Chapter 8
Temurin steps carefully over two blackened bodies in the middle of the town square. The smell of roasted meat and burnt wood fills the air. To his right, a shopfront has been completely blown apart, as if the rain spirits struck it down with a bolt of lightning. The street is deserted, but ahead villagers crowd around a burning building.
"Get water!" someone cries. A few people break away, running for buckets or maybe the well. Wood splinters with a sharp crack. The left corner of the roof collapses with a flurry of orange sparks. The sparks drift in the smoky air. At any point they could catch the next shopfront alight…Temurin stomach twists as he runs forward uselessly, envisioning all of New Azulon up in flames.
But then, inexplicably, the vivid flames engulfing the roof start to shrink like a stove-fire deprived of the air the breath. It's unearthly, unnatural. Temurin pushes his way to the front of the crowd, past the line of people determinedly passing buckets of water, past crying children and weeping elderly. Are the spirits finally showing mercy? As he breaks through the mass of people, he sees a familiar figure facing off against the sparking blaze.
Nekana is covered in soot. Her eyes are closed. Her long hair flutters. Except for a gash on her shoulder, she seems unharmed. As Temurin gapes, Nekana stretches out her left hand towards the fire, as if she's commanding the flames themselves to bow to her will. With her right hand, she traces a flowing path down her left arm and down her torso to her stomach, then extends her arm away from the fray. She exhales. The air surrounding her right hand shimmers with heat, and a man steps back, crying out in surprise. But Temurin finds himself moving closer as the flames around the house slowly peter out. Nekana has sucked the life from the fire. Is this even firebending?
Nekana bites her lip in concentration. Her arms shake as they stretch outwards, channeling the heat from the fire back into the air.
The fire dies without a sound, and the smoke billow up in plumes of white instead of black. While the villagers clamor to enter the building, shouting of people inside, Nekana raises her arms to the sun before pressing her palms downward. She inhales. Exhales. Her eyes flicker open, bright gold against her ash-streaked face.
"Are you all right?" Temurin asks hoarsely, throat still aching from his near-strangulation. It's a stupid question for such an incredible moment. But he's never seen anything like what Nekana just did. Covering his awe, Temurin moves forward to examine a gash on Nekana's shoulder.
"May I?" he asks.
Nekana nods dully, shoulders sagging.
"How many were there?" asks Temurin. He pulls aside tattered olive fabric to see her wound more clearly.
"A dozen. I don't know." Nekana turns her head away.
Temurin freezes. This girl has burned a dozen people alive in less than an hour. Yet her face is smooth and unconcerned. Only a slight furrowing of her eyebrows indicates that she's at all perturbed. She meets his gaze defiantly, and he has to look away.
"Well," says Temurin, focusing avidly on her shoulder. "You save this entire village today. Without you, my whole family would be dead."
A vision flashes through his mind of Aliya face-down in a puddle of indigo dye, body broken…
Nekana shifts awkwardly. "I deserve no one's thanks."
Before Temurin can ask her what she means, a group of coughing people burst out of the smoking house, three immobile bodies carried between them.
"We need help!" a bearded man yells, falling to his knees. He's cradling the body of a child in his arms. Temurin leaves Nekana and rushes over. He checks the boy's pulse.
"He's alive," Temurin reassures the man. Soot stains the child's mouth and nose and his eyelids flutter. The child coughs and vomits on the ground. Glancing around, Temurin sees that some of the other patients are retching as well.
"Bring me some charcoal!" he yells, reaching in his bag for his grinding stone. Someone shoves a lump of charcoal into his hand, and he quickly grinds it into powder.
"A jug of water," Temurin orders, still crushing the black powder. This time, it's Nekana who sets down a vase, wincing as she strains her shoulder. Temurin mixes in the black powder and lifts the jug to the boy's throat.
"Smoke is poison," Temurin says quietly to the anxious father. The child drinks obediently.
"This charcoal will soak up the poison in his stomach, at least. And that will give him a chance." The father nods.
As Temurin moves to treat a teenage girl, the murmurs of the crowd behind him grow louder.
"Where did these bastards come from?"
"The Fire Nation can't protect us—"
"And right after the Firelord promised—"
"Well what if—"
Temurin tunes the voices out. There are victims to treat.
"The Fire Nation will probably send part of the Colonial Reserve once they hear about this," says Nekana nervously. "We should go before then."
"I can't leave now!" Temurin snaps. "I have a job to do!"
"This place is about to be swarming with soldiers," says Nekana harshly. "And you know why we can't be here when that happens."
Temurin scowls. But she's right.
"They won't arrive until tomorrow, at least," he says. "Let's stay through the night. Help whoever we can." Belatedly, he realizes he sounds like he's asking permission. Nekana simply nods.
The afternoon sun filters through the hazy air, reflecting off dust particles and illuminating beams of light from above. Nekana's sooty hair glimmers with reflected sunlight.
"We should burn the bodies," she says. "The bandits aren't worth the trouble to bury."
It's late and this briefing has lasted hours, melting the candles on the Firelord's desk to stubs. General Mak clears his throat.
"We have more information on the attack on New Azulon this morning."
The Firelord straightens up at his desk, dropping a calligraphy brush. Ink splashes across the parchment like drops of blood.
"Tell me," he orders. His face hardens. "Who did this?"
"We still don't know who's responsible," Mak sighs. "But now we know why civilian casualties were so low."
He proceeds carefully, not knowing how the Firelord will respond.
"Villagers speak of a female firebender from out of town. According to eyewitnesses, she almost single-handedly defeated the bandits. Some even claim she…summoned lightning."
"This woman…is she alive?" he asks haltingly, voice tightly controlled.
"We don't know," admits Mak. He hates that he knows so little. "She hasn't been seen since the raid ended."
The Firelord's gaze drifts to an old painting of the Imperial Family, fingers drumming on the desktop. Then he turns back to Mak.
"Ready my airship," he orders. "I'm going to New Azulon."
