Chapter Seven
After a few more twists and turns, the soldier stopped. Katara heard clanking metal, the rasp of a key slipping into a lock, and the scrape of a door swinging open. She was shoved through, and the hand left her upper arm. For the first time since leaving her solitary room on the ship, she was alone and without a guide. She stood still as the door shut behind her, listening hard. Mutters started up, echoing hollowly. It sounded as though she was in a huge room, high-ceilinged and filled spottily with clusters of people. The voice of an old woman spoke at her side.
"Don't just stand there, girl," she barked. "You're here and you're stuck. Take control of yourself and make a way to live. Your time's not going to spend itself." Katara felt something being shoved into her hands and grasped it instinctively. It felt like a blanket, frayed and patched but a surprisingly thick bundle for a prison. "Go on," the woman commanded.
Katara didn't move. She took a deep breath but didn't know what to say. Then another voice spoke. "I think she's blind, Wata. She's confused." It was a young man's voice.
"Blind, eh?" The woman's voice might have been a little softer. "Well, go find her a spot. She'll get used to it like everyone else."
Someone got to their feet, and footsteps approached Katara. "Um, I'm going to touch your arm." A hand gently rested on her shoulder. "Let's go - there's an empty space in a corner up this way." They walked together in silence. Katara counted fifty steps until her feet hit something soft rather than stones.
"Here." The hand left her arm and took the blanket from her. He unfolded it by snapping it into the air, and Katara felt a breeze as he let it drift to the floor. "You can live here. It's got this mat, so you don't have to lay right on the stone. You're not Fire Nation, are you?"
Katara shook her head. "I'm Water Tribe." She didn't know what else to way, or what to do. This was all too much.
"So you might be used to the cold. That's what I was going to say - it gets really cold down here sometimes. If it's too much, people either huddle up or find a firebender to warm them. Which I am, by the way. So if you need me, I guess just yell for me. People will get over it if they don't like it."
"What's your name?" Her voice was hoarse; this was the first conversation she'd had in a week. She didn't know this guy, but she didn't want him to leave.
"Oh, sorry." He laughed. It was the first friendly laugh she'd heard since her capture. "I'm Djang. The friendly old woman who gave you the blanket is Wata. She's kind of unofficially in charge of the dungeons. The inner workings, that is. She's always right there by the doors, and she knows everything that's going on all the time." She felt Djang stand move away from her, and she sank down onto the blanket.
"Thank you," she whispered, feeling the ragged cloth with her fingertips. He was the first person to show her kindness in weeks, and Katara found herself fighting back tears of exhaustion and, perversely, relief. She was relieved to be in this dungeon rather than in the middle of an army camp. The realization made her realize just how much she had changed in the past days.
"You're welcome," Djang replied softly. She wondered if he knew what she was thinking. "I'll come back tonight to check on you, if you want."
She raised her head, hoping her face was pointed towards him, and smiled cautiously. "That would be nice."
And he did come to check on her that night. He sat next to her on her blanket and they talked for quite a while. He had lived in the dungeons for nearly three years - since he was Katara's age, in fact. He had refused to join the Fire Nation army, and he had been sent here until he changed his mind. He told her that he was called up periodically to speak with a soldier; they would take him to a banquet hall set with rich food and ask him if he was ready yet. But every time so far he had turned them down.
Katara found herself opening up to him, talking about Sokka and Toph and Aang. She even mentioned Zuko before she thought to question whether this was a good idea in a Fire Nation dungeon. But then she reconsidered. "Zuko was captured months ago," she told Djang. "Did you hear anything about that? Or about what happened to him?"
His voice sounded shocked. "Yes - of course. He was sent down here as well."
"Down here?" Katara was stunned. She sat bolt upright, scrambling with her hands for something to hold on to and finding only the edge of her mat. "He's here? In the dungeons? Where?"
A hand fell on top of her own. "He was here for almost two months, on and off. They would leave him here for a week or two, then he would be taken up into the palace for a few days, or a week, once. He wouldn't say exactly why, but it was something similar to what they do to me - you know, checking to make sure which side we're still on. About two weeks ago, soldiers came down and got him like usual. Only they haven't brought him back yet. It's the longest he's been kept up there." Djang's voice trailed off.
"But he always comes back, right?" Katara knew it was crazy, but she felt the beginnings of hope warming in her chest. He wasn't dead. "They always send him back down here - that's what you said!"
"They always have before," he said carefully. "But there's always a chance he changed his answer when they asked him what he wanted, or -"
"No," Katara said firmly. "He's been through too much at the hands of his father. I know him. He wouldn't change his mind."
There was a long pause in the conversation. Djang sighed. "I hope you're right. And believe me, as much as I'd like everyone to get out of here, I really hope he comes back, too." He squeezed her hand, then let go. The mat squeaked as he stood up beside her. "I have to go, but like I said before, if you need me just give a yell. It's been nice talking to you, Katara."
"And with you," she replied. As his footsteps sounded farther and farther away, she thought about the possibility that neither of them had said - that Zuko's latest choice had been his last chance. But he's not dead, she told herself firmly. He's never been away this long, so he must be coming back soon.
When she lay down on the mat, folding the blanket around her, she curled into a ball and scooted so close to the wall that her knees and forehead were touching it. Then she breathed deeply, calming herself. She lay there, absorbed in the sounds echoing throughout the dungeons. There were a lot of sleeping noises - heavy breathing, snores, creaking mats, a few hushed whispers stirring the air, and under it all a low omnipresent hum, which Djang had said came from hot water pipes on one of the far walls. Despite the new surroundings and her fear, sleep stole upon her almost instantly, and she sank gratefully into it, utterly exhausted.
