Chapter VIII – Crescent
"Your reflexes are too slow."
Zuko's scornful comment made Katara wince—not out of pain, even though her body had just violently shattered onto the ground. She sprung up on her feet again and saw stars for a moment—she tensed her arms as hard as she could, and water embraced them, and she was charging towards her opponent, whose hands were already on fire. It was all so fast she was still confused after she once again landed hard on her chest, hardly breathing from the heat.
"I've told you a thousand times," she heard the prince say from a distance, as some unidentified hand helped her up, "you have to think. Watch your opponent and-"
"I get it!" Katara panted as soon as she was able to speak. "I get it! I just can't-"
"You're just not listening," the prince replied hastily. "How am I supposed to deal with you if you don't even trust what I say?"
"Well, then maybe you shouldn't deal with me!"
This sounded entirely like Katara, and not Kahn. She pressed her lips together.
"This is my job, and I'm doing the same for everyone," The prince narrowed his eyes, and Katara felt her face heat. "Now out of my sight. I want you to repeat those forms a hundred times before sunset as a punishment."
Katara sighed in furious frustration, but she didn't disregard the order. She poured herself into those bending sequences, ignoring the weakness in her exhausted muscles.
It was one of those afternoons when Prince Zuko would test their ability and progress in bending, and every time, she felt like she'd made a step back in his eyes. The humiliation would only fuel that increasing, exasperated, blind urge to hit harder, as powerful as it was vain.
Vague instructions sometimes echoed in her thoughts.
You're not feeling the water, Kahn, Master Pakku would reprimand. Water, its true essence—it flows, it's always flowing and transforming, in all its forms—even when it strikes deadly. It's not about power or strength, it's about control. Precision. Versatility. Constance.
Control. It seemed so clear in words; but in Katara's position, nothing was under control.
And maybe, that was the prince's fault, too.
Katara realized her dislike for him kept growing into something irrational, and deeply rooted.
From dawn till night, Prince Zuko wore the same limited range of expressions. He brought his pale face, his tensing jaw, his golden eyes all around the camp, silent as much as possible, never missing a thing; his hoarse voice resonated at any time it was needed—to give advice or information, and do ordinary administration—even though, if one had to be honest, everything he said always sounded like he was giving the most strict orders, in the most arrogant way.
His words were rarely harsh, or insulting, at least not in a conscious way. But no matter what, he always talked in that demanding tone, with a glint in his eyes that seemed to rightfully keep him up on some sort of pedestal—the glint of royalty, clearly something one can never subtract from their manners.
He had been appointed as their general and nothing more than that, true; and as such, he was supposed to use his authority. But Katara saw—and perceived—that kind of disdain, that little had to do with ranking.
And this, especially if coming from the prince of the Fire Nation—this Katara couldn't stand.
Katara knew other Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe soldiers shared her feeling, in regards of the young prince. His surly ways and bad temper had quickly made him unpopular amongst the troops; and it could only get worse, since he would often react to insubordination a little too heatedly.
But really, other than that, Prince Zuko was impenetrable, most of the time; which was what really set Katara off about him—and in some way, kept her (and not just her) from paying any kind of authentic respect to him. He often looked contrite, painfully focused, on something that was most likely beyond anything about his soldiers, that camp, that war. Even when he watched benders practice in silence, judging from the corners of his eyes, Katara couldn't decipher that tense look on his face, as he passed her by.
And the more she observed him, the less she knew.
How upsetting.
Sokka didn't understand.
"I don't mind Zuko," he admitted one night, as they were having dinner in Katara's tent. "He might not have the sweetest ways, but I've learned a few things from him and-"
"The sweetest ways? Have you seen the way he looks at everyone like... like..."
"Like the spineless pathetic lot he thinks we are," Sokka recited like one who had heard those words a hundred times. "Look, I think you're just frustrated, Katara. I understand you don't like him. Why can't you just ignore him and focus on... staying alive instead?"
"You want me to ignore the guy I'm supposed to obey to?" she snapped, then sighed. "I know I should. I just... I can't get off my mind that I should be taking orders from him, now." She exhaled slowly and stared at her hands. "I can't stand these people, Sokka. I've tried."
"You wouldn't have had to if you had just followed the rules," Sokka shrugged, accurately avoiding Katara's flaming gaze. "Just saying. Listen," he sighed, "maybe you should just let go of your prejudice, Katara. Years have passed; it's in the past. We've been living in peace with the Fire Nation for some time now; they have paid the price for their crimes. It's hard to think for me, too... but I guess the world needs to move on. We need to make an effort."
Katara had just nodded thoughtfully, not knowing how to reply. Her brother's reasoning sounded correct, but not convincing enough, she felt when she was left alone that night.
After a few attempts, Sokka had given up trying to make her leave her tent, during the couple hours between dinner and curfew. For some strange reason Katara ignored, among others, he'd ended up befriending Haru, the young earthbender she had run into on her first day, who in turn had brought Jet along—Sokka didn't seem to get along with him all that much (competition, Katara suspected), but at the end of the day, he seemed to enjoy some boy talk under the stars. Katara was not sure if drinking was involved.
However, she didn't feel like sharing his newfound company. First of all, she wanted to stay away from Jet as much as she could (Sokka insisted the reason was that she blushed whenever he was around—what a child he could be at times). On another note, she feared that spending her spare time with other soldiers could possibly give her away. Pretending required too much precious energy during the training hours already; Katara did not want to face any more challenges for the moment.
Most of all—but this she wouldn't admit too overtly—she needed her time alone to escape that constant feeling of being an intruder. For as much as others could be deceived, she felt she had some boundaries she wanted to respect.
And, predictably, others barely noticed her, or deliberately ignored her.
So, in a couple weeks, Katara had grown to be an outcast in the camp. Except for a few times when she went for the company of the two weird swampmen, and for her brother, she hardly spoke to anyone.
One day Katara realized she was internally grateful Sokka had been foolish enough to follow her—despite everything that would imply.
The moon was just passing its half.
The day had come for benders to make an official demonstration of the abilities they had achieved, so that Prince Zuko and his secretariat could report the progress to their superiors, and possibly wait for new orders.
Katara waited in line with the other waterbenders of her class; Master Pakku stood in front, looking down on them.
She was feeling ready. The day before, after hours of traning, she had finally managed to make ice spears, and even though her aim could use some practice—as Pakku didn't fail to remark—she kept a positive attitude.
Soon enough, the prince came, followed by that Earth Kingdom ambassador, Long Feng—Katara had noticed how his sinister presence was constantly, invariably looming behind the prince's shoulder, always busy studying in silence the behaviour of the young man—except for the rare times he deemed it necessary to intervene.
Katara disliked him nearly as much as she disliked the prince.
Pakku started ordering them to show the combined forms, and Katara joined the rest of the waterbenders along the sequence she had by now memorized. The group stepped back and forth simoultaneously, their arms flowing gracefully; their collective movement directed a massive wave of water that hovered upon their heads for a while, only to eventually smash against the rocks in the distance.
Then prince Zuko nodded and raised an open hand.
Pakku started calling random soldiers for an individual demonstration.
Katara felt her heart bumping as she hoped and feared the master would pick her. She feared, because it would have been a chance to expose herself, and she wanted to avoid that kind of situation as much as possible. She hoped, and this was more of a vague feeling inside, because this time around she believed she had an opportunity to redeem herself.
One by one, she watched her fellows perform uncertainly and spar under Prince Zuko's steely gaze, one by one—then she saw Master Pakku turn. He seemed to ponder for a moment before he lifted his chin in her direction.
"Kahn. Come ahead."
Katara felt her heart pound. She obeyed.
"Get ready," Pakku murmured, positioning himself a few steps away from her.
Katara took a deep breath and moved her arms in what she hoped looked like the purest waterbending fashion.
A quick movement of her wrist, and the water coming from her flasks turned into a single spear and darted fast in the direction of her master. It faltered just a little on its way, then collapsed abruptly at a slight gesture of Pakku's hand.
"Don't lose focus. Attack and defend," Pakku snapped, and Katara felt ready, avoiding other gazes than that of Pakku. "Fast."
Sooner than she wanted, a hundred ice needles raced through the air in her direction. Her brain lost control of her hand, only a few needles fell, and she closed her eyes.
It took one second.
A strong push on her shoulder, and Katara fell hard on the ground, her vision blurred, her skin burning from a sudden heat; and she crawled back as fast as she could, on instinct, her hands protecting her face.
Then, everything settled back down. Every face was pointed at her.
She jumped up and rapidly fixed her clothes, staring at the prince.
"That was not necessary."
"You were not focused," Pakku intervened, without a blink of an eye.
"But-"
"Do you think anyone's going to spare you when they've got the chance to kill you?" the prince asked sullenly. "This is not a game anymore."
"It's not worth your breath, Prince Zuko," Pakku sentenced. "I've wasted hours with kids the likes of this. They never listen."
Katara wanted to say something, but whatever words she had found died in her throat. So she just turned her back on them and walked away.
Just like Dad, she heard someone reply from the inside.
The moon was only a thin sickle away from the end of its cycle.
The incident with Pakku and the prince marked a decisive turning point.
The night she had left home, she had thought she could make it. Katara knew she could fight—she had always known, always wanted to. It didn't matter if she had to change her name.
But now... The thoughts she had despised and rejected before were now growing louder in her head and becoming impossible to ignore. Was she really strong enough? Was she really letting the beliefs of people like Pakku prevail on herself? Had it been a mistake to try to prove them wrong?
Katara didn't yet want to answer.
The training was stressful for everyone. Most of the soldiers were around Sokka's age and, like him, had never fought before. The days were long and hard, under the sun of a blooming spring that was turning out to be hotter and damper than usual; they had too much to learn, and too little time. And they were scared.
According to Sokka, there had come no notice of victory from the main troops, and the possibilty of actually facing the enemy on a war field had appeared sharp and clear in the horizon, for the first time.
Prince Zuko was extremely taut. He trained and sparred with even more vigour, but even he had changed. He was more thoughtful and even more elusive than before. Except for basic orders, he barely spoke to anyone other than his uncle and his conselour. Even Long Feng's invisible hold on the prince and the soldiers had gotten even more stringent than it used to be.
There was this silent awareness, a crisp in the air, a heaviness in the bones that was never mentioned, of something about to come.
That was supposed to be just another day; just another one of those one-on-one matches between masters and recruits; and Katara could call herself lucky it wasn't prince Zuko, but his uncle she was facing.
"Don't waste time when you're vulnerable," said the old man calmly, waiting for her to stand up.
Katara was tired and she barely listened. She just responded to her opponent's powerful charges, mechanically.
"Your defence is not going to work if you don't stay focused," a familiar, scornful voice spoke from behind the General. "That's not even a fight. You're just jerking around."
"Zuko," General Iroh frowned, "I think it's enough training for today, anyway. The sun is almost down already." He gestured to the few people that were walking across the plain and disappeared down the slope that declined gently, caressed by a dim yellow light.
"He'll get dinner when he deserves it. Let me handle this for a while," the prince insisted, though his voice had some sort of a pleading inkling to it.
As she watched the General walk away with a sigh, Katara kept biting her cheek, suddenly uncomfortable in the now deserted field. It was only the two of them. She stared at his scarred ear and the back of his pale neck with her lips pursed tight, not making a move.
He took a while before he turned to face her in a firebending stance. "What are you doing with your arms? Fight."
The first fire blows came out of Zuko's relentless hands faster than her water did; and she found herself surrounded with flames and hot fumes that blurred her vision, and made it hard to think straight.
It was not her first time fighting with the prince, but there was no one around, daylight was gone and maybe it was just Katara's fantasy—but he was not just sparring this time, or so it seemed.
The fire had completely enveloped her, it ran fast on the ground around her feet, making her eyes burn, her breath tickle, and she could barely see her opponent—though she knew he had not stopped, how could he not stop yet?—or even feel control her own body. Dazed and nearly unthinking, Katara confusedly felt she had never hated anyone so intensely, and that was probably what made her arms circle and wave frantically in an attempt to fight back.
The more flames she could turn off, the hotter they burned when they came roaring back at her. Katara's water whips could hardly make it out of the fire barrage around her, now that she felt her head reel faster—but no, all that mattered now was that the cough was cutting her breath. Every fibre of her being was burning—at this point, she was unsure if it was only the feeling of the heat, or if flames were actually skimming her eyes already; everything was too bright to look at. She could hear some blurred words being yelled from a distance, but could not get a hold of what they meant. It didn't matter, one could easily guess—fight back. Do something. Be a real man. Wasn't it?
Instead, she did nothing. Is this going to kill me?, the sudden realization echoed faintly in the back of her mind. There is fire. There is only fire. She closed her eyes.
Is this how they killed her?
Katara's arms widened at the explosion of her own far-away scream.
A powerful blast ran across her and then exploded all around. Her knees bent under her weight—she inhaled the fresh air she had now reconquered, between violent coughing.
She unclosed her eyelids. Prince Zuko's dark silhouette was looming over her, standing against the darkened sky.
"I told you to fight." The same old words resonated dull, deaf in their obstinate recurring, through the blood pumping in Katara's ears. "What's wrong with you? It's always as though you're never even trying. You just let go." Katara looked up on him. She wanted to say something, she guessed, but her tongue felt tied, dried out of words.
He gave her a last glance before he turned his back on her and walked away. Katara narrowed her eyes.
"You wanna know what's wrong with me?"
Katara's rough, barely recognizable voice rang through her own ears. She managed to stand up, as the prince half-turned to look at her.
"You wanna know what's wrong with everyone here? Since you're too blind to see it by yourself, Your Majesty," she yelled, and it was Katara's voice pouring out from her lungs, as finally escaping after a long time. She was expecting an interruption; it didn't come at all. "You're always talking about respect and honor, but when it comes to your soldiers, you seem to have no idea what any of that means."
"Enough with this." The prince finally spoke, barely hiding the flash that ran across his traits. "Now take a breath," he ordered, turning away, "and try again."
"No," Katara replied sharply. "I'm going to talk and you're going to hear me. You see? You're so caught up in that divine right of yours to even notice you were killing me!"
"I didn't kill you."
"Well, you almost did," Katara heard her voice yell.
If she had seen everything from the outside, she wouldn't have recognized herself.
Zuko stood still, his back still on her, his expression hidden.
"You're just like your people," Katara resumed (as she grew stronger with every word pronounced), "proud and oh, so full of yourself, you're willing to trample on anything or anyone to get what you want! And you dare talk about honor, presuming to be an example! You, a prince, a boy who never had to struggle to get anything—you who are well used to have everything condoned, any time! Am I wrong?"
Any other moment, Katara would have held such words back before they flew out of her tongue. But not now. Now, she just wanted to hurt.
"You don't know what you're talking about." Zuko's sharp, unexpected answer made Katara's confidence falter. In a way, he was right: she didn't know at all. "You're mistaken. I'm not the enemy. That war is over."
"Stop repeating that. Believe me, it's not," she burst in a hurry, her voice suddenly low and hoarse. A long pause followed. She struggled to swallow, before she decided to set the words free. "The Fire Nation took my mother away from me."
The prince still hid his face, and stared ahead in front of him. Katara didn't mind him. The words that had poured out of her mouth were giving her somewhat of an ache, as though they didn't belong in the light of day, and their meaning was now still running through her body like a jolt of lightning.
"So don't come talk to me about peace. The war is not over. This war is never over."
She had struggled to get these words together, to get what was left of herself together. Now she was staring blankly somewhere before her eyes, her face covered with her hands, forgetful someone was even listening.
"I'm sorry." Katara didn't want to look at him, but she had to. "That's something we have in common."
A silence followed. Katara stared at the prince for what seemed to be a long time—again she was trying to recognize the shapes of the ghosts hiding behind his eyes of gold—and this time she thought she could really see something move. He was standing still, fists clenched, unmoving, but he wasn't looking at her.
Katara found herself wondering a lot about the words she had to pick.
"I'm sorry about what I said before," she said eventually, her tone suddenly poised again. "I should have thought before speaking."
Zuko said nothing, expcept he moved his head slightly in a nod. The air was tense, as the distance that separated them seemed now awkwardly uncomfortable, in many ways—too wide, though it could not be otherwise.
He turned almost completely, and looked straight at her.
"Maybe I should have been more careful."
Katara blinked, caught off guard with that last bit. She wanted to say something. It's okay. It doesn't matter anymore. But the words died in her mouth, and a silence followed.
"Do you see the moon's missing slice?" he asked abruptly, pointing at the dark blue sky.
Katara nodded.
"That means the wait is almost over." Zuko looked at her, his expression was back to its usual unintelligible frown. "It's been nearly one month since we're here. There's no time to lose. If the main troops fail-" he paused, and his jaw tensed, "if the main troops fail, we need to be ready to go. We'll be the world's last chance."
Katara nodded again. Although those words meant nothing new, Katara knew that was his own way to warn her. And he had succeded.
"I will try harder."
"You don't have to do this for me, Kahn," Zuko said, as he walked by her and passed by. "You're just one man. An army can do without one man."
"Are you telling me I should go home?" she asked gloomily, following him with her eyes as he walked away.
He stopped and turned partially; Katara stared at the scarred side of his face.
"No," he said, then, "I never give up without a fight."
