It was a slow and steady cycle: sail, dock. Sail, dock. Sail, dock. Repeat and repeat and repeat until the wild rocking of the ship doesn't make you retch anymore.
This process took a while for Azula to become accustomed to; she might have had sea legs at fifteen, but spending eight years in a cell the size of a common closet can have a dangerous effect on your equilibrium. After docking at their first stop about one week at sea, the first thing she did was thank the Spirits for creating solid land.
The second thing she did was seek out a market, where a of few copper pieces she'd snuck out of an unknowing pedestrian's pocket paid for a fitting tunic and pants. And with no money left, she resorted to "walking off" with a pair of matching cuffs. At a small stream she came across, she traded her old stolen goods for her new ones.
She examined herself in the running water, being careful to avoid the image before her. The eyes alone would tell her more than she wanted to know. The outfit was plain—colored in shades of muddy brown. The scars on her wrists were covered, and for now she could easily pretend that they were not there. She looked every part the average traveler.
"Hello," she greeted the blurred visage in the water. "I'm…Cho. Yes, Cho. Just sailing around the Earth Kingdom. I've always wanted to see the world." The magnitude of her fake smile felt almost painful. But they wouldn't know. They'd believe her, believe her down to the last word….
After all, she was good at lying. To others. To herself.
She didn't like the village of Makapu. The small town sat in the shadow of the volcano of its namesake, cradled in hardened lava from a previous eruption like a turtleduckling in its eggshell. It was rather eerie, she noticed, shivering at the sense of foreboding that washed over her. The setting reminded her entirely too much of the Capital City.
However, the people were far from the festival-attending Fire Nation citizens. Everyone hurried about, speaking in hushed whispers and glancing nervously at her and the other travelers as they excited the ship. She heard some of the crew talking about it later when they boarded again.
"They're always paranoid, the poor folks. They say that prophet panicked them all, babbling about Kyoshi and the rebellions years before they happened. Ha, the Avatar didn't have to impose here—the people were scared stiff already."
Earlier that day, Azula had seen the so-called prophet: an old woman in fading robes, overdone make-up, and her hairpiece askew. She would have completely ignored her if she hadn't seen the townspeople's reactions to her. They bowed in the streets as she passed, reverent looks on their faces. When the old woman hobbled up onto a worn pedestal, everyone gathered around.
"Do not mourn in the times of fear and hiding! Our hope, our savior, is coming!" she wheezed. There were wild cheers from the crowd. Azula was shocked. These people had only moments before looked at her as if she were posed to bite (though, in all reality, she was close to it), and now a few words from some windbag had them smiling like fools?
"Yes, yes, my children! I have witnessed the realms of what is to come! The savior is coming—now, closer than ever! We will be lifted up from this chained and accursed world, and the Earth Kingdom shall walk free at long last!" The old woman raised her arms in the air, the crowd following and shouting with her.
"The enemy's armies will fall! Our torturers will feel our pain! The Firelord will burn! The Avatar will be brought to his knees!"
I thought the Avatar was supposed to be your 'precious savior,' Azula thought, annoyed and slightly bewildered. When the woman next to her looked at her strangely, she realized only too late that she had spoken the thought aloud.
"Our savior? Far from it," she hissed, long hair bobbing. She looked Azula up and down, eyes narrowing on her dirty clothes and worn shoes. "You're not from around here, are you? Tell me, how many men from your village lost their lives in the Century War? We deserved reparations, and yet our noble veterans are being tortured for speaking out. You at least have heard of the torture…haven't you?"
Your husband has the biggest ears I've ever seen, she really wanted to spit into the woman's face. She took in a breath and instead glanced at the ground. Perhaps she was trying to play the role of the "innocent, unknowing woman," but it felt too easy to wear that mask…
"I don't know what you're talking about," Azula managed evenly. "I fought in the Century War, and the Avatar can vouch for me on that one."
The woman looked confused for a moment, then hardened her face again. "What does it matter? The people close to the Avatar are all the same: they could care less about anyone other than themselves."
"And your savior will fix that, right?" she mocked. Her hands flew to her hips, a sign of annoyance and superiority. Sniffing, she continued: "How, might I ask? Spirit magic? The same mighty powers that crazy hag up there rants about having?"
The woman fixed her with a steely glare. "Aunt Wu is never wrong." With a snort, she and her large-eared husband shifted away, disappearing in the large crowd. The "prophet's" voice sounded louder.
"And the savior will instate a new era upon the world, a time of freedom and safety! Now, now, closer than ever! Do not lose hope!"
And with that, the old woman stepped down, and the villagers resumed their harried scurrying.
"Prophet," the sailor scoffed, and Azula returned her thoughts to the present. The man glanced at her, picking at his ear, and shrugged. "Aunt Wu's just a crazy old wolfbat, if you ask me. S'what the Avatar must think, too. I'm not surprised she hasn't paid Firelord Zuko a visit. Already brainwashed enough. And Makapu's just as insane as she is. The savior." His companion snorted.
Two mentions in one day. She wondered what, exactly, Zuko had been doing with his crown that would have his name feared and scorned by a nation miles away (and he'd fought her tooth and nail for it). It sounded nothing like the Zuko she'd known most of her life.
She wondered if he (could he?) wanted it that way
One day, Azula noticed they were heading southeast.
Now, while most citizens of the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom might not recognize their old conqueror, she could think of more than a few faces from a certain southeast island that would place her on the spot. There would be no friendly faces, certainly; not from former enemies and prisoners.
She worked up the courage to speak to the captain, keeping to her role of the nervous traveler. She had to have a backup plan if the stop was unavoidable. "Pardon me, but I noticed our heading… and was just wondering if perhaps we're going to Kyoshi?"
He stared blankly at her. "Kyoshi?! Of course we won't be going to Kyoshi!" Upon seeing her perplexed expression, he frowned. "Don't you—don't you know?"
Well obviously not, she bit back. Azula chuckled and dug her nails into her arm, an explanation spilling from her lips. "I'm, uh, from the Northern Provinces. As they say, news travels slower past the mountains than a camelephant underwater! Heh heh…"
"I see…," the man said with a shrug. "We're not stopping at Kyoshi because, well, there is no Kyoshi."
Azula wanted very much to tell him to stop the euphemisms, seeing as they were adding to the spinning pressure on her head. Instead, she let out a soft sigh. "By that, you mean…?"
He shook his head sadly. "The whole island was burned to the ground."
The ship chose that moment to roll rather violently, forcing Azula to grab the railing for support while the experienced captain merely shifted his weight with the waves. She grumbled, trying to realign her stomach.
"Almost a year ago, now. They say the Kyoshi Warriors were undertaking in…," he trailed off, grimacing, "…rebel activities. I hear they never totally trusted the Fire Nation, even with Avatar Aang's influence. Now, personally, I think it was under Avatar Aang's influence that they distrusted the Fire Nation so much, but…." He shook his head again. "One night, a few Fire Nation ships docked at the island. The Warriors attacked and took them hostage, accusing them of carrying out the Avatar's plot to silence them. The crews had no choice but to defend themselves, you see. The blaze got out of hand before anyone could help, before anything could be done. There were no survivors."
She was silent for a moment, her stomach churning—but only partly from the seasickness. "None? Not even the Warriors?"
"Like I said, the whole island. Razed to the very earth Kyoshi built it on."
At that, he left Azula to the swaying sea and her pitching thoughts.
The need for a doctor arose, much to her distaste, as a crewmember's coughs grew louder. The boat had to make a stop at an unnamed village. The people here watched them with greedy eyes—eyes that would quickly swipe every coin under your name if you weren't careful. She knew this game; and could easily return their challenge.
A balding man was running the only food vender, prices all much too high for it to be legal. No wonder the villagers looked desperate to steal anything they could.
"Come, come, travelers!" he cried, extending his hands to those descending from the ship. "I've the best stock around, with the ripest fruit and the crispest vegetables. Looking for jerky to last the long sail? Or perhaps clean water to quench your thirst? Step closer, dear friends, I have all you need!"
Azula snorted and walked down the dirt path, past the babbling idiot. She had enough to last her until the next stop. Her money was not worthy of his produce.
As she shuffled along, taking in the beaten huts and wind-torn trees, she realized that she was being followed. The shadow trailed hers, most likely a few steps behind her. She grunted and turned into an alley, spinning quickly to catch her stalker off-guard.
"A-ah!" A boy, blue eyes wide, bumped into her, clearly not expecting the change. He looked up at her, then trembled. "G-give me your money, lady."
A laugh made its way to her lips. "My money, you say?" she said, unable to hide her amusement. "Is this how you make a living, boy? Demanding another's money? Because that will only give you so many years."
"I…I usually plead," he whimpered. "Stealing is wrong. I don't want to be taken to The Boiling Rock—my dad was sent there, and now I have to take care of Momma and Kino…"
Azula frowned and sighed. "There is a certain skill to stealing," she explained. "Pleading makes you weak. Do you wish to be weak?" He shook his head. An eyeroll later, she was leading him to the market. The boastful seller had more than a few things to offer.
Whispering in the child's ear, she elaborated, "There are a few tricks. You must keep close watch on all eyes in the area. See that they are not focused on you. Blend into the background, as they say. You must be quick, snatching before those eyes can notice. Do not act suspicious." The boy nodded, attempting to look serious. "See that red apple there? Bring it to me."
Within minutes, the boy was bounding back to her, a toothy grin on his face. "Lady, lady!" he yelped softly, "I did what you said and I got it!"
She tried to look disinterested. "Yes, I knew it would. It's what I follow, and it has never failed me before."
"Thanks, lady," he said, bowing. "You're a nice person, even though stealing is still bad." Seconds later, he was running off, brandishing his spoils.
Azula watched him go, lips set in a frown. Nice? She merely hated bearing witness to such a failure. Nothing more. A grunt, then she meandered back toward the dock.
For some reason, she was beginning to feel ill… even though she was off of the ship.
In her absence, ruined cities had sprung back to life like lilies after a rainy day.
The small fishing village of Ping Kin (the people didn't even put up a fight, just bowed down as her armies marched through) was a bustling trade center, markets along the docks all haggling for the freshest catch. Pohuai (the crown jewel of the Navy's bases, an impenetrable fortress) was a popular vacation spot, overcrowded with the families of wealthy officials vying for the best spot of beach. Taku (ancient buildings, cracked and rotting and stained with ash) was lined with green terraces, students from the Institute strolling along to study vines and berries.
The empire of her great-grandfather, reclaimed by its original settlers.
She also noticed that all of these worthless towns had something common: a large stone pillar, usually set in the center of the social hub, bearing a single inscription:
The Nations Of The World, United Under The Spirits And The Avatar.
"Modest, aren't we?" she growled, kicking a cloud of dust at it when no one was looking. It wasn't fair. It should be her father's statue standing there. It should be her image painted alongside his in the Royal Gallery. Instead, Zuko plundered away within the kingdom generations had worked so hard to attain, and the Avatar was at some fancy party in his honor; each with her traitor of a best friend and the peasant girl hanging off their arms.
In a small act of retaliation, one night Azula pushed the pillar over (it took a while and a lot of effort, but the satisfaction of the small act of vandalism was worth it).
The next day, the village was in uproar.
"Who did it?"
"Did you notice anything?"
"Why did they…?"
"What will happen to us?"
"What should we do?"
"Will we get in trouble?"
Before long, a group converged together and pushed it back upright, issuing a sigh of relief through the place. Gaggles of old women and stern-faced men and wide-eyed children, still gathered, began a new slew of statements. These were louder.
"Thank goodness!"
"Can you just imagine it, if the troops came through and found it that way?"
"The last thing we need is to be singled out. Restrictions get tighter every day."
United, indeed.
They docked at a small port once to stock up on supplies and fix an engine. Azula spent the day wandering through the streets, snitching a few spare coins and some fruit (it was a better lunch than the food the ship provided). It was, all in all, a rather productive day for her.
Suddenly, all went silent on the docks as ten soldiers in full armor paraded through, leading a long line of chained prisoners: a pathetic-looking lot, adorned in tattered clothing. They were a mix of men and a few women, of different heights and builds, but all wearing the same expression of determined defiance. Whispers went around as the line passed through.
The revolutionaries, from the Nanchu Forest.
Called themselves some gang name, I hear.
They said they would purge the Earth Kingdom of the Avatar's ways.
Held the area for twelve days, under full siege.
Shot at the armies from the trees, and couldn't be reached with earthbending.
All non-benders.
The General was sent in—no chance after that.
All of them captured, except for the leaders.
They escaped, hunts going on now.
The rest to be sent to The Boiling Rock.
The leaders will get Avatar Aang—at worst.
Stupid.
They fought.
They won nothing.
As the procession made its way toward the nearest warship, and as the soldiers and captives disappeared into the iron ship bound for the Fire Nation, she couldn't help but feel slightly awed. A force of non-benders, and yet they'd held an entire forest for twelve days. If they had been any good, none would have gotten caught, but…still.
Azula flicked her hand, lighting an imaginary flame. It glowed in her dulled gaze as she lost herself in her thoughts. If she'd been the one sent in, it would've been the rebels' downfall. They would have felt her wrath, felt her fire.
If she'd won.
But she hadn't. Her hands no longer held fire, or guided lightning (oh, how she missed lightning). The flame in her hand faded to the nothing it had always been. Where there used to be the heat of battle, there was…
What? What was left? Emptiness? No. She stood taller. She was not empty, though they had tried. Zuko and the Avatar could not drain her completely. Perchance it was her stubbornness that allowed her to survive so long…to gain clarity on everything. She was tired and weary and confused, but she would never let them make her empty.
The image of the captured rebels' faces entered her mind. So clearly beaten, and yet still fighting.
She wondered if there were different kinds of fire.
Sleep was difficult, and even when she'd become used to the stops and starts of the boat, she found it difficult to rest her eyes. So much had happened in the world, and she hated knowing so little of it. She felt at a disadvantage. Knowing not what the rest of the world knew.
The Avatar was spreading his ways, his ideals, but it was not a "peaceful" process. Force was used—instilling fear in those who had once believed. His intentions were hard to decipher, other than his intent on "uniting the nations."
What surprised her more was the fear dear Zuzu's name brought to the eyes of the villagers. Had he not been docile? Rambling of peace and prosperity and freedom? Why had he helped take down their father, when in the end, his name had become just as feared? Perhaps…she just hadn't been able to notice.
Her mind drifted to her days in the cold cell. To the moldy air and the cuffs (those cursed cuffs) that tore at her skin.
"You're nothing now, not a princess, not a fighter. You're just a sad excuse, rotting in the corner because the Firelord, for some reason, decided to take pity on you."
They were right, really. She was merely a shadow of her former self. But at the same time, she felt stronger—like the Nanchu rebels, she knew she was strong despite her current situation.
She just had no idea where to begin. What to feel. How to act.
What was it that defined her now? Not a princess, not a fighter, not even the common traveler everyone took her for. An outsider, Azula realized.
Sleep eluded her that night, as well.
The last day of sailing brought the ship to a port on Setting-Sun Lake. Azula disembarked (for the last time, thank all the Spirits) with a rucksack filled with more than she needed and the clothes on her back. Glancing around the dimly lit dock, she sighed.
…Now what?
"Where are you headed?" The voice from behind made her snap to attention, but she turned around only to see the captain. He offered her his crooked smile and scratched his neck.
"Going for provisions," he explained as he gestured to several members of the crew behind him, carrying the large buckets used for storing water. "Don't you have anyone waiting for you, miss?"
Miss…? Since when was she labeled as such? "Actually…no, sir. My family is unable to travel, so I am heading out to meet them. In—" Think of a place, any place. "—Ba Sing Se."
The man's face brightened. "Oh, really? I have some cousins there." He frowned slightly. "But you're in the wrong place. You'll want to take the ferry they have, on the other side of the Serpent's Pass. That's the quickest way to the city." He pointed to a road in the distance. "So just follow that for a bit, and you'll be at Full Moon Bay in no time."
"I understand." The smile didn't hurt so much this time. Maybe because she hadn't lied, or at least, not completely. She had a destination. She had a cover. No one would suspect her, not at all.
She was free.
"Well, be on your way, then." The captain bowed to her. "…and take care, miss."
She returned the bow. Her hair, not as unkempt as it had been weeks before, brushed across her shoulders. "I will." She had little choice to do otherwise.
Azula turned to the road and then looked over her shoulder, giving the man once last glance. She smiled. A real smile.
"Thank you."
She meant it.