AN: Dear, dear reviewers, I am so grateful to you. Without your comments (and sweet praises and generous critiques) I never would have returned to this story. There would have been no reason to – I know how it ends, after all. ;)
I've been kind of working my way through a major depression. Something life-alteringly horrible happened and for a while nothing mattered at all. All my fish were dead, if you get me. Writing this chapter has been my summer project. And let me tell you, it was hard. I'm not quite the same person I was when I last updated, and I'm even further removed from the person who posted the original oneshot. It was so hard to get my head back in the story and every section was such a strain to put down. I still don't feel like it's entirely up to snuff, but it's here because I can't keep trying to make it perfect. (As you writers out there know, perfection is a trap!)
Point being, through all the heartbreak of the past year, I kept getting these little messages about how good the story was and how excited people were to see the next chapter. And what can I say? You folks made it seem worth while. So thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking with me or for coming back. Thank you for reading my story and thank you for taking the time to tell me what you think. It means more than you might expect!
Winter, spring,
summer and fall…
Katara watched Private Nu and the chubby medic's assistant perform a slow, long-stepped dance across the deck before the half-circle of crates. It took a great deal of concentration to keep her expression interested.
Interested, as opposed to anxious or incredulous or bored. Really, it was no wonder Zuko kept heaving sighs and crossing his arms and rather obviously turning his head to steal glances at her. Music Night had turned out to be a real snore. Katara wasn't sure she would ever fully appreciate Fire Nation music, but after a while, the steady beat of that drum had really started to speak to her.
Doom. Doom. Doom. Doom.
Every song was about flowers or changing seasons or death and they were all sadly beautiful or beautifully sad. After almost half an hour, Katara's drive to escape had dimmed, smothered by a melancholy that was becoming harder to shake off. The Fire Nation had probably never produced a fun dancing song. In the South Pole, they had the Penguin Flop, Mad Kojo's Ice Oven, and Beloved FlipFang, which was all about the singer's infatuation with a tiger-seal. But the Fire Nation…
Four seasons
for love,
four seasons
for love…
Katara drew a great breath but then stifled her sigh. She was still going to escape, she had to, and didn't want to draw attention to herself.
"If you're tired, I could escort you back to my quarters."
At the sound of Zuko's voice, she flinched and slowly turned to look at him. He was so tense. Of course he would notice a change in her breathing. How could she ever hope to escape with the Fire Prince scowling beside her and practically grinding his teeth smooth waiting for something to happen? When her eyes fell on him, though, Zuko's expression was alarmed.
"That is, to the room where you'll be kept until repairs can be made to the brig. Not my room. Some other room. With guards." His innuendo had slipped right past her, but Katara was no more inclined to think on it now.
This wouldn't do at all. If they locked her in a new room, there was no telling when she'd have another opportunity to get out on deck. They could set out for the Fire Nation and she might never have another chance.
"Oh no!" Katara said, struggling to keep the desperation out of her smile. "I told Iroh I would sing a Water Tribe song. I couldn't leave before that!"
"Ah, Lady Katara, that's wonderful!" Iroh said from across the semi-circle. The song had apparently ended as Katara was speaking and her remark had been audible to everyone. She fought to keep her smile. Iroh laced his fingers over his belly, watching her. "I was afraid you had grown shy of sharing your talents with so many strangers but I'm glad to hear my fears were unwarranted! Won't you please sing the next song for us?"
"Of- of course," Katara said. Suddenly all those wonderful Water Tribe songs fled her mind. Her throat was incredibly dry. No way would this work. Not only was her escape doomed to fail, but she was going to make a fool of herself and a mockery of her culture in front of a gang of Fire Nation killers and the smirking Prince himself. She could just picture Zuko's face when she hit the first bad note; he would scrunch up that regal nose and say some dismissive thing like, like…
"Uncle Iroh, the prisoner's suffered a major head injury. You can't honestly expect her to perform when the stress might cause her further harm!" Zuko was leaning forward with one hand on his knee and the other stretched out toward the old man like a command to see reason.
He had placed himself on her right so that the scarred side of his face was toward her. It looked so angry, the skin glossy and ruin-red and twisted into a permanent glower. That scar had always frightened Katara a little and had made the Fire Prince an even more terrible enemy by virtue of its strangeness and brutality.
But now his attention was turned on someone else. He was sitting beside her and defending her. And it struck her suddenly that he must not see very well out of that left eye, that all of his obvious stolen glances had been obvious out of necessity. For no reason she could determine, his words from her dream resurfaced.
Don't leave me.
Iroh had been saying something, but he quieted when Katara stood up. "No, really," she said. "I want to sing this song."
Aang hurtled through ancient time and memory, unblinking as a fish rushing upstream. He was immersed in memories fitted together so seamlessly it was as if he was simultaneously dying with his old scales sloughing on a worn deck even as he hatched out of a cluster of roe tucked into the safe crannies of glowing roots. The enormity of so many sights and sensations overwhelmed him. It physically hurt, as if his brain had eaten too much and was splitting its vessel. Aang cried out, or tried, and the sound filled his throat and mouth as a giant choking bubble.
Then, in a jolt, the pain stopped and he saw clearly. The surface of the sea dappled above him and he wound through the water toward the barnacled belly of a ship. His body was so slick and fast, and the water held him like another skin. He gave a joyful twirl in the water and surfaced off the starboard bow. On the rail above he spotted a boy whose tattooed face was split in a grin Aang could swear he knew.
"Yorba!" cried the boy as he dove off the ship. He surfaced beside Aang and stroked the scales above his fin. "We'd better hurry, boy. They're leaving without us!"
"Click-lick cluck," Aang said, though he had not meant to.
It was as if Aang had done this a thousand times. He dove gently under and let the human straddle him, gave him just an instant to get a grip on the harness he wore, and then streaked off toward the rising sun. All the sea was aglitter, and shifting beams of light softly cut down from the surface. He had his fish-boy – Toko was his human's name – and Aang – no, Yorba – felt truly happy.
Many years ago, we loved the fish-people.
For an instant, Aang was confused. Where had that old woman's voice come from? And then he remembered that he was not Yorba the Poya, but Avatar Aang and that he was only witnessing Yorba's memory. Oh yes, he was actually in a strange Spirit World cave with his fisher nomad friend Koa and, that's right, they had been caught by the flying Poya from Koa's bilge. And something in this world had gone terribly wrong.
Are you listening, Avatar? Are you seeing how my brother loved his fish-boy?
Yes, Aang said, and his voice was soft and distant behind the rush of water in Yorba's hearing. I'm listening. I can see. Who are you?
Good, the Poya said, and then ignored his question. We all loved them, Avatar. We swam with their fleets, we kept their young from drowning or losing themselves in the waves. We hunted together.
And Aang saw. As Yorba, he rushed beneath the hulls of a dozen ships and caught up with a pod of clicking Poya, their bodies undulating and iridescent in the filtered sunlight. The others each carried a human as he did, stretched along their backs gripping a harness that fit around the Poya's head and foremost fins. The fisher nomads' dark curls streamed behind them like seaweed. And these Poya were big. Not one was less than fifteen feet and a couple must have been nearer to twice that.
Together, we were all stronger. My brothers and sisters, you see how old they are? Old and happy. Her voice was sad, creaking with longing.
Yorba's kin clicked at him and Aang understood. "Stop daydreaming, little brother," said a big female with a stripe through her eyes. "You'll make us miss the bison-tuna and your boy won't thank you for that."
"Oh, lay off him, Grawa," said a much younger and smaller male. Rumbu was his name, Aang knew, and his rider was young as well. "He's only just started, after all, and he can't help it if he's still flippy-finned."
"No time for your bickering," said the biggest of them, a ragged-finned female whose rider's hair was more silver than black and knotted through with greenstone beads. She made a sharp downward gesture with one hand and all the other riders tightened their grips. The Poya went on, "The school has come. It is time."
As one, the pod dove.
The fish-people used to understand us. It used to be the way we recognized our bondmates. We sang to their children and every now and then one would sing back. And once the bond was complete, we could do more than that.
Aang nearly asked, but then he saw. Yorba's human made a sound, a faint click that came to him through his very skin. Yorba heard and Yorba breathed. A bubble of air formed against the Poya's back and Toko breathed it in.
That's waterbending!
It is older than that, but yes. Perhaps the Avatar has forgotten that we were the first tutors of your waterbenders. The Poya's voice was tinged with bitterness, but it passed as quickly as a shadow through the waves. She went on, sounding almost wistful. The fish-people were not much inclined to bending. Their cousins turned to the ice waters where we did not much like to follow.
You mean the fisher nomads were ancestors of the Water Tribe?
I suppose that is so. But it has no bearing on what happened to my people.
Aang almost asked exactly what had happened but the Poya in his vision had come abruptly on their prey and he lost the power to speak. The Poya had swum deep into the gut of the ocean where light was limited, but through Yorba's senses, he could see the vast shadows, could feel through his very skin the lumbering bulk of the bison-tuna.
FlipFang, FlipFang,
My love shone bright
as sun on ice!
FlipFang, FlipFang,
Your eyes took me,
gold stare that shook me!
FliiipFaang!
I could have loved you so sweetly
But Darling, you tried to eat me…
Zuko wasn't sure he liked Water Tribe music. Katara had sung only a few songs but they were all so… silly. Especially the one about the ice oven. No way would that work. The fire would melt the ice and then smother without air. It was just silly.
This one about the tiger-seal was no different. Of course it couldn't end well. The girl fell in love with a predator known to make off with village children. The tone was confusingly remorseful and yet not at the same time. It was almost as if the song was made to mock the delicate tragedies of Fire Nation song.
Katara sang with her mouth turned up at the corners in a little smile, her eyes flickering in the torchlight. She clutched her hands before her and bobbed along to the quick rhythm. Innocent and lovely as she may have seemed, Zuko wouldn't put it past her to slip barbs into Music Night.
He narrowed his eyes but didn't complain. It was a nice change of rhythm at least. Katara had had to work with Private Cho on the drum for a bit to get the right beat going but it seemed like the other musicians were having an easy enough time picking up the simple repeating tunes. Iroh was having an inordinate amount of fun, grinning like a fool and clapping along to the beat. He even joined in the chorus.
I could have loved you so sweetly
But Darling you tried to eat me!
Zuko folded his arms across his chest and waited for the end. Surely Katara must be getting tired. Her posture certainly hadn't improved. Any time now she would be ready to retire and he could escort her to a new cell. Perhaps the empty officer cabin down the hall from his quarters. He could post a guard outside the door. That would keep her in place.
The song finally came to an end but before Zuko could speak, Iroh had leapt to his feet and held out a hand to Katara with a courtly half-bow. "Lady Katara, I believe you mentioned there was a dance to go along with this song. Would you do me the honor of teaching me?"
"Oh!" Katara said, clutching her hands over her chest for a hesitant instant before laying one in his uncle's stubby paw. "I'm not sure if I can remember all the steps… but I guess it couldn't hurt to try."
The musicians started over and Zuko heaved a disgusted sigh. He hated dancing. Ballroom etiquette had been a small but disproportionately horrible part of his education before his banishment. Just like firebending, it had been difficult for him to master the flow of postures. Unlike firebending, there had been no foreseeable reward to developing the skill set, so he had not practiced very much and his instructor had despaired him ever being presentable to the Fire Court except as a stationary ornament.
Yet it seemed to Zuko that Water Tribe dance was a simple enough matter. He watched the waterbender struggle through the first verse or so before she seemed to have an epiphany and her directions became decisive. Together, apart, together, right, left, turn, together, apart… easy.
Still, Iroh lagged a bit picking up on the cues as Katara attempted to guide him. Zuko grew more and more frustrated as the old man kept missing the same steps. Why couldn't he just dance properly? Hadn't the old man just been telling him the other day about the girl he'd won over with his skill on the dance floor?
"Ouch!"
"Oh, my sincerest apologies, Lady Katara! These old eyes sometimes don't see such tiny feet in time to keep from stepping on them…"
This couldn't be allowed to go on. Zuko had to call an end to this evening. Katara didn't exactly look exhausted – actually, her occasional glances out over the moonlit bay were more exuberant than he would have expected – but his uncle was surely not helping matters. Besides, the crew still needed to stow those crates and make ready for sea. His men were dutiful enough to avoid punishment but if he didn't go down to the galley and collect them, they certainly wouldn't come back all on their own.
Zuko rose to his feet and strode across the deck toward Katara and Iroh. He hadn't noticed how far they had traveled in their blundering circles, almost to the rail, but made no note of it except to scoff again at his uncle's much-vaunted prowess.
Iroh saw him coming and grinned over Katara's head. "Ah, cutting in, Prince Zuko? Lady Katara, I would complain at the loss of such a lovely partner, but I've danced so poorly tonight I'm afraid I don't deserve you."
"No, Uncle, it's time-"
And very suddenly, Iroh rather expertly spun Katara into Zuko's arms, which he had raised reflexively to keep her from knocking him to the deck. She peered up at him with those huge blue eyes, and Zuko didn't know at all how to read the myriad emotions behind them. He shut his mouth and swallowed and straightened automatically and one of the drill phrases from his lessons years ago slipped feebly out his mouth.
"Forgive me but I'm unfamiliar with this dance. How does it go?"
Sokka shoveled rice into his mouth with his fingers, heedless of the pleased groaning sounds erupting from his throat even as half-chewed wads of rice slid down the other direction. His stomach made similar happy noises and seemed to be doing a little dance under his skin.
"Look, um, it's great that your appetite is back, but could you maybe… not make so much noise?"
Sokka looked up at his neighbor, who was wringing his hands over his own mostly-full rice bowl. He chuckled and shook his head. "Oh Hong, if I didn't make any noise while eating this delicious rice, how could you be sure I was actually feeling better?"
Hong's mouth tightened up in a frown. "You could just tell me that."
"Ah, but you're an animal doctor. You're not used to such straightforwardness in your patients."
"But you aren't an animal! And I'm not a-"
Sokka held up his hand, fingers dotted with sticky rice. "Look, I'm not saying you can't do your job, just that it's in my best interest to not do anything that will throw you off your regular practice." He noticed the rice stuck to his fingers and began licking it off. "Besides, a warrior's pride prevents him from saying so when he's in pain or distress."
Hong sighed and thumped his head against the bars with a dull ring. After a long pause, he sighed again. "It's not like there's anything more I can do for you. The swelling's gone down so I guess the whole, you know, uri-"
Sokka gestured sharply, flinging bits of rice across the cell. "Hong, buddy! What'd we agree about that?"
"That, um, we shouldn't talk about it."
"Ever. That we shouldn't talk about it, ever."
"Right," said Hong, frowning again – or maybe still.
Sokka wasn't sure that his neighbor and brother in treason ever really stopped frowning anymore. It wasn't that the guy was just a sourpuss. He'd been friendly enough when Sokka was first imprisoned, and he'd seemed pleased when Sokka came out of his fever. Maybe this change in Hong's mood was a result of his days spent jailed for doing a good deed.
Sokka looked up at the Fire Nation youth, who was stabbing his chopsticks into his rice. Or maybe it was something a little closer to home.
"I can't believe it," Hong finally said. "I just can't believe the Admiral would even suggest…"
He trailed off and hung his head, staring thoughtfully at his rice. Sokka swallowed the last of his food and set his empty bowl aside. He should be gentle. The guy deserved that much. "Okay," Sokka said bracingly. "Which part exactly are you having trouble believing?"
"Your leg, Sokka! It's healing perfectly, the medic even told him the wound was clean. And he still- The Admiral still-!"
Sokka nodded. "Ordered him to cut my leg off. Right, I was there." What puzzled Sokka was the medic's refusal, his citation of some protocol thing that prevented him from doing harm, the way his freaky little Fire Nation mustache had bristled when he faced Zhao.
But that was his puzzle to work out. Sokka wiped the rice off his fingers and reached through the bars to pat Hong on the shoulder. "Look, I know this is kinda hard for you to accept, but Zhao really isn't a very nice person."
"But he's the Admiral… It's dishonorable."
"Yeah, I don't think he really cares about that."
Hong looked at him as if he'd sprouted horns. Sokka clasped his shoulder and peered at him until he was sure the guy wouldn't pass out. "Sokka," Hong said slowly, not looking at him. "Do you realize what he's going to do?"
Sokka almost made a joke, but Hong looked up at him then and the pity on his face made him pull up short.
"As soon as we reach port, he's going to replace the medic. And the first test to be sure the new medic will follow orders…" Hong's eyes crinkled as if it hurt to say the rest. "The test will be you, Sokka."
Sokka removed his hand from the other man's shoulder and sat back on his heels. After a moment, he nodded. For a while, he had convinced himself that he would walk off this ship after all. He had wanted it so badly and had convinced himself that luck was with him. Otherwise, he would have realized this was coming. It made perfect sense.
"We have to get off this ship."
Sokka only nodded. What was he to say? He couldn't run or fight and Hong might be a soldier but he was hardly an impressive specimen – especially compared to the badger-bears who kept getting assigned guard duty. They might be able to sneak off the ship if given the opportunity but they would have to get out of their cells first. And even if they got out of their cells there was still the guard to deal with. It didn't look good.
From his cell door, there was a soft purr. Sokka waved the sound off. "Not now, Momo. We're right in the middle of-"
His neck wrenched with the force of snapping his head around. Sure enough, there was the lemur, sitting in front of the cell door with his head cocked to one side.
"What is-?"
Before Hong could utter another word, Sokka reached out and snatched the lemur into his cell and cast a wary eye down toward the guard. The big firebender was still bent over his little table, and had apparently been playing some game before Momo let out a shriek at being grabbed. He stood up in a rush and came running. Sokka hurriedly stuffed Momo under his shirt and grabbed up his empty rice bowl.
The guard loomed over him, looking around for the source of the disturbance. "What was that sound?" he demanded, his voice steely coming from behind his face plate.
Sokka held up his bowl and pointed at it with his chopsticks. "I found a bug in my rice! What kind of establishment are you running here?"
The guard seemed momentarily taken aback. "I don't see any bugs."
"Yeah," Sokka said, rolling his eyes. "That's because I found it with my mouth."
"And you swallowed it?" A note of skepticism crept into the firebender's voice.
"Well it was half-swallowed when I felt its little legs twitching and realized what it was. You mean to tell me you can stop swallowing things once you've already started? Look, if you really want to keep these things from happening you should really consider changing the lighting in here because, lemme tellya, red light does not make for easy bug-spotting."
The firebender raised a gauntlet to his forehead. "Look, fine, so you swallowed a bug. Just, stop talking, or I'll come in there and really give you something to scream about. Got it?"
Sokka nodded vigorously and the guard, grumbling, returned to his station.
Once he was clear, Sokka opened the collar of his shirt and Momo clawed his way out to perch on Sokka's bent knee.
"What is that thing?" Hong asked. He was suddenly leaning his face through the bars again. Sokka straightened and made some courtly gestures.
"Hong, Momo. Momo, Hong."
Momo stared at Hong with his enormous eyes, then looked back at Sokka and laid his ears back, purring.
Sokka chuckled and patted the lemur's head, "Yes, Momo, strange bedfellows indeed!"
Hong slowly pulled away from the bars.
"Now," Sokka said, leaning conspiratorially closer to the lemur's quizzical face. "Let's see how your fetching skills are coming along."
The Poya were big, but the bison-tuna were the size of whales. Aang could sense their humped backs heaving through the deeper gloom below, hundreds of the leviathans. They gave gentle calls that grew louder as the hunting party approached, muffled lowing that carried through the depths.
Through Yorba's heightened senses, Aang could feel the other hunters spreading out. He could sense, too, the alarm of the school of bison-tuna as they all began turning together to flee. The huge creatures were sluggish, though, and the Poya were quickly amongst them, singling out a target.
He heard the clicks of the lead Poya, the old female, and suddenly the pod was slipping around a single bison-tuna, their lithe bodies darting between it and the rest of the school. Yorba swooped down by the creature's tiny eye and then surged back up very suddenly, only barely getting out of the way before the bison-tuna's huge head knocked into the side of one of its schoolmates.
Woah! Aang cried out. We almost got squashed!
The hunts were often deadly. Poya and their fish-people shared the risks and the rewards.
As Yorba, Aang darted past the bison-tuna's eye again and came up below the creature's chin. Aang felt his face tensed and his barbels rigidly extend and then he darted up to prick the big fish's underbelly. All around, the other members of the hunting party similarly struck at their target. The bison-tuna groaned and fled the annoying attacks, surging up and away from its school.
Farther and farther the hunting party drove their prey. The bison-tuna tried to swoop around and return to the school but the Poya and their riders were inescapable, darting into the creature's path and stinging it about the soft mouth and eyes. The water grew lighter and Aang could see the glimmering bronze of the bison-tuna's scales, the darker dorsal hump. Its eye, when he glimpsed it, was brown and tiny and pained.
Aang was at once sick to see his fellow living creature tormented and exultant as the hunt neared its successful end. It was almost a mercy when the Poya at last forced the creature to surface near the boats and some hunter hurtled a spear through that sad eye. The bison-tuna stopped swimming and coasted hugely through the aqua water, clouded all around with blood.
That was horrible, Aang said softly, swooping away with the other Poya as the ships moved in to butcher their prize.
Horrible, Avatar? The old voice came softly to him. She sounded almost amused. Hardly. The hunt was a way of survival for the fish-people and the Poya. We all ate of the great hunts. Such a pod as this would live for months on the meat of one kill. There was nothing wasted.
And Aang saw, memories flashing past of smoke houses built on rafts, of casks and casks of seasoned salted fish, of huge scales worked into clattering chimes and bracelets and necklaces, of giant bones bent to hoist sails or support roofs. He saw trade, the fisher nomads hauling off their casks of fish and replacing them with trinkets, greenstone and gold ornaments. He saw more and more bison-tuna butchered as the nomads grew wealthier.
He saw, too, the face of the human boy grow into that of a man. He saw Toko dance with a grinning bride with seablossoms in her hair and then, quite suddenly, two children were dangling off the rail like lemurs.
They look so happy, he said absently.
Wait, Avatar. Watch. It is coming.
Suddenly long-faced and furrow-browed, Toko wore the greenstone beads of a leader knotted in his long gray curls. As Aang watched, the man rapidly became more worn – and in flashes Aang could see why. The school of bison-tuna wasted, their numbers fewer and the surviving fish more aggressive. Poya and their riders were crushed on hunts, but more than that, Aang saw the long journeys through empty dark waters. He heard the unending silence, the lowing of the bison-tuna absent from the depths. In the sensitive body of Yorba, he felt how strangely alone all the Poya felt.
And through the rippling surface of the sea, he could see how Toko's people grew more desperate. There were arguments amongst the fleet, starving arms pointing far off in the distance. One man in particular stood out from the rest, a man with no tattoos on his face, but a demanding air. People gathered behind him in support. Then came a day when the remaining Poya and their riders came together and Toko led them off from the fleet, peering worriedly back at his family. Yorba was anxious as well, confused that all of the Poya were to leave the ships behind.
It was a fool's idea to leave the fish-people without any Poya to watch after them, to go hunting after the spawning grounds. And foolish to think our bondmates' fragile bodies could withstand the perils. Foolish, foolish!
The pod traveled quickly together for many days and nights until they came to strangely warm waters where occasional streams of bubbles would explode up from the bed of the sea. One Poya was caught in such a stream and hung lifeless in the water afterward. His rider survived the heat only to gasp a lungful of water and choke before anyone could reach him. Later, one of the smaller Poya was snatched off the tail of the pod by huge tentacles that shot unexpectedly out of a cave. Some brave riders went in after her but only one returned, terrified. The pod moved on.
At last they came to a great bay, where daylight barely reached the sandy bottom. As far as Aang could see there were large clusters of blue-green eggs mounded on the sand, and swarms of yellow shrimp-like creatures scurried around them. The fisher nomads began trying to catch the little creatures but the Poya only followed along, apparently confused.
Why aren't the Poya helping? Those shrimp are eating the bison-tuna eggs!
A few, yes. But any Poya with sense could see that they were not the problem.
Then what was it? Aang demanded.
Too much hunting. Too much by the fish-people… and too much by others.
Quite suddenly, a giant steel dredge came down and snapped shut around several Poya and their riders. Yorba was outside the trap and darted forward to snatch up Toko before swimming off a little ways. With a resonant clanking sound, the ship above began drawing in the chain and the dredge slowly lifted off the sand. Yorba swam up to get a closer look at the ship and, at Toko's encouragement, surfaced. Aang gasped at the sight of the huge steel vessel.
Fire Nation!
Yes, said the sad old voice. They were only eating the shrimp, but they broke many, many eggs.
It happened quickly. Toko hailed the Fire Nation fishermen. Other Poya surfaced with him. Several nomads went aboard the vessel before the dredge came up. Aang could not clearly see what happened on the deck, but something went terribly wrong. Flames flashed over the rail. He felt Yorba's fear and that of the other Poya as they darted out of the way of fishing spears. They had lost all but one of the fisher nomads and wanted to flee but were drawn back to the muffled sounds of their companions still trapped in the dredge. Yorba flinched out of the way of a spear but it caught another Poya instead. Then, the chain drew the dredge above water and they all knew those members of the pod were lost.
That… that was horrible, Aang said softly. I knew the Fire Nation had been ruthless in war but I never thought simple fishermen would commit such atrocities…
These people you speak of, the ones in the steel ships. They were never friends to the fish-people. The gray-hair knew this, but he possessed a trusting heart. So too did my fish-brother Yorba. It undid them both.
Aang remembered suddenly the way Koa and Hato had tiptoed so carefully past the harbormaster to get into Sowachi. He remembered what they had said, that the Fire Nation perceived fisher nomads as thieves. Still, a bad reputation did not seem to justify the kind of brutality he had just witnessed…
And then Yorba surfaced on his way out of the large bay and Aang recognized the great statue marking the entrance to the harbor where the bison-tuna had gone to spawn.
This is near the Fire Nation Capital, isn't it? That ship must have thought the fisher nomads were spies or something.
If the Avatar thinks this, he is probably right. It does not matter to my people. It has no bearing on the wrong that was done to us.
Listen. I understand that what the Fire Nation did was inexcusable. But why are you so angry with the fisher nomads?
You understand nothing, Avatar! You have seen nothing. Now is the time, now you will see the betrayal we suffered at the hands of the fish-people. Watch!
Aang saw. The journey to return to the fleet was long and difficult. The Poya were weary and the last human barely managed to hold to her harness. The pod surfaced many times so that she could rest. For days all they knew was fear and despair.
It was late at night when they finally found the fleet. The fisher nomad was hardly able to climb up the side of a ship, but a hand came down to help her. Aang recognized it as belonging to the same man who had argued so much with Toko, the man with no tattoos on his face. He seemed to be the only one awake on deck. A dart of fear shot through Aang and he was not sure why.
Through Yorba's eyes, he watched the rider explain what had happened, gesturing weakly and hunched in sorrow. And he saw the other nomad's face take on a sly, excited expression. Suddenly, he struck the surviving rider in the head with a steel tool, knocking her dead in a single blow. She splashed back into the sea and her Poya nudged desperately at her. All of the pod surfaced together and cried out in pain and fear, their whistling calls loud enough to wake the rest of the fleet.
It was too late. Aang watched the tattooless man tell his people that the Poya had turned against them, had killed all their riders. Some of the fisher nomads argued that it was impossible, but many more turned on the Poya with a hungry look in their eyes. Their cheeks were hollow and their trinkets were spent.
The final straw was Toko's wife, who shooed her children back inside and then reached down toward Yorba. Tears coursed down her face but there was a fury in her eyes. Aang recognized it but Yorba did not. The Poya lifted his face from the water toward her fingers.
Stop, Aang said. Please, I can't watch this.
A man beside her hefted a fishing spear. Aang shouted as it came down toward his eye.
Zuko's hand was hot and humid around hers and he kept peering earnestly down toward his feet. It wasn't that Katara was ungrateful – Iroh had managed to step on both of her feet trying to lead her closer to the rail – but the obvious effort Zuko was putting forth made it very hard to forget the sound of his plea in her dream. It kept coming back to her every time they took a step apart and his hand on her back tightened just the tiniest bit.
Don't leave me.
Katara swallowed and splayed out her fingers on his armored shoulder before looking off to the side where the moon dazzled across the harbor. It was beckoning her, so close yet so far. Zuko's hands were light on her but she wasn't fooled; they were as good as iron chains. The worst part was, it wasn't his strength that kept her from escaping. His hands were so gentle. The one she lightly clasped was callused and tough with old scars but his fingers were positioned around hers so delicately.
"I have something that belongs to you."
His voice was quiet, and when Katara looked back at his face she wasn't sure whether his frown was one of hope or reluctance. She blinked, confused and distracted.
"Your necklace," he provided. His eyes narrowed. "Unless you don't miss it as much as you pretended to."
Katara responded to his suspicion with righteous anger. "I wasn't pretending. That necklace is all I have left of- from back home. Why are you bringing it up, anyway? Just feel like rubbing it in?"
"Actually, I was thinking about giving it back to you," he said through tight lips.
Katara missed a step. She was staring, she knew, but she couldn't quite seem to tear her eyes away as the anger faded from her. "That… that would be really nice of you, Zuko," she managed.
His surly expression morphed into that same strange, attentive look he had had on the stairs. Katara sensed the danger but couldn't seem to pull her hand off his shoulder plate. The armor made him seem so much bigger, so much sturdier, but the look on his face exposed him for the boy he was. "I can be nice, you know. You don't have to make it sound like it's such a shock."
Katara hesitated, then offered a sly smile. "You haven't exactly been putting your best foot forward, you know. I mean, you've nearly fried my friends and me every time we crossed paths."
Zuko looked uncertain for a second as to whether he should be angry or not, but his eyes flicked to her lips - she was sure of it - and he seemingly forced one side of his mouth to hitch upward, just a bit. "I thought that was my best foot."
"You really know how to impress a girl, don't you? Shoot some fire, threaten her family... Do threats and brutality really come off as charming to Fire Nation women?"
Zuko blinked and his half-smile vanished. He peered off over her head and seemed to be thinking very hard. The moon and torch light put a glow on his pale skin. It shined where the scar made his cheek glossy. After a time, he looked back at Katara, genuinely perplexed. "I don't know. I actually have no idea what appeals to women of any nation."
Katara laughed and met his level stare, feeling strangely locked into place. "Water Tribe women mostly go for good hunters."
Zuko cast a sideways glance over the rail and his half-smile returned. "I guess Avatar hunting doesn't count on that score, does it?"
"No," she said. "But I guess you'd still get some points for determination."
"I've been told that's my best feature."
"You have other good features, too." As soon as the words passed her lips, Katara stiffened. "I mean…"
Quite suddenly he was watching her, his yellow eyes close and intense. The music seemed to fade away. There was a hunger to his gaze that made all the night diminish around them but when he spoke his voice was so quiet she almost didn't hear him. "Like what?"
Katara opened her mouth and then closed it and tried to swallow but found she had too little saliva to manage it. "Um." She tore her eyes away and looked down at the edge of his breast plate, near where his heart must be. "Well, you- I mean, all things considered, you've been pretty decent to me... er, while holding me captive..."
Zuko sighed and Katara glanced up in time to see the way he frowned off to the side, his unscarred cheek turned away from her. Before he could speak, she went on. "You're kind of... I mean... Your crew likes you. My- My father always says that a leader is only as good as his men believe he is. So you must be pretty good."
She didn't look at him, wasn't sure she could, but the way he began missing steps made her think he had taken offense. Katara stuttered out the words she'd been trying not to say. "You're also kind of handsome. When you aren't scowling, I mean, which is pretty much never, but-"
Katara stopped suddenly because he had pulled his hand out of hers and instead of pushing her away as she half expected him to, his fingers came to rest warmly under her jaw. He pulled her chin up, so gently, and Katara finally had to look up and meet his gaze. What she saw there startled her, stilled her. Zuko looked stunned and tender and his eyes flicked down to her lips and Katara didn't know how it happened, how it was possible that his neck would bend and his mouth would meet hers so softly. His lips were rough and chapped and very warm and for an instant Katara could only freeze, her mind too blown to process exactly what was happening.
And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. Zuko withdrew, still looking stunned. Then his chin jerked up as he took in her expression. Not quite sure what he was seeing, Katara opened her mouth to say something, she wasn't sure what.
"Hey you!"
Katara and Zuko turned as one to see the lanky figure clambering up over the rail of the ship. Silence fell as all the other attendants of Music Night shifted their stares from the dancing couple and turned to see him as well. For an instant, Katara thought Jet had followed her, but then she realized it wasn't the same boy at all. As he lurched into the torchlight, his baggy clothes and wild hair became visible. His face was twisted in fury and he raised a quaking arm to point at Zuko.
"Get away from her, Fire Nation scum!"
Katara watched, speechless, as Zuko released her and smoothly stepped into a fighting stance. It didn't escape her notice that he placed himself between her and the approaching stranger. "You should have quit while you were ahead," he said. He raised his hard hands before him. "Now you're going to pay for your insolence as well as the damage you've done to my ship."
Before her eyes, he had transformed from the attentive, uncertain boy into that old familiar enemy. Katara reached a hand out toward his armored back as if to yank him back from some edge he didn't see. But before she could touch him, the strange boy shouted again and she pulled up short.
"Katara! Run!"
And immediately the rarity of this opportunity became clear to her. Before she could doubt, Katara turned, leapt up on the rail, and dove over. The wind tugged her hair and clothes and the dark water sang closer, closer, and then right up in her ears, all around her, through her, nearly cold enough to distract her from the desperate feeling in her belly.
Katara surfaced with a gasp and looked back toward the deck of Zuko's ship, just for a glimpse. There were some booms of firebending above and flashes of light, the origins of which she could not see. There was shouting. Closing her mouth firmly, Katara spun in the water and surged toward the dock.
She never saw the net coming. It hit her hard enough to knock her breathless and witless, down below the surface. The water closed in fiercely around her.
The next thing she knew, Katara was spilling out onto a steel deck, coughing and gasping. She came up on her hands and knees, heaving to regain her breath, and a pair of curl-toed shoes thumped on the deck before her. For an instant, she thought Zuko had caught her again. She very nearly rolled her eyes. Then, a voice she remembered sneered down at her.
"Well well well. If it isn't the Avatar's little waterbender."
Katara scrambled backward until her shoulders banged against the steel rail and stared up, hurriedly wiping salt water from her eyes. "Zhao!" she croaked, the name not even recognizable through her choking.
Zhao smirked down his nose at her, but he addressed the wall of armored men who stood at the ready all around. "A sweet surprise indeed," he said in a tone of bored pleasure. "Take her."
