody Coins" bar, hideout of Mister Gold:
The sun revealed itself from behind the shallow clouds, showering the town in its dim light. Javaid was wiping the dust off the rearranged tables with his usual enthusiasm to see everything done and through.
Such a jolly fellow for a killer, thought the boy Farid as he looked at his crew leader with cloudy eyes and a lost stare. The blankness of his eyes was soon lost to rage and hatred, remembering the events that transpired last night. The smell of blood. Grishma. Ash? Kwon, and the statue of pure gold? Still Kwon. Reality hit Farid like a mace, killed the boy, leaving only anger. He had been there ever since, drinking his sorrow away, mulling his murderous thoughts over and over. Eventually, Javaid put his broom away and carefully dragged a chair to sit on, picking it with only three fingers.
"What's up, Farid? Tell me what's bothering you."
"Leave me," spat Farid in the fashion of troubled teens.
"Don't let yourself be so easily driven by emotions, so caught up in the moment..."
"Like what happened to you against Kwon? You got overcame by the shock of betrayal and..."
"Don't speak if you don't know what you're talking about," replied Javaid becoming suddenly serious, interrupting Farid's flow of ill thoughts. There was a spark in his eye that turned even the aggressiveness inside Farid completely mute.
"Damn it..." Farid managed to say, obviously faking this burst of courage. In truth he was deadly afraid of Mister Gold, more so than of Javaid. "You know me better that my mother," he continued with characteristic mocking sarcasm. He took the drink off the table, had a healthy sip out of it, took a few breaths of air and had another strong gulp.
"Just drinking your problems won't wash them away," said Javaid, "just dull the feelings. I know that's what you want, but you also have to tell somebody about them."
Farid raised his eyes, his dried face towards Javaid, channeling all that bottled up anger inside of him.
Murderous anger, so much like Grishma's.
"That somebody ain't you, Gold. Seeing Kwon like that, well, that's a memory I intend on drowning in alcohol first, right before I bleed you." There was a genuine and distinct lack of emotion in the boy's voice, so much that Javaid was taken aback. He knew Kwon and Farid have been fast friends, but to talk like this, to act like this, it was unusual even for a troublesome person like Farid.
"Where do we draw the line, as men of character ought to?" asked Farid after a long, arduous moment of silence, through clenched teeth. Javaid looked up, tried to listen to the boy. He almost thought he had his ear, captured his attention. "When is it not alright to kill...?"
"It's always alright to kill," interrupted a voice, breaking any meaningful connection between the two men at the table. Grishma stepped down the stairs, her dark hair flowing behind her like a cloak, or perhaps a spectral cascade. "You, as a survivor, should know this."
"As blunt as ever, eh sister?"
She merely shrugged, ignoring his tone and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. Then she sat down at the table with them.
"When the situation demands," she meticulously began telling Farid as if humouring a fool, "men of character should not be afraid to do the dirty job, as Javaid did to Kwon."
"Have you asked yourself why did Kwon betray us?" asked Farid. Grishma sighed and rolled her eyes, and Javaid scratched his head.
"We already know why he did it," admitted Javaid. "We knew he was searching for somebody that his contractor thought was in our midst. He was..."
"He was the weakest link in the chain that is this association," interrupted Grishma, "and thus he had to be removed."
"Real subtle, sister!" Anger stirred in him, a slow, dangerous anger just beyond the thin veil of his calm demeanor. Grishma was starting to question his authority, sister or not, and it would do no good with Farid. The boy already hated her, or likely associated her with his bloody past.
"The boy wanted to know. If there's no communication in a crew, how are we going to avoid another Kwon situation?"
But Farid merely groaned and left the bar, smashing the door behind him.
"Do you want me to go after him?"
Javaid stood still for a moment before answering.
"No," he lied, even to himself. "It's better if you let him be alone for a while."
From this point onward, a strange breathlessness characterised Javaid's feelings towards Farid, an unsettling sense that the banality of what he had just said concealed unthinkable repercussions. Perhaps he should have been more empathic, or call Farid back to the hideout. He half-understood, even then as the minutes soon turned into hours, that his apathy, his response to Farid's problem, so innocuous in itself, is what turns good men, wicked.
-o-
By the time he left the "Bloody Coins", it was already mid day even though the sun barely made its presence known somewhere up in the dark-gray sky. The mountains on the horizon were painted orange in the dim light, and a chilly wind blew on the empty street, announcing the arrival of autumn. Slowly but surely, summer was ending though it was already very cold outside. The world had cooled much over the past century, being plunged into an eternal ash-winter.
Farid has been so angered by Javaid's decision to execute Kwon, that he simply had to walk away. His head throbbed though it was getting lighter and the pain weaker with every step taken. He couldn't erase the memory of Kwon's statue being dragged out of the bar. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth and rubbed his temples. Were those tears running down his cheeks?
"Gold, you bastard, couldn't you have closed an eye just this once?" Farid was talking alone in the street, he realized, but the pain of losing his friend was simply too great to care. Kwon has been his only true friend in Gold's crew, the only person who cared for him in the entirety of Si Wen, and he was dead.
How could this happen? Gold, the crew leader, was a reasonable man, slow to anger and also smart. It was Grishma the one murderous whore. Farid was sure it was she who pushed Gold to deal the killing blow to Kwon, but then why spare Tai Zhou? It didn't make sense, since both have risen against Yaran. That was way over his head right now. He had hoped to somehow talk to Gold, until Grishma came in.
"To hell with this war!" he screamed. Around him, every rock and stone on the street exploded into sand, which twirled upwards the sky like trails of smoke carried by the wind. There was no way for any man with conscience to continue living on like this, with all the killing and hiding, scheming and betraying. He wished he would end it all, but how can the powerless succeed over the powerful? Might makes right, is what Grishma always said, and Farid reluctantly agreed.
He took a sharp turn on the left and walked the narrow, cobbled street until it reached the midway. It was a good day for a stroll through the town, though it seemed abandoned. There were no traces of people on the streets and it was so quiet that his steps resonated loudly on the bare stone. Buildings loomed on either side and voices and laughter came out through the opened windows, the few that there were, yet the quietness of the street together with the death of Kwon made Farid feel lonelier than he has been in many years.
He suddenly heard a noise and jumped, seeing a rat the size of a dog running at him. It was as if the Clock of All-time slowed down to the smallest fraction of a moment. The rat, a brown, sickly looking monster of a creature with red eyes and sharp teeth, leapt more like a frog, but Farid skillfully raised a stone pillar to send the beast flying over the buildings. He hated rats more than anything in the world, and they were everywhere. No, hate was a strong word, but he despised them. He heard that women don't even let their kids roam the streets at night out of fear. He straightened his clothing and continued to walk towards the third building on the right. It was quite inconsequential to the naked eye, just an old brick house that seemed too old, too dusty for usage. But it served only as a front for the arena deep below, and as Farid approached, a rugged voice asked for his business.
"I'm for the Below…"
"Password then."
"Say-New-Palace." The door creaked open. During war, men are often forced to do what is considered unthinkable in times of peace. Some kill, some enslave, some become slaves themselves, and then there's those who put their strength to the test so that different parties might take notice and hire them. Such men would be considered mercenaries and most indeed are, but the others are those who fight in the Dark Below for money, women and fame, and even out of them, some do it for notoriety and the thrill of battle. Wealthy and powerful folk gather from across the region to take bets and hire thugs. Illegalities run rampant, drug abuse, prostitution, murder. Such a place is the Dark Below, but Farid couldn't care less. Above, he was Farid, a hired bender of little notice, part of Mister Gold's crew of misfits, but in the Below he was a fighter, a survivor of uncanny viciousness.
He climbed down the stairs and into the large underground dome, packed full with people. It smelled of burned flesh, sweat, smoke, piss, alcohol.
The crowd suddenly roared!
"Who is fighting?" asked Farid. At the bar, a fairly young woman with green hair rushed in.
"Survivor, long time no see," she said, feigning nonchalance though Farid knew she had sweet eyes for him. Why, just the way she bit her lip gave it all away so much so that he rolled his eyes.
"I've been busy making Gold money, though I think I'm out of that business."
"For good? Means you'll come and work in the Below? Boss Ran might've..."
"Calm yourself," said Farid, laughing. He then made a hand gesture and she brought him a cold beverage. "So I asked you who's fighting," he continued as he raised the cup.
"Nobody important but he's a fiery one."
"A fire bender?"
"Worse, a lava bender. People are betting good money on him and for good reason, eh? There's few other fighters than regular earth benders and by default this guy, this Mabi, counters them."
It was true. Earth benders are unfaltering, staunch colossi. Their fighting style is characterized by maintaining a good defensive position and deploying a few, very strong attacks. Lava bending innately counters a stationary target more so than any other style of elemental bending.
"Hey, wait! Are you going to fight him?"
Farid ignored her as he pushed his way through a wall of onlookers and approached the ring. Mabi's opponent sent forth a drill made out of stone but Mabi spun around, grabbed the projectile mid-air and threw it back. More than that, he split it into several thinner spikes, but the opponent raised a stone wall and ducked behind it. Mistake, as Mabi surrounded him with a strip of lava.
Never keep still when fighting a lava bender, thought Farid, smirking. Lava benders were a genuine powerhouse but their attacks were all telegraphed, for all they're worth. A nimble and agile fighter should easily counter any lava bender.
The opponent threw himself up in the air with a plateau of earth in order to escape, but Mabi actually sniped him with a well placed shot, hitting him right in the head with a rock the size of a potato. He fell to the ground and yielded.
"The winner for the third time today, Mabi!"
Farid found himself applauding and cheering with the rest of the crowd. It has been a good, clean battle. Many will flock to him. From beyond the bar, Suli waved him to go talk to her. Looking back at Mabi, Farid understood. He was not just a lava bender, he did not merely brute force his way through everything and they usually come, but used it to win strategically. Yes, he did not only win. He won by his own terms, pushing his opponent exactly where he wished, and that struck Farid as peculiar.
"Luck," Suli said with typical cheerfulness. "Mabi's manager mentioned he has been looking for a sand bender himself and he's paying a good sum just for it."
"He's looking to specifically fight sand benders?" asked Farid with suspicion. It was true, sand bending was an effective method to counter a pool of lava by cooling it quick, but most fighters in the Dark Below were earth benders, at best budget sand benders, not pure-blood from the sand tribes.
Suli eagerly nodded.
"Has he now...? That's interesting. Can you arrange me a..."
"Boss Ran is already talking to him," said Suli, interrupting him.
Farid stopped, then smirked and nodded.
"For the how many'nth time are you in debt to me now? Just go, Farid. Show 'em how it's done in Si Wen."
"Good!" said Farid flexing his muscles and neck, casually walking towards the ring. "I need to let loose after that last meeting with Gold!"
He stepped onto the ring and took his shirt off, showing off his muscular, yet lean body. Mabi was not impressed, nor did he look impressive. He was quite short and thin, had messy hair and seemed bored out of his mind. He barely paid Farid any attention as he approached, but Farid glanced quickly over his opponent. Fine clothes, pale skin and dark hair, yellow eyes, thin lips, no scars or signs of a violent past. Farid has decided that Mabi is a newcomer and not from around Si Wen or Yong Da, and has probably trained with a master, as rare as those come.
So, we have ourselves the son of a lord, thought Farid. He is not impressed by us, rural folk. He will try to end me quickly, humiliate me through a quick battle, prove himself that we're nothing compared to him.
"So you're a sand bender?" asked Mabi without straining to talk over the cheering crowd.
"I am the sand bender!"
"Let's just get on with it..." sighed Mabi. He raised a hand and out of a sudden, the floor under Farid turned to molten lava. The crowd roared expecting to see him getting burned, but Farid had anticipated this move. He outstretched his arms to the side and there was a huge explosion of steam, covering the entire ring. Out of the steam cloud, Farid jumped sideways and spun around, creating a torrent of glass out of the now cooled lava pool. The glass shards rotated around him and turned into a veritable torrent made of a million sharp edges, menacingly approaching Mabi. He did not expect it. He encased himself in a tomb of rock and sent spikes out of the ground towards Farid. The sand bender raised the floor with himself on it, dodging the spike points, and sent the large cube of rock right at Mabi's tomb. It crashed, but nobody was inside anymore. Farid observed the hole in the ground far too late, as Mabi emerged behind him wielding clawed gauntlets of rock and lava on his hands, and spiked boots of rock and lava on his feet. The heat radiating was so intense that his hair fluttered wildly.
"Impressive," said Farid under his breath. Mabi rushed with a furious tempest of attacks, punching and kicking, but Farid managed to keep his distance. He knew that a single hit would mean almost instantaneous death.
The crowd surged with energy and anticipation. Mabi threw a heavy punch, but Farid crossed his arms, managing to block it with a shield of rock. Not enough. The lava punch has been so powerful that it penetrated the rock shield and knocked Farid on the ground and out of the ring, crashing into the wall. It was total victory for Mabi.
"And for the fourth, yes, the fourth time today, Mabi is the winner!"
"That hit should have break your bones like glass," said Mabi as he climbed down the arena, seeing Farid crawling himself back on his feet, helped by Suli.
"Should have," said Farid, "but I wear a sand armor covering parts of my body and face. Though it's cracked now." He raised an arm and pieces of sand-skin began falling down, crumbling as they hit the ground. His real skin and flesh underneath were bruised and bloody. "It still did quite some damage, your lava gauntlet."
"Outstanding battle," said a big, balding man as he approached Farid to shake hands. "My name is Gausakt, and you must be the Survivor, yes?"
"Pleased. Rarely do I battle such strong opponents," said Farid out of courtesy, though it was still true. Many desperate people come to fight in the lesser arenas for a quick coin, but there weren't that many professional fighters, or truly remarkable individuals. Farid understood that he would have died at Mabi's hands, but he actually held back, and he needed to know why.
"Captain, we have wasted enough time in the Below…" said Mabi, turning to leave. Gausakt nodded ever so slightly, squinting his eyes at the arena where they fought. As it was being reconstructed by the earth bender employees, he couldn't help but notice the sheer scale of devastation and range of the attacks used.
"Yes, I think we're done here. Survivor, I do hope that we will run into each other in the future."
Farid shrugged, and Suli elbowed him.
-o-
Under the cover of darkness, one eye watched as the two men left the Dark Below. Delighted with the outcome, it turned its attention back towards the crowd to look for somebody else, and there she was, Grishma, trailing them carefully not to be seen. The shadow grinned, showing a set of large teeth.
"Amateur..."
-o-
Warlord Yaran frowned, glancing up the alley leading to his mansion as Sergo approached, creeping like a dark stain. He made long, confident strides being surrounded by four of his men, each of them thick-jawed and stocky, dressed in the same dark-green military uniform, each carrying a curved sword. The carriage they arrived in slowly pulled away and headed towards the gates. There were ash-flakes in Yaran's hair, and despite the ash-cloudy sky, the sun shone brightly in that morning so that he needed to shield his eyes with his palm. He needed to see better. Was that defiance in Sergo's expression? A spark, no, a fire burned in his soul. Yaran hasn't seen anything like it before.
Does he distrust me, or is he afraid of something? he asked himself as Sergo stepped closer. There was something peculiar in the distinctiveness of his eyes and face, both of which seemingly disconnected from one another. When a man laughs, he laughs with his eyes and face, sometimes his whole body. When a man is angry, the emotion can be read both in his eyes and in the subtler movements of the face's fine muscles, as tough they were truly and utterly connected by a set of invisible strings, and neither can exist without the other. But Sergo, he wore a mask through and through. The strings have been cut.
Yaran impatiently waited for the young general to climb the stairs, gently tapping a finger on the armrest. He even let his tea go cold but as soon as the guests arrived, he carefully constructed the face that he would wear today. After all, Zino, the head behind the arm that was Sergo, was a dangerous man even if he claimed to be on the allied side.
"Welcome to Si Wen town, general," said Yaran, standing up to shake hands. Sergo paused a moment but obliged.
"Have you been told that I am to arrive?" He had a soft, almost plump voice for a man so versed in the art of war, so sculpted by conflict. Here stood a soldier in front of Yaran, but the voice was that of a eunuch.
"Oh, I have known for some time," answered Yaran. "What brings you here?"
Sergo took a chair in front of Yaran. He nodded at his men and they left the pavilion, returning back towards the gate, near the carriage. One of them opened a pack of cigarettes and offered his colleagues, and another fired up a small flame from the tip of his finger.
Fire benders in Zino's army? What is this? thought Yaran turning slightly towards them. Somehow he felt that the sight of a fire bender in Zino's ranks, a man renown for his racial pride and belief that only earth benders should rule and indeed, have the power to rule, marked a distinct turning point in the fate of the shattered Earth territory.
"I come both with urgent news and a request from Lord Zino," said Sergo and Yaran returned to reality, the world unfolding back into existence around him.
"Naturally."
Sergo frowned, taken aback by the bluntness and presumptuousness of Yaran's words, but he continued. He reminded himself of the warlord's short temper and he dared say nothing aside from the bare bones regarding his mission.
"He wishes to march come the new moon, as it will be highly favourable for his new water benders."
Yaran swallowed. First fire benders and now water benders? What in the world is Zino doing? Since when has Zino recruited water benders into his ranks? he asked himself. He'd never known the man to be such a liberal leader, especially now with the recent tensions between the Water United Nations and the rest of the world. Then again, his own employee, the fellow only known as Mister Gold, has a water bender assassin in his own mercenary crew.
But Zino?
"Interesting. Has there been a recent surge in water bender refugees?" asked Yaran. Sergo laughed, likely intending to be disarming, but it only stroke Yaran as impudent.
"Refugees? Who would want to leave their home and come live in this hell we call the Earth territory."
"Fools and madmen."
"No, lord Yaran. These water benders are hired from the Bottle Bulls band of mercenaries."
"I haven't heard of the Bottle Bulls."
Sergo merely shrugged.
"As it should be for a crew specialised in espionage and assassination rather than military strength. Or perhaps my lord should have spent more time on the field?"
This, again, stuck Yaran as disrespectful.
"You jest, Sergo, but is it wise to rely on mercenaries when it comes to sieging Yong Da? I merely wish to see lord Zino succeed."
This took Sergo by surprise and with all his acting, Yaran could see it on his face as well as eyes. Perhaps he wished to test the waters, see how easily angered Yaran was.
"Lord Zino does not rely on them as the main attacking force, but on something far more, I should say, devious. Poisoning."
In that moment, only one thought radiated in Yaran's mind. What is Zino doing?
"Zino employing poisoners and assassins?" Yaran asked, feigning mild interest. "That's certainly unlike the Zino I know."
Sergo shrugged, not knowing what else to say. Yaran checked his pocket watch then looked up at the sun.
"General, I don't have much time as I have other meetings to attend to, so if you will hurry..."
Sergo respectfully nodded.
"Lord Zino also asks military support of you," he told Yaran.
Yaran stopped. This was going too far
"Rather blunt, aren't we?" he merely said, but he already knew that the charade was over. Sergo would either have to speak liberally or face the retribution of a warlord. Nobody comes with such demands and hope to leave with peace in mind.
"As you said, my lord," said Sergo, maintaining his dignified manner although he himself knew of the ridiculous situation he put himself in, "you likely have other matters to pay attention to."
"Before I answer, what happened to lord Zino's army? My sources have told me that he has been heavily recruiting, gathering a large force for the sole purpose of this siege."
Sergo became flustered and fidgety even though he maintained a calm face.
"I am afraid it won't be enough."
"You are afraid?"
"I am the general of his army," carefully began Sergo, though there was new emotion in his voice. "I tell you, lord Yaran, we won't be merely facing Shen…"
"Then speak, general. Who has joined Shen in alliance? I swear, the tension is killing me." Yaran spoke in a jovial manner but there was a deadly vibration in his voice. There were no warlords in the nearby territories capable of facing Zino save perhaps for Yaran himself.
Sergo gulped and nodded.
"Rumours say that the Avatar has taken residence in Yong Da and is currently aiding Shen, or at the very least he has contacted Shen."
Despair. Yaran felt a chill as the moment grew long and the silence, deep.
"Avatar…" he said, trailing off. He nodded slowly. The Avatar. Supposedly the old temple has been broken but he'd heard... stories, even folk-tales speaking of a fleeting order of monks who took charge in finding and training the avatar as one of their own, generation after generation. It made sense, Yaran believed, since the wars of antiquity sought to destroy the old world ruled by kings and avatars, and then there was the supposed Apocalypse who utterly destroyed the Spiritual World. At least that's what the old wives tell their children to scare them into going to sleep.
He took his cup of tea in a trembling hand. Those same stories also mentioned that a particularly powerful, otherworldly presence has broken through in those ancient times, not out of necessity for a mediator between the two words, but as a jailer. He took a sip…
If the Avatar would to join this war now, what will happen to Zino, to the very world? Many men see war as chaos and devastation but there's a hidden order in it. Every action has a reaction, in war more than in peace, and the stronger force comes on top, ushering forth a new age on a pavement of bones, as the burning of the field of harvest. If the Avatar is to side with the wrong faction, what would happen to Yaran's dreams of a final, unified empire?
He checked the sun once again. Not long until dark, when Kurashiki is to report back with news. If she knows anything of this, thought Yaran... Could I use her to assassinate the Avatar? Can I use her in any way?
"Do you have the identity of the Avatar?" asked Yaran, once again beginning to tap his finger on the armrest. He didn't care to maintain a front anymore. If the Avatar truly surfaced, it would have to hold priority.
"We have received positive leads from our man, Zhubin, and we have already deployed the Bottle Bulls to take out the head of the beast, which is Shen with his generals."
"And once the full moon is up, we attack?"
"That would be the strategy. Our rock benders will grind the walls into sand, and you send forth your sand benders to take from there."
Yaran glanced at the man then, through the chaos of his mind, he smiled. He covered his mouth and laughed.
"New days are coming, general! Head back and tell Zino to ready himself!"
-o-
Several days earlier, in Yong Da:
The man named Sarnai was quite a peculiar person, found Zhubin. Sarnai was the kind of person rarely met in the higher levels of the society, and rarer still in the presence of fine people. He had a sharp mind, true, yet seemed to have an inclination towards more base pursuits, criminal affairs some would say, despite or maybe because of his own skill in elemental bending, fact that would have brought him status and prestige in any army. He was, after all, the Avatar, yet he chose to live the life of an outskirter.
Although quite knowledgeable of various topics of actuality and news of the world, he talked little and showed less. Indeed, he never had his way with words, to hear others say. Nobody out of those interrogated knew where Sarnai came from, but apparently he arrived one say in Yong Da and started causing trouble.
Zhubin believed naught. The avatar, has simply managed to cover his tracks and maintain a false identity almost perfectly - at least this was the conclusion drawn by his associates of the Bottle Bulls, after talking with a select few folk, namely those few with whom the avatar had contact.
"I don't know anything of value about him!" the woman Shufee began, her weakened voice betraying the overwhelming fear behind it. Even before the man kicked open the door, burst into her hideout, assaulted her and presented himself to her, even as she woke up that morning, she had a sense of foreboding, a feeling of ill dread that her cover had been brought to light, revealed in front of the enemies. She cowered on the chair she was sitting on, covering her blackened eye and swollen cheek with her palms, frightened by the sight of her interrogator who bore a massive, metallic bar of a weapon strapped at his back and a much more ominous-looking, double-barreled iron-equaliser hanging at his hip. Upon his big, fat bald head rested a wide peasant's straw hat. He punched her again, so hard that he threw her off the chair.
"Please..." she cried, begged. "He... he's been pardoned by Shen and he's gone now, off with Shen..."
The woman paused and gulped, as if just then realizing that she had told too much. Of course he had been pardoned. He was the Avatar!
She had heard many tales of suffering, to be sure, but then those stories of past heroes have always been noble, something to look forward to. To die in the service of your lord would have been the greatest honour. She would be the pillar of strength and heroism, a beacon of courage in the face of doom...
That first punch that blackened her eye has knocked much foolishness out of her. She understood quite quickly that there was no heroism, no strength in the face of pain, no courage in death.
Betray lord Shen, betray the army, betray the Avatar! She recited it like a chant, like a mantra. Betray lord Shen, betray the army, betray the Avatar! It was as if another voice sang inside her head. Maybe she will survive. She would do anything, say anything to make the pain stop and the fear go away.
"I," she began babbling, as if to make excuses, "I saw them going..."
Zhubin raised a finger, any hint of emotion fading from his expression. He unstrapped his gun and pointed it at her forehead.
"D'you know why they call these things iron-equalisers?" he asked, looking at his weapon as upon the shape of a beautiful woman. Shufee managed to shake her head in between fits of trembling.
"Through iron, they bring humans on an equal footing with... monsters."
-o-
His flaming palm leads the group of people through a stone labyrinth of dark, thin hallways and low ceilings. An oppressive silence chokes the air and nothing can be heard but their breathing and the sound of steps on dead stone. The feeling of inevitability and impending death was suffocating. Nobody uttered a word. Dust and ash hangs lazily in the visible haze as the silent progression of the group slinks steadily along the path, with the Avatar in front of them.
Lord Shen has accepted the shame of defeat, but the others did not, at least not fully. At least not openly. He looked around from beyond the visor of his kabuto helmet and saw the eyes of his allies. He read their thoughts through their expressions. Here, general Hideaki is nurturing a deep shame of running away from the enemy. He has already lost so many good men and women to Zino's assassins. There, the earth bender Hoynar picked up the pace to match that of the Avatar.
Does he wish to tell him something?
Second general Yuu is whispering something into Naoki's ear. She reluctantly shakes her head, glances at the Avatar and responds something that made Yuu's frown even deeper. Behind them all, Master Arata remains silent. His face is barely noticeable from under his red hood and thick beard.
These are the most powerful, most trustworthy, most valiant men of Shen's inner circle, those that made the siege of Ba Sing Se possible... This is what power means...
No! thought Shen. They were all powerful, intelligent individuals, true, but they did not make the siege possible. They did not have power! The Avatar, Sarnai, did! He was the mind and muscle of Shen's success. A miracle in human form... And Shen almost had him executed.
He walked in front of them, an imposing figure built like a weapon, sculpted like a perfect statue of the hardest rock, surrounded by an aura of confidence and stoic vigour. His white hair flowed behind him like an ethereal cape of sorts. Even his steps resonated louder.
Shen regained his hope. He stretched his back, took a deep breath of air to fill his lungs. Yes, even the air seemed purer near the Avatar.
"Why are we running away?" asked Hoynar, walking beside the Avatar. Shen wanted to know as well but felt that he shouldn't question Sarnai's decisions. But that's what a weak leader did and he suddenly realised that others must have thought so as well.
Shen took a breath of air and spoke towards the Avatar: "We are not running, though this is a legitimate concern that we all have."
"I'm more interested to know about this assassination attempt. How did you know about it, Sarnai?" asked general Yuu.
"It is because to fight and shed blood is the will of the Ghost of War, who has been controlling this war for millennia," Sarnai answered plainly, for it was truth.
His response took everyone aback, even Master Arata who walked with his head bowed down. Now he stopped and glanced up through his bushy eyebrows. None of them rightly knew what to say or how to react, so they all sat in silence. The reality of this losing battle hit them hard.
"Are you saying," murmured Naoki, "that the enemy strives for war, is that it? That Zino is..."
"Not Zino!" interrupted the Avatar. "Lord Zino is one of the many puppets of War, directed and deployed by this servant."
Shen wiped sweat off his brow: "How are supposed to fight an enemy that does not wish to win, that does not have a goal other than bloodshed?"
"Just what exactly..." Naoki said lost in thought, her voice trembling. "Just what are we up against?"
Yuu decidedly stepped in. "Who is this servant of War that you speak of, Sarnai?"
"Whoever it is, they managed to take out my men," responded general Hideaki, eyeing Sarnai and Shen. "All of them! They killed them all with iron-equalisers," he continued after a brief moment of silence, crossing his arms and flexing his thick arms. "They killed Shufee..."
Nobody replied.
Shen shook his head. "So is it safe to assume that they are using the discord between benders and non-benders as a fuel for war?" he asked. Yuu quickly nodded and so did Hideaki, as if that has been the first sensible thing said. It was no secret that the constant state of warfare and the subsequent shattering of the Earth territory has driven many non-benders against benders, and to perform acts of terrorism and open rebellion.
Hoynar scratched his unshaven chin. "My concern is, if what Sarnai says it's true, how do we fight an enemy that wages war for the sake of war? What purpose could such a needless waste of human lives serve?"
"I have reasons to believe that what the enemy wants is primarily land, and they take it forcefully for nothing, in the history of mankind, remained unsolved by war," responded Sarnai.
"Right, they don't make that anymore," agreed Hoynar, "and war is merely a means to an end."
Yuu stepped forward, again. "Hoynar raised a good point. Sarnai, how do we know that any of this is true? Our men have been assassinated but Naoki's spies claim that the Bottle Bulls, a mercenary party of small importance, took part in these acts..." He let the words hang in the air for all to question.
Shen raised an eyebrow. "I don't see where you're going with this, second general Yuu."
"It's simple. They have been purchased as no mercenary band fights for a cause. They hold no allegiance to anybody other than coin and gold. War is their object of trade but they have no understanding of what it truly is."
"I don't understand," said Shen. "Are you saying that they do not enact a will greater than their own?"
"Exactly. As mercenaries, they could have served us as well as they served the enemy." He turned towards the Avatar. "That means no faceless ghost or god of war."
"It is no god we're warring against!" snapped Sarnai.
"So what is this war?" asked Hoynar.
"So all we have to do is outbid the bidder..." said Shen, completely ignoring the earth bender. Civilised men knew of war, studied it, lived by it. He turned towards Naoki, "Spymaster, I leave arrangements to you. Contact the Bottle Bulls and use whatever means to cut their current contract. If possible, have them work for us."
The woman nodded slightly. From the darkness beyond the edge of light, Master Arata sat in meditation. His eyes were small, dark and nimble. They scrutinised Sarnai from beneath bushy white brows.
"Fools," he boomed, and with a frail voice, he continued: "Let the Avatar speak." At once, all discussions stopped and all eyes were set on Sarnai.
"War itself has a vast influence," began Sarnai as the Master slowly nodded in acknowledgement. At his opposite stood Lord Shen, his kabuto helmet resting under his arm. Hoynar stood attentively. "War changes the world to be something different, and not even it's dimensions remain recognisable. Men are not men anymore, laws are not laws, custom is replaced with the will of the ever present ghost who serves War and it alone. The world even changes its appearance, surges like a wave, rises like the sea then bends down to War's feet like men do in front of their executioner." A murmur began spreading in between the members of Shen's circle, debating among themselves in hushed tones. The Avatar made a break in his speech to regard each individual in part. Naoki looked at Sarnai with those large eyes that the nature gifts some women. Hoynar struggled to wrap his head around the words spoken. Shen stood in meditation. Yuu managed to maintain his permanent frown upon his otherwise handsome face, and general Hideaki nodded in acknowledgement.
Sarnai continued: "The world's hills and valleys, caves, nooks and crannies become something else, a strategic point, a defensible area or an obstacle in front of the enemy, but never are they something as simple as landforms. The demons of our world are rendered irrelevant in comparison to the terrors of war, and the wonders of our world become demons in times of war."
Yuu shook his head. "I should have expected as much."
"Expected what?"
"That your answers would stoke rather than sate my curiosity."
Sarnai carefully regarded the second general. Tall, thin but muscular, shaved clean as civilised men come, and honest with himself and the world. His' were no empty words. His' were no needles actions.
He wants to lead.
Sarnai smiled. "Alas, answers and knowledge are both like a drug. The more you take in, the more you need which is why the sober man finds solace in ignorance."
"Such words don't get through my thick skull," replied Hoynar, laughing as if in tune with Sarnai's wavelength of the spirit. Yuu merely snorted and looked sideways.
"War is deception," Sarnai simply said, and at once comprehension dawned upon Hoynar and Yuu. Others wrestled still with the import of what has been uttered. All was silence. Then, Sarnai turned at everyone to see and hear. As if by command, the whole world turned its attention towards a single point, all reality, all matter surrendered to one measure. The Avatar.
"This has all been intended. Even your victory," Sarnai said turning towards Shen, "has been carefully calculated by the Ghost of War."
-o-
Outside Yong Da, in Lord Zino's warcamp:
Like tattered cloth in an ethereal wind, the twin braziers fluttered in the large, hall-like tent. Surrounded by his advisors, generals and war-counselors, hardened men and women from all walks of life, mercenaries and loyalists, benders and non-benders alike, Lord Zino clutched the handle of his ancestral sword until his knuckles felt like bursting. He waited patiently, unconsciously counting his "court". His resources. General Sergo accompanied by a short, young man walked to his right and leaned over, licking his thin lips before saying:
"Yaran's emissary has arrived..."
"Heed your tone," snapped an older, much thicker man. "Kurashiki is Lord Yaran's most trusted servant and she aids our cause!"
The general bowed his head swiftly, as though against his will. He could humble the pompous old man with a slight of his wrist, or the iron of an equaliser to the head, but that would leave nothing good behind. How he despised benders! Almost as much as he despised needing them.
"Kurashiki has come, Lord Father," whispered the younger one, a thin boy with messy, dark hair. Zino clenched the pommel so tight the script engraved across it etched a brand on his palm.
Two sweaty earth bender guards entered the tent, bearing arms rather than lamps. They took positions on either side of the entrance and captain Gausakt, large and balding, filled between them, accompanied by a slender, cowled figure drapped in black robes and loose pants. Despite the fires, Zino could only partly see her lips and her only healthy eye. That terrible, maddening eye.
The sun went down, and so it seems, all hope with it, he pondered, struggling to breathe. Kurashiki. For a rational man like Zino, the only being more hateful was the Avatar.
She drew back her cowl, pulling it wide over her bony shoulders, revealing a head full of thick, black hair. Her skin was pale, shockingly so, and her face was dominated by the right, empty eye socket accompanied by her other eye, wide-mad with the things she must have seen. Her almost-skeletal face always unnerved Zino, always reminded him of the impotence of man against incomprehensible, unfathomable power. The knowledge that this... woman could nevertheless kill him then and there, shift the balance of power in the Shattered Earth territory, awakened a pang at the back of this throat, one that could not be silenced by swallowing.
Had there been any unchecked anger handy, any unbeaten resentment or temper in his court... Had there been any rivals that would see harm to Zino's rule, any man at all could have seized the occasion and attack Kurashiki in that instant. No man could suffer her, and only stood still our of fear. Pure fear. Such were the extremes of emotion that Kurashiki excited in these people, who were all unaccustomed by her mere presence. Standing lean as a knife, narrow and dangerous as a blade, grinning sarcastically and revealing her large, almost animal teeth.
"Why have you come?" Zino asked. He was surprised at the booming sound of his own voice. Perhaps he appeared disrespectful, but weaker men were concerned with such matters. Zino was not.
"I bear news, Warlord," said the shadowy Kurashiki. "The Avatar, Lord Shen and several of his entourage have escaped your assassins."
Zino snorted. Of course he knew that entrusting the execution of such a manoeuvre to the Bottle Bulls was foolish, but his son seemed to have had faith in them. This will not happen again.
"A blunder, a miscalculation of sorts. I assure Lord Yaran that our plans do not suffer changes..."
"Fool!" exclaimed Kurashiki. Out of reflex or ignorance, Gausakt, Zino's Captain of the guards, raised a stone to strike her down. Zino's son, the boy Mabi, furiously protested and raised his arms in a battle stance, his Elemental Master, the old Payam, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder as if to calm him down. Sergo was outraged, others spoke in tones tight with the fear of being overheard. The whole tent rose in offence.
Zino silenced them all with a thump of his sword on the floor.
"As you can see, Kurashiki, we do not take kindly to misbegotten words in my war-camp."
Her eye lingered for a moment on him, then switched over the two burly men that flanked her. Looking beyond them, she saw Gausakt. In front of her stood old master Payam and his student, Mabi. Sergo had his iron-equaliser ready to fire. In a flash, she counted each person inside the tent, as though assessing the threat posed by all of them at once. Then, like the glare of a lighthouse, her eye turned back to Zino.
"We should have taken the Avatar out before laying siege," said Kurashiki. Zino knew this. "The enemy recruits as we speak, amasses their power, they design plans, form strategies. They have the advantage that the Avatar possesses." Zino also knew this. He can no longer bargain with Shen, he realised. Not after a failed assassination attempt. "And the people of Yong Da wish no more war..."
"I will grant them that trifle," said Zino, "as soon as I conquer their city."
"Don't you see? They know! They know that the Avatar has returned now, at the precipice of time, and they shall join with the Avatar. This will be no war against Lord Shen. This will be a war against the hundreds of thousands of Yong Da. A war against the Avatar himself... A war to end all wars!" Her disheartening grin widened. "And guess on which side will you be, Lord Zino?"
For the first time, Kurashiki saw concern rather than calculation on Zino's fine facial features. Too subtle for others too see, but as clear as a candlelight in darkness for her. Should she disgrace him? Maybe stir some righteous anger in him? Perhaps humble the man in front of others...? Which emotions should she play with?
Shame it is...
"Speechless, Lord Zino?" she sneered. "Well, choke on this: Lord Shen's spymaster, a woman named Naoki, has already sealed a pact with the Bottle Bulls, this very morning, under your nose. Even now, those traitorous benders prepare to join his host."
Zino whirled to face his son, Mabi, who brokered the deal with the mercenaries, stunned by what he had just heard.
"Lies!" spat Mabi.
Zino knew he should be mad with fury but something like this was... unprecedented.
"She lies, father," the boy said. "The devil lies, she works with..."
"Silence!" said Zino, his voice raised to frightening levels. "This creature is incapable of untruth, she never tempers with a fact, never alters a word to suit the pleasure or convenience of anyone other than whom she serves."
A cold fury uncoiled within Zino. There will be much arguing tonight.
"You must forgive Mabi," he said. The whole court fell into a dreading silence. "You can be assured that I will not."
Mabi's eyes darted between his father and Kurashiki and she looked back at him. She didn't blink once.
There is much darkness in this boy's heart. Good.
Zino brought a hand to his thick chin. Alternatives tumbled through his soul, of course, but many involved acts of rashness or hastiness, of poor decisions taken mindlessly, most of them foundering on the sharp fact of the Avatar and his godlike power.
"Regardless of who possesses the Bottle Bulls, this siege is bound to fail," he said. Kurashiki nodded. "Tell me, now that we bargain from a position of weakness, what do you propose?" At this point, nobody dared intervene, nobody dared speak up or step out of the line imposed by Zino's will. The evening has been long enough.
Kurashiki grinned and the very fabric of reality seemed to rip to shreds. Her smile brought hardened men to knees, made weeping babes of war veterans. There was an echo in her voice, a reflexion in her single eye and a dark pit in the other. She was the echo of war!
"Leave the Avatar to me," she audaciously said, and Zino understood.
To be continued.