Epilogue 27: Lessons from the Painted Lady
All spirits gain strength from the love and worship of their followers. The power of belief can do incredible things. When wronged or abandoned, some spirits grow angry and destructive. Some abandon their people. And some fade into legend waiting for someone to remind the people they are there.
This last is the case of the Painted Lady, a river spirit in the larger islands of the Fire Nation. It is said that she rose from the waters in times of need and taught the people how to fish and how to use herbs to make medicines. Over time, as needs were less and the people grew prosperous, she was forgotten into the stories told to children and the legends and lore shared around the cooking fires.
In the time of the 100 year war, even her lessons were forgotten. Her waters polluted so badly by the waste from a weapon's factory bent on making tools of destruction, she lacked the strength to help her people in need. The spirit quietly waited, her prayers drifting on the winds to the moon that she herself worshipped. And the moon answered by sending one of her own.
Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was fate. A young waterbender, with the gift of healing arrived with her friends to the village seeking food and finding only despair. To her brother who wanted them to continue on, she voiced a calling from deep with in. She pleaded with him for them to stay, but he did not want to budge. The avatar was with them and they needed to get to their destination soon, before the Day of Black Sun in order to defeat the Fire Lord and save the world. "These people are starving!" She pleaded more. "What can we do?"
His words were sharp and stung, "We do nothing. We cannot. We have to get Aang to the capital in time."
She fisted her hands as a ferocity that gave her as much courage as any firebender erupted within her. "I WILL NEVER TURN MY BACK ON PEOPLE WHO NEED ME!" Her desire to help those in need woke the same desire of the river spirit known as the Painted Lady. The young waterbender, named Katara, dreamed of how she could help. She dressed in the way she had dreamed and snuck off into the night to steal food and medicine from the military factory to help feed and heal the people. The people began to remember their Painted Lady as their hopes rose. Then throwing caution to the winds, Katara with Aang's help destroyed the factory so that it would no longer pollute the river.
At first her brother was upset, Sokka again spoke sharp words, "You can't keep doing this Katara! They will only go back to the way they were. If you keep giving them stuff, they will never fend for themselves." His words too were part of the lessons of the Painted Lady. However, he remembered his sister's words about never turning her back on those that need her. With a sigh he conceded, "You need me. And I will never turn my back on you."
In a short and desperate battle. They drove off the angry soldiers from the small struggling village. The people were upset at first by Katara's deception as the century of animosity with their enemy colored the boons placed before them.
Katara had given the Painted Lady form and hands to act. Now she gave the Painted Lady voice, "It doesn't matter if the Painted Lady is real or not. Your problems are real. And this river is real!" She remembered her brother's words earlier, "You can't wait around for someone to help you. You must help yourselves!"
Moved by both actions and words, their hearts (if not their minds) remembered the Lessons of the Painted Lady. Clean and protect the river and she will always provide. Fish the waters and harvest from the shores and you will never go hungry and always be healed. I will be here to help you in times of need. But remember I can only help those willing to help themselves.
Before departing the area, in the light of the moon, Katara washed her face in the now clean waters of the river. A shimmering light reflected in the waters and Katara lifted her eyes. Floating there was a women with Water Tribe tanned skin, the amber gold eyes of the Fire Nation, a perlescent moon painted on her brow, the burnt red ochre lines and swirls painted on her face, simple flowing robes of moonlight cream, and fiery ropes of fishing nets holding it together at a clam shell upon her breast, the wide conical hat of the local grasses and a thin veil of mystery. She was the harmony of fire and water, of moon and sun. And she smiled sweetly to the brave waterbender on the shore. "Thank you," she whispered into the silence of the night just as she faded into the foggy mists of the river.
With luck, more people of the Fire Nation will remember these small lessons to free themselves of the shackles of their Lord in this cruel war that has lasted far too long.