No Name Woman (Working Title)
Collecting Sparks (Alternative)
Spark and Fade (Alternative)
By Nastia
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Chapter One: Something, something...
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She'd never thought it'd end this way.
Her back pressed into the plush feathers of the mattress; the once soft cotton of the bedding now burned the skin of her back and neck as she tried, ever so slowly, to somehow leave her captor's grasp.
Hot, humiliated tears stung her eyes as they rolled down her cheeks and onto the bed below. The tears created spots on the fabric as they continued, accompanied by her muffled cries terror and mortification.
Slowly her cries died off as her oxygen supply was cut off by his wet fingers. He slid his hand from her nose, down her cheek, over the crest of her collar bone, leaving a trail of blood as he went. With the same bloody fingers he'd used to kill her, he tenderly moved them to her eyelids, closing them as if she had died of natural circumstances; loved, in the arms of a lover.
The only light in the room the small flickering of a candle housed within an ornately designed lantern. No panic filled his heart or mind as he heard the loud steps of the Guard, their shouts resonating throughout the hall and room as they approached.
He left her lifeless, yet still warm body between the creases of the sheets and bedding, as if she were asleep. Quietly he slinked back from the bed and over to the clothing rack. The rack displayed the robe that she would have worn for her coronation later that evening. As if in some form of grotesque tribute, he stole the robe from it's stand and spread it over her body, leaving only her beautiful, sallow, and lifeless face exposed.
A series of small Teak tables lay in a row next to the empty rack. On one table lays a neatly folded bolt of sheer purple fabric. As if he'd seen a ghost, his heart began to race and his face became red. There it was. The source of all his hell and the source of her happiness.
As if he were some sort of secret Shinobi warrior, he stole the fabric from the tabled and melted into the shadows of the room. The quiet is shattered as the Guard enters in a cacophony of clanging swords and panicked voices. Shrill screams emanate from the entire female Guard.
Suddenly the room burst into flames, devouring the dead woman and her protectors.
--
Her breath caught in her chest as she quickly came to, her eyes shooting open as she woke. Katara's breathes came slowly at first; soon she was doubled over in tears and fright. Her chest heaved with each strained breath, her cries of silent desperation radiating throughout the dark room.
It always this dream. The one with the hauntingly beautiful woman being murdered; a stolen yard of seemingly innocent violet fabric. The man from the dream, his face was never exposed, nor did he ever speak a word.
Finally her tears subsided. The grayish pink of dawn filled her room, filtering in through the slats of the reed blinders that hung from her only window. Humidity hung around her defeated form like a thick, wet blanket. Sluggishly she sat up on her futon, casting off the thick cotton blankets in disgust.
Birds cried outside her open wind, their exotic coos filling the room like some invisible toucan and macaw orchestra. Katara slumped back down onto her futon, her arms and legs sprawled out over the hot fabric. Her breathing was normal once more, tear stains streaked her cheeks.
It was of no use. She couldn't sleep. The mixture of humidity, early morning heat, and the endless, incessant chatter of birds was enough to drive the Waterbender slowly insane. Katara woke to this every morning, the same droll life day after day.
What started off as an exciting, lively existence slowly rotted into something solitary and deafening. She'd told him she wanted to travel the world alone, to gather her thoughts on marriage and babies; about life in general. She'd told him she wanted to find herself. What she found was a slowly rotting, low-rent in the most southern portion of the Fire Nation.
With stiff, sore muscles she slowly sat up, a huff of frustration leaving her cracked lips as she hoisted herself up from the lumpy futon. Katara gathered her long, frizzed hair, securing it behind her head with a simple leather thong. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and began her daily session of yoga.
Her muscles began to burn, slowly waking from a night of fit-ridden sleep and dreams of death. After a few fire squats her leg muscles felt supple and sinuous again. She took in a few more deep breaths, each more luxurious than the last. Moving from one set of stretches to the next was nothing if not relaxing for her. It was something she'd learned to do when she'd first learned how to waterbend under Pakku's guidance. Stomach exercises, however, were a different story.
Belly dance was a the de facto cultural dance of the region. Local girls were conditioned from a young age to learn how to control their stomach muscles, to move their hips with the sultry sounds of bells, stringed instruments, and the Sounghi horn.
She could hear them already, the town stirring, starting it's day like some lazy organism just waking from a long sleep. Katara smiled as she began to strip off her sleeping clothes, revealing her breast bindings and undershorts. She pulled at the ribbons securing her bindings until the silky fabric gave way, letting the iron-tight pressure of the binding-fabric loose. Hastily she pulled the corset-like bindings off, tossing them to the floor alongside her sleeping clothes and discarded bedding.
Topless as she was, she felt no shame or embarrassment. She was in her own room, in a private, cordoned-off part of a nearly deserted boarding house. Any chance a man would have to spy upon her was none.
She walked over toward her dressing table, pulling a heavily decorated sash off the old, ornate mirror. The sash was a brilliant red color, hundreds of tiny golden medallions hung from it's hem, creating soft tinkling noises as she moved about and secured it around her shapely hips.
Katara squared her hips, flexed her abdominal muscles a few times, and began the dance she found the hardest to master. She began to gyrate her hips, slowly at first, quickly gaining tempo and intricacy with each passing second. The fabric of her sash fluttered with each of her movements, the tiny medallions colliding, the hundreds of tiny tinks melded together to create a truly pleasant sound.
Soon she began to move her arms and to sway with the sound of far-off music. She wanted nothing else than to blend in with the local culture, to absorb it's richness, to smell the heady scents of it's spices and perfumes; to master the tiringly sensual and luxuriously wanton dances they danced in celebration of their goddesses.
The tiny island-village of Taha Aki may have been part of the Fire Nation before the final battle, and still technically was, but it's culture seemed so different from that of the mainland. Sexuality was openly accepted here. The women dressed in clothes that accentuated their bodies, unlike the ladies of the mainland who wore uniform from neck to foot, every conceivable feminine curve hidden from view of men.
Her dance ended and she opened her shockingly blue eyes. Oh how Katara loved this little village. She took a few cleansing breaths as she unwrapped the sash and flung it back onto her dressing table.
This was the state of her normally tidy room; messy, unruly, and filled with red clothing. Of course she'd not forgotten her true home, the Water Tribes. True to her heritage, she retained the clothes of her childhood, the thick fur-lined parkas, and the ornately carved engagement necklace that had at one time belonged to her mother.
The necklace in question lay fastened around her neck, the stone warm against her skin as she moved her fingers to stroke it. She lovingly pressed the blue stone pendant into her palm until the crest of the Southern Water Tribe was left indented into her tan skin.
Memories, all of them as fresh as the morning that broke around her, were as happy and painful as any could be. Her body became a livewire at the thought of her first love, the Avatar; Aang. Image and sensations of their first kiss fill her mind and take over her body; sweet and exciting. Her lips began to tingle at the sheer thought of it.
That had been three years ago, the delicious first kiss as a real couple. A real couple with no boundaries before them, free to do whatever they so please. A year had passed, their love had grown so strong that one was not seen without the other. They seemed to orbit each other. Perfect, happy, in love.
Until he'd brought up the subject of betrothal.
Katara opened her eyes, surprised to find herself still grasping her mother's choker, as if her life depended on it. She lets it go, feeling the warm stone settle back onto her chest.
Again the chatter of birds begins to settle into the room, louder now than before. The chatter of beaks and squawks of the toucans and macaws is entirely too much for her to take.
Katara's eye twitches as she stomps over to the window and shoves the reed blinders apart and shouts into the forest. "Shut up!" Her words echo through the banyans and monkey pod trees. Somehow it registers within the birds' peanut-sized brains, and they all turn their heads to face Katara.
Silence bears down upon them now. Like the humidity, it is lethargic and lazy. Regret begins to fall upon Katara for screaming at the birds. At least their squawks and squeaks broke the muted heat of the morning.
Katara retreats from the window, letting the reeds fall back into place. She begins her usual morning regime.
Her clothes are neatly folded at the foot of her futon, next to the bag that held all of her earthly possessions. She crouches down next to the pile of blues and whites, shifting fabrics, fondling silks and cottons, choosing what would be appropriate to wear throughout the heat of the day.
Her final choice consists of a simple blue tunic and loose gray leggings, her usual daytime clothing choice. Reaching over, she gathers her bindings and begins to secure them around her chest again. They're tight, her breasts strain against the cotton strips she'd worn since she'd been a girl.
At seventeen, her body now held all the curves of a woman. Her breast full and round, her hips square and firm, her stomach flat and muscled. While her body-shape was glorious and seductive, it was her hair, skin, and eyes that radiated health. Slowly she ran her fingers through her hair, the soft silkiness of it never failed to amaze her. It was thick and strong, smooth and shiny. Her skin too held a delicious quality, the tone and color were the very envy of the village women she associated with on a daily basis.
It was strange, why the women of Taha Aki wished to attain the tan complexion of a waterbender. She'd traveled the world over and had faced a social stigma like no other about her skin color once she'd entered the Fire Nation. The prejudice against Waterbenders and people of the Water Tribes was nothing like she'd ever seen before. It was mortifying to be gossiped about just because her skin wasn't milky.
This, however, had quickly come to an end once Zuko had assumed the throne. Racial prejudice, as illegal as it may be in the Fire Nation, ran rampant through harsh words spoken behind the fans of court ladies and their women.
Once she'd finished dressing, Katara once again walked over to her dressing table and sat down. She gazed upon herself in the giant ancient mirror fastened to the back of the table. The frame was carved beautifully. The original paint had worn off long before she'd come to own it. She fan her thin fingers over the dragons, goddesses, and flowers. A small smile crept it's way onto her full lips as she moved her fingers from the frame, dropping her hands to her lap.
The woman, her muted cries of despair filled Katara's head. The memories came in flashes; the dead woman, her burned body, the killer, the stolen yard of purple fabric... The feel of blood, hot and sticky, on her face.
Katara shook her head to ride herself of the memories and sensation of the night. Quickly she grabbed her wooden brush and began to yank it through her long hair. She finished dressing faster than she'd ever done before, almost running out of the room in a rush.
--
"Sokka, she's gotta be here. I just feel it in my bones. She's here."
"I think you feel it in something else..." Sokka mumbled under his breath as he glared at Aang. Fifteen and still as exuberant about life as he'd been when he first joined the group. Sure, he'd lost some of his childlike tendencies due to the finale battle, but Aang had never truly grown up.
"Oh, it's love, Sokka. Why are you always so negative?" Suki questioned as she raised an eyebrow and adjusted the squirming bundle on her back. The bundle began to cry out for it's mother.
"Oh, dear..." Suki cooed as she stopped to move the bundle so that it lay swaddled against her chest. "Dear heart, don't cry..." She spoke so sweetly to the bundle of fabric that it made Momo's ears perk up. She began to rock the bundle in her arms as she hummed a quiet lullaby.
"Why do you still have that thing?" Sokka groaned as he looked over at Suki and her bundle in disgust. "Because it's damn cute, and you know it." She smiled at him, pursing her lips as she blew him a kiss.
Sokka rolled his eyes at this, yet a blush blossomed across his face at her actions. "I guess, if you say so..." He trailed as he layed an arm over he shoulders as they continued to walk.
"Oh, who's my cute little moose-lion cub? Who is? Oh, you are!" Sokka began to pet the head of the tightly bundled moose-lion cub as if it were a human infant.
"Taha Aki? Wow, this is a dumpy little town." Sokka remarked as they traveled down the main road of the village; a narrow, dirt affair that left rocks in their shoes and dust in their mouths and hair.
"Gods, does anyone notice how humid it is here? Why would anyone live here?"
To the red-clad locals who had not seen hide nor hair of foreigners since the arrival of the dark-skinned Waterbending beauty, the ragtag group of travelers looked like homeless vagabonds. Aang, dressed in shabby orange robes he'd long-since grown out of, his flying lemur, Momo, draped over his shoulder like a dead animal. Sokka and Suki, both in dingy, grimy green robes also looked haggard, yet less than Aang who could have passed for a beggar.
"Why are they all starring at us?" Suki asked under her breath as she moved the moose-lion cub back to it's swaddle on her back.
"Because we look like we've been to hell and back." The source of the voice, a barefoot Earthbender, lounged lazily on Appa's back as they continued their way down the main road.
"And because you're girlfriend is acting like she has a baby. You two look like infidels." She let out a giggle at her own words, petting Momo, who'd abandoned Aang to laze with her.
Suki's cheeks puffed at Toph's words, yet she said nothing. She heartily knew she could not beat Toph when it came to cruel, truthful observations, or when it came to her caustic wit. She couldn't hold a candle to Toph's sharp tongue. All she could do to defend herself was to send a glare and to stick her tongue out in some form of childish retort.
"When we find Sugar Queen, you two need to get rid of that thing. It smells." Toph was on a role. She wouldn't stop, and couldn't be stopped.
"Oh, you smell." Suki attempted to barb her with insults, yet nothing seemed to faze the blind Earthbender. "Hey, thanks!" She smiled and continued to pet Momo.
"Maybe they'll know where she is...?" Aang spoke out loud, and it seemed, to himself.
Leaving the pack momentarily, Aang approached an old woman who sat behind a fruit counter. "Uh, hi. I'm looking Katara. She's a waterbender, about this tall, and has hair loopies. Have you seen her?"
The woman looks at him dumbly, a look of confusion on her wrinkled face. She spoke, her words strange and unknown to the Avatar and his friends. She jabber on in her language, point to this fruit and that one, offering samples of strange-looking foods as she went.
"OH, for the love of..." Sokka shouted as he began to rummage through his satchel until he pulled out a tightly wound scroll.
He brought the scroll to the woman and unraveled it, revealing the crude painting he'd done years before, right after the finale battle. He pointed a finger to the figure with the "Momo ears." Below the waterbending stick figure lay scrawled notes with Katara's name.
Recognition lit up the old woman's face as she clapped her wasted hands together. "Tubig Babae!" She said with enthusiasm and genuine happiness as she pointed towards the beach.
A huge smile found it's way to Aang's face as he sped off towards the ocean front, leaving Sokka, Suki, Toph, Momo and Appa in the dusty street.
"See, I'm useful!"
--
Whipping up a dust storm as he went, Aang laughed as his feet sped over the soft, hot white sand of the beach. Suddenly, as if hit by lightening, he froze in his tracks.
Her tan, lithe form, scantily clad as she was, glided over the patchy blue waves of the surf, her body atop a make-shit surfboard. People on the beach applauded her skill as she went, as if she were their goddess come to earth. She truly could be a goddess, he thought.
He stood silent as she came ashore, flinging back her wet hair and drying her body with a cotton towel. She dropped her homemade surfboard on the sand, smiling as she scanned the beach. Suddenly her smile faded as she took in the orange form that lay but twenty feet away from her.
--
This story, I hope, will be my next good Avatar fanficiton. It's been a while since I've written anything with meaning in the way of Avatar. Hopefully this will be the exception. Remember, reviews equal love. :)
- Nas