PART TWO


"In my vast travels around the world, I have spoken with a huge array of experts from every nation in every part of the world, including spiritual guides, gurus, monks, sages, sisters, cultists and scholars, about the Spirit World. And in all my years of study, I can draw only one definite conclusion that all these holy, gifted people agree with when it comes to relations with the realm of the supernatural: The Spirits are not to be trifled with."

Excerpt from "On the Spirit World", (unpublished) by Professor Emeritus Zei, Ba Sing Se University.


Chapter Eight


"Aang."

Still no movement.

"Aang."

"Aang. Aang. Aang." Sokka repeated flatly, trying to hide the anguish in his voice. He hadn't listened. The stupid kid hadn't listened to him, after everything they'd talked about.

"He can't hear you," Guard Number Two said. "That gag is soaked in ether to keep the Avatar asleep."

Sokka rested the back of his head against the cold metal wall, chewing on his tongue. The dregs of the ginseng tea Iroh had brought lay cold in the pretty terra cotta teapot on the floor just beyond the bars, his own tiny cup drained. The Water boy stared at the pattern in the tea leaves left at the bottom and thought he could see a bird, its wings spread wide open, and maybe a laughing face. But he was probably just imagining it.

When the guards had dragged Aang's limp, singed body into the cell, Iroh had started, his face going very pale.

"He… he did it…" It came out like a question.

Two guards held the boy by the arms while another tied a piece of cloth around his muzzle. The little monk's ankles and wrists were manacled, the lead chain strung and locked to iron tether rings bolted to the floor. They locked the cell door. One Firebender with short grey hair relayed sharp instructions to post guards along the hallways to ensure the Avatar didn't escape this time.

Sokka could see Iroh watching this all happen around him, unable to read the expression on the old man's face. He excused himself and left the Water Tribe warrior alone with his captured friend's body, Number Two and another masked guard who he mentally dubbed Three. He could only imagine the number of guards lining the hallway leading to the brig. Escape now would be impossible. As the activity in Aang's cell died down and the brig's outer door slammed shut, a deafening silence descended, a profound non-sound ringing throughout the metal corridors.

He looked over at the little monk's still body, wishing the boy would wake up so he could yell at him. All that training, all the preparations, the lecture, the promises…it had all gone out the window, and now they were heading to the heart of enemy territory. Why didn't Aang get it? Why had he come after him?

And Katara. What had happened to her? If she were smart, she would have taken Appa and flown away as soon as possible. Maybe she'd head home to the South Pole, or to the North, since they were so close. With luck, Zuko would let the Water boy go, drop him off that the nearest port…

And then what? Take Aang back to the Fire Nation? Let the world crumble beneath the heel of Fire Lord Ozai come summer's end?

"So what happens now?" Sokka said lowly, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

"Prince Zuko is out looking for the other one—the Waterbending girl," Three informed him. "She should be along shortly."

Sokka glowered at the empty-eyed soldier.

Then he did something he hadn't done in a very long time. He rested on his knees, closed his eyes and prayed to the Moon and Ocean Spirits, asking them to please pass his brotherly warning on to her. Preferably via a loud shout directly in her ear.

Don't try to rescue us. I'll figure something out. If Zuko gets his hands on you…

Oh, Katara, you had better be in the air by now…


Soft, fuzzy warmth. What a welcome feeling.

Katara snuggled down, wondering why her nose was so clogged. Oh, no. Maybe she had a cold. If that was the case, Gran-Gran would smear her with that awful-smelling mustard seaweed plaster that made her back burn, but which her grandmother swore would warm her through and burn the cold away…

Her hazy dream-reality brought her to a strange dichotomous place, snuggled in the warm, soft furs of her home in the South Pole, but in the arms of someone even warmer. She couldn't help the smile spreading over her face, though in the back of her mind she screamed hateful, awful things, even as she reached for him…

"Zuko…" she murmured.

And she was suddenly awake. She put her hand to her mouth, horrified that she had just said the Firebender's name out loud in her sleep.

Something wet and sticky smeared over her face. Blood. Tremblingly, she dabbed at her face, finding a warm trail running down her to her lips. She gingerly touched the bridge of her aching nose, but it didn't seem broken, just bloodied.

She could heal it, though. She just needed water.

Then she really woke up.

"Where…?" She stared around. She was in some kind of hovel, a one-room hut with a thatched roof. A gaping hole above revealed it was still daylight, probably late in the afternoon. The place was filthy, covered liberally with grimy bird droppings. A few vestiges of civilization told her a human lived here—a steel pot, a few rusted farming tools (or were they weapons?), a trivet, and bits of finished wood that might have once constituted pieces of furniture.

Katara slowly sat up, wincing. Her side was bruised, but a cursory examination told her there didn't seem to be anything else broken, fortunately.

And then it all came rushing back. A dizzying flurry of images assaulted her memory: running, climbing, Zuko, wings, Aang, fire, rock, and then suddenly, air, wind rippling through her hair…

She had fallen off the cliff…

"So, you're awake," a voice harrumphed from the shadows. Katara whirled, her head spinning horribly at the sudden movement. What she had thought was a pile of rags moved and brushed a dirty lock of hair from an equally dirty face.

It was a woman, long, grey matted dreadlocks obscuring her features. As spots danced before the Water girl's eyes, the woman shifted in her seat, revealing a huge black crow—or was it a raven?— perched menacingly on her hunched shoulder. The Waterbender flinched.

"Who are you and what are you doing on my land?" the old woman asked slowly, her raspy voice sounding like the creaking of trees in a high wind.

Katara faltered, trembling. "I…" She wiped away the blood trickling into her mouth. "My name's Katara, of the Southern Water Tribe. I'm traveling…was traveling with my brother and the Avatar."

The shaft of pale sunlight blazing briefly through the thick overhead cloud cover reached that shadowy corner and illuminated the woman's wild, gunmetal-grey eyes. "Well," she peered at Katara, "at least you're not a liar. I'll let you live for now." She wavered dismissively.

Katara bristled. "Who are you?"

The woman got up, the bird on her shoulder flapping unsteadily. "I have no name anyone cares to use," she said blandly. "Around here, I am known as the Witch of the Woods."

The Water girl blinked at her, feeling her inner Sokka surface, tepid sarcasm melting away some of the icy fear that crusted her heart. "You're kidding, right?"

Witch snapped her head around. "I'm asking the questions around here. You're only alive because I hate the Fire Nation just marginally more than I detest other people, so if you want to stay alive, tell me why you were stomping around my poor babies' rookery!"

"Rookery?"

"You were trespassing on their nesting grounds. You and all those Firebending scum." Witch spat on the ground. "You could have stepped on a nest, or worse! Crows don't just roost in trees, you know. And that foul little princeling chasing you certainly didn't give my brethren a second thought. He killed nearly a dozen of my kin today!"

Katara stared, her stomach sinking lower and lower. This woman was completely mad. "I-I'm sorry. He was chasing me…he's captured my brother, and now he has the Avatar…" she felt her eyes burn with tears. "Please, I have to go help them…"

The huge black bird regarded her coldly and cawed out loud. It leaned over and seemed to be preening the woman, but the Waterbender could see its long black beak snapping open and closed, a little pointed tongue flicking in and out, as though the bird was whispering in the old woman's ear…and the witch actually seemed to be listening to it.

"Hmm," Witch grunted. "Bai-Bai here says you speak the truth. But he also says you're…hiding something from us." The woman darted forward like lightning, and suddenly Katara found herself face-to-face with her horrid visage. Up close, she didn't seem as old as her attire and hair suggested—her dark skin was wrinkled and spotted by the sun and the elements rather than by age. And she exuded a livid energy all about her, and intense aura of power that seemed the flare around her with the changing of her moods, almost the same way Aang's did, only hers was much more menacing.

But gods, was she ugly. Her eyes were widely spaced and bulged unevenly. Her nose looked as though it had been broken and healed mashed to one side. Witch gnashed her rotting teeth, a pink-grey tongue flicking out briefly, the corners of her cracked lips curving up. Only then did Katara notice the cruel-looking knife point under her chin.

"So tell me, Katara of the Southern Water Tribe," Witch drawled, pressing the rusty blade to her flesh, "what secrets does your mind hold? Or do I have to cut them out?"


Iroh watched the landing boats return, a little bead of apprehension rolling around his vast, hollow-feeling gut. He went below deck to meet his nephew as they embarked.

He wasn't prepared for what met him.

"Zuko…" Iroh took a step forward, but as the dank, fetid stench of bird feces hit him, he retreated, taking out his fan and waving it at the miserable-looking soldiers who were covered with downy feathers and white bird mess. "What…happened?"

Zuko's face was covered in thin scratches, his ponytail in disarray, his armour splattered with multicoloured poop, from mustard yellow, to forest green, to midnight black, to pure white and everything in between. The boy looked more upset than usual. Not just angry, but distraught.

"Zuko?" The prince stomped by and Iroh wrinkled his nose, grimacing. "Holy sh—" he gagged.

"Get these men cleaned up and have the doctor attend to their wounds," he ground out. "We're going back out after dark."

A low groan rumbled from the injured troops.

"Is that so wise?" Iroh followed at a safe distance from his stinking nephew. "Shouldn't we be headed for the Fire Nation? We have the Avatar. Your honour will be restored…"

Zuko stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn to look at his esteemed relative, and said lowly, "The Waterbender is still out there. If the men want to stay on board, then I'll go alone. But she's still out there. I almost had her. She couldn't have gotten far. It'll only take a night. If I don't find her…" He faltered, his whole body stiffening as though he had been stopped by a brick wall. Zuko took a deep breath and sagged. "You're right, of course. We'll set a course for…for home. Tomorrow."

Iroh stroked his chin. "Well, we'll have to stop to get supplies first. We'll need them if we plan on making the long trip back to the Fire Nation."

Zuko nodded, but still would not look at his uncle. "Do whatever needs to be done. I want to go home." He said it quietly, and for the first time, Iroh thought he detected the tiniest hint of doubt in his nephew's assertions.

Not that he was about to push the matter. "As you wish, Prince Zuko." Iroh used the honorific humbly. "And may I be the first to congratulate you on capturing the Avatar."

Zuko said nothing in return. Despite his great victory today, he looked exhausted. Defeated. Iroh watched his nephew stalk down the corridor, his unsteady step telling the old general all he needed to know about the drama in the woods. He tugged at his beard, deep in thought.

So, the girl had escaped. Or worse. And Zuko was bent on finding her.

Well, Iroh had never been one to deny his nephew anything. They would head home to the Fire Nation. In good time.


Zuko stripped out of his soiled armour with the help of a servant, who took it away to be cleaned while Zuko went to his private bath. He washed his hair out thoroughly, cursing the huge black birds that had resumed their attack on him and his men shortly after he'd lost sight of Katara. Despite a furious fire fight with the wily birds, the soldiers had to beat a hasty retreat. They had been outnumbered a thousand to one, and the birds were fanatical about protecting their territory, pecking and clawing and screeching and shitting on them. The crows had chased them out of the forest. Their forest.

He cringed at the stinging cuts on his scalp and face as he poured water over his head. The doctor would have his hands full with the other men, so after he'd finished his bath, Zuko took out the small medical field kit he kept stored in his room and proceeded to dab each scratch with iodine. As he painted his wounds with the dark red-brown stain of the stinging tincture, he was reminded of Katara's dark mocha skin, and his throat closed up.

She can't be dead, Zuko told himself. He refused to believe she had plummeted to her death. There was no body. More likely, she had climbed the rest of the way up the cliff and escaped his notice. That must be it…

In which case, he had to get back out there as soon as possible to find her. She could get to the bison at any minute, and she'd come to rescue her brother and the Avatar…

Zuko stopped. If he was so certain she was alive and on her way to the ship to rescue her brother and the little monk, why was he so worried about finding her? The girl would not leave her companions. How ironic, he thought, as he cleaned his hands. Now the Avatar is bait for the Katara…

But what if she's hurt? What if she's out there right now with a broken leg, bleeding to death?

She's better than that. She can take care of herself and her friends. She's proved that a number of times now.

You don't know that. She doesn't have a master to teach her anything. She's nearly as helpless as that twit of a brother.

He's not a twit. Don't underestimate him. Any of them.

She's alive. She has to be.

Are you so sure?

No.

Why are you so worried? You have the Avatar. Your honour. Go home. Reclaim your throne. Your country.

I will.

When?

Soon. As soon as I have Katara back.

You don't need her.

No. But I…

Zuko gripped the edge of the table, struggling with his internal dialogue. He sometimes thought that if he didn't keep his confounding, tumultuous emotions carefully bottled up, he'd start having these conversations with himself out loud. There was, after all, a streak of madness in the royal family. He just hoped Azula had kept it all for herself.

The prince considered his options. He could set course for the Fire Nation right now and get some distance between the ship and land so the girl would have no way to escape if she came after them on that flying bison. The beast surely wouldn't be capable of flying so far out over the ocean for an extended period of time.

But Uncle had said they needed to stop for supplies first…

Zuko nodded to himself. All right, then. He'd go into the forest and resume the search for the girl tonight. Not that he knew anything about avian habits, but those damn birds had to sleep sometime, right?

With that thought, the prince dressed, eager to be on the hunt once more.