Chapter 21
Disclaimer: Drug use.
Azula's memories of her time in the insane asylum are spotty. Cool white walls, simpering nurses, the suffocating embrace of a straitjacket. Sometimes her mother or father would visit, staying with her through the long hours of the night, whispering things. In retrospect, of course, those were just delusions. But she didn't imagine Zuko, the anger and hurt in his eyes slowly giving way to fear and sadness as the time stretched on. Or did it? So hard to tell, so hard to know.
Once she escaped her recollections become clearer, with only a few patches of blankness. And then, after she finally found her mother, after Zuko chased after her in the dark forest, begging her to come back, her memories regained the crystal sharpness that had leaked away after Mai and Ty Lee betrayed her.
Which is why Azula remembers, in excruciating detail, the three months she spent hiding from Zuko in a Fire Nation forest.
There. Azula finishes daubing mud against the log wall of the lean-to she's built in the shadow of a large stone. It's a perfect little hut, and should block out the rain or snow fairly well. Not for the first time, Azula applauds herself for her incredible ingenuity. But then it hits her that her ingenuity is being used to build a mud hut in a Colonial backwater, and her mood sours.
She ducks inside the shelter, bringing with her the small pot of water she's lugged all the way from the river. This better work. Azula hangs the pot onto a stick so that it is suspended mid-air and summons two blue flames, holding her hands beneath the pot. Within seconds, the water boils, bubbles teeming over the sides with furious energy.
Azula extinguishes one hand and reaches over for the small, dark packet she bought from Mila in Bahasa. Carefully, she taps about a quarter of the powder into the pot. Eating the raw yapian on the road to Qima didn't produce a vision. But maybe a tea will.
She waits for it to steep. Pours. Watches the dark liquid swirl around the inside of the cup, thick steam curling up over the edges. She doesn't understand why Altan hates the smell so much; for her, the yapian tea is scented with exhilaration. Promise. And the only hope she has left. She drinks.
Come on, Zuko. Show yourself. What am I supposed to do?
But as she lays back onto the mossy floor of her den, her body warm and tingling, the only thing she sees are the pine logs leaning against the stone, held together by still-drying mud. Her body pulses with satisfaction, a liquid gold running up and down her spine. It's relief, it's power like she used to feel before she lost her edge. And before she exiled herself here. As the clouds grow thicker, Azula lets her eyelids flutter shut. What is destiny when she can feel like this?
The next day she returns to her yapian hut and determines to make Zuko speak to her. It's snowing, and the sun hasn't even risen yet, but it's the only moment she can find to sneak away. This time she forges a makeshift pipe, filling her hut with dense smoke that makes her cough and brings wild green nightmares, but no spirit visions. The hours pass by, snow piling up on her roof, but inside it's warm and swirling.
Afterwards, she rinses herself off in the icy river, washing away the last bits of lazy relaxation. A dread curls in her stomach. This isn't working. But what else can she do?
So she tries again.
She makes yapian tea, she smokes yapian smoke, she chews it raw, she mixes the powder with other food. Day by day, week by week, the time passes in a haze of frustration and silence.
The mayor of Qima is clearly a third-generation Colonial citizen. Mayor Sota's pretentious airs, out-of-date Fire Nation robes, and constant references to "the motherland" reveal Sota to be painfully self-conscious about her backward upbringing. Or at least that's what Azula thinks when Temurin takes her to meet the Mayor.
"Thank you so much, Mayor Sota," Temurin bows deeply. "Nekana will provide your granddaughter with the finest tutelage the Fire Nation can offer."
"I certainly hope so," Sota warbles. She sips a cup of dark teh manis, her hand shaking slightly. Azula watches Sota's hand with interest. The sign of a yapian addict? Or just the tremors of old age? Azula notes that Wakaba, Mayor Sota's granddaughter, also watches Sota's trembling hand. The girl is a few years younger than Azula and tall, but stands hunched like she'd rather be anywhere else.
"The Firelord is finally instituting a Civil Service Exam!" Sota continues. "To promote skilled youngsters like my Wakaba to the top of the bureaucracy!"
"Finally?" Azula asks wickedly. "Are you criticizing His Imperial Majesty?"
Sota's face pales. Or at least Azula thinks it does. It's hard to tell, because Sota has caked a truly grotesque amount of white courtesan makeup on top of her wrinkled flesh.
"Oh no," Sota exclaims. "No, I did not mean to imply—"
"Nekana was only teasing," Temurin appeases her. He glares at Azula, who bats her eyes innocently. He coughs.
"We are deeply loyal to the Firelord here!" Sota continues. And then, to Azula's horror, the old woman pulls out a small portrait of Zuko from some hidden pocket in her robes. "Look!" She thrusts the picture at Temurin, who takes it gingerly.
"Isn't he handsome?" Sota gushes. Wakaba covers her face with her hand. Azula wonders if there is something seriously wrong with this old woman.
"I—yes?" Temurin says.
"His scar is on the wrong side," Azula says.
Twenty minutes later, as they exit the estate, Temurin shakes his head with disappointment, his eyebrows knitting together darkly.
"Nekana, you shouldn't torment an old woman," he says. "Sota may seem odd, but she's far from the worst mayor out there."
"Yes, yes," Azula dismisses him. She shudders at the tacky statues of Firelord Azulon mounted at the gate of Mayor Sota's estate.
"I'm serious." Temurin stops on the shaded garden path. "Nekana, you're kinder than this."
Azula grinds her jaw.
"It was your idea to get a job while we stay here. So follow through," Temurin persists.
"I get it," she says tightly. There's an itching under her skin, and the walk back to Temurin's house will be long. It's time for another attempt to summon young Zuko. Or another spirit that could help her. Not that her past two weeks of spirit-summoning have been effective. But why should she be surprised? She's not Princess Azula anymore. If Bahasa taught her anything, it's that there is nothing in store for her. No destiny, no triumphant return to the Fire Nation. There is nothing more than whatever scraps of non-misery she can steal for herself as a peasant in Qima.
They pass onto the main village road. The streetside morning market is closing down as townsfolk gather up the vegetables and pastries they brought to sell. Very few of them have rooster-horses, but instead use handcarts. With a start, Azula realizes Temurin's possession of a wagon and that damnable rooster-horse is actually a sign of relative wealth.
"I got Zhao's letter back today," Temurin murmurs as they dodge a crotchety-looking cabbage merchant .
"And?"
"And nothing. She just repeated her demand for information about how Qima's vote will proceed, and ignored what I said completely!" Temurin shoves his hands in his coat pockets, frustrated.
"So you still don't want to spy for her?" Azula asks.
"Of course not," Temurin sighs. "I got into…you know…my side business for the money. I don't want to be involved in politics or the—the—" He huffs. "The death throes of an empire!"
"The Fire Nation is hardly dead," Azula shoots back. Although she's not supposed to care anymore, it's hard. Words like "empire" make her former self perk up her head with interest, as if awakened from a deep, boring dream.
"Regardless. Kana, Zhao knows where my mother lives. Mila knows even better; she's visited before. They both know where my daughter is. So how can I refuse her? There's only so much I can do by staying here…" He breathes on his hands, which are red and chapped. "The vote is only two weeks away. Maybe I can just give Zhao what she wants, and she'll let me go."
"You'd sacrifice the fate of your village to save your own skin?" Azula shakes her head. "Temurin, I wouldn't even do that. So it's definitely beneath you."
"Not my own skin," Temurin replies shortly. "My family."
"Right. Well I don't have one of those, so clearly I have no idea how hard this decision is for you," Azula says bitterly.
"I hate it when you talk like that." Temurin stops in the street and tugs on Azula's sleeve to guide her to a dirt sidestreet to the left. "Let's go this way."
"Why?" Azula asks. "It's faster to walk down the main road."
"There's a shortcut this way," Temurin says evasively. "Come on—"
"No," Azula jerks her elbow out of his grasp. "You're lying. You know I can always tell when you're lying."
"Can you just listen, for once—"
And then Azula sees Jinlian in the blacksmith's shop, offering a plate of baos to the hulking man hammering a white-red piece of metal. Even from here, Azula can see his massive biceps contracting, and her mouth falls open. With one final stroke, he finishes the job, and lifts his mask to reveal a strong, wide, and oddly young face.
"No way…is that..?"
"Yes," Temurin spits. "Her new husband."
The blacksmith smiles at Jinlian and shoves one whole bao into his mouth. Azula imagines he has sturdy, cow-like teeth. Sages, he's over a foot taller than Jinlian, and she's not short! Azula bursts out into laughter, and doesn't even stop when Temurin drags her forcibly off the road and into the sidestreet, out of sight.
"What is so funny?" he demands. He looks genuinely angry, and Azula tries to stop laughing, but she just can't.
"It's just…such a stereotype," she cackles. "It's like Jinlian picked-the most obvious person in the village to sleep with—"
"Kana, you are seriously—"
"No really!" Azula chuckles. "It's such a boring choice! It's as if she's living out some weird drama where she plays a caricature of the cheating wife—" Another thought occurs to her. "Wait, how old is her new husband?"
"I don't know," Temurin says uncomfortably. "Younger. Young. Why does it matter?"
"She really did just choose this guy to spite you," Azula says in amazement. "I'm not sure even I would go that far to hurt someone. And I have fewer scruples than almost everyone I've met."
"Well, she succeeded," Temurin says. "She tore my heart out."
Azula looks at him sidelong, wishing she could say something to sympathize. But romantic love, at least, hasn't scalded her too badly. What pain it's caused is hidden deep within her, tangled with other feelings and memories, so confused and garbled that it barely counts, and would take too long to explain to be helpful...not that she ever could explain it. To anyone.
Looking for a distraction, Azula pokes her head out into the street again, and finds Jinlian and her husband's lips locked together. He looks like he's eating her face…or maybe it only appears that way because he's so oversized.
"I think lots of people will be taking your shortcut soon," Azula reports back. "Jinlian's teenaged husband seems really hormonal."
"Don't be so mean," Temurin shakes his head as they head off. "And besides, I'm sure he's not actually a teenager."
"I'm eighteen," Azula says dryly.
"The legal age of marriage for women is lower than it is for men. Which you should know, since you're pretending to be married to Altan," Temurin says.
"Joy," Azula adds tonelessly. Temurin walks quickly behind a row of shops and into a verdant field, and Azula follows him. His thin, wiry shoulders contrast dramatically from the blacksmith's hearty frame, and Azula is struck by yet another realization.
"Temurin…you said you walked in on Jinlian and her lover," she says. "And that you kicked them both out onto the street."
"Yes. It was horrible. Are you determined to make me relive all my worst experiences today?"
"No, it's just…the blacksmith is big." Azula jogs so she's a little in front of Temurin and can see his face.
"And?"
"So you're telling me, you threw that absolutely monstrous specimen of a man out of your house? Forcibly?"
"I was angry," Temurin shrugs.
"Wow." Impressive. Azula looks at her friend in a slightly new light. Sure, he killed a man in New Azulon, but she chalked that up to a happy accident. She wonders what would happen if she ever saw Temurin truly, properly angry. Right now he just looks deflated. And even though the pulling for more yapian is tugging harder at the back of her mind, Azula tries to push the urge aside.
"I bet the blacksmith is really awful in bed," she says.
"Nekana!"
"I'd guess Jinlian is very unfulfilled," Azula continues on. "He's more like a saber-toothed moose lion than a man! Or a platypus-bear…"
A tiny smirk twitches at Temurin's lips. "I know what you're trying to do," he says. "But her unhappiness would bring me no pleasure." His green eyes meet her gold ones.
"Give it time," Azula says. "Everything fades away with time." Even those things you thought were most central to your life fade away so quickly.
A wave of need washes over her, and she clenches her fists and speeds up. Maybe this time, the spirits will have something to say to her.
