BOOK ONE: VOID
CHAPTER TEN: FIGHT THE DARKNESS
A sickle moon rose above the cooling sands as the cruiser traveled contentedly over the gentle dunes on its way to the Hami village. Nourma was at the bow, gazing at the night sky. She remembered the beautiful but harsh lights of Republic City, drowning out all but the brightest stars. But here, back in the desert, Nourma could clearly see the vast scattering of twinkling and shining points of light. The Great Band stretched from horizon to horizon, like an elegant jeweled necklace encircling the world. She looked at the passing sands. The occasional grains of quartz reflected the pale moonlight, creating a rolling tapestry of new twinkling stars to compliment the skies.
Nourma sighed contently and let the familiar dry air tussle her platinum hair. She had taken this celestial grandeur for granted as a child, and was now only rediscovering its beauty as she returned home.
Home. Where was her home?
The big city had its charms, and the yearning for adventure tugged at Nourma's adolescent side. Republic City had opened her eyes and her mind to a myriad of cosmopolitan cultures and tastes. The Airbender Academy had shown her that Nourma was not a freak for bending air. The back of her mind recalled the time she had bent fire, but that seemed so long ago as to be almost a dream.
But the complexity of the past six months, her worrying vision, her bouts of senseless and unexplained rage, caused Nourma to cast aside the outside world. Here in the desert life was simple. She wanted no part of whatever lurked inside her; she rejected her potential power. The familiar sands, the pondering cruisers, the squat drab buildings called back to Nourma. The desert was her home and here she would stay.
Nourma gave a fierce nod of her head as a physical show of her determination. There was only a small nagging corner of mind: Mehdi. Nourma knew that her best friend was captivated by the wide outside world and would want to stay at the Academy. The realization pierced her heart like a Yuyan arrow, and Nourma almost considered changing her mind. But no, they were two separate people. Their childhood days were over, and Nourma knew that if her and Mehdi were to grow up, they would have to grow apart. That thought ruined her contented mood, and she hung her head, observing the dull grey sands passing underneath her.
The stars grew fainter. Day was approaching as the cruiser approached Nourma's village. She could see the outlines of the north-most buildings, and the silhouette of the radio tower stood against the brightening sky. Weak electric light emanated from the building underneath the tower, and it was there that the cruiser stopped with a creaking groan.
Aisha was waiting for her daughter. Nourma didn't wait for the plank to be lowered. She vaulted over the side, arresting her fall with a gentle draught of air below her, and embraced her mother.
"I've missed you," cooed Aisha.
Nourma didn't respond. She just wanted to stay frozen in that spot forever.
After a short time Pasha strolled over and joined his wife and daughter. Nourma turned her attention to him, and buried her face in his robes. She smelled her father's familiar scent of mechanic's oil and minty cordials. Pasha patted Nourma's hair.
"My star-light," he murmured, "it's good to have you back."
Aisha spoke in a quiet, tense voice, thinking Nourma wouldn't hear. "Who was on the radio?"
Pasha pulled away and spoke to them both. "There's been an incident in Ky Shek. I need to take a sand-cruiser there now."
"Ky Shek?" Nourma frowned. "I was just there. It was my last train stop from Republic City. What happened?"
But Pasha was already turning to depart. He called back over his shoulder, "Apparently there was an explosion, and Fatima has asked for our help. I wasn't able to get any more details." He continued on despite his wife's and daughter's objections. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this. It will only be a day or two." They reached the cruiser, a looming blackness against the predawn sky. Pasha started giving low, forceful orders to the assembled villagers as they started to load supplies and equipments. The soft creaking of pulleys was interrupted by the harsh roar of the sand cruiser's blower firing up. Pasha gave Nourma and Aisha another quick hug and started up the ramp.
"Papa, wait."
The noise of the cruiser drowned out Nourma's voice. She drew herself up tall and spoke again.
"WAIT."
Aisha and Pasha turned to look at their daughter. Never had they heard her speak so forcefully. Nourma felt the gathering crowd around her, drawn to the early-morning commotion. A part of her wanted to withdraw into her familiar robe, but a greater part wanted to declare her intentions. It was time to make a choice.
"I've made my decision. I'm staying here. I belong here. This tribe, this desert is my home." She turned and looked up at Aisha. "I know I can bend air. But I'm not an Airbender. I won't allow my ability to define me. My future is mine to choose."
Nourma turned to her father, halfway up the walkway, and was surprised to see a bemused shadow of a grin on his face. Undeterred, she continued. "You are my father. And I'm the future chieftain of the Hami tribe. This is my home. And I'll protect it. And that's why I'm coming with you." Her flow of words stopped, and she was cognizant of the entire village staring at her. Nourma bit her lip and took a step back. "So, um, that's what I think."
There was silence, apart from the roaring blower. The first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, bringing a fresh light to the beleaguered crowd. Pasha's shadow of a grin disappeared, replaced with a hearty smile. He held out a hand to Nourma.
"Well, let's go."
Aisha gasped. "You must be crazy! Our daughter just returns from the city, and you want her to go into possible danger? I forbid it!"
Pasha shrugged. "Sorry, beloved. She's your daughter. And she's even more stubborn than you are."
Nourma gave Aisha a quick hug and disengaged herself before her mother could grab and hold her. She grabbed her satchel containing all her possessions from the Academy and flew up the walkway into her father's arms. The blower whined louder, and the cruiser's sails billowed out. The ship creaked laboriously out of the village.
Aisha and the assembled tribe watched it disappear over the dune, already bright in the rising sun. She unsuccessfully tried to hide the proud smile that crept across her lips.
A few hours earlier, faint stars shone down through the pallid yellow light of Republic City. For the second time, Mehdi walked through the streets of the Dregs. He had learned his lesson from the last visit, and he studied every face for signs of ambush. The scattered faces, lit only by isolated streetlights, studied him back. Mehdi had clean, cropped hair, a clean-shaven face, and an upright confident stride. He was dressed as a desert dweller, but Mehdi was a Republic City citizen, and no disguise could hide that fact.
The address that Malik had given him led Mehdi to a dilapidated brick building almost indistinguishable from the rest of the disheveled neighborhood. After casting a wary glance left and right, Mehdi creeped cautiously into the musty foyer. He heard a squalling baby through the thin walls. He stole carefully up the staircase, but the step gave a loud creak. A ragged sheet marked the entrance to the apartment, and Mehdi could hear frantic movements in the room. He glanced inside.
Dashtu was throwing his meager possessions into a blanket. He rolled the blanket up, tied it shut with a piece of string and turned around. He locked eyes with Mehdi and flinched.
"Don't be afraid," said Mehdi, stepping into the room. "I just want to talk."
Mehdi noticed that one of the walls was blown out, and he could see into the adjacent apartment. It appeared to be vacant.
Dashtu squinted at Mehdi's crooked nose. "I recognize you. You were with cousin Nourma on that day after the sandstorm."
Mehdi took another step forward. "Yeah, I'm her friend. And I know she's your friend. That's why we need your help."
"My help?"
"The police know that Ali has gone south, back to the desert." It was too dark for Mehdi to see the blood drain from Dashtu's face, so he continued. "We need to know where he's going and what he's planning." Mehdi stepped closer and laid a soft hand on Dashtu's arm. "Please come with me. We need to stop your brother before he does something dangerous. And you'll be protecting him. He'll be safe if he turns himself in. Anything you can tell us will be a great help." Mehdi couldn't think of anything else to say, so he waited for Dashtu's response.
The Umara boy was silent for a long time. Mehdi could hear the nocturnal noises outside on the streets. At long last Dashtu's silhouette seemed to slump, as if yoked by a heavy weight.
"I'm sorry," Dashtu said softly. "I have to do this alone."
Mehdi sighed and tightened his grip on Dashtu's arm. "I can't let you do that."
There was a pause. "I can't let you stop me"
Dashtu swung at Mehdi's head. Mehdi snapped back, releasing Dashtu's other arm. He threw a wild punch, but only succeeded in opening himself up to a blow from Dashtu's elbow. Mehdi grunted and kicked Dashtu's, shin but only connected with empty air. Dashtu used Mehdi's momentary off-balance stance to push with his full weight, causing both of them to stumble clumsily backwards. Dashtu's foot caught his discarded satchel, and both boys fell heavily to the bare floor.
Mehdi slapped away Dashtu's grasping hands and quickly mounted his opponent. He pressed Dashtu's shoulders down, but Dashtu bucked up like a beached salmon-bass and furiously twisted, trying desperately to reach for any purchase. Mehdi brought his full weight down again, slamming Dashtu's cheek against the cold stone. Dashtu breathed in the harsh dust and lay still.
Sensing he had won the fight, Mehdi couldn't help but feel a little pride. All he had to do was deliver Dashtu to the police and then hurry to help Nourma. His mind raced while pressing Dashtu's back to the ground. He could use the radio at the station to contact the village, and then board the midnight southbound train to reach Ky Shek by sunrise.
He shook his head. First things first. Mehdi grasped Dashtu's arm and bent it firmly but gently behind his back. Mehdi decided to try out a line that he'd seen Detective Malik use.
"The State is arresting you on…"
But as soon as the words left Mehdi's mouth, Dashtu tensed up. Mehdi had barely reacted to the change when Dashtu threw himself up with explosive ferocity. The back of his head collided with Mehdi's nose, and Mehdi was thrown back, already feeling the warm blood pouring down his face.
Dashtu launched himself towards Mehdi, a storm of flying fists. Mehdi threw up his arms to defend himself, but Dashtu's blows landed on Mehdi's face, ribs, ears, and chest. Mehdi dealt a savage kick to Dashtu's hip, but his opponent was unfazed. Dashtu fought like a possessed animal: kicking, scratching, screeching; anything to defeat his enemy.
Mehdi had playfully sparred with Nourma in the past, where their victory was a point of pride, not survival. He had never been in a desperate grapple such as this. And while his previous months of regular, nutritious meals at the Academy made him more muscular than Dashtu, they had also made him slower, more complicit, more urbane.
Dashtu, however, had been living in poverty. His malnourishment had made him sinewy but strong. He was still a child of the harsh desert, where he was only a generation removed from the desperate struggle to eke out a life among the sands. But he and Ali had been thrust from their privileged childhoods into the hard slums of Republic City. Survival was not guaranteed, and the two brothers relied on each other as they never had before. The city had challenged Dashtu to survive, and Dashtu was willing to fight. Now his fists rained down on Mehdi, pouring out Dashtu's anger at Ali's betrayal, Dashtu's anger at his own foolishness, and Dashtu's desperate desire to hurry and help his brother.
Mehdi was curled into a quivering ball, shielding himself as best he could against the onslaught. Dashtu stopped and fell back onto the floor, breathing heavily. Mehdi cautiously uncurled and cast a fearful glance at his attacker. He saw Dashtu rise shakily to his feet, covered in chalky dust and glistening sweat.
"He's...he's my brother," said Dashtu, not sure of who he was trying to convince. They stared at each other for a moment before Dashtu hurriedly bent over to retrieve his belongings, wincing in pain. He cast a last glance at Mehdi, struggling to rise against the pain. Dashtu paused, a black shape against the yellow streetlight.
"I'm sorry," he whispered before disappearing into the darkness, leaving the beaten Academy Acolyte boy alone in the room.
"Now arr***ing ** *y Sh*** next stop ***s** ***ms."
Ali had ridden the monorail often enough to decipher the intercom's crackled message. They were at Ky Shek. He looked down at his bag. It was a nondescript brown feed bag hurriedly bought in the Dregs, but Ali could see the faint edge of the shot-tube inside.
The past few days had all seemed like a dream, like Ali was an actor in Love Amongst the Dragons. The former members of the Four Corners had eagerly followed him, drawn on by the promise of easy wealth in an unguarded city. Any doubts that they held were wiped away when Ali opened the crate of weapons stolen from the Rocky Run shipment. It was hard to be skeptical when you held a shot-tube in your hands.
His compatriots were eagerly glancing out the windows at the city outside. Ky Shek, slowly passing by, was lit up with a few sparse orange lights. The gang members sneaked glances at their own weapons, clumsily hidden inside their satchels. Their car was bereft of other passengers, save for an old lady also travelling to Ky Shek. She looked at the faces of her travelling companions and quickly decided to go on to Dusty Palms.
The train silently halted and the doors opened with a familiar chime. Ali watched as the gang filed out of the car. He had to will himself to rise and exit the train. They huddled up on the deserted platform. The train sped off and left them alone with the gentle noises of the night.
Ali withdrew his shot-tube and gazed at it. The cool steel barrel seemed alien in the soft warm desert. He had a moment of hesitation and opened his mouth to speak.
"Wait…"
"No time to lose, Ali." Choi quipped back. "We have to capture the riches of this place while everyone's asleep. And with these," he hefted his shot-tube on his shoulder, "we'll be unstoppable!"
"But…"
"Don't worry, we won't hurt anybody." Choi gave a quick grin. "...much." He turned to the rest of the gand. "C'mon lads! Let's take this city!" Muted cheers answered him. The gang ran down the platform steps into the soft darkness, leaving Ali alone under the light of the dim lamps.
Ali cursed. This had gone too far. He had wanted...he didn't know. But definitely not this. He ran his hand across the barrel of the shot-tube, his mind racing wildly.
If he could get to his mother and convince her to surrender peacefully and quickly, then he could avoid any casualties. Maybe it was possible, but time was of the essence. He ran down the steps and wound his way through the dark alleys, determined to get to the palace in time.
A muffled shot echoed through the streets, followed quickly by a booming explosion. Ali stopped and listened intently. The commotion had come from the south, near the market. The noise was joined by a cacophony of explosions. Ali started running, faster than before. Had they met resistance already? The shots were still ringing out, but their frequency was slowing.
Ali rounded the corner. He could see the palace, rising a bit taller then all the other buildings, but still sporting Ky Shek's distinctive checkered archways. The explosions in the distance had stopped completely. A bead of sweat traveled down Ali's cheek, half the result of exertion and half nervousness. There still may be time, he thought.
Ali ran through the courtyard, passing the cheerfully bubbling fountain. He started to leap up the steps, desperate to find his mother in time to stop the carnage. But as soon as he was about to crest the top step, the stair moved beneath him. Ali tripped and fell. The stairs rotated in unison, forming a smooth decline. Scrambling for purchase, Ali slid down the freshly created slide until he was deposited at the bottom in a crumpled heap. He looked up at the entrance to the palace. A hooded figure stood at the top, looking down on him.
Ali raised his shot-tube, but the motion was interrupted. The solid ground underneath him turned to loose gravel, and he sank up to his neck. Ali struggled to free himself, but all he could achieve was dragging his weapon a bit closer to the surface.
"I banished you."
Ali cast his gaze upward. Even after six months of exile in a strange city, he recognized that voice. He spit out an acid greeting. "Mo-, Fatima."
Fatima strode regally down the slope, earthbending a new stair underneath each step. She stopped just short of her struggling son, the hems of her robe almost touching his face.
Ali stopped trying to free himself and looked up at the towering figure. "Please, listen to me! There's some bad people here, they're from the City. They have shot-tubes! They'll listen to me…" His plea faltered as he realized his mother was laughing. "This isn't funny! Don't you care for your people? I can save them!"
Fatima raised a delicate hand to her mouth and let out a final chuckle. "Oh, my son. You can't even save yourself." She knelt down beside Ali and stroked his hair. "I've known for hours about your pathetic attack on my city. My guards took your little friends completely by surprise. Do you think that these weapons you possess are any match for veteran Umara Earthbenders? Your cowardly friends all surrendered. And do you know who informed me you were coming?"
She bent down even further to smugly whisper in Ali's ear. "Dashtu."
Ali felt the rage rising up in him. But it was quickly smothered by a great wave of grief and loneliness. His own brother had betrayed him. He was utterly alone in the world.
Fatima quickly rose and returned to a coldly detached voice. "Your treacherous friends will be turned over to the authorities. But you…" She turned away and gazed at the palace's dark door. "I left you alive once before." She turned around and Ali could see the cold glint of a scimitar in Fatima's hand. "Never again."
Ali rocked back and forth, desperately trying to free the shot-tube. Fatima glided around him, circling Ali like a preying lion-hog. Her blade scraped coldly against the stone. "This is the way of the desert." The shot-tube raised a bit. "And this time, cousin Nourma won't be here to save you." The barrel was almost out. Fatima raised her scimitar high. "I'm sorry, Ali."
Ali pulled the trigger.
The concussive blast blew gravel and blinding dust across the courtyard. Ali was thrown like a rag doll and landed hard on the ground. He got up quickly and tried to peer through the swirling brown mess. His ears were ringing and his hand was shaking. His shot-tube was gone. He needed to escape. With faltering steps he staggered towards the entrance to the courtyard. Ali's foot hit something and the object made a clattering noise. He bent down to see what it was, just as an earth bent boulder whizzed above him. The boulder smashed into a nearby column. Ali's fingers curled around Fatima's scimitar. He rose and started to run.
His mother's voice called out from the swirling din. "Ali!"
Ali froze. His body was shaking, his heart was pounding, and he felt something wet dripping down his arm. Blood or sweat, he couldn't tell. But he was too preoccupied for pain.
Fatima spoke calmly, but her voice carried the finality of truth in it: "No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you'll always be alone."
Ali hung his head. He was still as the sand spiraled in infinite eddies around him. He considered giving up and ending it all right there. He was tired of running, tired of fighting. But he couldn't let them win. His mother, Dashtu, all his enemies. He couldn't, he wouldn't admit defeat. He gritted his teeth and raised his eyes, only to see a brown shadow approaching. Ali dived to his left. A massive pit opened up where he had just stood. He scrambled to his feet and ran for his life.
He emerged from the swirling maelstrom of dust and debris into the clear night. Ali swerved hard to the right, narrowly avoiding another flying boulder. He escaped into the welcoming darkness of the alleyways.
Think, think, think! Ali's mocassins pounded the paved streets, pushing desperately for escape. The train platform would be guarded, and besides, there wasn't another train for hours. The Hami supply cruiser! Each night a cruiser was loaded up with food and oil and sent to the Hami tribe village in the morning. The sand cruiser would be deserted at this hour. Ali could start the engines and make his escape. He didn't know where he would escape to, but it bought him precious hours of survival.
It was a slim hope, but Ali would grasp at any hope offered. He tightened his grip on the scimitar, turned another corner, and started making his way towards the South Gate.
Flying was so much easier in the desert. Broiling thermals lifted up from the baking dunes and gave the wingsuit a steady lift. The cross breezes were light and manageable, not like the choppy gusts that inhabited the Republic City harbor. And if Nourma lost her concentration and fell to the ground, the soft sands were forgiving, unlike the hard cobblestones of the Academy courtyard.
Nourma had just experienced her third tumble to the ground, but she remained cheerful. Only three falls in two hours was her best record. She had outpaced Pasha's cruiser almost immediately, blissfully racing through the air like a sparrow-vole. Now she was alone, and the golden undulating dunes stretched into the shimmering horizon. Nourma took a swig of water and marched determinedly up the dune while thinking about her falls. The problem was overcompensation. Whenever a strong cross breeze caught one of her wings she panicked. Her counter motions were jerky and panicked, which exacerbated the problem, sending her down towards the earth. Nourma resolved to fix this on her next attempt.
As she crested the dune, Nourma espied a figure nearby trudging through the sand, but leaving no imprints. His bald dome reflected the bright midday sun. "Linus!" she called out.
The figure turned and his expression visibly brightened when he saw Nourma. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were in the big city."
"I was, I mean, I am. I'm just visiting my family for a week." Nourma didn't want to tell Linus about her decision to leave the Academy. Not yet, anyways. "I'm out looking for Ali."
"The whiny pompous brat who kidnapped you?"
Nourma giggled and nodded. "Apparently he attacked a city north of here. He's somewhere in the desert with a sand cruiser, all alone. I've got to find him before he hurts anyone else." She shaded her eyes and looked out across the desolate landscape. "But I was about to take a break, if you want to join me." Linus accepted.
They sat down. Nourma ate some dried pricklepears while Linus frittered and hummed nonchalantly. After a while the Airbender spirit spoke up.
"So I've been doing some research into your...condition." Nourma groaned and was about to protest, but Linus continued talking hurriedly. "It's not definite, just a hypothesis. You may have been born with a spirit entity inside you." Linus saw the horrified expression on Nourma's face and tried to defuse his statement. "It's nothing too bad. It happens to a lot of people...probably...maybe. But the important thing is that these visions and bouts of rage and new bending abilities you've been having...it's not you. You are perfectly normal. And, er, there's nothing to be afraid of."
"Nothing to be afraid of?" sputtered Nourma. "I have a spirit inside me! That's…" she struggled to find the words to express her revulsion. Her hand went to her stomach as if trying to feel the foreign entity. "How do I get it out?"
"Well, back in my day we had Fire Shamans who could commune with spirits. Do you have anyone like them now?" Nourma was too disgusted with the idea of a thing living inside her to answer.
Linus could sense Nourma's fear and decided to try out an anecdote. "Do you know why Avatars are so powerful?"
Nourma was still looking down, pressing against her abdomen. "Don't really care," she muttered.
"Avatars have a powerful spirit lodged inside them, bound with them for all their lives." Nourma shot a puzzled look at Linus. "It's true. That's what allows us to bend more than one element. I rather enjoyed having a spirit companion." Linus adopted a hazy look and began speaking in a far-away voice. Nourma relaxed somewhat and settled back onto the warm sand, eager to hear another story.
"You remember the time I told you about the battle for the settlement?"
"Yeah, the one where you died."
"Well, nobody's perfect. Anyways, when I took that arrow to the chest, I began to fade and my vision became dark. But suddenly I felt a new surge of energy, like getting hit by a monstrous wave, only it was inside me. It's hard to describe. I wasn't myself anymore. It was like I was watching myself from within myself. Like I was a puppet and someone else was controlling the strings. I felt myself rise up, not stand up, but rise up into the air. I didn't know what was happening, and I was powerless to stop it. I swept the bandits away left and right as if they were toys. Soon everyone started running away. Fleeing for their lives. But soon enough I came across a bandit who didn't run. It was my old master, Eru. Her eyes were filled with such hatred, Nourma. I could never understand how people could hate with such passion. I think, I mean I believe, she would rather die than give up her fight.
"I could see Eru looking at me. She was nocking an arrow to her bowstring. I felt my body bending something, I think it was rock, and getting ready to crush her. And the sad part was," Linus looked at his hands, "a part of me actually wanted to kill her. Eru tried to destroy my settlement, my little slice of peace. She wanted to destroy me. Killing her would be just. It would be balanced."
Nourma stared at Linus, mouth agape. Linus looked at her and gave a pained grin. "But at the last second I had a small moment of clarity. It took all my strength to whisper a single word, but that word was enough for the titantic spirit controlling my body. 'No,' I uttered. I wasn't a killer, and nobody, spirit or human, could make me otherwise.
"The force within me faded, and I sank back to the ground. That's when Eru shot me again." Linus pointed to his chest. "The moral high ground is nice, but it won't save your life. But there are more important things than living." He put a soft hand on Nourma's shoulder. "There is a darkness within all of us. It drives us to cheat, steal, even to kill. It is a part of our nature, but we can fight it. We must never stop fighting it. You make the choices that shape your future, Nourma, not this darkness."
Nourma blushed, making her face darker than it already was under the desert sun. She muttered a quiet thanks.
They sat there on the yellow sands, her dressed in red and black, him in orange and white. After a while Nourma piped up.
"Linus, guess what? I can fly now!"
Linus' face brightened. "Is that what those odd robes are for?"
Nourma stood up, brushing the grains of sand from her flight suit. She took a few deep breaths and started running down the dune. When she had almost reached the bottom, she threw her fingers down and leapt up into the air. The blast of wind and sand threw her skyward, and she quickly found a gentle air current to drift on. Nourma looked down towards Linus, but he had disappeared from the dune beneath her. She scanned the landscape, but the old spirit was nowhere to be found. Her eyes fell upon a dark shape on the horizon. Nourma rotated her hips and glided towards the object.
It was a sand cruiser. The cruiser had capsized trying to scale a steep dune, and was now on its side, like a beached sand shark. The industrial blower had been torn from its rigging and landed roughly, spilling its innards across the sand. The mast was nearly split in two, the fresh white pine laid bare, and the sail lay rent and tattered on the ground. Despite the damage, Nourma could make out the markings of two crossed swords.
She alighted softly next to the wreckage, too preoccupied to notice her first successful landing. The door to the cargo hold had been violently torn off, and Nourma could see the silent blackness within. "Hello?" she called out nervously. There was no answer. She repeated herself, louder and without the nervousness. The only reply was the soft flapping of the grounded sail in the breeze.
Nourma remembered her radio. She unclipped it from her belt and pressed the transmit button. "There's an overturned Umara cruiser about twelve measures east-north-east of Shang's Cistern." She released the button and waited for a reply. After a minute the radio crackled to life, but any intelligible words were drowned out by static. Nourma started to repeat her transmission, but a sudden noise emanating from the dark hold stopped her. Buching her fists, she slowly sidled up to the opening and peered around the corner.
Once her eyes adjusted to the dusky interior light, she saw a huddled form sitting on an overturned crate. Nourma could see the figure's long, dark hair and fine robes. He was turned away from her, staring at something at his feet. A glint of steel caught her eye, and she noticed the naked blade of a scimitar. Nourma inhaled, readying herself for a fight.
Nourma clambered inside the askew cruiser. There was an acrid smell that overpowered the cargo hold, and she soon realized the wrecked generator was leaking a steady stream of fuel. Nourma took a deep breath and crept forward noiselessly around the strewn cargo and rigging until she stood a few paces from the still figure.
"Ali."
He turned, and even in the darkness Nourma could see the tears brimming in his eyes. His face turned from sorrow, to shame, to fury, and he raised his weapon high. "Leave me ALONE!"
Ali's attack was interrupted by a wall of wind that blew him forcefully back further into the hold. He hit a beam while in flight, and tumbled onto the wall that now served as a floor in the capsized ship. The sword went skittering away and buried itself in some tangled ropes. Nourma approached Ali with an outstretched fist, ready for another attack.
But Ali laid prostrate on the ground. Nourma approached with trepidation, her palms outstretched in preparation for another attack. She crept softly over open cargo doors until she stood within a sword's length of her defeated opponent. In the stillness of the dead cruiser, she could hear Ali's stifled whimpering. Nourma tensed, anticipating some last ruse.
"I don't…" Ali began, his words punching out like… "I don't know what to do. I thought I could make a difference. All I wanted was to make my tribe great. But…" he paused and winced as he shifted his bruised body, "...now, I'm…" He gestured to the interior of the cruiser, the wrecked and scattered cargo. Nourma relaxed her stance and was about to speak, but Ali continued.
"I had this path, this plan for my life. I knew I wasn't going to be chieftain, I was born too late for that. But there was greatness in me! Even if the others couldn't see it. Even if you couldn't see it."
"You kidnapped me." There was no anger in Nourma's words, just a statement of fact.
Ali's face reddened, and he turned away from Nourma. "I'm sorry about that!" he snapped. Then his body sagged and he turned back around, looking Nourma in the eyes. "I'm...truly sorry, cousin. I know now that was wrong. It's just…" Ali searched for the right words, "I thought it was the best way…"
Nourma cautiously took a seat on a crate. She felt the red rage against Ali in her stomach, but with a little effort she suppressed it. Revenge would solve nothing.
"I think I know how you feel." she said. Ali smirked and muttered, but Nourma continued on. "You thought you knew your destiny. But it didn't work out like that. And you were put on a path you didn't want to walk." Nourma smiled grimly. "The same thing happened to me. I wanted...I want to be the Hami chieftain. But fate had different plans. I can airbend. More than that, Ali, I can bend fire, too!" Ali looked up at Nourma, amazed.
"I can bend two elements! Don't you know what that means? So how can I be a desert chieftain? But here's the thing: fate doesn't get to choose. Not my life. Not yours. What we do, our actions, decide our journey." She turned to Ali, who was painfully sitting up. "So what's your journey gonna be?"
There was a short silence. Then Ali spoke up. "You can bend air and fire?"
Nourma realized she had said too much. "Well, don't focus on that part. Focus on the destiny-journey part."
Ali let out a weary sigh. "Thanks, cousin. You've given me hope." He rose to his feet and started to limp towards the hatch. Norma also rose and turned.
"Wait, where are you going?"
"Wherever. I'm going to find my journey."
Nourma chewed her lip. "Well, before that, let's go home."
Ali snarled and turned back towards Nourma. "I'm never going back!"
"You have to!"
Noticing his discarded scimitar on the floor, Ali bent down and extracted it from the rigging. He held it out against Nourma. "You can't make me!"
"Ali, wait!"
The scimitar swung in a great arc upward. The point drew delicately across Nourma's outstretched palm. It carried with it a thin trail of blood, following the blade upwards like a scarlet thread. Nourma saw this slowly, as if in a dream. She didn't notice the pain at all. Her vision just faded to a dull throbbing red.
Her limbs were not her own anymore. Nourma saw, through a crimson curtain, her hands shoot up. Ali flew backwards. The interior of the cruiser erupted into a maelstrom of swirling sand and debris. Ali was pressed against the far wall, arms outstretched, held up by the fury of Nourma's constant stream of wind.
She approached with halting, unsure steps through the swirling sand and flying splinters. Nourma tried to fight her actions, but she was utterly powerless, a prisoner in her own body. She saw a gentle stream of flames flow from her hands and orbit around Ali. He winced and struggled to reach the scimitar, rattling just out of reach.
Nourma's arms began to dance intricately around each other. A terrible gasping noise came from Ali. He fought against the oppressive wind and grasped at his throat.
NO NO NO NO NO! screamed Nourma wordlessly. But she was just an observer to her body's unyielding attack. Ali clawed helplessly at his throat. Hand twirling, fingers whirling, the onslaught continued. Ali gave a shuddering gasp, then was still. Nourma's arms shot out to the side. The storm of air and fire shot out, and then ceased. Ali hung outstretched on the wall for a terrible moment, then tumbled heavily onto the floor. The scimitar clanged down beside him. Nourma's vision faded from fiery red to the dull darkness of the interior.
Shaking slightly, Nourma crept towards Ali. She was in control now, just to realize how little control she had. Ali lay prostrate at her feet, slain by her hands. Nourma felt as if she was falling in an endless pit. She couldn't move, couldn't think. All she could do was feel the waves of horror wash over her.
Nourma heard the hurried hoofbeats of a camel-ox arriving outside. The search party! Maybe there was a healer with them. There might still be a chance to save Ali. She tore her gaze away from the body and rushed outside.
There was just one person outside, hurriedly dismounting. Nourma burst out of the hold and ran towards him.
"Please help! I think he might be dead! Can you…" her voice trailed off as she saw the newcomer and stopped short.
He wore the cheaply-made robes of a poor city dweller. His face was bruised and blotched. His eyes were bleary, the result of his long travel through the night and hard riding through the day. But even through the weariness and grime and foreign clothes, Nourma still recognized her cousin.
Dashtu stood dumbly for a moment, still holding the reins. His gaze drifted wonderingly from Nourma to the dark, silent entrance to the ship.
Nourma fought to hold back the tears. She opened her mouth to explain that Ali had been trying to kill her, that she had only meant to subdue Ali, she had been possessed and an evil spirit had caused Ali's death, that she had only been acting in self-defence.
"I'm sorry."
Her words, barely more than a trembling whisper, fell flat against the surrounding dunes. Dashtu raced past Nourma, his moccasins kicking up wild sprays of sand. Tears blurred Nourma's vision and she clenched her eyes shut, dreading what would come next. She heard stumbling noises inside the cruiser. Nourma started to walk away with jerky, plodding steps; not wanting to stay, not daring to go.
A plaintive wail sounded across the desert.
A single tear flowed down Nourma's cheek and she sobbed, unable to contain her grief. She felt herself spread her arms. A strong updraft bore her up above the dunes and she flew. Anywhere, nowhere, just to get away from the pain. Her tears rippled in the winds and fell to the sands below.
Linus, she pleaded, Linus, please help me. But Nourma sensed that there was a rift separating her and her spiritual friend, an uncrossable abyss. She was surrounded by an impenetrable veil; there would be no help. She was alone.
So Nourma flew on the cooling winds and above the golden desert, onwards and away. Her mind fought against the grief, trying to plan and think to the future. But she was inevitably drawn back, back, back to the darkness behind her and the void within her.