Thank you to everybody who's reviewed/followed/faved this story so far; I appreciate your feedback and interest more than I can say! Updating a little early today because I won't have time later. I'll probably be a bit too busy to update on Christmas Eve, so the next update won't come until Friday, 12/26. Happy holidays of every kind to everyone who's celebrating at this time of year! Hope you all enjoy the chapter. :)
.*.
Chapter 5: The Swamp
.*.
They had sailed many corners of the ocean, in four years' time, but they had never had reason to go near Dou Ying Island, and it was not marked on any of Mizan's charts. So she didn't mind staying in the middle of their fleet, completely surrounded; she hated sailing anywhere if she didn't know the depth of the water. This way they'd at least have some warning if there were sudden shoals.
She found it less pleasant when they reached the harbor; though it had been obvious from the start that they would not be able to go if they wished to, something about being surrounded within the enclosing arms of the harbor made it suddenly even more true.
"They're signaling," Isani said. "They want us to dock at the left, there, I think."
"I think you're right," Mizan said, and forced herself to concentrate. She could compose all the drastic escape plans she wanted later, when they'd be truly needed. Right now, they had to do as they were told if they wanted to live.
.*.
Mizan couldn't have said what she'd been expecting, but it had been something more piratical than a well-kept old village hall on the main road up from the harbor. Perhaps "village" was not precisely the right word: there were more buildings than Mizan could count easily, with wide streets between them, men hurrying by with baskets and women with fabric piled on their shoulders. The pirates had their own little city here—dedicated, no doubt, to keeping the fleet in good repair and the pirates fed, and supported by trade in the loot the pirates took.
"This way," the captain said sharply over his shoulder, when Mizan slowed for a moment to look, and the sailor next to her took her elbow roughly.
On her other side, Isani made a sharp movement, as though to begin a punch; but Mizan caught her wrist before she could get far. She was willing to accept a little bruising to her elbow as the price for a way to do what she needed to do.
There was a table in the hall, large and solidly built, and at least eight people were sitting at it—captains, Mizan assumed, or commanders, or whatever pirates had. There were others inside, a whole crowd; and they went quiet as the captain approached the table, Mizan and Isani behind him.
"What is this?" said one of the women behind the table.
"The Fire Nation captain," the captain said.
"Ah, yes," said a man near the end, nodding. "You sent word." His gaze shifted to Mizan, and he eyed her critically. "I would ask who you are, to think you could sail up to an enemy fleet and request to join them, but there is no need."
"No?" Mizan said.
Another woman snorted. "Everything there is to know about you is shouted out by your ship. Fire Nation—arrogant, presumptuous, violent."
"Violent," Mizan repeated consideringly. "I have never been called violent by pirates before."
The woman rolled her eyes. "You see? Pirates, she says," she said to the man.
"If not pirates, then what are you called?" Mizan said.
The man smiled at her, but it was not a pleasant expression. "It does not matter," he said. "We are now called many things. Pirates, raiders, privateers. What matters is what we were called before." He tapped a finger against the table. "Fishermen, farmers; shepherds, weavers. Until those lives were taken from us by such as you."
Mizan crossed her arms. "My ship seems to have forgotten to tell you a few things," she said. "Were I to sail up to a Fire Nation fleet, I would be as welcome as you. I am a criminal; if what I heard in the last port we docked in was true, Princess Azula has set a price on my head herself."
"A different sort of criminal than us," the first woman said, "if Princess Azula dealt with your sentence personally."
Fair enough. "It is true that I am not a thief by trade," Mizan acknowledged. "But I am a soldier and a sailor, as is every member of my crew; and I bring with me a Fire Navy steamship. Not one of the great battleships, but in good condition and well-armed, and certainly superior to any Earth Kingdom barge."
"Such a respectful choice of words," the second woman murmured, eyes hard.
"Respectfulness and truth are sometimes at odds," Mizan said. "When there is a choice, I choose truth." She raised her voice a little, enough that everyone in the hall would be able to hear. "I was in the Navy for many years before my exile—I know their ways, I know their ships, I know their favored routes. I can help you, if you will allow it, and we will be a thorn in their side so deep they will never pry it out."
All eight of them were looking at her, now—nine, if you counted the captain who was still standing beside her—and most of them had expressions that were at least thoughtful, if not friendly. But she had them now; she understood what she had not at first.
"Because that's what you're doing, isn't it?" she said. "They call you pirates because that's what you are to them—but only to them. If you were true pirates, you'd have no allegiance at all; but you've never sunk an Earth Kingdom ship in your lives. Or however long it's been since one village too many burst into flames and you decided to take matters into your own hands."
The eight who were sitting at the table exchanged glances.
"You cannot be trusted to sail alone," a third woman said, one who hadn't spoken before. "Or with your full crew intact."
"Of course not," Mizan said, frowning a little. Did they think she was a complete fool? "I had thought to split them up—a Firebender per ship will make it far easier for your fleets to coordinate themselves."
There was quiet for a moment; and then the captain who had brought her in laughed aloud. "Well," he said, "perhaps we will find some use for you after all."
Yue stared up at the trees and sighed.
She had come to like trees quite well, on their journey south; but they had traveled at a blistering pace compared to the Avatar's journey north, and everything was different here. It was unbelievably hot, all the time, and the sun was always so high—and the trees had gone from reasonably-sized to, well, this.
"Can't we—go around?" Sokka said plaintively.
"I'm not looking forward to this, either," Suki said, "but we need to get to Gaoling as fast as we can, and we have no idea how big this swamp is. There's no way going around will be faster than going straight through."
"It'll be faster if it means we don't sink up to our necks in swamp scum," Sokka said. "We're not even in it yet, and the ground's all squishy and gross. And look at those trees! They could step on us without even noticing!"
"Except for how they're trees and not stepping anywhere, I'm sure you're right," Katara said dryly. "We've got two Waterbenders, Sokka. The swamp scum isn't going to get us."
"Maybe it wouldn't have if you hadn't said that right in front of it," Sokka muttered.
At that, Yue couldn't help smiling, and she reached out to put a hand on Sokka's shoulder. "Do not worry: I will protect you," she said, hefting her pike in her other hand.
To be fair, it certainly was intimidating: what gaps there were between the giant trees were filled with thick damp shadows, or hanging vines, and there was a faint murky burbling coming from somewhere. Sokka stared at it a moment longer, expression resigned, and then glanced at her, and Suki behind her, and Katara on the other side. "Okay, fine," he said, "but if I end up with scum living in my boots, I blame you all."
"We'll do our best to bear it," Suki said, laughing, and pushed the first curtain of vines aside.
.*.*.*.
Probably they were all going to end up with scum living in their boots, Suki thought later, rubbing a stray hair out of her face with one wrist. Not that they had to step in the swamp all that much—nothing could be done about the sogginess of the ground, but Katara and Yue could freeze paths to get them across the larger pools of stagnant water. But Suki, at least, was sweating ferociously. The air seemed to get hotter and stickier the further they went, and there were bugs everywhere.
"That beetle was the size of my fist," she heard Sokka muttering. "Not okay!"
She nearly laughed, but she was abruptly too busy falling—everything in here was so slippery, when it wasn't sticky or grimy.
She caught herself on one hand; the texture of the root she'd grabbed was truly disgusting, but she forced herself not to let go. Yue had caught her other elbow, and a second later Sokka came up behind her and steadied her shoulders.
"All right, that's it," Suki heard Katara say, and when she was steady on her feet again and looking up, she saw Katara shake her head. "When Suki's falling down, it's time to stop."
Suki thought about protesting, but it actually was getting dark—or darker than it had been before, at least, even under the dank green shade of the trees.
They had been in uncomfortable surroundings before, but that evening was truly miserable. Breathing felt like drowning, and the wood around them was so wet they couldn't start a fire. Suki could think of nothing that would have comforted her more than a warm bowl of rice, but they had to settle for dried meat—tougher than usual, with the damp in the air—and raw vegetables that had lost most of their crunch in the heat.
"We probably shouldn't start a fire anyway," Katara said, glancing up at the trees. "It would just make everything hotter—and who knows what's in here that might come looking."
Sokka was not convinced. "I bet we could've started one if we'd tried," he said, "by which I mean if you'd just let me cut some branches—"
"It was a bad idea!" Katara said.
Sokka rolled his eyes. "They're just trees, they wouldn't have cared! You are so weird, seriously."
Katara bit her lip and glanced at the air; Aang, of course, but it made Sokka roll his eyes again.
"Could've started it yourself if you could Firebend," he added sharply, and Suki thought about punching him.
"A very practical point to make," Yue said before Suki could move, her voice cool and biting, "given that she's had no way to learn it yet."
"Yeah, well," Sokka said grumpily; but he let it go.
Once it had begun, the dark came on quickly, and pale, eerie lights began to spring up between the trees, distant and vague through the mist. They set up their sleeping mats facing away from each other—and it was a good idea, Suki told herself, because they needed to keep an eye out in here; she firmly ignored the bit of her that was just plain sick of their faces, sick of always walking, and sick of this place.
.*.
She slept badly, waking half a dozen times in the night with the firm conviction that something was slithering over her ankles or up the side of her arm, only to find nothing there at all. The dim light of morning filtering down through the leaves was a relief, even if the feeling was muted by sheer exhaustion; the sooner they could keep going, the sooner they could get out of here.
So the groaning noises, when they first started, seemed like just another way for the swamp to prove itself unpleasant—after the heat, and the damp, and the bugs, and the lights in the dark, why not?
But it wasn't just trees bending in the wind, or something in the distance fighting, because it seemed to be following them. The fourth time they heard it, it was close and almost right ahead of them, and Sokka nearly jumped out of his boots.
"Okay, seriously," he said, "what is that?" and he was turning to make a face at Suki when his question was abruptly answered.
The thing was huge, at least several dozen feet tall, and its motions as it came toward them were absurdly smooth—it looked effortless, limbs slithering forward through the water like it was growing at them instead of walking. Well, limbs—limbs might have been the wrong word. It reminded Suki suddenly of La, and the way the great fishlike spirit had flowed over the palace wall in Kanjusuk, like it was no barrier at all; but this spirit, if that was what it was, had no pool of light at its heart. It had a face, though, oddly expressionless, and very still amidst the shifting greenness that made up its body.
Sokka must have seen the look on Suki's face as she stared at it over his shoulder, because he raised his eyebrows and turned back around.
"That's ... not actually much of an answer to my question," he said, almost thoughtfully; and then his feet went out from under him and he tumbled into the water with a cry.
A terrible moment to slip, Suki thought, and then realized that he hadn't—or he had, but it had been because of the thick black vine that had looped around his waist and tugged him sideways. The plant-spirit groaned again, so loud the water around them trembled visibly; Suki had never heard of a creature that could attack people by making plants grow, but given that she had just traveled across the world to a city made of ice with the Avatar, she was willing to consider it.
First things first. The creature was still not all that close, but it was apparently powerful; Yue was wrestling with another vine that was trying to yank her pike from her hands, and Katara had sliced another in two with a foaming blade of water. And Sokka was sputtering in the swampy water, sliding steadily closer to the monster despite the kicking of his feet.
Suki gave herself a small running start, three quick steps along the root mass they'd camped on, and then threw herself into the air, tucking her legs up tight. A turn, two, and then she snapped her legs out again in time to land with a splash between Sokka and the creature.
She didn't land on the vine, but it had to be close; she slung a fan open and swung it down to cut through the water like the blade of a paddle. It came up with a spattering of mud against the nearest tree, but she must have managed to slice the right thing, because the tension that had been dragging Sokka abruptly dropped away, and he hurtled to his feet and yanked the vine off himself with a shout.
The creature shrieked, like Suki chopping a vine thirty feet away had somehow managed to hurt it, and raised both of its loosely-arranged arms. The swamp water answered, heaving up in a wave; and when Katara hurried toward them, reaching up to catch it, two more vines whipped up out of the water and twined around her arms. Half the wave crumpled down, but half didn't, and Suki dodged to the side to avoid what was left.
It brought her closer to the mud-spattered tree—too close, she realized a moment later, as the creature shifted its arms and a dozen vines tumbled down from the branches. She cut through three with one swing, a fourth on the way back, but there were too many; Sokka shouted something that she couldn't quite hear over the splash of water and another of the creature's groans, and then the vines dragged her back, away from the clearing and off into the mist.
.*.*.*.
Katara heard Sokka yell, and she had some idea what had happened when she looked over her shoulder and couldn't see Suki; but she was a little occupied with the vines that were gripping her arms. They'd wound themselves as tightly as hands, tight enough to bruise, and her sleeves were heavy with the water that streamed off them.
It was creepy, how alive they seemed. Not that plants were usually dead, but in Katara's experience—which, admittedly, was relatively limited—they didn't often attack unprovoked. But it had to be the swamp-monster controlling them. The only problem was, she couldn't tell how. Some kind of spirit ability, she might have thought, except nothing was blue or glowing aside from Aang's horrified face.
She couldn't shake the vines off herself, and, of course, Aang couldn't touch them, though he did try. She couldn't even bend, with the way they were pulling her arms taut. But Yue had let go of her pike, giving herself a few free seconds while the vines that had been after her wrapped themselves around the weapon, and she used the time to turn and cut Katara free with a sharp swing of her hands.
Sokka had managed to slide his sword free, and he was swinging wildly, slicing the vines in front of him apart before they could touch him—but there were more creeping up from behind as the swamp-thing lumbered closer. Aang shouted a warning, and Katara had to turn away to slap more vines down with a handful of water; when she turned back, Sokka was nowhere to be seen, and the sound of his startled yelp was already fading away.
It was so quick—she shouted after him, and then turned back around, about to ask Yue whether she had seen anything; but Yue gasped while Katara's head was still turning, and when Katara had finished moving, the only thing left was the water rippling where Yue had been standing.
"Aang," Katara said, gasping—she'd barely moved, but her breath was short, her lungs suddenly too small. "Aang, did you see—?"
"The vines," Aang said, "they dragged her that way," and then the swamp-thing growled again, long and low. Katara whirled, abruptly angry, and sent a tall, thin sheet of water flying at it. It moved, but not fast enough, and a third of one arm fell away; but somehow, she couldn't see how, it was replaced just as quickly.
It shrieked again, sharp and angry, and then sank back suddenly toward the trees.
"Katara—Katara, hurry," Aang said, but it was already too late; even as she stepped out into the water and began pulling it close to carry her, the green of the swamp-monster blended back into the heavy mist, and she was left alone but for Aang, hovering at her shoulder.
Katara swallowed down the urge to shout angrily at the trees, and let her arms drop. No point—the thing was gone, and she wanted to find Sokka and Suki and Yue more than she wanted to chase it down by herself.
She swallowed. With the swamp-thing gone, it was almost eerily quiet.
But Aang was still there. "I can find them," he said quickly, "I can help you find them," and he was wringing his hands anxiously.
Someday, Katara thought, she was going to find a way to convince him that being incorporeal was a really good reason to not be able to help them when this kind of thing happened. "Yue," she said. "You saw which way she went?"
Aang nodded, and turned to point—and he must have seen the pale flash amid the trees at the same moment as Katara, because they both twitched forward. Yue's hair—it had to be. "Yue!" Katara shouted, in case the other girl could hear her, and she hurried forward into the swamp.
.*.*.*.
The vines had Yue around the ankles, and three more were wrapped diagonally around her chest and shoulder; but apparently they only really had one good yank in them, because once she had skidded off through the water and bounced over two roots and into a third, they went limp and slid away.
She shoved them off herself immediately, just in case the swamp creature chose to follow her and bring them back to life, and then stood up, grimacing as the motion flexed what would undoubtedly become a spectacular bruise across her back.
She had felt disgusting before, sweating through her shirt with her hair sticking slickly to the back of her neck; but she was truly vile now, soaked as she was with stagnant water. She climbed out onto the root she'd struck, and dumped the worst of it out of her boots. She couldn't get rid of the tepid, sour smell, but she could bend most of the water out of her clothes and hair, and did, with a careful twist of her hands. And then she stood up, and tried to figure out where she was.
The vines hadn't tugged her back in a straight line, and they hadn't been careful to keep her head above water either. But surely they couldn't have managed to take her very far.
The sun was no help; mist had risen up everywhere, perhaps in response to the swamp creature's presence. She was peering into it carefully, trying to decide whether that stump actually looked familiar, when the heel of a boot disappeared around a tree trunk, and someone giggled.
Not Katara or Suki, Yue was fairly certain; they had been as annoyed this morning as anyone, and Yue doubted either one would wander through the swamp giggling. But it was someone, and someone was better than no one.
She drew the water close under her feet, pressing it into a little platform of ice, and then pulled on the water around it, skimming forward across the pool. Yes, there, a hand—and a flash of red?
Yue thought of the acrobatic girl immediately, the one who had taken her bending away; and she shuddered a little. It had been so unsettling—she had been halfway through a move, water following her hands like always. The girl had slipped past and pressed two fingers into her shoulder, and suddenly the water had splattered to the ground, and she hadn't been able to lift it again no matter what she did. Disconcerting.
But she shoved her nervousness back and sped up, and soon she could see that she had been wrong. It wasn't the acrobatic girl—it was Princess Azula.
Taneko had told them a little, before they had left Omashu to head to the south: they had been facing the crown princess of the Fire Nation, the younger sister of the exiled prince who had plagued Katara, Sokka, and Suki on their way north. Sokka had muttered something about how everybody related to the Fire Lord was evidently just as unpleasant as he was.
Yue slowed. The girl who had taken her bending away, unnerving as she'd been, had smiled the whole time; she hadn't seemed angry or especially violent, and she hadn't actually hurt Yue very much. But the princess—Yue couldn't forget the look on her face when she'd pressed her hand to Sokka's throat. Had she truly followed them all the way into the swamp from Omashu?
Azula saw the look on her face and giggled again, sounding pleasantly delighted. "You don't look happy to see me," she said, fondly scolding, like Yue was a friend.
"Perhaps because I am not," Yue said. She stayed wary, but Azula hadn't moved, except to shift her weight, and her arms were folded across her chest; it would take her some time to reach a bending stance.
"Oh, now that's just impolite," Azula said. "I need the Avatar, you must understand that; but you could live, if you wanted."
"If you get your hands on Katara," Yue said, "it will be because I am already dead."
Azula tilted her head back and laughed. "That is so cute," she said, lifting one hand, and Yue almost threw a wall of water at her reflexively—but she was only wiping theatrically at one eye. "I mean, you aren't even one of them, not really. They've been across the world together—and you? You've taught her some tricks and helped them sail their boat. Good thing you almost died the first time, or you might be no use at all. And once she's learned all she can from you, why should they keep you around?"
Yue resisted the urge to take a step back—she'd only dunk herself in swamp water if she stepped off her little ice patch—and eyed the princess closely instead. "Even if I had an answer to that," she said, "I do not think I would tell you."
"Oh?" Azula said. "And why's that?"
"Because," Yue said, confident now as she had not been before, "you are not real."
.*.*.*.
Sokka was glad, now, that he had the sword; his fans were sharp, but there was something about the hacking motion you could use with a sword that was more satisfying when you were frustrated.
He sliced another knot of vines out of his way, and stumbled a few steps further.
He'd given up on staying dry almost immediately—he'd been doused when the vines had yanked him over into the bog, and without Katara or Yue around, there was no way for him to avoid wading around. He'd nearly lost a boot to the muck twice now, and his pants were never, ever going to dry.
He still wasn't sure where he was, or even how long he'd been wandering around, although the ache in his sword arm said it had been at least a little while. He would have felt stupid just staying in one place and waiting for Katara to come find him; but he was starting to think it might have been a good idea anyway.
Still, it was too late now, he thought; and then he hewed another tangle of vines out of the way, and that was totally a person standing across the clearing from him.
He almost punched his hand into the air to celebrate, except there was a sword in it and his arm was tired—but he did grin, and he was so pleased to have found somebody that he slogged halfway across, splashing with every step, before he actually took a good look and had to stop short.
"You—Father?" he said, incredulous.
Father had been facing away from him, which was part of what had made him hard to recognize; but he turned when Sokka spoke, and smiled. "Sokka," he said, and his voice was exactly the way Sokka remembered it.
Sokka laughed, a little hysteria sneaking in around the edges, and splashed the last few steps without even feeling the slimy water that squelched between his toes. "Father," he said again, because it was the only word left in his head.
Father grinned, and then glanced behind Sokka. "And your sister?" he said. "She's not here, is she?"
"I—no, I'm—I've gotten a little lost," Sokka admitted; but Father didn't look surprised, or disappointed, or even worried.
He looked pleased.
"I'm sure we'll find her, though?" Sokka said, a little uncertainly.
"No," Father said, abrupt, and then seemed to remember himself, and smiled again. "No, you had better come with me."
Sokka frowned. "But Katara, she—"
"Your sister has a job to do," Father said, almost sharp. "You know that, Sokka. That's why you need to come with me."
Sokka shook his head. This was seriously weird. "What? But she's—she needs help!"
"I know that," Father said, and then sighed. "I left you behind for a reason, Sokka—I didn't know this would happen."
Sokka sloshed back a step, involuntary, and his heart was pounding. "What?" he said again; his tongue felt thick, clumsy in his mouth.
Father laughed. "'Too young'?" he said. "You were the oldest boy we left in the village! This is exactly what I mean—how can you possibly be so foolish? You can't even tell when your own father is lying to you." He shook his head. "You would only have slowed us down—but I would have taken you anyway, if I'd known what your sister was, and that you'd insist on going with her. Your mother should never have let you."
Sokka stared. There was something wrong with all this, something to do with how neatly it lined up with everything he'd ever been afraid Father would say to him; but he couldn't pick it out of the half-formed protests roiling through his head, not one of them articulate enough to make it out of his mouth.
"But it's all right," Father said, and his tone was almost soothing. "I'll take you with me now, and that way your sister will finally be able to get something done without you stumbling around."
At that, Sokka had to shake his head. "No," he said, "no—I promised Mother—this isn't—" He tried to drag his flailing thoughts into some kind of order. "You—you aren't even here, you're on the other side of the continent. You could never have gotten here so fast." He swallowed, backing up again, and felt his mouth pinch flat. "You're not my father," he said, as firmly as his shaking voice would allow, and turned around; and when he turned back, after a long moment of nothing but his heart thundering in his ears, there was nothing there but a rotten stump.
