Chapter 13:

sand

and

scorpions

The next morning, Katara wakes to the sound of lightning cracking in the distance. She bolts upright, quickly assessing her surroundings. The campfire has already been extinguished and covered with earth, indicating Zuko has started tidying the campsite. But in that case, exactly where is he?

Another crack of lightning.

Azula.

Katara leaps to her feet, but before she can take another step, Zuko walks into the clearing, shaking water from his hair. He must have been bathing by the stream, Katara realises.

"Your sister — "

Zuko looks over his shoulder, to where the white lightning is splintering the overcast sky.

"She's been practicing her lightning since dawn," he says. "I followed her to make sure she wasn't hurting anyone. She's just shooting lightning at the sky."

Why? Katara stares into the sky, feeling the scar on her hand itch.

But the next day, Azula practices her lightning again, and the next day, and soon enough it becomes a strange part of their routine, like Zuko gathering firewood, like Katara navigating with the maps, like the constant whisper of the river in the night, like the soft call of the owl-hawks in the evening.

Katara always falls asleep watching the campfire fade to glowing coals.

She dreams.

The wind whistles through the desert. Katara stands alone, sand swirling around her. She stares down the endless path before her, desert washing up on each side like a dusty tide. Overhead, the sun sucks the last remaining moisture from the brittle grass that splinters the land.

She tries to call out, mouthing a word; it's caught quickly in the seething desert wind and whipped away into the secret hallows of the searing Earth Kingdom landscape.

You called my name.

Katara steps back and gazes overhead, into the endless blue sky. A dark shadow eclipses her for a moment, wings silhouetted, feathers thin and transparent as tissue paper. Then Wan Shi Tong lands before her.

"I didn't call your name," she says. She's not sure if he heard her.

You called my name, the owl says decisively. He doesn't speak. His words simply appear in her head, like patterns in the sand. He cocks his head and looks at her. Tell me something interesting.

"Is this the Spirit World?" Katara asks cautiously.

Day, night. Day, night. Always on and on and on and on, until the sun and moon are the same. The deserts and oceans merge into one rolling land, one ceaseless rhythm.

Katara is silent. The owl's words are — as ever — filled with riddles and mystery, and hardly answer her question. But she remembers Wan Shi Tong's moody temper and decides not to ask again.

Tell me something interesting.

"I live in a desert."

He watches her with his amber eyes, unblinking, always watchful.

"A waterbender that lives in a desert," she repeats. It's a riddle like his. He'll like that. "It never rains. The rain always freezes and turns into snow."

Wan Shi Tong seems to like that. His head bobs slightly; he gazes across the desert, as if he can sense her future swept across pale dust and cracked rocks.

Yes...a desert...a desert of water...

"You promised knowledge in return," Katara reminds him, and he turns sharply to look at her.

You travel with two.

He pauses. Katara waits, the sand whirling around her and the wind snapping her hair like a flag. The wind seems to be growing stronger.

Find them.

Katara stares at Wan Shi Tong. He unfolds a wing, as if to gesture to the desert.

Find them. They are here.

"In the desert? How will I find them?" Katara asks.

Find them, or they will die.

"How am I supposed to find them?" she cries, frustration in her voice. The desert looks endless. Wan Shi Tong stares at her with his stern, unforgiving face.

Close your eyes and see if you can forget. Open them, and it will be new. Nothing will be faded. The dust will run in rivulets from your eyes, the dirt will fall away from your face, the land will be mysterious again, dark and sacred —

"I don't understand!" Katara cries. "What land? This desert?" She turns, casting her desperate gaze over the pale ochre sands. She pauses for a moment, then kneels and reaches toward the sand, remembering how the library sunk beneath the dunes.

You have found one of your companions, but beware. He is constant in his change; his direction is unpredictable. But she burns all who touch her.

Wind and sand, Katara realises. Wind and sand. She grabs a fistful of sand.

True to Wan Shi Tong's warning, it holds all the fire of the sun. Katara opens her palm, trying to let the sand fall away. But it seems to pour endlessly through her fingers, getting hotter and hotter —

Katara lets out a cry of agony, desperate trying to brush the never-ending sand from her hand. Looking up, she sees Wan Shi Tong disintegrate before her very eyes, whipped away by the desert wind.

"Wait! No! Don't leave! Help me!" she screams.

Then she wakes up.

But the pain doesn't stop.

Katara stumbles desperately across the clearing, her vision dulled by sleep and the thin moon. She falls over a branch, cracks her shin across a stone, and a twig scrapes across her face. Yet she doesn't slow in her urgent rush to the river. Once by the riverbank, she plunges both hands into the chilly water and grimaces at the sharp sensation against the burning skin.

The scar on her palm always aches a little when she's tired, or if the temperature's a little cool, or if she's been carrying something. Anything that requires forming a fist quickly produces a dull pain — brushing her hair always seems to trigger it. But she's never had the scar hurt so badly before. For a moment, she was certain Azula had burned her again. But there's no fresh injury on her palm — just the star-shaped, raised scar.

It's hard to be angry at someone who is so clearly not there, and Katara's done her best to put the incident behind her. But...

A twig cracks behind her. Katara whips around, the river already rising to meet her outstretched hands.

Azula. The girl says nothing, just watches. She's staring at the scar on Katara's palm.

"Why?" Katara asks in a low voice. "Why did you do it?"

But Azula says nothing, merely steps away again, and soon her footsteps have faded.

When Azula was little, she thought the world was made up of magic. People in the Earth Kingdom rode badger-moles around and could make monuments out of mountains. The Air Nomads could sit amongst the clouds and write a song on the sky. The Water Tribes could turn rain into snow before it hit the ground and run across water as if it was solid.

The other people must be magic and powerful, she told her father once.

He stiffened. What other people?

The people in the air. And in the water, and the earth.

He took her with him to the Boiling Rock. She tried to raise her chin and walk with confidence, difficult though it was with all the horrible-looking prisoners staring at her from behind their bars.

These are your magic people, he said scornfully. These are the water people, the earth people.

She looked at them. Those pale, pathetic people. They huddled together, staring at her father with fear.

Go on, Azula. Tell them how magic they are. Tell them how powerful they are.

And she was silent.

When they got back home, he told her mother not to ever tell Azula such stories ever again.

And Azula never again dreamed of foreign magic and extraordinary people.

She wonders if the ocean-eyed girl has ever run across water as it were solid.

The next day, they set out their maps and compass and make their way to the mountain pass. The river is growing narrow as they ascend and Katara feels the loss. It makes her feel more vulnerable.

There's supposed to be a village by the mountain pass, and soon enough, traffic begins to pick up along the path. A couple of farmers pass them, on their way to the markets, and occasionally a solitary rider on an ostrich-horse ambles past.

As they near the village, however, there seems to be an air of excitement. Children run around clutching colourful lanterns, and there seems to be a lot of people milling around, setting up things in the village square.

"Here for the lantern festival?" a man asks them with a jovial smile.

"The what?" Katara asks perplexedly. The man just waves and continues on.

"It doesn't matter. We should try and reach the next village before nightfall," Zuko says.

Katara looks at him imploringly.

They sit high up on the steps of an old stone shrine. Their viewpoint is certainly not solitary; giggling children race around them, lanterns bobbing from their hands, hunting for crickets. Couples hold hands and whisper to each other, sharing a lantern between them. Beneath the shrine, a hundred lantern lights twinkle throughout the village. The market square is a lively mix of music and dancing; boys purchase red-bean dumplings for their sweethearts, a symbol of happiness and prosperity.

"It looks so pretty," Katara observes, watching people prepare their lanterns. "My dad once brought back a red fox-sleeve lantern from his travels. It was one of my mother's favourite possessions." She tilts her head, looking at the people industriously scribbling on their lanterns."I wonder what they're writing."

"The names of their loved ones," a woman nearby replies, glancing over at Katara. "It's tradition to write the names of the deceased on the lanterns, then when the signal is given, we all release them. It's said that those within the spirit world can read the messages on the lanterns." She smiles and offers a flattened stack of lanterns to Katara. "Would you like to buy one?"

"Oh — thank you, but no," Katara says reluctantly. They have three gold coins set aside for any emergencies, and a small handful of bronze pieces that should probably be saved for something else.

"It's fine," Zuko says suddenly. "I'll take those two."

"The yellow lanterns? What a good choice. And for you?" the woman asks Katara. She chooses a red one and Zuko gives the woman a handful of bronze pieces.

"We probably should have saved the coins for food," Katara says to Zuko, although there's little reproach in her voice. The lantern is beautiful and reminds her of the fox-sleeve one her mother had adored so much.

Katara manages to borrow a brush from an excitable child; he hands it over, face smudged with ink, and she smiles at him before considering her lantern.

Of course, she had picked the most beautiful lantern for the most beautiful person: her mother. She slowly, carefully writes Kya in the traditional script of her tribe, then pauses. What message would she like to give her mother? Her mother would already know how much Katara loves her and misses her; how much she thinks of her.

Katara raises the brush again and writes the message, then hands the brush to Zuko. It makes her sad to watch him, for he writes not one name, not two, but three, each name accompanied by a message. She cannot decipher any words — he's chosen to write using traditional Fire Nation characters.

Katara's not sure if Azula will write anything, but she does. The princess writes four names, turning the lantern over before Katara can read them.

She wonders what the signal is, but she needn't have worried — around midnight, the music dies down and a great cheer goes up. The lanterns start bobbing into the sky, the children laughing and shouting as they open their arms and send their messages heavenward.

Zuko lights Katara's lantern for her, sending it floating into the sky. His and Azula's soon follow it. She watches as they drift across the night, burning bright among the silver stars.

She smiles — a small, sad smile — and watches until the lanterns are mere silhouettes upon the moon.

"Zuko?" she asks, still gazing upwards. "Did you write your mother's name?"

"Yes."

She glances across at him, meeting his gaze.

"Just in case," he says quietly.

Zuko knows the money would be better spent on food but...

Lantern festivals were always magic when he was a child. He remembers his mother taking him and Azula. The scents, sounds, and sights bring all the memories rushing back. The sizzle of chicken from the roadside vendors, rice dumplings ladled over pots of starchy water, golden honey drizzled over figs and pomegranates. Azula's favourite, the candied cherries.

And the rush of lanterns, red and gold, brilliant against the dark night sky. Of course, at those festivals, they wrote wishes on their lanterns. Prosperity, happiness, health, longevity.

But here, he writes three names: Lu Ten, Ozai, and...

Ursa.

Azula always lies, he tells himself.

The same dream again. Katara stands in the desert, the hot sand stinging her skin, lashing against her face, her hands, as the wind begins to whirl to life. It's the only thing that moves in this bleak, sunburned landscape.

She calls out, but the name is whipped away by the winds and disappears forever into the endless dunes. Then the burning is beginning again, the searingly hot sand clinging to her right hand, and no, not again, she can't bear it a second time —

There's a loud snap, very close by, and Katara wakes suddenly. The pain disappears in a heartbeat and it takes her a moment to groggily realise Azula is standing nearby, staring intently at her. The girl must have stepped on a twig or something.

"You woke me," Katara says, her heart hammering. "You shouldn't creep around while people are sleeping."

"You were crying out," Azula observes, as though commenting on the weather.

"I was having a bad dream," Katara snaps. She wants to add go away, but she doesn't. Just in case Azula does leave. That lonely, vast desert has left her with a desire for company — any company, even Azula's.

"About scorpions."

"No, no scorpions. There was sand, but no scorpions." Katara sits up slowly.

"I dream of scorpions. One has the head of a sun-spirit, and the other has the body of a snake."

"They both sound horrible," Katara says. Azula is silent for a while, her gazing burning into Katara.

"No," Azula says at last. "One of them has a gift for me."

"So? Gifts don't make people nice. Or scorpions, for that matter. I bet they're both bad."

"I don't know. They don't speak."

"But you'd know," Katara argues. "I knew you were bad the moment I saw you. You didn't have to tell me." She pauses, but curiosity gets the better of her. "What do the scorpions do?"

Azula looks at Katara, her face completely still and smooth. Not a single emotion has crossed it since Katara first woke. Katara turns away, annoyed.

"Keep your secrets then," she says. "I have enough of my own."

Azula gets to her feet and leaves. Katara bites her lip, thinking, then hurries after her. Azula is strangely lucid tonight. Almost clear-headed, Katara thinks. Is she up to something? Looking to hide something in the darkness of the night?

But the light of the moon is cool and lovely, and there's something reassuring in the way Azula stands in the middle of the clearing. Katara watches as the princess widens her stance and slowly raises her arms. She draws back her left hand and extends her right. Her arm curves gracefully as two fingers begin to point, the air around her shimmering with electricity. The air seems to crack, lines of blue snapping like whips, shattering the night. Then Azula smoothly brings her feet together and straightens up. Katara can sense it; the girl standing tall and straight, one hand outstretched, waiting for the perfect moment.

And then, just as the air around her is crackling and fizzling and Katara think the girl will lose it — that's when Azula shifts her weight ever so slightly, leans forward by the barest inch and allows lightning to splinter from her fingers. The light and energy divides into a thousand tiny bolts, searing towards the moon.

And suddenly Katara can admire the loveliness of it all. The amazing warmth and energy, the precision, the way Azula feels the air around her and must choose her moment with exact timing. Despite all of it — the power rushing through her head, the seething energy unleashing in her body, the white heat in her heart — she must elicit control above all.

Azula keeps her perfect stance until the last bolt sizzles away into nothing and dies amongst the stars. Then she drops her hand and simply stands.

Katara watches for a long moment, then turns and sees Zuko leaning against a tree nearby, his eyes trained on his sister. Katara doesn't want to ask the next question but it spills from her lips anyway.

"Why can't you do that?"

Zuko looks away. "It requires complete detachment. I don't have that."

"How do you mean?" Katara asks curiously.

"You can't be emotional or feel anything. Lightning requires exact control and precision, to focus the heat and energy in your body."

"Oh." Katara glances at Azula.

She wonders what's running through that head at that very moment. She would give anything just to read Azula's face like a book.

But as ever, the princess's face is closed to the world.

Azula made the lightning for the girl and she doesn't know why. Only that the girl was restless in her sleep, crying out and mumbling, and Azula knows what it's like to be alone with the demons in her head and the darkness in her heart.

And then the girl woke and talked to Azula about sand and scorpions. Azula tries to remember how conversations go sometimes but she forgets. They're like songs, yes, songs where everybody knows the words except Azula.

But the water-girl spoke to her and made Azula feel ordinary again. She could remember how people were supposed to feel again. Normal people with their heads filled with stupid little thoughts and their lives filled with tiny, stupid, pretty moments.

Azula wants pretty moments.

And since the girl gave her a conversation and another glimpse of those beautifully small lives, Azula thought maybe she should give something back. She should show the girl a glimpse of those beautifully big lives, the moments that were shot apart with the power of lightning and the sense of control in two single fingertips.

In amongst all that lightning, her brother was there. He's always there, she thinks. When the smoke clears he's always standing there.

The water-girl is staring at her now. Azula used to wonder at her, used to want to kill her just for her stupidity. She used to despise that girl, that girl who knew everything Azula didn't. How to laugh, how to make friends. How to make people love her.

How to make people fear her.

The timber cracks and pops in the low flames of the dying fire. Katara stares overhead, gazing at the stars. They seem to be clearer than she's ever seen them. Not a cloud blots the dark canvas of sky. The moon is a paper-thin crescent.

A bright star streaks across the sky for a moment, leaving a trail of fading starlight. The fire leaps higher for a moment, then settles back into the embers. Katara glances over at Zuko.

"Falling stars affect firebending?"

Zuko shrugs. "They're like comets, I guess. But on a much smaller scale."

Both of them gaze into the sky for a long moment. Katara is lost in the patterns of the stars and is trying to pick out the Phoenix Formation when Zuko speaks again.

"What about waterbending?"

"Hmm?" She half-turns to look at him, certain she's found the Phoenix Wing.

"Waterbending. There must be outside factors that affect it."

"Well, you were at the North Pole when Tui and La were caught," Katara says absently, still looking overhead. "Tides, of course, and the cycle of the moon."

"So does a higher tide mean stronger waterbending?"

Katara nods, reaching for her knapsack where the star maps are. She's curious now — a clear sky tonight is the perfect opportunity to practise her navigation skills. Zuko talks on.

"So I guess a crescent moon like tonight, that would give you less energy? And a full moon — that would give you a lot of strength."

Katara freezes.

Bloodbending. Is he talking about bloodbending? Does he remember?

"I...I guess," she says slowly, pulling the knapsack towards her and trying to feign casualness as she rummages for something she's already forgotten. Moon. Sky. Stars. That's right. Star maps.

"Comets are always a great opportunity for trying out new firebending moves," Zuko says conversationally. "Is it the same for waterbending? When there's a full moon —"

"Do you know where the star maps are?" Katara says quickly, words tripping over themselves in her hurry to speak.

"They're right there in front of you."

Katara stares blankly down at the knapsack. "Oh. Right."

"Everything okay? You seem a little..." Zuko trails off. Katara manages a taut smile.

"Fine. Just — tired."

Zuko looks at her, a slightly doubtful look on his face. But after a pause he shrugs.

"What did you need the star maps for?"

"Oh, I thought I should practise navigating, since the sky is so clear," Katara says eagerly, seizing upon the topic change with great relief. "I think I found the Wing of the Phoenix. That bright star — that must be Azulon, the Eye." She crosses the campfire and sits beside him; between them, she smoothes out the star map. "So if this is the Eye," she says, tapping the chart, "that way must be west. The tail points east, right?"

They spend a while looking over the charts, Katara making estimates while Zuko confirms them. He doesn't correct her once. Her navigational skills have vastly improved; she uses the map with great confidence and identifies the formations easily.

At last, they both retire to bed. Katara folds the map up and tucks it away into the knapsack.

"Goodnight," Zuko calls across the campfire. Only a few red coals are left of it, a dull glow providing the slightest of illumination.

"Goodnight," Katara replies. She lays back in her bedroll and stares overhead at the crisp, clear stars.

Does he remember? Does he recall the bloodbending? Oh, but what else could she have done? Kneeling alone in that plaza, his limp body before her, no water available, knowing he was going to die. That cry of agony, ripped from his throat, knowing she was causing it as she used her bloodbending powers.

He never spoke of that night. Never asked. She told him he'd been poisoned, and she and the advisor had rescued him and she had fetched the cure from Azula had escaped prison.

And that was it. He never asked for details.

She had assumed he didn't want to know, or couldn't deal with it on top of everything else. But maybe he hadn't asked because he remembered it all anyway. Knew everything that had happened.

The crack of a twig. Katara sits up quickly, looking around. Azula is back from wherever dark place she has gone. Katara watches the girl arrange her bedroll and lay down upon it.

Monster...a word that Katara had often heard Azula repeat to herself.

Monster...

Katara prays to the water spirits, prays that Zuko does not ever remember.

The next day, she has a chance to pray to the water spirits again. They've passed a number of roadside shrines along their journey, but this time Katara spots a temple. It's set upon a hillside, overlooking a small village below. It's a small, modest building — hardly grand or gilded — and Katara wouldn't recognise it as a temple except for a row of statues carved with the likeness of various spirits.

"Look! That's a water spirit!" she tells Zuko excitedly, recognising one of the statues. "That's one of the forms of Akila, the ocean queen." She watches as an elderly lady emerges from the temple with a handful of incense sticks and suddenly remembers they forgot to thank the water spirits for their safe journey across the ocean. They should have done it after arriving in the harbour, but with the Wanted poster and Azula disappearing, Katara had completely forgotten. "We should thank the spirits now," she tells Zuko, expecting him to object to the interruption to their journey, but to her surprise he agrees. They follow the winding path to the temple door and Katara walks to the water fountain nearby to wash her hands, ladling water over her palms.

"It's been ages since I've been in a temple," she admits. "We don't have temples at the Water Tribes, just meditation places. Like the Spirit Oasis," she adds.

"That's a temple," Zuko points out. "Any spiritual place is a temple or shrine." He scoops up water with the bamboo ladle, pouring water over his hands, and then returns the ladle, cup-down, to its resting place beside the fountain.

"I don't remember you attending any temples in the Fire Nation," Katara says, frowning and recalling Zuko's overloaded Fire Lord schedule.

"I did," Zuko says, looking somewhat shifty. Katara raises an eyebrow at him.

"When?"

"I used to go to the Water Tribe shrines," Zuko admits. "The city, by tradition, is supposed to have four places for each of the elements to worship their spirits. During the war, the places were neglected. Although they were restored after the war, they were still pretty quiet and empty." He catches her expression of surprise and elaborates. "When I wanted quiet, I'd go to the shrines. Aang spent a lot of time at the Air temple, and the Earth one always had a couple of regulars. But the Water Tribe shrine was always empty. I didn't pray to the spirits," he adds quickly, as if fearing Katara will be offended. "I just sat there until I had to go to another meeting."

"Nobody told me there was a Water Tribe shrine," Katara says, feeling disappointed.

"I told Aang about them. I just assumed he'd told you."

Katara takes Zuko's lead as he walks down the right side of the path and places a copper piece into a box. An urn of some sort is filled with incense sticks, and he chooses one.

The temple itself is small and quiet, empty save for an elderly monk. Zuko kneels at the shrine, lighting the incense, and Katara follows suit. They kneel in silence together, the heady aroma of sandalwood washing over them. Katara focuses her energy on thanking the spirits for their safe voyage.

After a long moment, Katara chances a sideways glance at Zuko. His eyes are open, she notes.

"You know," she says, keeping her voice to a whisper in the silent temple, "you can pray to the Water spirits if you want."

"They don't belong to me."

"Spirits don't belong to anyone."

"I don't belong to them." Zuko hasn't lifted his gaze from the burning incense and Katara smiles, realising he's trying to control the rate at which it burns.

"Spirituality isn't about ownership."

"That's not what I meant." Zuko finally glances away from the incense, meeting her gaze. "Uncle always said that you should feel a connection to the spirits or it's just empty ritual."

"And you don't feel a connection to Tui or La?" Katara says, disappointed. "But...you were in the Spirit Oasis itself. In the presence of the moon and ocean spirits! Don't you remember? At the North Pole?"

"I remember."

"Well, you should at least give them offerings," Katara admonishes. "Even if you feel no connection. You used their shrines as a secret hideaway from all the government officials. And even if you never prayed to them or gave them offerings, I'm sure Tui and La were happy to provide for you."

"I'll say a prayer next time," Zuko says. "I'll be sure to send them gratitude for...uh..."

"Protecting you from the government officials," Katara finishes.

"Right."

"Especially the agricultural minister."

Zuko's eyes widen fractionally. "You didn't like him either?" he says.

"Not a bit! He was always so...nice to everyone! And creepy nice. Like every time he saw any of us — especially Aang — he acted like he was our long-lost relative. And he was always talking about you, like it must be nice being friends with the Fire Lord and what's he like and...ugh." Katara shudders.

"That's what I kept telling Uncle! And he told me there was no such thing as being too nice and ginseng tea is really good for paranoid people."

"No way, he was too weird. He was always smiling, did you notice? Always."

"I knew I wasn't imagining it."

"My dad always said never trust a smiling meerkat."

Zuko laughs. It's a short bark of a laugh but that's all it takes for Katara to start laughing too, and the elderly monk starts to hobble towards them, looking displeased. Zuko stands up quickly, bows, says a rapid thank you and leaves. Katara stands up, still trying to stifle laughter.

"This is a place of meditation and reflection," the monk says tersely and Katara tries to compose herself and apologise profusely.

"I'm so sorry — I didn't mean to — I'll just go," she says, bowing and apologising her way out of the temple. Once outside, she spots Zuko by the fountain and pokes him in the shoulder. "You made me laugh!"

"You made me laugh!" he retorts.

"But I got in trouble for it! The monk got angry at me and I had to apologise!" Katara gives Zuko another poke in the shoulder for good measure. "It's bad manners to be noisy in a temple, didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

"What? You're the one that started talking."

They bicker back and forth, walking back down to the road.

Strangely enough, Katara is in a good mood for the rest of the day.