Chapter 5
Sorry this took so long. I got a little discouraged by the lack of interest. A fair amount of people are reading, but they aren't leaving any feedback, so I feel like only a few people like this story.
Katara and the two other victors were taken from the battlefield before many of the spectators even rose from their seats. All three were too overwhelmed to even try to fight the guards. Katara couldn't stop crying, each sob torn out of her through clenched teeth. She could taste blood and she didn't know if it belonged to her or someone she had killed.
In contrast, neither Chen nor the young man were making a sound. The man was sullen and hateful, jaw clenched, whereas Chen was like a doll, or a corpse. Her friend's hand was lax in her own, her face blank even as it dripped tears. Chen had long since retreated somewhere that Katara couldn't reach, and she had to swallow down an absurd sense of abandonment.
They were soon ushered into some sort of infirmary, where both the patients and the staff looked on pitilessly. Katara did not respond when they said that they would kill her if she tried anything when they cleaned her wounds, but screamed and struggled when they tried to take Chen back to the main hall, as her only wounds were on her fingers. She quieted when one guard's fist burst into flame, but Chen had already gone, docilely following another guard like a beaten dog.
The medic that bandaged her shoulder, annoyed with the fuss she had made, was less than gentle. The young Earthbender she had fought beside, being treated close by, did his best to distract her.
"Thank you," he said.
". . . What for?" Katara asked, hissing in pain when rough hands swabbed at some grit in one of the gashes. Her arm had been thickly coated with tacky, drying blood, and she wondered if any of it had gotten in the wound. Her father purposefully mingled blood with his warriors; perhaps the first man she had ever killed was her first ever blood brother.
"For having my back out there. You didn't run, even when you could've."
"I couldn't. They were gonna kill us."
"Plenty of other people did. If I was as young as you, I probably would've."
She glanced up from her filthy boots, caked with sand and blood. His eyes were green and gentle.
"Thank you, too. For helpin' me."
His grin was strained, but seemed almost genuine. "What's your name? I'm Bao."
"Katara."
It was strange, Katara reflected, to speak to someone other than Hama, but nice. They didn't talk after exchanging names, but she liked Bao. It would be nice to make friends with him, too.
After her shoulder was wrapped and they were left to recuperate on their cots, the hulking guard from before came in and marched over to her. "Up," he ordered, curt but without the cruelty from before.
"She needs to stay here till the wound closes," a medic said sharply.
"If you want to explain that to the Puppetmaster, be my guest," the guard said, and the medic fell tellingly silent. Katara rose gingerly to her feet, nodded at Bao, and left the infirmary. She could feel the eyes of the other wounded, the other victors, on her back, interest sharpening at her mentor's title.
Katara didn't care. Thankful for this new distraction, her chest began to burn.
When she had been successfully delivered, she stood silently until the heavy door had closed and locked behind her, before she clenched her fists and met Hama's gaze with eyes as icy as the poles.
"Why didn't you tell me?!"
Hama watched her coolly, and said, "If you had known, you would have panicked. If you had panicked, you would have died."
"You still should have told me!" Katara shrieked, fresh, angry tears spilling down her cheeks, more taking their place when she brushed them away. "How could you do that?! How could you send me out there without letting me know what was coming?!"
"Do you want to know my answer or do you want to keep pushing your luck?" Hama asked, voice measured but sharp. Katara, despite everything, still felt a stab of fear. This was a woman who had won countless duels like the one she had just gone through, was a woman too dangerous to let loose even in a city packed with imperial Firebenders, and she sounded like it. Her jaw clicked shut.
"I had to keep you unaware, because a child as young as you would have fallen apart. I don't care what you think you would've done, but what I knew you would do; I've been a champion longer than you've been alive. Now sit, girl, and let me heal you."
Hama sat patiently through the ordeal that was removing her fresh shirt. The medic had simply cut the soaked, punctured one open. Katara already hurt badly, and she couldn't move her arm without an excruciating stab of pain. However, perhaps out of respect for her student's ire, Hama made no move to assist. She was at once resentful of and grateful for it.
"I wouldn't need anything to heal you with if it was the full moon. You wouldn't even scar," Hama muttered, half to herself.
"...How can you heal without water?" Katara asked.
Her elder remained silent.
As Hama held the glowing tea, left over from lunch, over her still-bandaged wound, Katara had to force herself not to move. The regrowing of skin and muscle at an accelerated pace itched, but she was at once too desperate to be rid of the pain and too wary of Hama to complain.
About five minutes in, Hama spoke. "Normally, one wouldn't be able to do this without direct contact with the flesh itself, but I am exceptionally experienced with concealing healed wounds. You must never do this outside of this room. Not to your friends, not to your teammates, and not even to yourself."
"Why not?" Katara asked.
"If the Fire Nation knew, we would be used. The only reason that the spirits-damned North is so strong where we are not are their walls and their healers. Only one is not enough. If these pigs learned of this skill, the world would fall," Hama said grimly. Katara felt her ire towards the Puppetmaster fade, a mixture of fear and old, bone deep hatred taking its place. "I don't care what happens to you. Even if you will die without it, do not let them know about our healing."
The young Waterbender sat in silence for the rest of the session, mulling over what her teacher had told her. This went beyond two women forced to fight for their lives; the fate of the very world was at stake. In the face of that, if she showed the Fire Nation her healing, she was worse than worthless; she was scum. In the grand scheme of things, her life was nothing.
Once Hama's gnarled hands pulled away, Katara slowly struggled to her feet, suddenly twice as exhausted as she'd been after the duel.
"Careful," the old woman cautioned. "Being healed so quickly takes a lot of your energy."
Katara turned to face her and bowed low. Not as a child, or even an adult, to her elder, or a student to her teacher, but as a servant to her master, a priest to her god. "Please," she begged, "teach me everything that you know. Please."
"Very well," said the Puppetmaster. "Very well."
Thankfully, the guards were not in the habit of keeping track of their prisoners' wounds, and their protocols about benders and water meant that no one else ever got close enough to look. So she kept her new scar hidden, making sure to move stiffly, watching Bao for an idea of how long it might take to plausibly recuperate.
Chen wouldn't speak, after the duel, though she trailed after Katara as often as Katara trailed after her. They were together every moment that she wasn't with the Puppetmaster.
She sometimes felt like a puppet, herself. She had allowed Hama to take over her life, all in the hopes of survival, but her friends were the one thing she refused to give up. Her master just snorted, and told her that, if she was lucky, she would live to regret it.
Katara, Bao, and Chen still slept clumped together, for all that they might be forced to kill each other in the future. Chen could only fall asleep when she was nestled between them. Katara was happy to shield her, but Bao only seemed to do it out of a strange sense of obligation. He had become their de facto leader that day, after all, and he had spent spirits knew how long with Chen in prison before Katara met them. Chen never spoke, so it wasn't like he was protecting her for the conversation.
However, Katara knew that Chen was brave, even if it was in a less violent, obtrusive manner than either of them. In a way, she found that more admirable. She had not been brave when she'd killed those criminals. She had been afraid. Even if they had tried to hurt her, they were victims, too. No one, not even someone from the Fire Nation, should be forced to fight to the death for another person's amusement.
In contrast to his indifference to Chen, Bao seemed to genuinely like her, or at least respect her. They often had hushed conversations about strategy and swapped tips about bending techniques. Chen, for all that she was perpetually glued to Katara's side, never seemed to hear them, her eyes distant even if her body remained close. Even so, Katara relayed wisdom that Hama had granted her, even though her master would not be pleased that she was sharing it with potential enemies. She hoped that her friend was listening, even a little; Bao certainly seemed to gain a lot from it.
The days passed like this, spending time with her friends when she wasn't being put through her paces by her teacher. Katara only knew if there was a match from the distant roar of the crowds, though they seemed to happen fairly regularly. When Hama permitted her to leave, she was ordered to come back with information about the winners. They were benders more often than not, which had contributed to a nasty split between benders and non-benders, both in the arena and the compound below.
"It's easy to disregard them because they cannot bend, and that is when they become dangerous," Hama cautioned. "A weapon, in the right hands, is just as potent as any element. In someone capable of blocking chi, it means almost certain death. Treat your non-bending foes with just as much caution as you would a Firebender."
Katara remembered the feel of metal in her flesh, of being thrown several feet by the force of a blow, and nodded. She would not forget.
Hama was as patient a teacher as ever, but implacable. She would let Katara rest once she was satisfied with her technique and not a moment before. She taught her to use sweat, steam, tears, and spilt blood. She taught her how to get hit and get up again, how to hit back when bending wasn't an option. Katara was struck by the tragedy of keeping her underground in a locked cell, for all it had forged her into what she was; she was struck by fear of what her teacher could do.
And then, after she hadn't summoned Katara for the three days surrounding the full moon, the Puppetmaster taught her how she had earned her moniker, and ordered Katara to learn to do the same.
Disgusted, afraid, and so, so enthralled, Katara swore that she would obey.
"Tyro is to face Chit Sang next, correct?" Hama demanded of their hulking guard/waiter, when he brought them dinner one evening. Katara, who lay panting against the wall, sat up at the mention of the familiar names.
"Yes," the guard confirmed meekly, fear just as apparent as it had been her first day there. Katara quelled the now-familiar pang of envy; she didn't want to be feared, but she did want the respect and security that it brought.
"When he wins, and challenges me for my title, I want Katara to watch our duel."
The guard did not dispute her prediction of the winner, for all his blatant prejudice against non-Firebenders. (All the guards favored their countrymen, for all they were prisoners — it was a fact of life in the compound.) "Champions aren't allowed teammates, Puppetmaster."
"She will not be a competitor. She will be a spectator," she ordered sharply.
The guard studied his iron-toed boots, all the better to kick unruly prisoners with. Katara took malicious pleasure in seeing him so cowed. Those boots had once cracked her rib. Hama had refused to help her heal it, seizing it as a learning opportunity.
"I-I will see what can be done."
"Good. Now get out."
The day of the Puppetmaster's match came all too slowly. It had to be postponed, once to let Tyro recuperate, and again because of another full moon. Even so, Katara, the guards, and even the other prisoners were practically vibrating with nervous, excited energy. Bao had pestered her with questions about her master, but Katara had kept quieter than Chen. Her lessons were one thing, but she would not endanger her master, for all that she hadn't seen even a tenth of her skills.
A white-haired man with a slowly fading black eye and a perpetually nervous look on his face had been trying to corner her for the past week and a half, but Katara always managed to slip away. She may be loyal, but she was no fan of pain, and she doubted that she could withstand the attentions of a desperate man.
"That's Tyro," Bao said seriously, when she had asked during the day of the full moon. Without the protection offered by Hama's cell, she had been dodging him all day. "He's really, really powerful, though I don't know if he'll stand a chance against the Puppetmaster. If he catches you, scream for help, and I'll come running."
"Thanks, Bao," Katara said earnestly.
He grinned at her, and scratched the back of his neck. "Dunno if I'll be any help, though. He could probably make mincemeat out of both of us without breaking a sweat for you to use."
"Well, it's the rock that counts," Katara quipped, and they burst into muffled, nervous giggles. Chen had just smiled faintly, even as she squeezed Katara's shoulder so hard her knuckles turned white.
But back to the present day.
She had just been taken from her mentor's room, passing a faintly greenish Tyro on the way. The one-eyed guard that had sent so many to their deaths with a smile scoffed derisively, then went back to muttering about the logistics of taking her up to watch. Katara was struck with a sudden wave of pity, but also the sincere hope that he would lose. That he would die.
What am I becoming? Katara thought, being shoved none-too-gently into a cage and shackled to the bars by her wrists, ankles, and throat. What have I become?
It was over an hour before the duel, and the stands were already more than half-full. Everyone had come out to see the infamous Puppetmaster at work, and bets were flying through the air already. Not on who would win, but on how long her opponent would last.
Poor man, Zuko mused, resting his chin in his palm. Azula had insisted coming to watch the match, even if their honored father could not attend with them. She had always loved the Freedom Duels — Zuko had preferred to stay behind with his mother, allowing his sister her bonding time with the Fire Lord.
But his mother had disappeared with only a cryptic goodbye in the night almost a year ago, his father had no time even for the Fire Princess outside of an official audience, and Azula, bored without her usual entourage, had insisted that he accompany her.
"Isn't this exciting, Zuzu?" she chirped, grinning wide and sharp despite her facetious tone. "The first championship duel in years, and we get front row seats!" She gestured expansively at the royal box they were seated within, ignoring their masked bodyguards.
Zuko didn't answer, eyes fixed on the arena below. They were royals, with a perpetually reserved box; did they really need to get here this early? They weren't even finished setting up yet.
"Oh, stop pouting, I'll have a servant get you some fireflakes," Azula sniffed. It didn't matter that they hadn't actually brought anyone besides their guards; Azula thought of everyone but the Fire Lord himself as either a slave or a toy. Zuko was firmly in the latter category, but even he didn't know if that was a good thing.
"Hey, what's that?" his sister asked abruptly, pointing up towards the nosebleed section.
"It appears to be a girl in a cage, my lady."
That caught his attention.
"I can see that," Azula snapped, mood as mercurial as her tone. "What I want to know is why. Summon one of the staff."
A bodyguard bowed silently and made his way up to the cage, which was surrounded by three guards. He gestured at one, who nearly tripped over themselves to follow.
When the guard arrived, a nasty scar slashing across her eyelid, Azula spoke imperiously. "Woman, why is that girl in a cage?"
"She is the Puppetmaster's apprentice, Highness. She was brought out to observe the fight, at her request."
Zuko's interest was definitely piqued now, though he did his best not to show it. Azula had no such compunctions.
"Really? How interesting. Bring her to me; I wish to speak with her."
"Princess," the bodyguard who had fetched the woman said, "it may not be safe to — "
"Are you saying that you cannot protect me adequately? That you cannot complete your duty to the royal family?" Azula asked, sugar sweet. Zuko rolled his eyes.
"N-no, my lady," the guard said, tripping over his words in his haste. "Forgive me."
"Then there's no problem," she announced, satisfied. "Bring her to me!"
Zuko eyed the Waterbender, fascinated but reluctant to let on either to her or Azula. The guards that had brought her were standing a respectful distance away, whispering to each other and watching them all when they thought that his sister wasn't looking.
The girl looked no older than Azula, although a lot less put together. Her hair, while clean, was pulled into a messy braid, her posture unrefined and her clothes rough and cheap. She gave short, sullen answers to any direct questions and ignored leading statements. Azula seemed amused rather than annoyed by her disrespect, though the prison guards clearly didn't share her opinion. Zuko didn't know what they expected; she was a rude, unkempt water peasant, and it's not like prison offered proper decorum classes.
Besides, the Fire Princess had that look that said that this was a toy she intended to break.
The Waterbender was surprisingly striking, though. He chalked it up to hormones. He'd had no one but his uncle and his sister and her friends for company for weeks, and while Mai and Ty Lee were certainly pretty, he had grown up with them making a game out of annoying him. The kind of irritation they were capable of causing had long since overshadowed their looks.
What surprised him more was what was happening in the arena below. While they were piling boulder upon boulder at one end, the other end just had a measly tin tub of water. It could hold barely half of the trough they used to water the komodo rhinos in the palace stables.
"How can she fight with only that?" Zuko asked incredulously.
"She could kill him with less than half," came a clear, confident voice. The Water Tribe girl met his gaze head on, with a confident, mocking grin. Zuko was only barely aware of his sister's miffed look. She wasn't pleased that the girl had ignored her in favor of speaking to him.
The peasant leaned as close as her iron collar would let her, and he found himself absently wishing that her chains were a little bit longer. He couldn't look away from her penetrating blue eyes, arresting in their sudden vitality.
"You should see what she can do with a cup of tea."
And so Zuko finally appears! And it looks like he's already pretty interested in everyone's favorite Waterbender. ;)
But don't be fooled; this fic is a slow burn. There won't be any substantial romance for a couple years, yet. Sorry to disappoint! But Katara is really pretty, not to mention "exotic" to Fire Nation people, so I couldn't resist putting that in there. They're ten and twelve, so nothing weird yet, just puberty.
Now I really wanna hear Zuko's voice crack for some reason.
Edited July 22, 2018 for continuity reasons.