Gran-Gran and Katara huddled close as an army boot busted the door in. Soldiers bulldozed into their home, paying no heed to anything they stepped on as they scouted the corners of the sizeable hut and secured the room. They didn't dare look out from their hiding place behind the table as armed men traipsed around, becoming accustomed to the dark interior. They couldn't tell how silent they were, as the chanting continued to fill their ears with a cacophony. Katara risked a peek and saw no one off the left side of the table, and hoped against all reason that they wouldn't find a couple of civilians hiding behind a tipped-over table at the edge of an incense-stinking, currently-used home.

"Teki!" a man yelled behind her, bringing her to fling herself back in fright at the bulky man above them both, rifle aimed and primed to fire.

"Yameru!" the officer ordered, and the soldier reluctantly lowered the rifle, apparently given the order not to fire. The man backed away respectfully, as footsteps approached. Lighter than the others, but less wary. They sounded like the footsteps of an important man. Katara breathed raggedly, not being able to see around, and shook uncontrollably as she recalled how she heard her mother die. In the corner of her eye, under the covers, seeing nothing but two feet struggling one moment, still the next. And the footsteps.

A black glove gripped the top of their wooden protection, and the table disappeared in a mighty crash. It was flung aside by a man, in the uniform of a Japanese commanding officer, a comet-shaped scar covering half his face. Katara was shocked at how young he was, but was paralysed by his cold stare. It was a stare far older than the eyes it saw through.

Katara instinctively pressed her palms against her ears as the chanting became razor-edged. Huddling closer to Gran-Gran, she briefly glimpsed the young officer wincing as well, though far more alertedly. The scarred teenager looked around with gritted teeth, his hand brought up to his ear. The hand flew up to his cap to prevent it blowing off as a freak gust of wind burst through the hut.

Gran-Gran brought an arm round Katara to shield her from the wind. After a short while they both realised that the wind was picking up inside the hut. Pots and cloth flew across the floor, hugging the wall in a circle, while the soldiers looked warily around, trying to figure out what was going on. The officer apparently knew already as he called out "Gakki-San! Bareru!"

A spectacle-wearing technician, the first Katara had seen of him, rushed through the door and fiddled with his crackling instrument, waving the free part in circles around the room, trying to find a lock on the signal that rose and fell with every movement the reader made. The man...Gakki...was short, badly nourished and didn't look the soldierly type, but he still acted in complete professionalism. After some moments of waving over the area where the signal seemed strongest, but still comparatively weaker than before, he slowly realised what was up and pointed the instrument straight upwards, into the centre of the growing maelstrom.

"Soko! Aizumoto soko!"


The negative space was disrupting the air around Aang, trying to occupy a space that was there and wasn't there simultaneously. The air around Aang was completely still by contrast, undisturbed by the troubles going on 'outside'. Aang's awareness was slowly creeping back from its lofty distance, but it had a hard time determining what on Earth it was supposed to return to. In the threads and strands of time and space, it was hard to piece together those disparate parts that represented 'Aang'. He wasn't entirely aware of what he was doing, and delving into the infinite felt like a dream, a sub-conscious imagining. Nothing had solidity, and his memories were all jumbled up into a turgid mess of experiences. The most he was aware of was a growing feeling that he should get back to whoever he was. It felt like someone was calling him.

Confused as to where he ended and the rest of existence began, he took a best guess as to which thread had once constituted him, and tugged.

Time reappeared.

Aang reconstituted himself a piece at a time. As he recalled the textures he felt, he began to feel his thumbs touching each other, the blanket cushioning his behind and the carpet underneath his toes. As he remembered the sounds he heard, he came to hear the distant sounds of crashes and gunfire, and more distant sounds of wheels clattering down roads and feet clacking on pavement. And finally as he recovered the sights he'd seen, he could see a dim yellow light from beneath his eye lids. As he re-located himself in the world, he became puzzled, as he didn't remember the attic having a light in it.

The monk's eyes snapped open, and he quickly had to blink repeatedly to make sure they were working right. He could see two different places, faded and laid over each other. On the one hand, he could see the far side of the Hakodays' attic. On the other hand, he could also see a spacious, well decorated bedroom, built in a bizarre hybrid style with Chinese architecture and a decidedly western four-poster bed. Bulbs jutting out of the four walls were the source of yellow light, all of which looked weird to Aang as they weren't actually 'lit' like candles, but simply glowed. He was fascinated enough by the architectural oddities that he overlooked the lump underneath the white blankets of the bed.

A gun burst went off, unlike any Aang had ever heard, sounding more like lightning than anything man-made. That made him jump, but what really scared him was the moment when the lump in the bed-sheets sprang up and spontaneously developed a head. It was a girl, around the same age as Aang, with a tiny frame under a white night-gown, a round face, and pitch-black hair poking out everywhere as she suffered from grievous bed-head. She pounced forward in alertness, palms buried in the bed covers as she leant forward.

"Ni shi shei!?" she demanded. Aang recognised it as Mandarin Chinese, and wondered initially how a half-invisible Chinese girl and her half-invisible bedroom had materialised into Katara's now half-invisible attic. A greater mystery emerged however, as she turned her head left and right, asking if someone was there and yet not seeing Aang right in front of her. She could obviously hear him, but her pale green eyes with pale green irises didn't seem to be looking at anything. They just illustrated that she was wide awake and very, very angry. The girl snarled, "I know there's someone there, you sneak! You don't scare me! Who's there!?"

Aang was about to answer politely that he didn't mean any harm, until the attic door burst open behind him. Both he and the Chinese girl flinched at the sound, but the girl faded out in front of Aang's eyes before the Tibetan boy could respond. Now the attic was whole again, with gun-fire going off beyond the roof, no light beneath the ceiling boards, and the sounds of highly-strung Japanese people scurrying with great urgency. The boy gathered the sinking feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Aang peered around at the person behind him. Another one he hadn't seen before, but altogether more unsettling than the girl he'd briefly seen. It was a young man in higher military uniform, his sharp face half-scarred with a massive burn mark and standing astride the attic trap-door with pistol in hand, looking at him with an expression at once reverent and angry. Aang hesitated to move or speak, unsure how to respond to this intruder, as that look on the man's face just on seeing him unnerved the Tibetan into believing the officer knew exactly who Aang was.

"Qoghusula..." the Major Zuko Hinaga gasped, utter certainty dripping from his lips. That name, and the mouth that spoke it, chilled Aang to the bone. Others knew what he was. Others who would invade nations just to get what he represented. 50 years removed and he still couldn't get away from that name. Aang turned frightfully towards Zuko, who looked the boy up and down, studying carefully. Confusion, and then derision crept into his voice "...-kun..."

A lot of Aang's fear evaporated as he took offence at the Japanese teenager belittling him with a little boy's suffix. "Hey, you're only a few years older than me-"

Aang flinched into silence when Zuko fired his hand-gun above his into the roof. Aiming the pistol back at the boy, he flicked it twice towards the ladder, commanding "I've waited years for this moment. I don't take kindly to people making me wait longer. Move."


The elderly man named Iroh Hinaga drummed the edge of the deserted work surface nestled inside the armoured car, wincing as the machine gun thundered another round of bullets into thin air. The noise was giving him a head-ache. He was starting to wish he'd saved some of those plant leaves he'd sketched earlier to make some herbal remedy from. It was getting so hot and stuffy in the confines of the vehicle that he doubted he'd need a kettle. Just letting a cup of water sit there for a couple of minutes would be enough to make a soothing cup of chai from.

So it came to this, Iroh thought as he rubbed his head. It took a fair amount to get him anxious, but being in blatant breach of treaty obligations and all international law had that effect on an old man's nerves. Zuko's men were good men, professional, measured...able to avoid major bloodshed so long as his nephew kept an eye on them. What worried Iroh more was that, even with many hours to reconsider his options, Zuko still didn't have a second thought about violating the border, even when he knew that if he stayed longer than half an hour the entire Red Army would descend on him like a pack of vultures. His single-mindedness will be the death of him, Iroh decided.

A moment later, Zuko's uncle dipped into his breast pocket, pulling out a pipe and a small box of tobacco he'd forgotten was there, smiling wistfully. Iroh remembered when he was that single-minded, a young man in another war. Another age. When he wasn't the sort of person who'd forget he had prize tobacco in his uniform. Ugly habit at his age, he knew, but who could blame him with a racket like this? He took heart. Maybe once he brought the Qoghusula back, he'd start thinking more seriously about his priorities...

Iroh's pipe-stuffing practice was interrupted by another burst of machine gun fire. Annoyed, Iroh protested to the gunner, "couldn't you...turn that dratted thing down or something?"

"Sorry sir," the gunner informed the retired man respectfully "that would impair its operation."

"Egh..." Iroh sneered, striking a match against the interior and leaning back to enjoy the fruit of his labours.


The chanting in their ears had died down, and the silence that followed was filled with the unnerving sound of gun-fire from outside and their own harsh breathing. Tension filled the room, and the loud gun shot earlier had Katara fearing the worst. She was visibly relieved when Aang emerged at the top of the ladder, climbing down morosely. The boy was prodded down the steep ladder to hurry him up, and his bare feet tripped over the last three steps to fall flat on the floor.

"Aang!" Instinct overtook Katara, tearing out of Gran-Gran's hands to run over and help Aang to his knees. The sound of half a dozen rifles cocking and Japanese soldiers sharply ordering the girl to get back accompanied her action. Defensively, she shifted her body to protect Aang's, bracing for the shots, while the Tibetan grew agitated. From halfway up the ladder, Zuko's voice cut through the soldiers' natterings.

"Hold your fire!" the Major commanded the alerted troops, and the rifles sank. Zuko stepped onto the floor and stood over the two of them, huddled close together. While Katara was still clutching closely, Aang was peering up at the steel-faced teenager with uncertain eyes. Zuko sneered, "I should've known you'd be the kind to hide behind the innocent."

The comment stun Aang. He could hear the gun-fire outside, see the effects his mere presence was having on the place. He'd brought this on the tiny settlement. There seemed only one obvious thing to do. Aang spoke quietly, "...Katara."

Katara's eyes blinked open, and she leant back to hear what Aang had to say. He spoke in Mongolian, carefully and methodically, steeling himself up for what was to come. Katara shook her head at Aang's speech, looking like she was protesting, but Aang smiled weakly, trying to reassure her that everything was going to be fine. She didn't accept it, but her grip lessened, a bit at a time. Zuko waited patiently, hand on hip, telling from their body language what the boy...Aang...was up to. A momentary, tight, tearful hug later and Aang was ready to stand, turn and face Zuko, all uncertainty gone, "I'll come quietly."

Zuko acknowledged, and gripped Aang's willing shoulder. He called loudly, "we got what we came for! Prepare to withdraw!" The soldiers complied, stepping carefully and keeping a close aim on the hut's occupants in case of surprises. Katara had second thoughts almost immediately, and began getting up to get Aang back, but Gran-Gran stayed her progress. "There's nothing we can do, child," she comforted the crying girl, "there's nothing we can do..."

The last soldier left the hut, leaving them alone in the dark, haunted mess that used to be home.


"Sokka! They're getting away!" Solongo tugged the militiaman's leg energetically, peering around the corner as snappily as she was capable of, "and they're taking the Tibetan kid with 'em!"

"You gotta be kidding me..." Sokka let off another two rounds, exhausting another clip in the process, just trying to pin them down. He wheeled back around the corner of the barn as another volley of bullets dug into the wooden wall, dipping into his belt pack for another ribbon of bullets. His eyes bulged as his fingers reached the bottom of the pocket with nothing to show for it, "oh you gotta be kidding me!"

"Sokka! I said they're getting away!" Solongo jumped up and down.

"I heard you the first time!" Sokka snapped, looking around to spy the scarred officer tugging Aang into the armoured car, the spectacles-wearing man ducking in front of the radiator to get to the other side. Other soldiers were retreating back to their trucks, one of which was beginning to drive off. And, of course, no sign whatever of his vaunted 'militia'. Sokka grunted, "where the hell are they!?"

"Do something!" Solongo urged.

Sokka roared in frustration, flinging his rifle into the air with an almighty throw. The ammo-less service rifle spun through a wide arc from the edge of the barn all the way to the Japanese positions...finally thumping Lieutenant Gakki on the head. The technician swayed, dropping his instrument to the ground before keeling over feet first.

Sokka stared incomprehensibly at what he'd done, as did a lot of Japanese soldiers next to the decidedly konked Gakki. The village experienced a brief respite as the fighters paused together to contemplate the utterly absurd thing that just happened. A smile crept across Sokka's face until he couldn't control himself anymore, and burst out laughing. He clamped a hand on his gut as he laughed triumphantly, pointing a taunting finger at the unconscious man. A bearded soldier standing next to the fallen technician looked down, and then across at the laughing Mongolian, eyebrows twisted in disbelief.

Everyone was brought back to reality as rifle rounds kicked up dust around the Japanese soldiers' feet. The shots came from in-between the huts to Sokka's left, as little Private Odgerel had finally collected the ammo stash. Sokka took cover near the ground, while the soldiers rushed back to their trucks at a hastened pace and the thin-bearded Japanese soldier made a move to recover the unconscious technician. "Karenomama!" Zuko ordered from behind the armoured car, and the soldier hesitated, head darting to and fro. Reluctantly, but speedily, the soldier ducked out of the firing line and towards the nearest truck, leaving the technician behind.

The vehicles kicked up dust as they reversed sharply out of the village. Meanwhile, Odgerel poked his head out of the corner of a hut, holding out a box of ammunition and yelling, "Captain Hakoday!"

Sokka pushed himself up and dashed for his rifle as Odgerel threw the ammo box across the yard. Sprinting rapidly, one hand reached down to grab the rifle while the other sprang up to catch the ammo box in mid-air as it flew across his path. Catching both in one swift movement, his knees dug into the yard to slow him down. Jamming a clip into the service rifle, he sprang to his feet and locked and loaded. Peering through the sights, he aimed at the second truck, then the third truck, and finally the armoured car as they disappeared around a curve, Sokka unable to fire a clean shot.

The Japanese had vanished, though he still heard them in the distance, taunting him. Sokka gritted his teeth and screamed in rage, throwing his rifle at the ground hard, making a gun-shaped indentation in the dirt. The militiaman snarled and grunted like a pit bull, angry at being so humiliated.

He heard a small groan behind him, and turned to see Gakki, half-conscious, struggling to rub his head painfully while lying face-first in the ground. The militia had stepped out, rifles in hand and utterly lost as to what had just happened. Others also emerged from their homes, hiding while the fighting had been going on and wanting to know what happened. Most affecting of all was Katara, who stepped out through the busted door of the hut and looked at Sokka wearily, crushed. Gran-Gran was resting a hand on Katara's shoulder, and looking at Sokka too, but her face wasn't given enough to emotion to allow Sokka to know what she was thinking. He just exchanged glances with Katara...knowing, educated glances.

The siblings told each other through their eyes...this wasn't over.


The armoured car rocked violently as it forded the river again, bringing up the rear of the unit and very officially back inside the territory of Manchukuo, the sovereign state allowed to exist by the kind permission of the Japanese military. The hot and stuffy interior cooled in the night air, now very much after dark, but the driver was used to travelling without lights. After a few minutes, safely out of sniper range of the Mongolian border, the lights came on, and for the first time Aang could see his captors properly.

He sat with hands tied together and bare feet swaying above the steel floor, in a seat set into the side of the car next to a bare surface, crossed with wires and ports made out of materials he'd never seen before. A lot of things in this small, cramped space he'd never seen before. For example, when he looked around for a light, he saw those same weird glowy things he'd seen sticking out the walls of the half-invisible girl's room. He'd never seen those before. He sat in a metal vehicle that rode on its own power, like that motorcycle from before except mightily meaner looking. He'd never seen these before. In the alcove on the other side of the car to the left of him was a weird dark grey thing with wheels and metal clicky things and black sticks pointing out all over the place. He'd never even dreamed of it in his wildest imaginings.

As for the people, with the crotchety, scraggly-haired driver in an enclosed alcove facing forward and the gunner on top manning what looked like a long tube with holes in it and a trigger at the end, the only one he could turn to face was the scarred, fierce-looking teenager sitting next to him, eyes transfixed and apparently uninterested in him. No one talked. As wary as Aang felt, the danger of the situation didn't really register. He was just glad his new friends were okay. For now the stony silence was just uncomfortable, and he felt a need to break the ice.

"So...uh..." Aang searched for topics to talk about, "my name's Aang Anil! What are your names?"

Zuko simply scowled at Aang and went back to looking angry. No one else paid much attention. The Tibetan boy realised that it would take a lot for these people to become talkative. Regardless, he was bored and needed someone to talk to.

"Anybody?" Aang ventured, looking from surly soldier to surly soldier without much sense of success. He grinned in an attempt to liven the atmosphere, "c'mon! Cheer up! You got what you wanted, didn'tcha? You got your hands on the one and only Qoghusula in all the world! That's a reason to celebrate isn't it? Or...at least tell me who you are..."

Zuko sighed loudly and rubbed his face. It was going to be a long trip. Behind the both of them something stirred, and Aang twisted his head around to see that the back of the car had been converted into a tiny, yet comfortable-looking, bunk-bed, on which sat a genial looking elderly man cocking his head cheekily at the teenager's, "sorry, two years abroad have done nothing for our manners. His name's Zuko Hinaga."

"Uncle!" Zuko twisted around and berated his relative, "he's a prisoner of the Empire!"

"No reason we can't be civil..." Iroh shrugged, smiling at Aang, "my name's Iroh, by the way. You were very brave back there to give yourself up for the sake of your friends."

Aang wasn't sure how to respond, and decided to play it safe by taking it as a complement, "thanks!" Aang engaged in some momentary deep thought, "I don't suppose you're impressed enough to let me go, are you?"

"You'll have to ask my nephew about that, sonny," Iroh glanced whimsically at Zuko, "I'm just here to keep an eye on him."

Aang looked across at the young officer, whose angry stare somehow managed to get even angrier. The Tibetan boy looked away and twiddled his tied up thumbs, "I'll take that as a no..."

The car, apart from the rumble of the engine and some heavy bumps, became uncomfortably silent. Now it was Iroh's turn to feel the need to break the ice, this time with something more serious, "you seem troubled, Zuko. Is Hibiki's fate weighing on your conscience?"

"Lieutenant Gakki is a trained soldier," Zuko glanced aside uncomfortably, "he can take care of himself. And with the Non-Aggression Pact in place, he will probably be extradited soon. He's in no danger."

"Maybe so," Iroh tugged his beard thoughtfully, "but abandoning him like you did taints your victory."

"And leaving two of my men in the line of fire to both get shot would taint my victory more," Zuko dismissed, "this mission is larger than any individual. You know that."

The conversation didn't leave any scope for disagreement, and the scarred boy's mere presence inside the tin can they travelled in seemed to suck all the life out of the surroundings. He wore misery like a fine perfume...it stank all the place.

"See what I have to work with?" Iroh shrugged at Aang, before yawning heavily and leaning back onto his bunk, "now please don't go on any more illegal border raids tonight. I need my beauty sleep."

"That does it..." Zuko declared to the air in front of him, clambering out of his seat and turning to the bunk, "Uncle, man the wireless and keep an eye on the Qoghusula."

Iroh groaned, "do I have to?" The elderly man peered up at the stern-faced nephew of his and guessed the answer to his question, "of course I do. Well, no rest for the wicked."

Iroh and Zuko changed places, with the portly man in what could only strictly be called a 'uniform' squeezing himself into the tight alcove where the 'wireless' sat...presumably that weird-looking grey box thingy, grunting as he positioned himself and placed a pair of headphones over his ears, muttering, "I hate these ghost-infested contraptions..."

Zuko lay back in the tiny bunk and rested...although calling scowling at the ceiling 'resting' was a new thing to Aang. He seemed chronically incapable of being calm, a wire perpetually about to snap but never quite doing so. Even in his moment of victory he seemed uneasy, troubled. Aang might have discovered more about his personality if a sharp glance in the monk's direction sent Aang's face whizzing forward to hide the fact that he'd been staring.

Thumbs twiddling again, he took a quick glance around the strange outfit Major Hinaga had gathered around himself. The driver and gunner had taken no part in the rigmarole, while Iroh was slumped over the wireless looking like he was finding a sleeping position whether the commanding officer liked it or not. No one paid any attention to the little bald-headed Tibetan monk.

Aang Anil grinned mischievously, and set about looking for an escape route.

To Be Continued…

Avatar: The Last Airbender Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07


Author's Note: The culmination of my week's work, and the last you'll be seeing for a while, I'm afraid. Another gap is closed...but thanks to my excessive work ethic it seems to be nearing completion ahead of schedule, so you might find I'll have enough time to churn out another few chapters by early September. You neeeeverrrrr knowwwwww...

Anyway, this is also (mostly) the end of my 'spoooky, mysterious' Japanese people talking mysteriously in Nee-Hong-Sprach (or 'Reverse Engrish', whatever floats your boat). And thank goodness because it's only now that Iroh really comes to life. I've written him as being so dour and serious before that it's a joy to go back and do it again from scratch, now with a bit more of the crotchety, genial, decadent old man we've grown to adore.

And we also get the big reveal! Aang Anil is the 'Qoghusula'. What's a Qoghusula, you ask? Oh...wait...you actually asked 'how do you say it'. It's 'choh-guh-soo-lah'. As for what a Qoghusula is, you're just going to have to wait for the next chapter, whenever that comes. I'm not going to blow all my cards in one sitting, you know that by now. Just to re-assure, I'm not going to leave this one hanging. I promised early September, so it's going to have to be early September whether I'm ready for it or not. :)

...I just realised I'm not actually saying this to anyone in particular, considering this story's mighty popularity. Well, I'm making this promise to myself. I want to find out what happens as much as any of my three other readers do. XD