Merits 36 .
Zuko glanced down at his phone's text-screen and rubbed a hand over his tired face, pulling his long bangs away from his eyes.
All it said was, Tonight, and the address of the Bei Fong compound.
He ignored the stewardess as he slumped against the plane's window.
Just a few more hours…
"Miss Kuruk?"
"Speaking, how can I help you?"
"I represent Master Pakku."
"You have my sincerest condolences."
From the phone's receiver came the sound of chuckles muffled by coughing.
"Yes, thank you, I appreciate the sentiment. However, I understand you are interested in meeting with my employer and wish to make an appointment regarding his historical research involving the Water Tribes, is that correct?"
Katara tried to swallow, her stomach lodged in her throat.
"Miss Kuruk?"
"…Yes…"
"I'll assume I heard a 'yes', as your voice was quite faint. Well, Master Pakku has agreed to an appointment with you this afternoon, at his residence in North Woods around lunch time. Is this convenient with you?"
"You bet your-! I mean, yes that would be wonderful. Thank you very much."
"It is my pleasure, Miss Kuruk. Master Pakku also noted you are welcome to invite a companion, if it would make you feel more comfortable."
"Really?"
"Ah yes, really."
(…)
"Miss Kuruk? Do you have any questions I can answer?"
"No… No, that's… that's just wonderful. Thank you very much!"
"Again, a pleasure. Have a good visit."
She didn't miss the faint sarcasm on his last words.
The crack was still quiet noticeable, Katara thought to herself as she and Jet stood on the doorstep at eleven fifty-five that morning.
"Want me to knock?"
"I'd prefer if you'd drop-dead, but no, I can do it myself."
"It's cold. Anytime, Katara."
"It isn't lunch time yet."
Her companion blew out a long, low breath, but didn't say anything further.
They'd stood there for a good ten minutes already.
In the biting cold.
So what if his bits were about to fall off?
He buried his head a bit further into his collar and kept quiet. She'd been 'off' since that morning, and he wasn't about to irritate her further.
"If you're going to fight, you can fight in here where it's warmer," called an irritated voice from inside the house.
Katara stiffened, but Jet surged forward, one foot already inside.
"Hi, I'm Jet, pleased to meet you, sir. Would you mind if I made us all some coffee? And lunch?..."
The old man sent a still-shocked Katara a clearly unimpressed look, before he turned back to Jet and nodded with a passive-aggressive mutter or two.
Eyebrows furrowing in annoyance, Katara determinedly stepped inside.
When Katara had finished preparing the soup, slicing the bread, setting the table, and pouring water for them all, Master Pakku settled his elbows on the table and watched her while his chin rested on his folded hands.
She tried to suppress her temper as she suffered the scrutiny.
"Why are you standing all the way over there? We're ready to eat," he said blithely.
Spirits, please give me patience, she prayed as she took her seat.
Surprisingly, apart from the rather chauvinistic attitude and comments (which she'd expected), Master Pakku was quite knowledgeable. The concerns Katara had had prior to arriving – that he'd not taken the time to actually research his stories, that he'd embellished the more important details, that he'd manufactured certain parts of his stories in order to make them more entertaining – were proven false, and the depth of his understanding of their tribe and its history was so rich it rivaled, if not surpassed, that of the Elders she and Jet had visited earlier on. It hadn't taken long for Katara to dig out her digital recorder and notebook, to make sure she didn't miss any of the details her lecturer bestowed upon her. Fortunately, his ego was stroked by this gesture instead of insulted, so he made no comment on the technology's intrusion.
Within a few minutes of the interview's commencement, the young woman completely forgot Jet was there, though he was thoughtful enough to refill their tea and coffee, and washed the dishes while she and Pakku spoke. He was never far, but he made himself as invisible as he could, for her sake… mostly.
For his part, the storyteller was rather enthusiastic in some of his recounting, and never failed to keep her attention. His manner, his retelling of certain events, was so realistic Katara almost felt like she'd been living them herself, or at the least that he'd lived through them himself, over a century and a half earlier. Some of the details felt almost uncanny.
Though she knew it was impossible, in the back of her mind something niggled at her consciousness telling her she'd met him before, though she couldn't place it, or him, in her memory.
As night fell, the discussion moved to the living room, and Katara returned to the kitchen—not quite as begrudgingly as before—to prepare their supper. That left Jet and Pakku together in the rustic setting, without their censor.
Pakku's self-indulgent expression settled on his young-looking counterpart thoughtfully.
"So, I hear you're the young man everyone's talking about," remarked the grey-haired man as he leaned back in his worn, old, hand-carved rocker. "And is it true that congratulations are in order?..."
Jet grinned, but didn't reply for a moment; he hadn't lived as long as he had without learning a few lessons. One of which being to watch your back when you're seen as being young and inexperienced…
"Congratulations for what, sir?"
Pakku's intelligent eyes narrowed slightly, though he maintained his cocky smile. "Oh, many, many things, if rumours serve to tell."
"I'm not one for rumours, Master Pakku—is there anything I should be worried about?" he joked in his usual laid-back fashion. "I hope I'm not in trouble."
"Perhaps it is just an old man hearing things, then. I thought there was a new howl about town these past few days… and perhaps a territorial skirmish or two, on top of an alpha's mating call. None of which we've had around here for a long, long time. I just thought it was a strange coincidence that it all matched up with you and Katara coming to visit."
The man's cold, faded blue eyes watched him carefully, and Jet knew, somehow, that this man was more than he appeared to be—and he knew that he himself was more than he appeared to be, too. Which gave their interaction a subtly dangerous overtone he wasn't oblivious to.
"Well, I have proposed to Katara, and she has accepted," Jet confessed, strategically, to test the water. "So yes, that rumour is true. We're making plans to return and settle in the tribe as soon as her current school term finishes. I'll be looking for work come summer, and hopefully we'll be able to get Katara set up with her own practice. If things work out well, maybe the Tribe can sponsor a few of its members to take their nursing certification? So that Katara will be able to tend to more patients with the trained assistants she'll need? But that's for future planning. What do you think?"
"I think you're up to something."
"Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that, sir. I've been doing my best to pave the way for a happy homecoming for Katara."
"Perhaps I have misunderstood, then. Rumours can be so misleading. I'd heard that you were 'paving the way' to make your entry into the tribe smoother, not hers. Again, rumours. One should never put too much faith in them, you're right."
"I appreciate that, sir." Jet watched the man across from him a moment, and they sized each other up. "Would you mind answering a question for me, sir?"
"If I can."
"If Katara's father is absent, whose permission should I ask in order to receive a blessing to marry her?"
"An Elder, a trusted family friend, or someone with high regard amongst the tribe, hypothetically speaking, of course. I'm sure Katara would be able to answer your question, if she's truly agreed to marry you," hedged Pakku, his gaze never leaving Jet's.
"I was hoping to make it a surprise."
"Ah…"
"Is there something I'm missing, sir? Have I offended you? It wasn't my intention. I'd like to apologise if I have."
"Oh no, not at all. It's just that a man would need to prove himself to the person whose permission he sought, and prove his commitment to the tribe, since he would be an outsider to the tribe. What would that individual be giving to the tribe that would make it stronger, more successful, more prosperous?"
There was a weighted pause, as the challenge sank in.
"What would you be bringing, Jet?"
Well, that was surprisingly blatant.
"Would you mind if I ask a few questions before I answered that, to make sure I understand the tribe and its traditions, sir?"
Looking amused now, Pakku nodded. "Of course."
"When I lived within a tribe, some time ago, there was still an element of… magic." He looked meaningfully at the historian, whose expression remained neutral. "The tribe itself had magic, and that magic extended over the tribe to protect it from external intrusion and interference. It received magic by protecting the land, living in balance with nature, and sharing with its neighbouring tribes… but they had to remain healthy and strong themselves. If the tribe started to dwindle in numbers, the strength of the magic would dwindle with it."
Pakku nodded once in agreement, and expanded upon Jet's theory.
"One reason that the magic has dwindled in our northern tribes is that starting with Katara's generation, the babies were no longer born within the tribe's boundaries. The expecting women moved to the larger cities with hospitals to give birth with doctors and other medical professionals present. The magic and power these births used to bring to the tribe was lost, and so the tribe was left supporting these young families with less and less magic, fewer spiritual resources to expend on them and bless them with. It has truly hurt the tribe."
"Is this why you had hoped Katara would become a midwife, instead of an addiction specialist? So that she would be able to support the women of the tribe, and help the tribe regain some of its 'magic' or 'power' losses?"
"In part, yes."
"Mind if I ask what the other part is?"
The sounds of Katara making supper in the kitchen, pans on the stove, water running, and the smell of the meat and vegetables wafted over to the two men.
Satisfied the woman in question would be occupied a bit longer, Pakku nodded slightly to himself.
"Katara herself needs to come back."
"May I ask why?"
Pakku's smile and 'jovial' demeanour faded so smoothly to seriousness that Jet felt his insides twist; Pakku knew.
"Because she is needed here," he stated meaningfully. "Her children need to be born here, or the tribe will die by its next generation."
"That's a fair bit of pressure on a single woman, sir… Is it because she's the Chief's daughter? The 'leading by example' lifestyle she needs to encourage her fellow tribeswomen to follow?"
Pakku stared at him hard.
Jet didn't back down, and didn't bother to keep up his amiable front any longer.
"I feel like you already know why it is important she returns to us, as soon as she can," said the old man softly. "And she needs to have children as soon as she can, in order to protect this tribe."
"Any reason why it needs to be so soon?"
"Young man, you are asking many, many questions, and I think you already know the answers to many of them…"
A tense silence fell between them.
They both knew why.
Something big, and dark, and dangerous could be felt on its fringes. The tribe was being hunted.
Again.
The demons were coming back.
"Would you give your blessing if you knew she was already expecting? If she was already making plans to return within the next 3 months? Sir?" asked the older of the two men.
"This is an entirely hypothetical conversation, Jet." Pakku leaned forward and spoke even more softly in his gravelly voice, hearing Katara's mumblings in the kitchen as she dished out the meals onto the kitchen table. "Isn't it?"
"Dinner'll be ready in 5 minutes you two!" Katara poked her head through from the kitchen for a moment to get their attention. They perked their heads up politely in her direction. "And Master Pakku, I have a few more questions, if that's ok?"
"Of course, Katara," he said in a long-suffering tone—though his expression had softened considerably since she'd arrived that morning. Jet was tempted to hazard it akin to 'grandfatherly', except when it was turned on him.
Which it was, as soon as Katara ducked back into the kitchen again.
"Young man," began Pakku in a cold, warning tone, once more. "I hope you aren't insinuating what I think you are about our Chief's daughter. Engaged or not, you are not married yet."
"All we need is your blessing, sir."
Pakku's expression turned frosty, and hard.
"Is that blackmail, young man?"
"Like you, sir, I'm only looking out for Katara and the tribe."
"Once again, I question your motives and whether they are in anyone's interests but your own, Jet-."
"Supper's ready! Come on over Master Pakku, Jet, I have lots here!"
Still eyeing one another in distrust, the men rose as one and made their way to the kitchen.
Katara dried the lash dish, passed it to Jet, and stretched her back as she turned to smile ruefully at her lecturer.
"Done."
"Katara, I must say, you outdid yourself in the kitchen today. Thank you very much, I haven't eaten that well in ages."
"You're very welcome, Master Pakku. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me. And, uh, about the door…"
He glared at her a moment.
"Yes, the door."
"If you can just give me a few months, until I finish up and school and move back, I promise I'll be able to replace it this summer."
He watched her a moment, his thoughts hidden from her.
"Well," he began slowly, and didn't miss the way she writhed in discomfort a moment under his sharp gaze. "We'll see. I'll speak to someone in the morning, to see if he can rig something up to at least staunch the drafts. My old bones can't handle the cold the way they used to, you know."
"How about I call Bato tonight, and we'll see if we can make it out tomorrow to fix that up for you?" she offered in a weak, but optimistic voice. "And then I'll replace the door… this summer?"
"That would be acceptable."
Her shoulders sagged in relief when he turned to lead them out. At her side, Jet remained silent, thoughtful.
As the small group gathered their things and shuffled to the front door, they passed through the entranceway again and Katara's eyes swept the small anteroom with new appreciation. The entire house was full of antiques, all meticulously well cared for; the more she looked around, the more she noticed the 'little' details – like the fact that the pictures on the wall weren't from the early twentieth-century, they were from the mid-nineteeth… the artwork wasn't reproduced, it was original, as were the handicrafts and weavings and ceremonial accoutrements… and the maps that hung in their protective glass frames weren't modern—at least not in this small room. They were old, some as much as two hundred and fifty years old.
Katara's eyes fell once more on the maps.
And her footsteps slowed to a halt.
Something inside her, very deep, stirred.
Instinctively, she felt her eyes reading the terrain and finding errors; though she didn't know how she knew the maps were wrong, she knew they were.
Something in her spirit whispered the answer in her ear, but it was too muffled to make out.
Frustrated she didn't understand, Katara stared at the map.
She pointed.
"This map… it's of the tribe's territory, isn't it?"
"Yes, though unfortunately we've lost most of that land. This map is over a hundred and fifty years old. I'm surprised you recognized it."
"The water-ways are wrong," she remarked, stepping closer and letting her finger hover over the glass where the river now ran. On the yellowed, faded map, however, the river ran in a different direction, and the lake wasn't there at all.
Pakku stood beside her and watched her, waiting to see if she made the connection.
Katara felt her head pound as the blood gradually started to rush in her veins.
She was close.
So close.
What was wrong?
She closed her eyes a moment when her vision blurred, and opened them again.
"Why is the water wrong?"
From behind her, Jet inched closer, suspicious. Something about her voice was off.
Her voice.
The hair on the back of his neck raised in apprehension.
He recognized when it took on that dream-like character.
"You know why it is wrong, Katara," said Pakku persuasively, softly. He watched her every move, her every expression. "Think. Remember."
"I think Katara's getting tired," began Jet, trying to break the trance Katara was falling into. "We should really get on the road…"
"Not yet…" she said quickly. Her finger traced a line on the map, where she 'felt' the water should have run. "This map… the water… why is it wrong? Water doesn't shift this much by accident, does it? It would have had to have been a man-made canal or something that would change the entire direction of a river… Why…?"
The pull inside her became stronger, forcing her to block out the sounds around her, to focus on nothing but the map, the water, the reason it had shifted so drastically.
"Remember," whispered Pakku, close to her ear, so close Jet couldn't hear his exact words. "Remember the battle. Yue, your people need you. Remember."
Katara's head pounded harder, the words suddenly pulling taut a cord she'd forgotten existed.
A cord someone else had tried to sever.
A cord that connected her to her past.
"Remember."
To something else, from her past…
To someone else, from her past.
The pain started in her temples and spread, rapidly, and before she knew it, it had engulfed her mind.
"Katara?... Katara, are you ok?..."
A man's voice.
"What is going on? She was fine a minute ago—what did you say to her, old man!"
A young-sounding voice, but there was something else behind that voice, something older, stronger.
"I did nothing, merely pointed out on the map that this is the territory our tribe used to live on. Here is where they used to spend their summers—."
A pair of pale hands around her waist, holding her to him, bare chest to bare chest-.
"That we used to spend our winters camped here, beyond this small forest-."
Where he first came to her, wounded, with a sledge of animal pelts and food for her people…
"And that the story she's been focusing on ended here, near this bend in the river, where Yue tragically fell in battle protecting her tribesmen."
And the water rose, the river changed course, the spirit of the moon and water pulled the river and it came to wash her away and purify the land when she died.
She had died.
She had died.
Katara-Yue felt her memories flooding back to her in flashes and torrents, too fast to understand, overwhelming her.
"You're right, she does look a bit peaked. Perhaps she should return home for the night. It's been a busy day."
"If she were conscious, I'm sure she'd thank you," Jet's angry voice cut through the deluge of sights, sounds, images, feelings that inundated Katara, and she felt herself being lifted up from her slumped place on the ground. She hadn't realized she'd fallen down.
"I don't know what you did, old man, but she better be ok."
"She will be fine… and didn't you mention earlier she may be… in a delicate condition? Perhaps this is a manifestation of that stress on her body?"
Jet paused, and Katara thought she felt some of his tension ease, but she couldn't be sure; nothing was making sense.
What delicate condition?
What were they talking about?
What was going on?
Where was her tent?
Wait, no, she lived in a house, didn't she?
But she was still with her tribe, so her tent with her offerings and sleeping furs should be nearby, shouldn't it?
The conflicting thoughts raced and collided in her head, and Katara moaned at the physical pain that accompanied them.
Remember….
Remember what? Remember who?
Who could help her?
There was someone she needed, someone who felt like part of her.
Someone who should be with her, always.
She barely noticed the sounds of booted feet crunching through snow, or the door creaking open in front of her.
Where was he?
She murmured something unintelligible, and Jet brought her mouth closer to his ear as he slid over in the driver's seat. The trudge from porch to vehicle had been bitter as the temperature had dropped further, the weather taking a turn for the worse.
Small whorls of snow ripped around them, tearing at their clothes and biting their skin. Katara didn't feel any of it.
As he slammed the door shut, Jet felt his insides tightening. This was no ordinary storm. Something, someone, was causing it.
And the timing… Why now?
Beside him, Katara muttered something familiar, though Jet couldn't place it.
"What is it, Katara?"
She murmured again, but he still couldn't make it out.
As Jet started the engine, Pakku stood on his porch wrapped in his jacket, and watched them with a smile, his eyelids low over his knowing eyes.
"Katara, honey, what's wrong? Are you sick? What happened?" Jet's voice turned anxious, and he realized how serious the situation could become. He laid a hand on Katara's head and felt her burning up, and desperately wondered what to do. They were hours away from the nearest hospital… and he had no idea where it was. Katara had only mentioned in passing that their tribe relied on local first-aid providers since the hospital was so far.
And he had no idea who he could ask for directions to get there—because he certainly didn't trust the smug old bastard on the porch. HE was the one with the agenda.
Jet's concern over Katara's safety reared again: Did he risk taking her on the road at night, in a place he barely knew, to a hospital or medical facility he'd never been to?
As he sped down the icy road towards Katara's family home, Jet felt the old vehicle protesting at his rough handling. The night was black, the wind was howling, and a storm had erupted, seemingly out of nowhere.
"What the hell," the 'were muttered, glancing down at Katara's unconscious body beside him. "The weather was supposed to be clear. Since when do storms like this roll in so quickly up here?"
As the car careened around a corner, the tires slipped, at first just a split-second, then gripped again, then at Jet's angry kick to the accelerator pedal, slid once more, sending the car into a fish-tail slide across the road into the opposite lane.
Jet cursed and fought the wheel, desperate to right them even as he saw the lights coming from the opposite direction.
He swore again.
The heavy doors were sealed, both by conventional lock and also by magic. The wind whipped the unnatural storm outside into a frenzy; the entire mansion shook on its foundations at times, and yet the two shamans who sat knee to knee in their lotus positions, facing each other, did not stir.
They'd been focusing for over an hour, and the outdoor conditions mirrored their internal states.
Unfortunately.
And sitting knee to knee with them was their link.
Even he was starting to show signs of wear.
In the hallway outside the room, Sokka, Aang and Suki glanced up as another gust rocked the building on its foundations.
Aang, who fully understood the severity of the conditions and had some idea of what had prompted them, felt his concern rise, his emotions heavy.
Sokka, still learning the meaning and causes behind the phenomena, complained occasionally about not being allowed to participate in the 'seeing', but held his peace with Suki by his side. Suki said nothing at all, a hard, knowing frown on her face through the entire ritual. She had met Aang's eyes once, seen the same understanding in his, and they had mutually decided to keep quiet until they had more details to work with.
It had shocked them all when Jun had shown up on their doorstep.
But even moreso had been the unannounced arrival of Zuko Sozin, who'd been immediately ushered into the private room where Toph and Jun awaited him.
Then, the storm had built outside.
Another quarter of an hour of agonizing uncertainty passed before the blizzard outside slowly quieted, the door latches clicked to indicate they'd been unlocked. Sokka flung them open…
… to find Toph unconscious on the floor, and her Mother, Jun, staggering to her feet, wearily heaving the petite young woman over her shoulder, and pushing past them all to return her wiped apprentice to her rooms to recuperate.
Shock and concern marked the small group's face as the witches passed.
It was soon replaced with the leaden tang of fear.
No one knew what to say.
But one thing was clear.
If Toph Almighty was down for the count… where did it leave them?
None approached the room. Almost like children afraid of a superstition that would befall them if they entered, they stayed away.
But inside, alone, unmoved from his own lotus position, Zuko's head bowed low, his chin meeting his chest with his eyes closed. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped and he was nothing more than a man beaten, his hands rising to cover his face in defeat.
TBC
AN: Posted 14 August 2010.