Chapter 7

Bandits. Azula raises her arms to shield her face from flying rubble. Something clips her shoulder, causing a dull ache that blossoms into a vivid throbbing. Instinctively, Azula swirls her legs in a circle, summoning a protective wheel of blue fire. It curls and lingers in the air, obscuring Temurin and herself from view, and Azula stumbles to her feet, clutching her right shoulder. What is real? What isn't? Ursa and Ozai are gone.

Temurin gasps for breath at her feet. Brick and clay are strewn everywhere so the explosion, at least, was real. And she's never felt physical pain during a hallucination. That means the men pouring through the hole in the back wall are probably real, too.

What are they doing here?

Maybe Zuko sent them to kill me, Azula thinks frantically. That would be just like him, to lack the courage to strike the final blow himself and instead send others to hunt her down, track her like an animal like he had the Avatar tracked, and maybe not even end it but drag her back to the insane asylum where there is no fire and no music…

A bandit strikes downward at Azula's head and she darts to the left, grabbing the hilt of the sword with one hand. Allowing the swing to continue downwards, she twists her opponent's wrists towards her at the last minute. His grip loosens, and she kicks him squarely in the chest. His sword is in her hands.

"Pathetic," Azula says, twirling the sword experimentally. The four bandits look at her warily—odd expressions on such brutal-looking men. But their armor can't stop her. Azula throws the sword to the ground. Zuzu always liked swords, but not her. All she needs is fire.

By the time Temurin finally manages to get some air back in his lungs, Nekana is on her feet, holding a sword. She examines it for a second before casually tossing the blade aside. And then she dives in, sending targeted blasts of orange fire at the four men still in the courtyard. Temurin's lungs still feel like they've been knocked clean out of him, but he knows there is no permanent damage.

Something crashes inside the house. Temurin turns to see one of the bandits kicking aside a chair as he enters the kitchen, sword drawn and ready. One of Temurin's nieces or nephews screams.

No. Not them. By the spirits, this can't happen to them. Temurin runs for the back door, tripping over a rock, and falls against the doorframe, still gasping for air. If only he wasn't so weak…the kitchen is empty. But then another crash breaks out from further down the hall and Temurin sprints forward. When he reaches the dye room, he skids to a halt.

The armor-clad bandit has Jirou pinned to the wall, throttling the boy with one meaty hand. Jirou's face is a red-purple, his throat is crushing inwards, and Temurin can't help but remember that one woman he treated for years and yet never recovered her voice. Weaponless, Temurin leaps across the room and tackles the man from behind, pulling him backwards with all of his strength. Jirou falls to the floor, inhaling with a horrible rasp. Temurin and the bandit crash against one of the giant vats of indigo dye before tumbling to the concrete floor. The vat tips over.

Thick blue dye splashes over Temurin and the bandit and washes across the floor like a colorful wave on the beaches of Taiyang. The room fills with a smell like the sweetness of bread but with a sour overtone of wet fur. Temurin's hands are blue, his knees are blue, and he slips on the slick concrete as he tries to stand.

The bandit rolls on top of him. It's not a surprise to Temurin when his struggles to knock the larger man off are in vain. The bandit smiles through a dripping blue beard while he moves his hands to Temurin's throat. His eyes are beady brown. Temurin yells desperately before his voice is stifled and roaring enters his ears as the blood is cut off from his brain. His vision swims. The pressure is too much and then—

Release. The strangler lets go and pitches forward. Aliya stands above them wielding an iron pan as a weapon. Temurin rolls out from under the outlaw, wheezing, and grabs the larger man by the back of his shirt. He tugs him towards the remaining urn in the corner.

"Oh, spirits," whispers Aliya when she realizes what Temurin is doing. But she drops the pan and helps Temurin drag their semi-conscious attacker over to the vat of indigo dye. They heave. The man tips head-first into the viscous blue-black with a sickening squelch. Temurin holds the man's protruding legs grimly, pressing downwards to leave no room for escape. As Aliya joins Temurin in holding the bandit under the dye, his sister's lips move soundlessly as their attacker's kicks get weaker and weaker. Finally, he lies still. Temurin relaxes his hold, peeling his sticky fingers from the man's boots. The bandit's pants are blue with Temurin's fingerprints.

Temurin tries to wipe his hands off on his vest. But his fingers are stained. He wants to vomit, but he can't, he just wants a bath.

"You seem to have handled yourself well."

Nekana stands at the doorframe, surveying the room now dyed a bloody blue. Her green coat is ripped, but otherwise she looks fine. Her eyes flick to Jirou, who huddles in the corner.

"I hope they didn't kill your apprentice," she says.

"Ma," croaks Jirou. At the sound of his nephew's voice, Temurin's legs go weak, and he has to grip the dead man's upside-down boots to keep himself upright. Jirou is alive. And he can speak. Temurin sloshes across the flooded room to his nephew and gently places two fingers against Jirou's throat. The boy moans, but the sound is clear.

"Temurin. This was not a coincidence," says Nekana impatiently.

"What do you mean?" Temurin tries again to wipe his hands clean, but it's useless. His pants are soaked through with dye, too.

In response, Nekana walks back out into the hallway, through the wrecked kitchen, and to the back courtyard. The charred bodies of four men lie neatly in a row, although one is so blackened he's unrecognizable as a human. Temurin swallows.

"Don't you recognize this man?" Nekana points to the leftmost corpse.

The man's throat is slashed, blood still oozing from the wound. Temurin concentrates on the face.

"He does look familiar," he admits. "But I don't…"

"He's the earthbender travelling with your Waterbender friend," Nekana spits. "Remember? The one who caused the dust storm?"

Temurin thinks hard. The man clambered into the back of Mila's wagon. His fingers snapped, and dust rose.

"You're right," he says slowly. "But why—"

"It seems Mila was right to warn you of bandits," Nekana hisses, a manic glint in her eye. "She was plotting to attack this town the whole time. But who hired her? The Fire Nation?"

"No," Temurin says bluntly. He knows who Mila works for. And where Crooked Zhao's loyalties lie.

"Who stands the most to benefit from chaos in the Colonies?" Temurin says, turning his back to gruesome corpses. "The Fire Nation? Or the Earth Kingdom?"

Nekana scowls. "The Earth Kingdom." Suddenly, she shudders violently, as if shaking off some dark spirit.

A distant yell breaks the silence. Nekana's eyes snap open.

"These weren't the only ones," she says grimly.

"Nekana, wait, stay here, you have to protect—"

But she's already gone, vaulting gracefully over what remains of the courtyard wall. An angry clucking tells Temurin she's stolen the ostrich-horse.