Chapter 22
Breaths shallow with effort, Altan heaves the last log into the back of Temurin's wagon. The tree clunks solidly on top of a full load of wood-not stacked too neatly, but definitely a good day's work. Finally. Altan allows himself to sink to the ground, resting his head against the wheel of the wagon. His hands fall palms-up on his lap, his sweat stinging in the open blisters. It's been more than a month since he left New Azulon, since he's done any real physical labor. As he sits on the cold dirt, he watches the forest edge. He's so far from where he grew up. Nothing could be more different—mud instead of sand, a river instead of a mirage, humid air instead of desert breeze. But still, there are parts of Qima that bring the scent of the desert back to him. Like the openness of the endless blue sky, or the sweat after a long day of good work.
Or half-sinking, half-hoping feeling of a love that isn't returned.
Nekana emerges from the forest, hair wet and fresh from her river bath. Doubtless she's been off smoking in the woods again. She looks unusually discouraged, kicking a stone spitefully as she heads back to Temurin's house. Somehow, she hasn't seen him yet.
"Nekana."
She wasn't expecting him to be there. So, if at the sound of his voice she had scowled or looked up in blank surprise, her reaction would have confirmed Altan's fears: that she didn't truly care for him. And if that were the case, he could have left Qima. He could have made his own way to Ba Sing Se, studied for a government position, and proved himself to his mother. It would be hard, but he could have done it. But that isn't what happens.
She smiles. And it's enough for Altan to stay.
"That's a lot of wood," she says. She sinks down to the ground and leans against his shoulder. Her hair leaves a damp patch on Altan's shirt, but since Altan's already covered in sweat he doesn't mind.
"Well, since we're staying here for the winter I figured I should make myself useful." Altan wraps his arm around her as she relaxes into him. It's hard to stay angry at her when she can be so…vulnerable. But his throat tightens when he sees the thinness of her wrist, so delicate it looks like he could break it with one hand. She can't keep this up.
"Have you been eating?" he asks quietly.
"Of course," Nekana lies easily.
"Nekana, please…"
"Fine. My appetite is a bit low. Happy?" she snarls. But even her anger is subdued, and that's even more terrifying than her weight loss. Altan turns so he can look into her face.
"Nekana, why are you doing this?" he asks. "That stuff will kill you, you know it will!"
"You know, Altan, do you get a kick out of rejection? Otherwise, I'd think you'd get bored of asking the same pointless question every day." She gets up to leave. Altan catches her by her slender wrist.
"Tell me now," he demands. "Tell me, or I'll tell Temurin you've been smoking yapian for weeks."
"Fine," she says. She twitches her wrist away, uncomfortable. "I've been trying to connect to the Spirit World."
"What? Why would you think yapian-"
"Because it worked once!" Nekana says desperately. "It worked once, and I have to talk to someone. I have to know…if there's any hope. Any point, at all, to this." She gestures wildly: at Altan, at the wagon, at the village in the distance. "Because if there's not—"
"You need the spirits to tell you if there's a point to life?" Altan says slowly. "Spirits, Nekana, is life now really that terrible?"
"That's not what I meant," Nekana says angrily.
"Then what did you mean?" Altan stands too so he doesn't have to look up at her. "What was so much better about your life before?" He laughs sharply. "You never talk about it, so I wouldn't know."
"I had a purpose, then!" Nekana shouts. Her eyes glisten. "There was a point to what I did, and I knew who I was!" She shuts her eyes, and the tears escape down her face. "I was alone but at least I knew who I was."
"But you're not alone now," Atlan protests. He takes her hands.
If you knew the truth, you'd leave me more quickly than you can possibly imagine. Altan is earnest, but he doesn't understand. How could he? Azula slips her hands out of Altan's, and hurt blooms across his flushed face.
"I'll see you at the house," Azula says. It will take him a while to hitch the grazing rooster-horse back to Temurin's wagon, and even longer to make it back to Temurin's family home. It will give her time to think, or at least time where she doesn't have to listen to his accusations and feelings which make her feel oddly…guilty? She wipes away the wetness on her cheeks.
Besides, she has bigger problems. She's used up all the yapian she bought from Mila. Which means…I'll have to steal from Temurin. Azula feels a resurgence of unease and pushes it to the back of her mind. What is Temurin going to do with his remaining yapian anyway? He promised not to sell it in Qima.
Temurin's house, perched on the top of a slight hill, comes into view. It's so much smaller than anywhere Azula's lived, even Azula's family house on Ember Island, but at the same time it feels somewhat…homey. Small, rugged, peasant-like, and homey. She slips off her shoes on the outside porch and slides the door open. A patient is lying on the low dining table, face up, while Temurin and Jirou peer into his mouth. Jirou wrinkles his nose in disgust.
"Did you have a good walk?" Temurin asks without looking up.
"Delightful."
"Why are you always wet?" Jirou says. "It's winter! No one needs to bathe every other day!"
"Fire Nation custom," Azula lies blithely. "Where I come from, people wash daily."
"Oh really?" Temurin's mother emerges from the kitchen, a small building attached to the side of the house. "Because I was a maid to a great Fire Nation lady, and she only bathed once a year!"
Jirou snickers. His grandmother dries her hands on her apron before ruffling his hair affectionately. Like many Colonial citizens, Hagane is dressed in a mix of green and red, but the topknot barely containing her unruly black hair is unmistakably Fire Nation. As is the proud tilt of her chin and her steely gaze.
"Nekana, come help me in the kitchen," she orders. "You've avoided me long enough."
"Ma!" Temurin says, finally glancing up from his patient. "Be nice."
"It's fine." Azula stands up a little straighter. Since the spirits are ignoring her, it will be fun to match wills against someone. Azula hasn't had the heart to pick a proper fight with Temurin recently; he's been so distracted and upset with his family problems. She cracks her neck.
"Good," Hegane says. "We're rolling out bao skin."
"Skin?" Azula follows Hegane out of the main room.
"Only a noble wouldn't know how to make bao," Hegane remarks incisively. As they take a step down into the kitchen, she ties back her remaining flyaway hair with a red tie that barely contains her ferocious mane. But contrasting with her hair, Hegane's kitchen is small and neat, with a large chest for ingredients taking up one corner. Opposite the chest is a wood-fire stove and a long table scattered with bowls of different sizes. Is this what kitchens look like?
"Just roll out the skins like I do," Hegane says. Azula sets to work, trying to roll out the dough into the same thickness and circular shape that Hegane does. It's monotonous work, but not unpleasant.
"So tell me. How did a noble end up traveling with my son?" Hegane's strong fingers pinch off a bunch of dough and flatten it deftly.
"I was the daughter of a factory manager—" Azula starts.
"Oh please," Hegane looks Azula straight on. "I said I was a housemaid to a great Fire Nation family. I can tell from the way you talk that you're highborn, not the daughter of some middling factory manager. So who are you? Why did you leave?"
Azula's hands slow. "You can believe me or not, as you choose," she says stiffly. "But I left because my presence was inconvenient to someone I love. And because I needed a new life."
"And have you found that new life? With your husband?"
Oh sages. Sometimes she still forgets that everyone thinks she's married to Altan. Azula opens her mouth to lie and say she's completely content here, but Hegane's grey eyes are piercing. It's good to be confronted with Fire Nation directness. Unfortunately, Azula has no direct answers.
"Did you find the new life you wanted? When you left the Fire Nation?"
"I can't complain," Hegane starts. But whatever she meant to say, her words are cut off by the bloodcurdling scream of a young child. Immediately, Azula and Hegane drop the bao skins and rush into the main room where Jirou is alone with the patient, then outside. Azula summons a small orange flame.
But just as quickly, she extinguishes it. Haojun is laying on the ground, crying her heart out, while Temurin and Jinlian try to comfort her.
"You'll see Mama tomorrow," Temurin says. He picks Haojun up, even though she's still screaming and kicking fiercely, and Jilian hovers around the pair like she wants to hold her daughter but is afraid to touch Temurin.
"That's—too-long!" the girl wails. Jinlian makes soothing noises and smooths back Haojun's hair.
"It's only one sleep away," Jinlian says in a choked voice.
Hegane makes a scathing noise in the back of her throat and moves forward.
"Haojun," she says commandingly. "Nekana and I need help making the baos. Can you help us?"
But Haojun only cries louder, sinking her little face into Temurin's neck. He bounces up and down, rubbing her back slowly.
"Perhaps you should go," Hegane tells Jinlian.
"She's my daughter too," Jinlian says tearfully. Azula grips the doorframe hard.
"What is wrong with that child?" Ursa says, grabbing Azula by the hand. Azula lets her mother pull her along, unaware that tonight is the last time she will ever hold her mother's hand, not knowing she will sleep through her mother's final kiss…
Azula's breath catches. "Could Jinlian stay for dinner?" she murmurs to Hegane.
The older woman looks completely scandalized that Azula is interfering, but Temurin overhears. He nods with the resigned air of a general deciding to lead a last, futile charge.
In all the commotion, Jirou's left alone with the patient.
"I'm not letting you pull my tooth," the older man says vehemently.
Jirou ignores him and picks up a crumpled piece of paper that fell from Uncle's pocket. He shouldn't read it. But of course he does.
I expect full information about Mayor Sota's plans for the vote. Send your report with the next carrier out of Qima. The Revolution is in your hands. -M
"What is that?" the patient asks curiously.
"A chance," Jirou says. He pockets the letter.
