Chapter 9
"Then whose knife is it?"
The boy stared up at the Dai Li agent who had asked the question, unable to tear his gaze away from those penetrating eyes.
It was his father's knife. But the boy wasn't even supposed to know the knife existed. He had spotted his father tucking the blade into the back of his desk drawer when he thought no one was looking.
But today, while his father was out of the house on business, the boy had slipped the knife out of its hiding spot and into his pocket. He'd been collecting bruises from run-ins with gangs of Earth Kingdom boys. One gang in particular had singled him out.
All the boy wanted was for the street boys to stop beating him up. All he wanted was to stop being afraid.
"Well?" said the agent with the beard. His green eyes were as cold and hard as jade.
If a Dai Li asks you a question, make sure you tell the truth. They know when someone is lying, the boy's mother had once told him. Do not lie. Lying will invite trouble. As Water Tribers in this city, we have enough trouble already.
"It's my father's knife," the boy answered truthfully.
"Interesting," said the Dai Li agent. He rubbed his thumb over the Truthspeaker symbol on the whalebone handle. "Very interesting."
The agent knelt down to look the boy in the eye. "And what is your father's name?" he said softly, a fox coaxing a frightened elephant rat to come out of hiding.
The boy panicked. Memories of his father rose to mind. The neatly trimmed beard that tapered into a point just above his collarbone. Stern blue eyes that softened into a smile when the boy brought home high marks from school. His father's broad back hunched over his desk as he pored over the day's accounts. Kisuk, his father. The anchor in his life.
His father's name hovered on the boy's lips. But he couldn't say it. He didn't know what the Dai Li wanted with him.
He didn't want his father to disappear.
The boy didn't want the last memory of his father to be one of him talking to a man who was practically a stranger. Last night, after he was supposed to be in bed, the boy had cracked open his bedroom door. Curious, he had peeked into the sitting room. They'd had company over that evening. His father had chatted with a visitor over tea and sorghum wine late into the night. The visitor, Nilak, had moved to Ba Sing Se from the Southern Water Tribe only a few weeks ago.
Suddenly, the boy knew how to answer the Dai Li's question.
"My father's name," the boy said, "is Nilak."
Katara glowered at Amarak, who only shrugged at her question.
"Hey, this is my village, too. I'm allowed to be here." Then he stuck his hands on his hips. "You know, maybe I should be the one asking you, what do you want?" he said, his eyes sliding from Katara to Takit in a way that set her teeth on edge.
"If you're just here to bother me with pointless questions, you can buzz off," Katara said as she slipped her knife back into its sheath.
"Oh, I see how it is. The chieftain's daughter thinks she can have whoever she wants, whenever she wants. Yesterday, it was the Avatar. Today, it's this history geek from the Earth Kingdom." Then Amarak's eyes went wide as he put his hand to his mouth in an exaggerated gasp. "Oh wait, but you're not with the Avatar anymore, are you? I guess the lucky guy who ends up with you had better watch out for himself. You've got the Avatar wrapped around your little finger. He's your devoted puppy dog, isn't he? I see how he looks at you. I bet he'll do anything you ask him to. Drop by your tent the second you make eyes at him—"
"I'm—he's not—" Katara spluttered, flushing with anger and embarrassment. "Don't you dare talk about Aang that way! Leave him out of this!"
Amarak blinked his eyes innocently. "Leave Aang out of what, exactly?"
Katara fumed. A small crowd was gathering around them as people stopped to gawk. Ice and snow surrounded her, awaiting her command. She wanted to bury Amarak up to the neck in ice, but her father's words held her back.
"Amarak may be…hard to get along with," her father had said after she vented to him about Amarak's pushy attempts at courtship. "But we need to be careful to maintain good relations with him and his family. They have important connections to the Northern Water Tribe's elder council, and his father has Chief Arnook's ear. I don't like Amarak either, but we need him and his family. We need their help to rebuild our village."
"I hate this, Dad," Katara had said, her clenched fists trembling with rage and humiliation. "I wish we didn't have to depend on Amarak or his family."
"I know. Me too." Then he had pulled her into a hug. She had felt like a little girl again, warm and safe in her father's sturdy arms. "We need to do what we must to survive. Just a while longer, my little polar bear. We're survivors."
"All right," Katara had said reluctantly. Then she had scowled up at her father. "But don't expect me to marry him."
Her father had laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Katara figured that slapping Amarak across the face with a water whip would probably not be considered maintaining good relations. So she settled for verbally defending her dignity—and Aang's. Amarak had insulted Aang, and she was not going to let him get away with it.
"You know what, Amarak? I think you're bitter because I rejected you. Yeah, that's right. I rejected you," she said, pointing the sheathed knife first at herself and then at Amarak. "Aang has nothing to do with this. You, on the other hand, are a pompous, stuck-up, arrogant jerk. You can't handle the fact that I'm not falling for your fancy Northern ways. Well, guess what—there is no way, in this world or the spirit world, that I'm going to date you or marry you. The thought has never crossed my mind, and it never will!"
Katara stopped to catch her breath. That might have been a bit more than just pushing back against Amarak's snide insinuations. She scanned the crowd of onlookers watching the conflict unfold. I was just making myself clear and standing up for myself, she reasoned. No one can blame me for that, can they?
She gave her head a little shake. Figuring out how much damage she had done to her family's relations with Amarak's family would have to come later. He could be the mystery waterbender, too—the waterbender who practiced in secret and concealed their identity for reasons unclear. Katara did not relish the idea of needing to constantly look over her shoulder in case he decided to ambush her.
But what was done was done. Katara would have to live with the consequences. She grabbed Takit's arm with her free hand. "Come on, Takit. Let's get out of here."
Before she could take more than a few steps, however, a large hand closed around her wrist. Katara was yanked to a stop, and she almost fell over her own feet.
"Don't think you can talk to me like that and get away with it," Amarak growled, looming over her. His Northern-style parka with its broad, square chest made him appear bigger than he really was—and much more intimidating.
"Let me go!" Katara demanded. She tried to pull free, but his grip was like an iron vise. The hand he had trapped was the one holding the knife, which she had unfortunately returned to its sheath. It didn't matter, though, because she couldn't move her hand enough to threaten him anyway.
"What will your father say when he hears you insulted me in public?" He dragged her toward him until she was surrounded by the cloud of his breath. Her wrist twisted so painfully in his grasp that she almost dropped the knife. "It's not proper behavior for a woman, either. Women need to know their place. Now apologize."
But Katara only gave him a stony glare. "No."
"No?" Amarak raised an eyebrow. "You can't go until you apologize. The Avatar isn't around to save you this time."
"I don't need anyone to save me." She shoved against his chest as hard as she could. "Now let me go!"
But trying to push Amarak away was like trying to shove a ten-ton boulder. He held her fast. "You know what you have to do," he said. "Apologize to me, and I'll let you go." His mouth widened into a leer. "Maybe something like this: 'I'm so sorry for insulting you, Amarak. I promise I'll never do it again,'" he said in a mocking falsetto.
"You wish," she hissed. Enough was enough. She summoned seawater from a nearby bucket and encased the hand—knife and all—that was still in Amarak's grip. "Now let me go, or I'm going to make you regret it!"
"You're going to make me regret it, are you?" Amarak eyed the knife inside the water that surrounded her hand. "That sounds like a threat. You may be a waterbender, but you're in no position to make threats. Your family needs me more than I need you." He leaned in so close that she smelled sour seaweed on his breath. "You can't lay a finger on me."
Katara narrowed her eyes at him. "Just watch me."
The water around her hand slipped into the gaps between her wrist and Amarak's hand. More and more water collected in the gaps, forcing his fingers apart and away from her wrist. Once her hand was free, the water reared back into a ball and slammed into his chest. Amarak flew backward into the crowd, which hurriedly split apart to get out of his way.
He lay on the ground, momentarily stunned. "You won't get away with this," he snarled, jabbing his finger at her. "I'll make sure my father hears about what happened!"
"I'll make sure your father sees what happened!" she shouted, no longer giving a flounder's fin about maintaining good relations with Amarak's family.
Katara shoved the whalebone knife into Takit's hands and snapped, "Hold this for me," then crouched into an offensive stance.
She thrust both hands out in front of her and swooped them together, clenching them into fists. Amarak, who had started to stand and had risen to a crouch, yelped as waves of ice and snow collided into him. Soon he was encased up to his neck in a mound of solid ice. Katara had left his hands free, which he flailed about uselessly. He looked like a squat, ridiculous snowman.
"Get me out!" he pleaded. "Please! Katara! You have to get me out!"
An excited murmur arose in the crowd. Here was Amarak, the cocky son of an important—and often insufferable—family, frozen in a casing of ice with only his head and his hands sticking out. People kept glancing between him and Katara. Nobody moved to help him.
As Amarak begged for her help, doubt began to creep into Katara's mind. Was Amarak really the unidentified waterbender? There's no way he would humiliate himself like this in front of the whole village if he could waterbend his way out, she thought.
But then again, maybe he would, if keeping his ability a secret is so important.
Katara watched Amarak—who was now crying for anyone, anyone at all, to help him—for a few moments longer. Then she turned on her heel and stalked away, with Takit scrambling to catch up to her.
When they were well away from the village square, she ducked behind an igloo, Takit following her closely, and leaned against the ice of the curved wall. The memory of Amarak's unyielding grip throbbed in her wrist. She could still smell his rancid breath on her face.
Katara slammed her fist against the wall. Why did I let Amarak get so close?
Hot, angry tears welled up in her eyes. Why did I let things get that far?
Anger turned into shame at not stopping Amarak sooner, and shame turned into something much more visceral—the deep sense of having something private and vulnerable violated.
She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, her breath coming in heaves. Despite the fur layers of her parka, she felt cold from the inside out. "I wish Aang was here," she whispered to herself. Remembering her encounter with Aang last night—his concerned eyes, his arms around her—made her heart ache for his presence. She started to sob into her hand.
Eventually, the shuddering of her shoulders subsided. She noticed Takit standing off to the side, shifting from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do with himself.
"Are you okay?" he said, eyeing her uncertainly.
Katara wiped the tears from her face with the heel of her palm. "I'm fine now. Thanks for asking."
Takit abruptly stuck out his hand, holding out her whalebone knife by its leather sheath. "Here's your knife back."
Katara blinked. She had forgotten about the knife. "Thanks," she said and reached out to take it from him.
But Takit let go before she could grab ahold of the ivory handle, and the knife dropped into the snow.
"Sorry," he said as she bent down to retrieve it. He ducked his head, chagrined, and rubbed his hands on his parka as if wiping them clean.
"Don't worry about it." Katara shook the snow off the knife and slipped it into the sealskin pouch she wore at her waist. She flashed Takit an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry that you keep getting caught up in these situations with Amarak. It's important that our families remain on good terms, and…" She sighed. "It's complicated."
Takit shook his head. "You don't need to apologize to me. The important thing is that you're okay." He paused and peered at her cautiously. "You are okay, aren't you?"
Katara gave him a small smile. "Yeah. I'm fine." Then she clapped her hands together. "Let's figure out where to go for dinner, shall we?"
Katara and Takit settled on going back to Meriwa's eatery, where Amarak had butted in on their meal the previous night. The choice of venue was not ironic. Meriwa ran the busiest eatery in the village for a reason—the meat was fresh, and while the dishes were nothing fancy, they never failed to satisfy. And because Amarak's downfall had started in that eatery, he was unlikely to return to bother them again.
After they took their seats, Katara felt a twinge of guilt about scaring off Sakari, who would have otherwise joined them. She asked Takit if he knew anything about Sakari, but he didn't know much more than what Katara had learned earlier that afternoon. All he could say was that Sakari's father had died shortly before—or was it after?—they migrated from the South Pole to Ba Sing Se. Sakari and her mother mostly kept to themselves. Few Water Tribers in the Earth Kingdom capital knew them well. It seemed that Sakari was as much of an enigma to the Water Tribe community in Ba Sing Se as she was to Katara.
But choosing an eatery for the purpose of avoiding Amarak turned out to be a mistake. Katara had been so focused on Amarak that she hadn't stopped to consider that she might encounter other people she knew—people who she also hoped to avoid.
Sokka entered the eatery through the tent flap in a burst of cold air and swirling flurries. Following on his heels were two girls in thick blue parkas and flowing golden trousers. Behind them appeared a lanky teenage boy with unruly black hair who wore his parka open in the front, revealing orange-and-yellow robes underneath. Bringing up the rear, finally, was Aang. In full Air Nomad dress, he radiated a warmth that filled the tent and Katara's heart.
Their eyes instantly met, as they gravitated to each other like the moon and the tide. But the connection was broken when Sokka declared with a wave of his hand, "I now present to you the best cuisine the Southern Water Tribe has to offer!"
A short woman in a blue smock and braids down to her waist shuffled over to welcome Sokka's group. Meriwa fussed over Aang, apologizing over and over that her eatery was far too humble for someone like the Avatar. He blushed at the attention and reassured her that Sokka had spent the afternoon talking nonstop about how mouthwateringly delicious her dishes were. She affectionately scolded Sokka for overselling her establishment, while he insisted that he spoke nothing but the truth. Then when she asked Sokka where he and his friends would like to sit, he pointed straight at Katara's table.
It was still well before the dinnertime rush, so the eatery was only half-full. Sokka, Aang, and the tall boy—Jian was his name—shifted a large table to adjoin Katara and Takit's much smaller one. The Air Acolytes filtered into the seats around the bigger table, leaving one spot open at the far end of the table and one spot next to Katara.
Aang moved toward the seat at the end of the table, but Sokka casually slid into the chair first as if oblivious to his friend's intent. Katara frowned at her brother, but he pretended not to notice. Aang had no choice but to take the seat next to Katara, but he only did so after he silently asked for permission and she nodded her assent.
Having Aang right next to her was both torture and bliss. Katara could not stop watching the shape of his hands when he talked or basking in the throaty sound of his laughter. His presence filled the space beside her, so familiar and so inviting.
Yet he remained out of reach. Katara longed to catch his gaze, share a smile with him. Maybe even touch his arm. But she couldn't. She shouldn't. Not if she wanted to keep him away from her. Not if she truly loved him.
Getting close was dangerous. She was dangerous—to him. She had to stay away.
Besides, he had already let her go from his life. Giving Aang the space to reach that decision had cost both of them so very, very much. Katara forced herself to remember how her ribbon had writhed in the flames in his hand. The memory pierced her like an ice shard. But she had to remember. She could not afford to forget.
The arrival of a young woman bearing their food brought Katara out of her unhappy musings. Steaming platters of fish and braised octopus and bao stuffed with seal meat covered the table. A large bowl of seaweed noodles came next, accompanied by a small dish of seal oil for dipping. Sokka and one of the Air Acolytes cleared some space in the middle of the table for a tureen of masru root and egg and mushroom stew. Dishes were shuffled around again to make room for a platter of roast arctic hen, the sliced sections of meat arranged into neat rows. Last, but not least, came a small plate of pickled fish diced and piled on a bed of greens.
Yee-Li, the Acolyte sitting next to Takit, picked up a pale cube of meat from atop the pile of greens with her chopsticks. While the Air Acolytes were adherents of Air Nomad culture, Aang did not ask them to shun meat from their diet. "What's this?" she asked, holding up the chunk of meat.
"It's pickled fish," Takit said.
Katara nodded at Yee-Li. "Meriwa makes the best pickled fish I've ever had. Unless," she said, smiling at Takit, "I get the chance to try the one that Takit's mom makes. Then I might have to change my opinion."
Yee-Li popped the cube of fish into her mouth, chewed, and immediately spit it out. Gagging, she clawed at her cup of water and took a long swig. Hei-Won offered her a bao, and Yee-Li bit into the milk-white bun ferociously, as if she couldn't devour it fast enough.
After chomping through several bites of bao and gulping down more water, Yee-Li was finally composed enough to talk. "Whew. When you said it was pickled fish, Takit, I was not expecting that."
"I'm sorry, Yee-Li," Katara said. "I've been back in the South Pole for so long now that I forgot that pickled fish can be a bit strong for people who haven't had it before."
"A bit strong?" Yee-Li said incredulously. "That wasn't just strong. That was—"
"Pungent and slimy?" Takit suggested.
Yee-Li coughed before answering. Apparently, she hadn't gotten all of the taste of pickled fish out of her mouth. "You could say that."
"It's okay," Takit said. "You can say it tasted like rotten meat."
Yee-Li put her hand to her mouth and stifled a titter. "It did kind of taste like rotten meat."
"Really slimy rotten meat," he said, grinning at the Air Acolyte, who giggled again.
Katara frowned. Why was Takit putting down pickled fish? That was one of his favorite things to eat. He'd happily chowed down on the delicacy when she had dinner with him last week. They'd even had friendly debates about the best way to eat pickled fish—by itself, with seaweed greens, or with cloudberry relish.
"But for real, when you told me it was pickled fish," Yee-Li was saying to Takit, "I was expecting something tart and chewy. Or even crunchy. Like pickled carrots or pickled radish."
Sokka, who was watching the exchange with an annoyed expression, seized the opportunity to explain that the Water Tribes pickled their food by both the widely-used method of brining and the more obscure technique of fermenting it within the permanently frozen ground. And, he pointed out proudly, eating fermented food was the reason why Water Tribers were famous for having such an expansive palate.
As Sokka continued to lecture the Air Acolytes on the difference between brining and fermenting, Katara opened and closed her hand to work out the stiffness in her wrist and her irritation at Takit. Why was Takit behaving so strangely? He was almost like a different person. When the Acolytes squealed and recoiled at Sokka's graphic description of the process of fermenting seabirds—at this point, her brother was just trying to get a rise from his audience—Takit acted disgusted as well.
Then the answer struck her. Takit was acting like Water Tribe food was weird and strange in front of outsiders, and earlier, he had wanted nothing to do with her whalebone knife. As Katara watched Takit talk and laugh with Yee-Li, Hei-Won, and Jian, she saw not Air Acolytes and a Water Triber, but people from the Earth Kingdom. Despite dressing in Air Nomad robes, the Air Acolytes were fundamentally Earth Kingdom in their roots and heritage. And even though Takit was Water Tribe, with his short-cropped hair and disdain for his own culture in front of the others, he was trying very hard to forget he had ever been anything but Earth Kingdom.
"Did something happen to your hand?"
Surprised, Katara turned her head at the sound of Aang's voice. This was the most direct thing he had said to her all evening. He was watching her with a worried expression.
At Aang's question, Katara realized she was still flexing her hand open and closed. It was the hand that Amarak had grabbed. She rubbed her wrist, which had started to throb, the pain only aggravating her annoyance at Takit.
Even though she and Aang sat side by side, they were separated by a wall of awkwardness. They had barely spoken to each other until now. And for their first real conversation to be about what had happened with Amarak…
Katara nodded mutely, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. She hadn't thought to heal her wrist before coming to dinner because it hadn't bothered her then. But now, her wrist was beginning to ache, and no amount of rubbing provided any relief.
"Do you mind if…I take a look?" he asked. He offered his hand in jerky, tentative movements, his fingers half-curled. Unsure. Maybe he was unsure of how she would respond. Or maybe he was unsure of whether his offer was wise.
She nodded again. Even a will of ice-cold steel would have melted under his gentle concern.
Aang cradled her forearm in his hand and pushed up the cuff of her sleeve. He breathed in sharply at the sight of the red imprint that had started to form. Katara could still feel Amarak's fingers digging into her wrist like a cruel manacle.
"What happened?" he asked again.
Aang must not have seen or heard about her run-in with Amarak. Earlier, Sokka had mentioned that Aang and the Acolytes had just returned to the village from penguin sledding when he met up with them for dinner. None of them would have had the chance to hear about what had happened. But Katara wasn't ready to talk about her confrontation with Amarak. Not yet. It was still too fresh, and her nerves were still raw. And she certainly wasn't going to talk about it in front of her brother or the Acolytes. Reliving the incident and being peppered with unwanted questions was not how she wanted to spend her evening.
"It's a long story. I'll tell you later," she said, even though she had no idea when later would be. Tomorrow was the second and final day of the trade meeting, and Aang was leaving the morning after that. She had no plans to spend any time alone with him. The few times they had been around each other had been awkward and tense. Or unexpectedly intimate.
Like what was happening right now.
Aang nodded, accepting her answer, even though he probably wasn't expecting a later, either. He laid his fingers on the inside of her wrist and gingerly drew his fingertips over the bruise, his careful touch almost a caress. "Is this okay? Does it hurt?" he asked.
Katara shook her head. "The pain is a lot deeper. My wrist got…squeezed really hard." She opened and closed her hand again. "Doing this kind of hurts. But it kind of helps, too."
Aang's hand fell still. His gaze was fixed on where his fingers lay arched over her wrist. He didn't say anything.
What was he waiting for?
She was about to pull her hand back and thank him for his concern—staying away from each other was for the best, for both of them—when he suddenly said, "Would you like me to soothe your wrist?"
Soothing was something that Aang did for Katara and for Katara alone. When they used to travel to the Fire Nation for Aang's diplomacy work, Katara would spend her free time learning everything she could from the local healers. One technique had caught her interest—the use of firebending to treat aches and pains, an ancient art the healers had learned from the Bhanti Fire Sages. The method required laying hands on the patient and warming up the area that needed relief. The trick was to heat the tissue without causing a burn, so the skill required focus and a certain amount of finesse. Fortunately, Aang possessed both.
But even after he had learned the true meaning of firebending, Aang had been reluctant to firebend unless he had no other choice. Katara knew that in his mind, firebending would be forever linked with his burning her in a reckless attempt to speed up his lessons with Jeong Jeong. To help him overcome his personal stigma, she'd suggested that he try using the heat therapy technique of the Fire Nation healers—on her.
At first, he had refused. But she had been able to slowly convince him to learn the art from the healers. Then she would make sure to complain about sore shoulders or aching feet, giving him the perfect opportunity to practice his new skill. She could have healed herself, sure, but sometimes it just wasn't worth the effort. His hands had trembled the first time he tried the technique on Katara. But as she relaxed under his palms, his warmth working into her shoulders, his anxiety began to fade. Soon, asking Aang to soothe her aches—or having him offer to do so—became both a request for relief and an excuse for them to cuddle.
So when Aang asked Katara if she wanted him to soothe her wrist, her heart leaped in her chest. She knew she should say no. But she had begun to let him in, opened herself up to him. She didn't want to stop. It had been so long—too long—since he had touched her like this. She didn't want him to let go of her hand.
"Yes," she found herself saying. Then, almost in a whisper, "Please."
Aang laid his palm over the sensitive underbelly of her wrist, where every graze against her skin was a heightened sensation. With his hand cradling her arm and his other one wrapped around her wrist, Katara felt vulnerable but secure. Safe. Aang's touch was so very different from Amarak's violent, dominating grasp.
The warmth of Aang's hand spread through her skin and into the muscles deep inside her arm. With his hand enveloping her wrist, his heat flowed into her and mingled with her own. This was the same heat that only a few short years ago had flared into flames and burned welts into her hands. But she had encouraged him to harness this heat and use it not as flame, but as healing. Together, she and Aang had learned another way in which firebending gave life.
Though firebending—in the form of lightning—had almost separated them forever, firebending now brought them together. As Aang infused his warmth into Katara's body, she could no longer tell where she ended and where he began.
Katara breathed out, releasing the tension she'd been holding inside. The throbbing pain had started to lessen and eased into a muted ache.
"Does that feel better?" he said quietly. The soft gray of his eyes pulled her in. Crouched over her hand, Aang was so close that she would have very little distance to cross for a kiss.
"Yes," she said. "Thank you."
Katara was seized by the impulse to fold her hand around his, the one still curled around her wrist. To complete the growing bond between them. To bring their connection full circle.
But she hesitated.
And she realized something.
It didn't matter whether she took his hand or not, or whether she did anything that would bring them closer.
We're still drawn to each other. We'll always be drawn to each other, and that will only happen more and more every time we're together.
That's why staying away from Aang is more important than ever.
Her fingers twitched, her desire to be close to Aang fighting her will to stay away. Taking his hand would be so easy. So simple. He was already practically holding her hand anyway.
I can't.
I can't.
I can't drag him down.
But she wanted to take his hand. She wanted Aang. She wanted Aang more than anything. Even if wanting him, being with him, meant that she might one day drag him down to his death.
In her moment of hesitation, however, the decision was made for her.
"Hello? Mister Bridge-to-the-Spirit-World?"
Her brother's impatient voice sliced through the tension building between her and Aang.
Aang let go of her arm.
"That's Mister Bridge-Between-the-Spirit-World-and-Human-World to you," was Aang's good-natured reply.
Sokka prompted Takit to repeat to Aang what he'd already explained about the spirit in the ice caverns. Katara pulled her sleeve back down, but she surreptitiously covered her wrist with her hand. She clung to the feeling of Aang's hand warming her skin, the memory of his touch already beginning to fade. This unexpected moment between them had brought down her guard. The knowledge that she would never feel his touch like this again convulsed through her like lightning.
"…and Katara said you might be interested in checking it out," Takit was saying to Aang.
Katara looked up at the sound of her name. "Check what out?"
"The spirit in the caves," Aang said. "I'll see if I can contact it tomorrow."
She frowned at him. "You're not going by yourself, are you? It could be dangerous."
"Professor Song and I will be studying the ice etchings all day tomorrow, close to where we found the footprints," Takit said. "We can go look for the spirit together after the trade meeting is over."
Aang's eyebrows shot up. "Footprints?"
Takit nodded. "We found them in the ice, like something was making trails in the caves. One of the caverns has footprints all over the ground. They even cover the walls and the ceiling."
"Huh, that's odd," Aang said. "Spirits don't usually leave footprints in the human world." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I should try to get in touch with the spirit before you and the professor start working tomorrow. It might be better to figure out what's going on first."
"I hope we can get to the bottom of this mystery soon," Takit said. "The professor and I are leaving the day after tomorrow. Finding a spirit living in the ancient ice caverns would be a remarkable discovery, and I would regret missing out."
"I'm leaving the same day you are, so I'll do my best," Aang said, nodding at Takit. "I'll try to reach the spirit in the spirit world early tomorrow morning."
Loud, booming noises in the caves, strange footprints in the ice, and now the spirit world? Katara couldn't explain why, but all of this was making her uneasy. "Aang, if you're going to the spirit world, you'll need someone to watch your back."
Takit scratched his head. "Why? Is going to the spirit world dangerous?"
"Not dangerous, exactly," Aang said. "When I enter the spirit world, I leave my body behind in our world. It's usually a good idea to have someone watch over me."
He turned to her. "Katara—" he began, but then he cut off abruptly.
Katara's pulse quickened. Was he about to ask what she thought he was going to ask?
Tension furrowed his brow, as though he was wrestling with the words at the tip of his tongue. Then he seemed to come to a decision.
"Will you come with me tomorrow morning?" he said finally.
Katara froze. She had guessed right, after all. Aang was asking her to come with him to the ice caves and watch over him while he went to the spirit world. That meant they would be together. Just the two of them.
Alone.
She wasn't sure if she could handle that.
Aang must have sensed her reluctance. "I'll need someone to protect me in case something happens," he said. "It's probably best if that person…is a bender."
She could have sworn he had almost said, if that person is you.
He had a point, though. But she wasn't the only bender in the village.
"What about Pakku?" Katara said. A desperate suggestion, she knew. But Pakku was a steady, practical kind of man, well-suited for the task of guarding Aang. More importantly, Pakku was not Katara. He could be alone with Aang. She could not. "He can watch over you just as well as I can."
But the way Aang was looking at her almost stopped her breath. Longing darkened his gaze the way stormclouds darkened the horizon. "I need someone to watch over me," he said in a low voice that wrapped around her and drew her in. "And there's no one I trust more than you."
Everyone's eyes burned into her as Aang waited for her answer. But only Aang's eyes held her captive.
Katara couldn't look away. And she couldn't say no.
"All right," she said, giving in at last. "I'll come with you."
