Chapter 3 - Excuses

It was an adjustment to go back to my shabby apartment in Fire Fountain City after staying at the royal palace, but I knew I couldn't get too used to luxury if I was serious about enlisting in the navy. And sure enough, when I paid another visit to the recruiter's office, he had the papers already drawn up for me to sign. I had six weeks to set my affairs in order before I was to report to the naval base on the southern coast of the main island for basic training.

I settled up with my landlord, said my goodbyes to my friends in the city, and stopped in to see Master Genshi one last time and thank him for his encouragement. That all took one week. Then I hired on board a ship as a temporary hand once again, this time headed for Republic City. In another week, I was back home.

To say my family was happy to see me would be an understatement. My mother was practically beside herself, and Kya threw herself into my arms as soon as I set foot on the island. She was eleven now, and so much bigger than when I had left two years ago, though she still had her round baby face. Tenzin was more shy - he'd only been five the last time I had seen him, and was now very solemn for a seven-year-old.

I realized with some guilt of my own how much of my little siblings' lives I had missed out on, and tried to make up for it as much as I could by playing the fun older brother while I was home. I played airball with Tenzin even though there was no way I could keep up with him, I let Kya talk my ear off about the trip she had taken to the south pole with our mother, and I brought them both into the city to visit the newly opened zoo.

It was good to spend time with Kya and Tenzin again. But I still had to hide so much from them - my mother had told them where I had gone, but not what I had been doing there, of course. It made me miss Izumi, with whom at least I didn't have to lie.

As for Aang, he seemed to have taken my running away so well in stride that I began to wonder if my mother hadn't misrepresented how concerned he was. He knew my mother had found me living in the Fire Nation, but not what I had been doing there. Yet he didn't seem to see anything out of the ordinary about my running away, or require any further explanation.

"You know, I ran away from home when I was younger than you," Aang told me on the first day I was back, as I helped him sweep the leaves out of the open colonnade that had by now been replaced by a more formal temple structure, though it was still used by some of the Air Acolytes for meditation. "And I wound up being gone for a lot longer than two years!"

"I know the story, Dad," I said, rolling my eyes at his attempted humor.

"Of course," he went on innocently, gathering a neat pile of leaves with his broom and then blowing them all out of the little temple with a blast of airbending. "If I hadn't been frozen inside an iceberg, I probably would have written a letter or two in that century."

I sighed in frustration. Three for three. "I already had this conversation with Mom," I complained. "And with Zuko," I added recklessly, because after all Aang knew I had visited him. Without airbending, I had to clear the leaves away using only the broom, which I now did vigorously. "I'm sorry, okay? I was just...really confused."

I stopped sweeping, and turned to look at Aang, who had done the same. I held his gaze, silently daring him to ask what I was so confused about, to take some interest just for once…

"Well, it's natural to need some space at your age," he said. I turned away, and went back to the leaves. "I know being the only nonbender in the family can't have been easy for you. But we're all glad to have you back now."

I swept a pile of leaves outside with more force than necessary. "You know it's temporary," I reminded him. I'd made no secret of the fact that I had enlisted in the Fire Navy, since they recruited benders and nonbenders alike. If Aang found it strange that I had chosen that over the United Republic forces, he didn't comment on it.

"Everything in life is temporary," he replied philosophically. "It's still good to see you."

Furtively, I glanced over my shoulder. Aang had resumed sweeping as well, his back to me. "It's good to see you, too, Dad," I said quietly.

"I could be mistaken," Aang said in the same bright tone with which he'd started the conversation, leaving me wondering if he'd even heard me. "But I think the Fire Navy does allow their sailors to write letters to their families."

I let out a chuckle at his persistence. "Alright," I relented. "I get it. I'll write home in the future, I promise."

"Good," Aang said, flashing me a grin over his shoulder before airbending the last few leaves out of the temple. Hands on his hips, he surveyed our work, then gave a satisfied nod. "Your mother would kill me if I didn't get that much out of you."

To that, I had nothing to say.


Out of everyone, my mother was the one I had the most conflicting feelings about. It was hard not to blame her - she had lied to Aang, and to Zuko, and would have lied to me if she could have gotten away with it. She and Zuko might have been equally to blame for their initial transgression - of which I remained mercifully unaware of the details, aside from an awkward assurance from my mother that it had only happened once - but she had certainly taken the lead in making things worse ever since.

Yet at the same time, I understood. Family meant so much to her, and the truth had the power to ruin everything. Only, I was beginning to suspect it was doing that even without anyone finding out.

"So you went back to the south pole," I asked casually one morning. I'd fallen back into my old routine, including helping my mother prepare breakfast, which she had been delighted about. "I didn't think you traveled anymore, apart from chasing down wayward sons."

My mother smiled at me over the pastry dough she was rolling out while I chopped the fruit and nuts for the filling. "Well, I wanted to see how they're getting on there, and you know, my father isn't as young as he used to be." She shrugged, set the rolling pin aside, and picked up a knife. "It was good for your sister, too."

"Yeah, I heard all about it," I replied, scraping the last of the chopped nuts into the bowl. "It sounds like she had the time of her life." I added some honey to the fruit and nuts and stirred the mixture together. "I hope Tenzin didn't feel left out, not getting to see Grampa."

My mother paused in the process of cutting the dough into squares. "You know how it is," she said quietly, not meeting my eye. "Tenzin does so much with your...with Aang. I know he would have loved to come, but Kya needed a trip that was just hers." She set the knife down, looked up at the ceiling, and took a quick, deep breath. "And I needed…" But she couldn't finish that thought.

"Mom," I said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize…" Her tears broke through in spite of her efforts, and I stepped around the table to hold her properly. I had known my mother's secrets weighed heavily on her, that she was often sad and couldn't let anyone see. I had thought that things would have been easier for her, with me out of the way, no longer a constant reminder. For the first time I began to realize that maybe I wasn't the source of all her unhappiness in her marriage. Kya and I weren't the only ones Aang had repeatedly left behind, after all.

My mother composed herself quickly. "I told you," she said, wiping away the last of her tears. "I never blamed you for anything." She reached up and took hold of my face in both hands, just like Zuko had done. "My mistakes are not your fault," she insisted. "And you are not a mistake."

This time, I believed her. And I thought, maybe, at last she would be ready. "Mom," I said carefully. "I think you should tell Aang the truth."

But my mother shook her head, pulled away from me, and went back to slicing the pastry dough. "I can't," she said firmly. "Tenzin is still so little, and even Kya...I can't do that to them."

"You can't keep going like this, Mom," I told her. I didn't doubt her concern for my siblings - mothers were like that with their children, after all. Undoubtedly Aang learning the truth would disrupt their lives as well, potentially shatter the family. But couldn't she see how much the family was already falling apart? "I ran away because the secrets were too much for me," I reminded her. "What are they doing to you?"

"Bumi," my mother said, meeting my eyes resolutely. "I can't." Then she gestured with the pastry knife towards the bowl of filling I had prepared. The message was clear: conversation over.

Obedently, I took up my place at the kitchen table again, and began spooning the filling into the pastry squares as she cut them. But I was not content to leave things there. "Someday you're going to have to," I said darkly, under my breath.

My mother didn't acknowledge it.


After two and a half weeks, it was time for me to leave again. I said proper goodbyes this time, hugged everyone, and renewed my promise to write. Kya and Tenzin were the hardest for me to leave behind, especially Kya. She looked so resigned, so used to it. I wondered if someday she would run away, too, for her own reasons.

Basic training was grueling, and the one advantage of this was I had no energy left to be homesick, to miss anyone. True to Master Genshi's predictions, if I couldn't produce as big of a fireball as some of my fellow recruits, this was tolerated on account of my greater accuracy, and I stubbornly kept at any challenge set to me until I had met it. I couldn't help but think of Izumi, insisting she just needed more practice, and that the navy would toughen me up.

I was posted on a cruiser which was deployed to patrol the Fire Nation's southern waters, and assigned to catapult duty. This meant I was responsible for cleaning, inspecting, and even repairing the catapult more often than firing it, since this was after all still peace time, but that suited me just fine. It was better than working in the engine room, and I had no dreams of winning fame or glory in combat.

It was around this time, however, that I did start having dreams of a different sort. They were vague, sometimes featuring dragons, or Sun Warriors, or even once I think Sozin's comet, but always ended the same way - with me fleeing some danger or chaos to a dark room, and standing before a large-than-life Avatar Roku. What that might mean, if anything, I was unable to guess, but I did know that Roku was an ancestor of the current Fire Lord - and therefore, my ancestor as well.

Though spirituality was not as predominant in the Fire Nation as it had once been - and certainly not as it had been for the Air Nomads in their heyday - the ship did have a small shrine on board, where off-duty sailors could go to pray or meditate. I sought it out frequently, though it was quite different from the little air temple I had grown up with. Dark, closed in, the air heavy with incense that burned piously before an image of the Flame of Agni, it unfortunately lacked even silence, as the noise of the ship's engines was essentially inescapable. But I liked it there.

My crewmates soon nicknamed me the Monk, both because of how much time I spent before that shrine, and because of my forbearance with the girls in any given port we stopped in. This was highly unusual behavior for a sailor, of course, but what was I to do? I knew only too well the potential consequences of such indulgences, and it was not a risk I was willing to take.

What I did like to do in each port was visit the local shrines and temples, which of course contributed to my reputation. But they fascinated me - Agni was reserved a special honor everywhere, but each island in the Fire Nation had its own collection of patron spirits, and which ones would be found in the local shrines could vary greatly even from town to town. Some places even had temples to honor past Fire Nation Avatars - though our ship's voyage never took us anywhere near Crescent Island, where Roku's shrine was located at the principal Avatar temple.

The other thing I always made a point to visit was the post office. To my family in Republic City, I wrote letters that were carefully edited to omit any reference to firebending as part of my duties, and sometimes sent little gifts for Kya and Tenzin as well - Fire Nation ginger candies, postcards of whatever temple I had last visited, little toy dragons, anything to let them know their big brother hadn't forgotten them.

To my other sister, I wrote slightly more candid letters about life aboard ship, and my progress with firebending - I was getting better, just from keeping up with the navy training regimine - and though I knew it was silly, since Izumi lived in a palace and had everything she could want materially, I also sent her gifts of much the same sort as the ones Kya and Tenzin received. It seemed only fair.

I did not write to Zuko, nor to my mother directly. That was still too much.


I was amazed how quickly my two year tour of duty passed, but before I knew it, I was filling out the application for the veterans' scholarship at the Royal Academy of Firebending. Twenty years old, with a distinguished service record and a reputation for upstanding conduct, I was in many ways the model candidate for the program, my hard-earned rise from humble origins in the former colonies just the sort of wholesome story that would let the elite school administration feel good about themselves for giving me a chance. If this story was less than the full truth, I still felt better about it than I would have about taking a spot at the school because the Fire Lord had made them accept his bastard son.

The choice of the Royal Academy over the other great schools was made for several reasons. Primarily, because they had the nation's most respected training program for fire sages, which I had come to suspect during all those visits to various temples was my true calling. The secondary reason was that the school was located in the Fire Nation capital, and I still owed Izumi that rematch. Another, smaller consideration, certainly not a deciding factor but something I considered nonetheless, was that, unlike the other great schools which offered programs of study in history or philosophy that nonbenders could pursue, the Royal Academy only admitted firebenders.

If I was enrolled there, and my mother didn't want me to have to cut off all contact again, she would have to tell Aang the truth.

I didn't like the idea of forcing my mother's hand, even now. But from Kya's replies to my letters, I could tell that even my thirteen-year-old sister was starting to see the cracks in the façade. Not that I think she ever suspected the truth about me, but she certainly knew that my mother was unhappy, that there was a growing distance between her parents, and that Aang was at a loss as to what to do about it. Tenzin seemed to be the only one who remained totally, blissfully unaware that anything was wrong.

I knew the truth would make things worse. But I thought, maybe they had to get worse before they could get better. There was no way for my mother to solve a problem she wouldn't even speak of.

There was another person would would be affected by this, though, and while that was his own fault, I still begrudgingly recognized that Zuko deserved some warning. So I returned to the palace over two years after I had last seen him, with the Royal Academy acceptance letter in hand. Admittedly, it felt good to have that, to show that I really had been able to do it without his help.

I hadn't expected that when I showed him the letter, Zuko would tell me again that he was proud of me.

"You know what this means," I replied, deliberately ignoring his declaration of pride and how much I wanted to believe it. "If I go to the Royal Academy…"

"Aang will have to know you're a firebender," Zuko finished for me. "And all the rest follows." We were in his office again, though this time Zuko was seated behind his desk. He refolded the acceptance letter and handed it back to me. "It's past time for that, anyway," he added resignedly. "I have not liked keeping this from him."

I knew the only reason he had was because he felt, as I did, that my mother should be the one to tell Aang. Still, Zuko would have seen Aang more often than I had in the last two years. The Avatar and the Fire Lord met at least twice annually to discuss business relating to the United Republic of Nations and its transition to full sovereign independence from the Fire Nation. I knew the process was nearing completion, but the last few meetings couldn't have been easy for Zuko. But again, he had himself to blame for that, and I was largely unsympathetic.

"It won't ruin things for the United Republic, will it?" I asked. If Aang and Zuko never spoke again, I could live with the end of their friendship, but I didn't want the collapse of an entire country on my head. "I could still turn the academy down, and apply to another school…"

"That shouldn't be necessary," Zuko reassured me. "I may have to withdraw my...personal involvement, but the United Republic will be able to stand without me." Resting his elbows on the desk, he steepled his fingers together. "The more important question for us to discuss is how this will affect you."

I shrugged, not seeing how it would make much difference in my life. Sure, it would change how Aang saw me, but… "It's not like Aang and I are close anyway," I said with less concern than I really felt. That indifference was an old wound, one that I should have been used to by now.

Zuko frowned, looking like he wanted to say something about that. Thankfully, he did not - I didn't really want to discuss my relationship with Aang with him. Instead, Zuko said, "That's not what I meant. I'm talking about the double life you've been living."

"Oh," I replied, sitting back in my chair a little. "I hadn't thought that would change." I wanted to stop lying to Kya and Tenzin, of course, and I wanted my mother and Aang to be able to confront the truth for their own sake, but I didn't want to embarrass my mother publicly. I could keep pretending to be Bumi from the colonies, to protect her, as long as our family was all on the same page.

"Bumi," Zuko said firmly. "All this secrecy hasn't been fair to anyone, but least of all to you. Your mother…" He paused over the usual awkwardness between us, whenever the subject of my mother came up, but then pressed on. "Your mother should never have asked that of you."

He was right, and I had often thought the same thing myself. But who was he to criticize the choices he had effectively abandoned her to make on her own? If he had wanted a say in how his son was raised, he should have done something about it a lot sooner. "Can you blame her," I said darkly, "for not wanting the world to know she'd been the Fire Lord's whore?"

Zuko was on his feet so quickly I thought his chair might topple over. "Do not talk about her like that."

"That's what people would say about her," I argued. I got to my feet as well, stuffing the letter from the Royal Academy into the breast pocket of my tunic. If Zuko wanted the world to know the truth, he had to be ready for their judgement, too. "And wouldn't they be right?"

"No, they would not!" Zuko said emphatically, raising his voice to me for the first time. He stalked a few paces away from his desk, towards the window, then turned back to me and snapped, "That's not what she thinks, is it?"

"How should I know?" I protested, my own voice raised as well. "It's not like she's ever told me what happened!" Zuko looked pained at the prospect of having to explain it to me, and I hastily added, "I don't want to know anyway!" The circumstances didn't matter, whatever they might have felt at the time was irrelevant. What they had done was wrong, and they both should have known better. The Fire Nation might wink at royal bastards, but a Water Tribe woman would not be afforded the same latitude. "Haven't you dishonored her enough?" I accused.

That seemed to finally get through to him. He leaned heavily on the window sill, head bowed. When he spoke again, his voice was low and resigned. "You're probably right," he conceded. "I want to make things easier for you, Bumi. But I don't want to make it harder for her."

"Then we're agreed?" I asked. "This stays in the family?"

Zuko lifted his head to gaze out the window, at the view of the private gardens his office overlooked. "If that's how you both want it," he said sadly.


Izumi may have been right about the navy toughening me up, but she hadn't spent the last two years idle, either. She was less awkward on her feet, more confident in her forms, and I found the rematch every bit as challenging as our first face off. But this time, I had a secret weapon.

Izumi's fire was still more powerful than mine, and just like last time, she eventually managed to knock me down. But instead of letting the fight end there, I drove her back by exhaling a jet of flame. Her surprised retreat gave me enough of an opening to recover and get the better of her instead.

"No way," she said in amazement as she took my hand and I helped her up off the training room floor. "You've mastered the breath of fire? I've been trying to do that for months!"

"It can get pretty cold out at sea, once the sun goes down," I replied, though my triumphant grin certainly undermined my attempt at a humble explanation. "I had to keep warm on night watch somehow."

"Yeah, okay, genius," Izumi said sarcastically, not fooled for a moment. She planted her hands on her hips. "So what's the secret?"

"Well, you know the inner fire sits here," I said, placing one fist over my stomach. "Your chi flows from your core to your extremities and back, which is why bending with your hands and feet is most natural. But you can draw that energy up as well." Here I opened my hand, and traced two fingers from my navel to my throat to illustrate the path. "That's how the breath of fire works."

Izumi gave me a strange look. "They didn't teach you that in the navy."

I shrugged, letting my hand fall back to my side. "I might have figured it out based on how my mom taught my sister how to heal with waterbending." Izumi raised an eyebrow, and I added self-consciously, "Kya, I mean."

Izumi walked to the side of the training room, grabbed a fresh towel from the shelves there, and wiped the sweat off her face and neck. "It's okay," she said. She took a drink from the water barrel, then turned back to face me. "I know you have another sister. You can talk about her. I'm not going to be...jealous or anything." But her assurance wasn't wholly convincing.

I joined her, taking the dipper when she offered it to me and drinking as well. "I wish you could meet her," I said, grabbing a towel of my own and sitting down on a nearby bench. "Tenzin, too. I think you'd like them." Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, but it was easy for me to imagine all three of my siblings getting along.

Izumi ran her towel over her face once again, then held it to her chest. "Who says I can't?" She gave a nervous laugh, then added, "Maybe I'll go back to Republic City with you."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. "You know that's not a good idea," I said gently. This trip home would be hard enough, what with my determination to convince my mother to finally tell Aang the truth. Bringing Zuko's daughter along with me would only complicate things unnecessarily.

Izumi sat down on the bench next to me. "Well, maybe I am a little jealous," she admitted. "Just because you travel so much, and I've never left the Fire Nation."

Still leaning back against the wall, I cracked one eye and looked at her sideways. It was true - while Izumi accompanied Zuko on most of his official domestic visits, when he occasionally went abroad she stayed in the capital. Something about the government ministers being anxious. "Well, you're the only heir to the throne they've got," I reminded her.

"You could still do something about that," Izumi pointed out innocently.

I scoffed, which was about all the response that deserved. "Not happening," I said firmly. Then, looking for a happier topic of conversation, I elbowed her gently and said, "Anyway, how about those fireworks?"

Izumi didn't object to the change of subject, and sprang to her feet eagerly. "Okay, so I changed it up a little," she warned. Then she conjured a flame in the palm of her hand, but instead of twisting it into a rope like I did, she made a circular motion with both palms flat, rolling it directly into a ball. When she tossed it into the air, it burst into a perfect shower of golden embers. "How was that?" she asked, smiling expectantly.

"Excellent," I replied, grinning back at her. "You made it your own."