Thank you so much to EliteFanFic, who gave me an awesome review last chapter. Hope you keep reading!
I was going to post on Wednesday, but I went to see the Big Four (!) at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. Best. Night. Of. My. Friggin'. Life.
Disclaimer: I, in no way shape or form, own Avatar: The Last Airbender, it's characters, or it's storyline. I do own my OC, though.
Enjoy!
Grit and Gold
Chapter Two
Two days after I had killed Huo Takang, I sat in Tsuong's office, awaiting my newest assignment. It must be a rare, terrifying sort of client, because when I come in, Tsuong is wringing his hands very nervously.
"Don't sit!" he barks, and I stop short on my way to my usual chair. "No time . . . we've gotta be there now." He glares angrily at me, those bloody eyes forcing goosebumps to erupt on my skin. "Where have you been? I sent a guard to find you twenty minutes ago."
His voice is low and dangerous.
I look down at my bare feet, involuntarily crunching my toes into the dirt self-consciously. His tone is scaring me—as everything about him does. But it isn't him I fear; no, Tsuong is not a scary man. It's what he does that horrifies me . . . what he is capable of . . . what he has done to me, when I was powerless and weak.
"Well?" he hisses, coming around his desk and grabbing me by the hair. He yanks my head back, stretching my neck uncomfortably.
"I—I—" I whisper, desperately attempting to stop my hands from shaking uncontrollably. "I guess . . . it just took the guard a while to find me . . . I was out in the farthest courtyard—"
I break off as he tugs violently at my hair, making a gasp slip from lips as my neck snaps down and back up. My hands immediately go for my neck to cradle it, comfort the new bruises.
Tsuong lashes his foot out, so that my legs are swept out from under me, and I topple to the floor. I know better than to stand before being ordered to, so I lay there facedown on the dirt floor, breathing getting shallower. Out of nowhere comes his heavy, booted foot, swinging at my delicate side forcefully. I jerk, sucking in my stomach as pain explodes along my ribcage. Thankfully, there is no sickening crack, so I have a sliver of hope that none of my ribs have broken.
Tsuong reaches down and drags me to my feet by the collar of my tattered prison uniform. Grabbing both my forearms, he slams me against the wall of his office, fingernails digging into my flesh.
"We're going to meet a client," Tsuong hisses in a deadly whisper, squeezing my forearms in a bruising way, "and you'd better be on your best behavior—anything less, and you'll be going straight to the meatpackers, to be slaughtered like a pig—if you screw this up—" He breaks off, unable to speak in his nervous rage. With a noise of disgust, annoyance, worry, or all three, he snatches my wrist and pulls me out of the room.
Down the halls we go, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. My side is burning with pain, my forearms are stinging, and the skin on my wrist is twisting as he yanks me unceremoniously out of the prison, pushes me into a small waiting carriage, climbs in after me, and signals for the driver to trot his bird-horses on immediately.
I try to sit as far away from Tsuong as I can without him noticing. I sit uncomfortably in the far corner of the little carriage, my face pressing against the cushioned wall, my hair falling over to hide it from the burning eyes of the monster.
I can tell you right away, this isn't new at all. Tsuong had beaten me worse many times before, and before him, I was a punching bag to many cruel people. But I suppose even I must submit to some form of what I commit myself.
After I few minutes, I raise my head just slightly enough to see out the tiny window of the carriage. We are just going over a little sort of drawbridge . . . straight into the Fire Lord's palace courtyard.
I squeak in the back of my throat and sit bolt upright. "No," I say wildly. "What are . . . what's . . . here?"
That is the most intelligent statement I can manage.
"Shut up," says Tsuong rudely, licking his thin, white lips.
I shrink back into my seat, horrible apprehension towering over me as the carriage jerks to a stop in front of the huge doors. Two stoic guards greet Tsuong and me as we get out of the carriage.
The Fire Lord's palace is cruelly beautiful and intimidatingly colossal. If you want to see the tallest tower from the ground in front of it, you would have to bend your head so far back you would break your neck. The walls are thick, reddish brown stone, and golden plates and plaques decorate everything. Expensive portraits and tapestries hang on every wall; every floor is covered by a woolly, handmade rug. I am almost so lost in admiring the way the astonishingly soft rug feels on my bare feet, I forget to be on my guard.
We are led into a dark, ominous room. The only source of light is the long, horizontal pit full of blazing, twisting flames. I suck in a breath, and turn as if I plan on running, but the very solid body of a guard meets me. He turns me around and pushes me forward, so I stumble, landing on my hands and knees. The floor is obsidian, cold and black. I am immediately ordered to my feet; I raise my face to the looming flames.
The silhouette of the Fire Lord is visible in the light of the curling, red and orange flames. He is nothing but a shadow, a sinister, creepy shadow on a raised throne.
Tsuong practically grovels as we approach him . . . as close as we can get without burning our skin off. We sit on our knees uncomfortably before him.
"Your Highness," he says unctuously, "I am honored to be in your presence. It is truly—"
"Silence," says Fire Lord Ozai coldly. His voice is harsh and unforgiving. "You've brought your assassin?"
My blood ran cold and shivering. The Fire Lord was our client? I had to kill for the Fire Lord? And an assassin? Is this what I have become, lost, destroyed, grunging about, throwing away lives for selfish reasons?
The monks would be repulsed by me.
I bow my head, no longer able to look at the sinister silhouette any longer.
Tsuong says, "Yes, Fire Lord Ozai, of course. She is right here." He gestures to me, kneeling beside him. I do not look up, thankful that my hair obscures my view.
"Her name?" Fire Lord Ozai asks.
"She has none that I know of, Fire Lord," says Tsuong. "But I assure you, she can get the job done . . . cheaply, as well."
"Yes, I don't doubt that once that fool Takang's body was discovered"—he knew about this? I thought, shocked—"I knew she was the one for the job. . . . But I'm not striving for a death this time, Tsuong. Can she capture?"
"Of course!" says Tsuong greasily. He is disgustingly obsequious, excessively servile. "She's brilliant at what she does. No job is too much."
"I'm glad to hear you say that," says the Fire Lord, and I detect a smirk in his tone of voice. "I wish for her to capture the Avatar."
Without thinking, I topple forward silently, flinging out my hands to keep my face from smacking to floor. My mind is racing, my heart pounding—no, not this, I can't—
Tsuong glances at me out of the corner of his red eyes, shining rubies in the light of the fire, and he says, "O-of course she's capable of that, My Lord."
"Good," says Fire Lord Ozai silkily. "I'll put no time limit of the Avatar's capture, as he is quite slippery. I am putting every man I have on the job, but still . . . I need someone with more . . . experience. More stealth."
"Stealthiest person I've ever met, My Lord."
"I'm sure," says Fire Lord Ozai. "But there is one small issue I am concerned about. . . . You told me she was a prisoner?"
"Yes, Fire Lord."
"Then we'll need a way to keep her from escaping," says Fire Lord Ozai thoughtfully. "Too much freedom in one quick dose could enhance her fantasies of getting away, and not completing this task."
Tsuong fidgets. "I'm sure she will complete it, My Lord," he says quickly, but Fire Lord Ozai holds up a hand to silence him, a dark, spidery, long-fingered hand.
"I will assign one of my guards to travel with her, watch her day and night. One of the ones craving experience. I'm sure many will jump at the opportunity to serve their great nation. If you'll just wait outside, I will have someone fetch one."
Without waiting for an answer of agreement from Tsuong, the Fire Lord waves his spidery hand, and the two unwaveringly stoic guards escort us out of the throne room. Regular candlelight assaults my eyes as we leave, and I close them tightly.
"This is great," says Tsuong, rubbing his hands together. "Did you hear that, girl? You're gonna take down the Avatar . . . oh, I can't wait to get my hands on that sack of gold pieces!"
I do not acknowledge him and slide down a wall, so I am kneeling at the base of it. I put my head in my hands.
Tsuong does not seem to notice my distress, or he just does not care. He is excitedly listing what he will do with his heaping load of coins once I have captured the Avatar: first, buy a beach house on Ember Island, second, buy a luxury ship, and third, buy one hooker, one whore, and one slut.
Another of the Fire Lord's staff comes out of the throne room, closing the door behind him so we can't see what is going on inside. This one is tall and brazen-faced, and his uniform suggests he is a high-ranking officer.
"The Fire Lord has found a guard for the girl," he says to Tsuong, disregarding me entirely. "You may leave."
"Right. But I wondering if I could get some of my money in advance—"
"You have been dismissed," the man says, unfazed. "The Fire Lord has ordered you from his palace. He no longer needs you here."
There are shuffling footsteps and Tsuong scurries off. I actually feel alone.
The man grasps my arm, yanking me to my feet. I throw him off, snarling; I'm too much of a touch-me-not to ignore such invasion. The brazen-faced man only smirks, and leads me back into the dark, dim throne room.
There is a figure already bowing before the Fire Lord, on his hands and knees, forehead touching the ground. He raises his head to look at the dark silhouette.
The man pushed me forward, and I drop to my knees so that the Fire Lord won't blow my head off out of disrespect. Brazen-face leaves the room quickly.
"Rise," he says imperiously.
The bowing man and I get to our feet. I do not look at him, keeping my eyes trained cautiously on Fire Lord Ozai.
"I sense great power in you, young one," he says to me, raising a hand and pointing a long finger. Young one. I almost have the audacity to roll my eyes. If he only knew. "The task set for you is challenging and will require strength and diligence. I expect only the best from you, considering the description I have been offered on you.
"However," his voice turns nastier, colder, "if I get wind in any way that you might not be attempting this task, that you might not be the most attentive you can be, that you're trying to escape—well, I think you can guess what I am capable of doing to you." He chuckles softly.
I tighten my shoulders.
"Both of you may go. A ship will be waiting in the yard for you. The crew and supplies are at your absolute command. I wish you luck."
Two more guards escorted us from the palace. Once out in the bright light of midday, I turn to look at the man who will supposedly be guarding me.
He is younger than I expected, maybe about seventeen years, at most. He has golden eyes that shine in the sunlight, and dark, dark hair buzzed down to a short fuzz. He smiled slightly, uncertainly at me. He wears the uniform of the lowest ranking officer in the Fire Lord's staff.
Oh, the poor, poor boy. He doesn't know what he's getting himself into.
"Um . . . hi," he says indecisively, as if he is scared to speak with me. "My name's Lian. And you?"
"I have no name," I say stiffly, and I set off at a quick pace toward the docks.
"Oh . . . hey . . . wait up!" I hear his heavy footsteps coming after me. How horribly unlucky this kid is to have gotten himself into such a position.
"How can you not have a name?" he asks incredulously.
"I just don't," I say, my tone punctuated quite clearly to show my annoyance. I am not in the mood for small talk. Doesn't he understand the position I'm in? We're both in? Doesn't he get how tremendously awful this will be for me, the decisions I'll have to make, the decisions he'll have to make?
Of course he doesn't, I realize suddenly. He's barely out of school, not even in college, and has about as much understanding of the world as a clam-tortoise. He hasn't got a clue, let alone understanding of me and my life.
I slow down a bit, and turn to look at his innocent, clean-shaven face. My blackened heart softens just enough for me to say, "I won't explain myself to you, just to get that straight. We're going to do this, and we're not going to hate each other, but we're not going to be friendly either, got it? I don't do well with friends."
"Why not?" Lian asks. "I like friends. They make stuff easier, you know?"
"No, I don't know," I say, though I know perfectly well what me means. "I'm giving you a warning, okay? This is me being nice. Don't mess with me."
I turn on my heel and stride down the dock. There is only one warship moored in the marina, so I am assuming that one is for us. It is small and easy to maneuver, made of tough steel. There is a crew of about five men standing on the deck, waiting. Sun glints along the hide of the steel monster, a style of ship I have come to despise in my years. A pipe atop the watchtower that I have no name for is puffing out swirling clouds of iron-gray smoke.
Once Lian and I reach the crew, who are all waiting with a look of servility on their toughened, sun-baked faces, I draw a blank. I am not a commander, a leader of any kind. I don't know how to speak to sailors, and I certainly don't know how to sail a ship that doesn't have wooden oars.
It look at Lian to see him smirking at me. Only human, still however slightly, pink creeps up my cheeks.
"You can do . . . this," I say, not knowing the precise word for it. "I need to focus on tracking and tactics."
"Sure," he says, drawing out the word to comical length.
My brain pulses in my head angrily. "Don't cross me," I hiss at him. Then I look around at the crew and bark, "Well? Get to it, then!"
They jump and scatter off to whatever positions they hold on the ship. I turn to Lian, hands on my hips, glaring fiercely.
"See? I can do just fine," I say to him. He's still got that stupid smirk on his face, that smirk that's making my blood boil.
"I'll handle the crew," he says, crossing his arms. "I suggest you go to your chambers and 'get to it' with your 'tracking and tactics,' No-Name."
Filled to the brim with unnecessary fury, I descend the staircase in the middle of the deck, stomping all the way, until I realize I don't know which rooms are supposed to be mine. I am just about to experimentally open a door when the cook (I think he is the cook, since he is wearing an apron stained with food) pops his head out of a door which must lead to the kitchen, because of the scent wafting from it. "Miss," he says tentatively, "your rooms are last on the hall, to the left. Lian's are to the right."
I nod curtly, disgruntled. "Thank you."
He nods back, looking at my face scrutinizingly, and I take a good look right back at him. He's a pudgy old man, no beard on his double-chinned face and no hair on his shining bald scalp. I look past him into the kitchen, and my stomach growls ravenously. Whatever he is cooking up is better than prison food.
Perhaps the cook has heard my stomach growl, or perhaps he is just good at reading expressions, because he says, "Would you like something to eat, Miss? I'm making soup."
Trying not to show how eager I am, I follow him back into the kitchen. It is warmer in here, and steam is rising from a stove on the far wall. A huge pot is sitting on the burner, from which the delicious smell is coming. Before all the kitchen appliances is a short, little table with seven mismatched chairs crammed around it.
The cook goes to his soup and I follow, interested. The liquid in the pot is thick and glugging about, bubbling and boiling. Some leaves are floating around on top. I take a sniff, and recognize them as basil. I know most plants, what is poisonous and not poisonous, what tastes good and what tastes awful.
"You like the basil?" says the cook, smiling at me. "It's my favorite. Adds so much flavor to the soup."
"What kind of soup is it?" I ask.
The cook shrugs. "I don't know. I mixed it up today. I don't name dishes. They shouldn't be labeled as this or that, or that or this."
I smirk slightly. "I am not labeled. I have no name. What's yours?"
"I am like you," says the cook. "I'm Cook."
"Cook? Just Cook?"
He nods. "Just Cook." Cook leans over his soup, and inhales deeply. He smiles at me. "Doesn't it smell delightful? The simmer is perfect . . . I bring it to boil myself." Cook held his hand toward the stove burner, shot a quick burst of fire out of the palm of his hand. The soup bubbled and glugged more violently.
I didn't realize I had stepped back a few paces until Cook smiled kindly at me.
"Afraid of fire?" he asks casually, wiping his hands on a rag by the stovetop.
"No," I say, eyes narrowing fiercely. "I fear nothing."
"Whatever floats your boat, Miss," says Cook, stirring his soup. He looks up at me with pale eyes; then he chuckles.
Insulted, I say, "What are you laughing about?"
"You are an odd one, you are," Cook says, shaking his head good-naturedly. "You are scared . . . you are even afraid to admit your fear."
I open my mouth to object, but Cook continues talking.
"I know not of what scares you, and I won't be the one to ask," he says, taste-testing his soup, contemplating, and adding a bit more spice. "But it doesn't make you weak for you to admit what you suffer. It only makes you stronger. Strength, that is what you're aiming for, yes?"
"I already have it," I say in a voice tight as a taut cord. "I'll be checking my rooms now."
"Dinner will be ready soon," he calls after me light-heartedly, and I slam the door after I leave.
"Whoa, No-Name," a teasing voice greets me. "No need to get angry."
Already at the end of my short temper, I strike out without looking, and nail Lian in the chest. He slams back into the wall of the narrow hall, and I snake my hand up to his neck, watching his midnight pupils dilate in surprise. I bring one finger up and poke him hard in the chest, leaning in close.
"You," I hiss, "better stay out my way. I have a mission to finish. I have many things at stake. And I don't need some kid screwing with me. So lay off!"
He holds up his hands in surrender, and forces a short laugh. "It was nothing, No-Name," he says quickly. "I was just going to my room, and I saw you. It's nothing."
"You're absolutely right," I snarl, desperately wishing I were about a foot taller, so I could look him in the face without standing on my tiptoes. "It's nothing."
I release him, turned away, march straight into my new chambers, and shut the door sharply behind me.
Please review with constructive criticism and if you noticed any spelling/grammar/punctuation errors. I'm feeling it's kind of slow, what does anyone else think? I can't wait for the next few chapters; I already have them written and I think they're much more interesting.
:-:-HungryNerdWithRabies-:-:
