Chapter Thirty-Six
The darkness pressed down on him like a wool blanket, and even when he opened his eyes, several minutes passed before he could make out the blurry shapes above him. He saw the hazy corner of a shelf, the outline of the figurines on top, then the ill-defined lines of the curtains hanging over the window.
Zuko blinked a few times, until his vision cleared. His head ached, and when he lifted a hand to massage his temples, he almost flinched away at the heat radiating off his skin. The last time he'd had a fever, Ba Sing Se had still belonged to the Earth Kingdom.
Overheating, he threw off the layer of blankets they'd dumped on top of him and tried to sit up. All the blood in his head rushed downward, and he almost fell back onto the mattress. Several minutes passed before he dared to stand, and by that point, his eyes had adjusted to the dark room.
The decorations would've given the owner away even if he hadn't recognized the room from the summer he'd spent here as a guest. Dozens of clay, metal, and paper lotuses adorned the shelves, and the wallpaper print resembled the White Lotus tile from the Pai Sho games his uncle played. Apparently, lotuses were the one thing Piandao and Uncle had in common.
Maybe it means something, Zuko thought. He dismissed the idea as a fever-dream a moment later. So what if they had matching tastes? They'd only ever met each other the day his Uncle had brought him here to start sword training.
He staggered toward the door, clutching his head until he realized it was his arm that was covered in bandages. When did that happen? Oh, the fire. He blinked, leaning against the doorframe. The only logical reason for the bandages was a burn, but his arm didn't hurt any more than the rest of his body. Healed already? he wondered, wincing at the light pouring in through the door.
No one seemed to be wandering through the hallway. Zuko turned and started down the corridor, heading toward the main part of the house in the hopes that he'd see someone. Somehow, it seemed important for him to know the ultimate fate of the village. My people. One day, they'll be my people.
No one waited for him in the sitting room, or the study, or the entryway. He continued on, restless. Darkness had fallen outside, but it could be shortly after sunset, or early in the morning, and he'd have no way to tell. At least nothing appeared to be on fire.
He trudged through a few more rooms, then dragged himself up a flight of stairs. I should be able to see them from the balcony if they're out front, he reasoned as he reached the top.
Sokka seemed to be sparring with his shadow in the castle's arena. In his hand was one of the wooden practice swords Master Piandao had crafted.
Zuko watched the water tribe boy work for several minutes, waiting for the cool breeze to clear his head, then sighed and headed back downstairs and out the double doors. "How long have you been practicing?" he asked as Sokka darted toward his imaginary nemesis and stabbed somewhere in the invisible man's torso.
The warrior jumped guiltily, then turned toward him. "A couple hours. I couldn't sleep, so . . ."
"Your stance was off."
"Huh?"
"Your fighting stance. It wasn't wide enough. Anyone could've knocked you over, if they'd wanted to."
Sokka glanced down at his feet and widened his stance.
"Bend your front knee more. Good. Now strike." Zuko watched the boy shift forward, thrusting the fake sword toward his imaginary opponent. "You can feel how much more power you'd have in a proper strike like that. Strength doesn't matter so much in a fight if you have good technique."
"Yeah . . ." He relaxed and looked down at the wooden blade. "Why are you up at this hour?"
"I need to know if the village survived the fire."
"Oh. Yeah, everyone's fine. You were actually in more danger than any of them. I ran back as soon as I was satisfied everyone would be safe. I figured you would've realized how suicidal it was to fight the fire by yourself, so I checked in with Master Piandao first. He said you hadn't come back."
"No. I couldn't breathe through all the smoke. I passed out."
Sokka nodded. "That was what I figured. So I ran back toward the fire, hoping I'd be able to find you before you turned all crispy and stuff. I should've known right away that you'd never abandon your position."
"Why would you think that?" Zuko asked, curious as to what exactly he'd done to give Sokka that impression.
"If there's one fatal flaw you have, it's that you value your honor too much. You don't have it in you to risk your honor even to save your own life."
He frowned. "I guess that's fair."
"So I knew you'd still be somewhere in the fire. I calculated about where that would be, based on your last known position. There was fire had circled all around you, but you were untouched for the most part. That might have been luck, or you were subconsciously bending the fire away. Either way, I picked you up and carried you back to the castle before you started on fire. The butler applied some salve to the burns on your arm and your toes, and gave you some pain medication. He didn't know how well you'd recover from the smoke inhalation, though. The best he could do for that was to make sure you got enough rest.
"Master Piandao kept me busy all day today, rearranging his rock garden and sparring with Fat, so I didn't get a chance to check on you. How do you feel?"
"I'm fine." He walked over to the edge of the arena and picked one of the practice swords out of the bin.
"What are you doing?"
"If you're going to spend your nights practicing instead of sleeping, you should at least have some new techniques to show for it." He swung the sword through the air, testing its weight in his hand. The balance was familiar even after so many years.
"Zuko, you're still not fully recovered. Maybe—"
"You forget that I spent an entire summer here, when I was young. You won't be able to take me down if I'm at full strength."
Sokka frowned, then raised his sword. "Fine, but if you feel like you're going to pass out . . ."
"I'll warn you," he said, lifting his own blade.
The night came alive with the sound of sparring.
Katara
"We're running low on fruits and vegetables," Katara muttered, as the sky darkened around their little campsite.
"Who's going to go foraging?" Toph asked.
Ty Lee stood up. "We should all go," she suggested. "It'll be fun."
"That sounds like and excellent idea," Iroh rumbled, rising from the ground.
Toph sighed, both unwilling to let them go off without her, and annoyed that she had to go at all. "I guess I'll go."
"I have to stay and watch the fish," Katara told them, frowning to herself. Camp was already lonely enough with two people and a flying bison missing. Three people, she corrected herself forcefully. Aang's gone, too.
The others started getting up and wandering off into the jungle. Katara sighed, pulling out the wolf-tooth knife she used to cut vegetables. That, at least, had been tied down to Appa's saddle when they'd taken off.
There were a couple ocean kumquats left from earlier forays. She supposed those would have to do until the others came back with more.
She was slicing through the second kumquat when the knife carved a deep gash in her thumb. She jerked her hand away, stunned by the pain. Blood ran down her hand in a stream, splattering across her fingertips as she moved it. "Ow!"
The stinging sensation seeped deeper into her hand, and she turned toward the ocean, eyebrows pinching together as she contemplated the long walk. They'd situated themselves in the middle of the island so that they wouldn't be seen by passing ships, but the distance from the water left her helpless in the event of an attack. Regardless, she had to heal her thumb somehow, so she turned toward the kumquats she'd been slicing, and moved them away from the growing puddle of blood so they could be consumed later. As her hand moved over the red splotch, she saw the liquid slide across the flat stone she'd been using as a cutting board.
For a moment, the pain in her hand yielded to the excitement of discovery. Katara waved her hand(the one that wasn't bleeding) over the puddle, watching the thick liquid travel across the rock just like real water.
Interesting.
Another sweep over the crimson splotch, this one slower and more careful. The blood rose from the stone and gathered together in a small orb. She lifted the little globe, moving it back and forth. Now that she was focusing, she could feel the distinct differences between this fluid and regular water. As to be expected, the thicker consistency made bending blood more of a challenge. It was also considerably heavier than regular water, perhaps because of all the particles floating around in it that made it, well, blood.
She glanced down at her still-bleeding thumb, an idea forming in her mind. "Worth a try," she muttered to herself, moving the red orb toward the gash. She focused her energy through the sticky fluid, trying to make it follow the same patterns as regular water. After a moment, a faint glow emanated from the blood, and the pain in her hand started to fade.
The remaining blood dripped down her wrist. She moved it off her skin with a sweep of her other hand, then held it in the air while she examined her thumb. There seemed to be no evidence that it had ever been cut at all.
Very interesting.