Chapter 4:
Sokka of the Water Tribe:
The fire catches my eye from far away, drifting up to paint the night sky, forcing its malevolent existence brightly against the dark backdrop. The smoke drifts to cloud the moon, dimming its light to further accentuate the light of the plumes of flame and destruction that scream and lick. As the sounds of our feet smacking the pavement drift closer and closer to the disaster, the temperature noticeably increases, teasing beads of sweat upon my forehead and upper arms. Not a word is spoken as we approach, meeting up with a troop of guards, who stand with awkward, confused expressions upon their faces.
"What happened?" I demand upon approaching, more angry at the troop's lack of coordination than anything else.
"Fire, sir!" he answers, causing me to roll my eyes, "We suspect Family involvement. Three guards were found dead outside the gates. The wounds suggest Firebending was involved."
Councilman Tsung's home lies in front of us, the roof of the farthest part of the west wing consumed by an angry orange inferno. One quick glance alerts me to the obviousness of Firebending's involvement; the flame isn't coming from the ground or one of the floors, but from the high roof, and seemingly without any kindling.
Toph makes a move beside me, shifting her weight and bringing her arms to bear; my hand reflexively reaches out for her shoulder, gripping it firmly and signaling her to stop. Wordlessly she halts, tilting her head in my direction.
"We need to save the home if we can," I respond to her silent question, "We can save the west wing, which makes the Family's attack meaningless. I have an idea. What I need you to do is start slinging loose dirt on the fire and contain it."
A quick sigh escapes her lips, more an expression of thought than one of annoyance, before she says, "Right. Ok. Can do."
With that, my little blind Earthbender sprints across the grounds. I catch the graceful, yet brisk and firm movements of her shifting her weight and gliding into the ground as I flip around to speak to the troop. I see their eyes flit from mine to the loose sand Toph is creating and skittering across the grounds, and my voice comes out booming and demanding to pull their attention.
"Listen up!" I command, "I need every available guard here immediately. I want all the Firebenders to meet with me on the grounds, while the non-benders begin collecting water in buckets from the reservoir and dumping them upon the flames. I need this to happen as quickly as possible. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" they all chant in unison, and the action begins.
The heat from the blaze fuses with the body heat that the Benders I'm surrounded by exude onto the scene, nearly drowning me in its crisp golden swelter. They mull about, scattered and disorganized, waiting for a signal from me, which I give.
"Ok, everyone listening?" I holler, "Form into ranks, two lines deep! Time is of the essence!"
Armor clanks and clatters as the Firebenders scramble to follow orders. The pure white face plates that adorn the armor glimmer coldly against the hot flames, sending chills fed by memories up and down my spine.
A sudden tall, calm form easing towards me pulls my attention away from the matter at hand. Mai approaches stoically, managing somehow to look serious and focused, and yet still somehow bored. She folds her hands into her sleeves, tilting her head at me as she arrives beside me.
"We've got nearly two hundred gallon-sized buckets filled with water," she explains, "Do you want us to start dumping them?"
"No, not yet," I respond, "I have an idea. Form the men up in a line, and get a chain of buckets ready. I'm going to explain right now, so listen closely."
She nods, in a manner that is somehow sarcastic and arrogant, and retreats to the non-benders, who immediately start following her orders. As the chain is formed, a linked rope of flesh and bone, stretching out across the easy green grounds into the street, I scream to the ranks of Firebenders, loud enough to catch both their ears and Mai's, who stands by the house. The tattle-tale pops and crackles of the wood screaming behind me feel like a rock in my stomach, focusing me and yet filling me with insecurity at the same time.
"Ok, here's whats going to happen!" booms from my throat, filled with a confidence I don't quite have, "Fire needs air to stay intact; it breathes it in almost like we do. At my signal, I want the Firebenders to send fire balls, as large as you can make them, into the fire. Not into the house, but into the fire extending up over the house. This should suffocate the flames a little bit, and make them smaller. When they get smaller, I want the non-benders to start slinging them over the fire, and drown it. Toph is containing the flames, so all we need to do is finish it off. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir!" rolls over me like a wave, carried by the massive number of voices standing before me. My eyes flit to Mai, standing with a bucket of water; her solemn, dark eyes focus intently upon me, suddenly devoid of their usual sarcasm and lethargy, replaced with a seriousness and a concentration that belies her mood. The faintest of nods alerts me to her readiness, and I know I can rely on her to take care of the water-buckets.
Sure would be nice to have Aang or Katara around at a time like this...
I could swear that the loud, pungent cackle of the flames behind begins to subside, awaiting the "First rank, fire!" that rolls off of my tongue, almost of its own accord. Their obedience is instantaneous: in perfect, practiced form, the ranks pull back and send fat, bulbous bursts of flame into the steadily growing inferno. For a terrible moment, I think the fireballs are going to make the fire get larger. I feel a rock drop into my stomach, attacking my nerves and sending me into near panic, before the fires meet and somehow subside. The blaze suddenly lessens from an intense bright orange to a lesser red, losing height and virility.
"Ok, start with the buckets!" Mai's voice screams, somehow low and gravelly despite the volume. The angered, wounded fire hisses and sputters angrily as the first gallons of water are thrust upon it, scattering and weakening. It's slow death brings confident energy to my limbs, which stretches into my "Second rank, fire!".
They do, and it is the beginning of the end for the inferno. Within four bursts of fireballs, the fire has been drowned and suffocated into naught but a charred black mess atop the roof. The once confident, malevolent entity has dimmed into nonexistence, the bright passionate orange of the fire having been replaced by the dim silver of the still-clouded moonlight, sending waves of refreshing, cool air across my sweat-covered flesh.
The roof is nearly destroyed, but from what I can see, the fire-damage is minimal everywhere else. This won't cost Tsung hardly anything to fix, especially if me and Toph volunteer to help.
"Not bad, water-tribe," Mai's voice, gravelly and stoic alights my ears, making me turn around. I greet her with a contented smile, immensely relieved that my plan worked as well as it did. Toph suddenly appears at my side, announcing her present with a loud, hard clap on the back. My nerves shriek angrily at the stinging blow, but the pain does not dim my happy brightness.
"Yeah, Meathead, it's almost like you've got a brain in there," she fires at me jokingly. I feel a waft of pride course through my stomach, which prevents my mouth from forming some comeback.
Sudden footsteps draw my attention away, pulling me to the bouncing, airy form of Ty Lee, clad in comfortable but unflattering cotton pajamas. Almost of its own accord, a lone eyebrow drifts upward on my face, making my expression match my confusion.
"Ugh, sorry I'm late!" she exudes with a loud, exaggerated yawn, "I only woke up a couple of minutes ago."
"Mm, we really missed you," Toph says, her voice so leaden and heavy with sarcasm that I'm surprised a liquid manifestation of it doesn't dribble from her mouth to pool on the ground. However, if Ty Lee notices it, she ignores it, because her mouth is instantly motoring with pleasant commentary.
A glare, bright and pungent suddenly irritates my eyes, enticing a tear from the left. My attention drifts away from Ty Lee and seeks to find the culprit, glimmering back and forth until finally becoming enshrouded in its uncomfortable light again. Then, I see where it is coming from.
Spectacles alight the man's face, perfectly round and symmetrical across his slim nose. I suppose he might be good-looking, with a slim jaw and well-structured face, but any attractiveness he may possess is offset by the ash-black, long, tousled hair and his expression. It is the expression that gets me. The crowd surrounds him, filled with curious and helpful faces, all of whom are filled with concern, but his face stands out like a beacon. I don't know how I know, but I'm sure that his eyes behind the glasses are locked upon mine.
The eyebrows are plucked up high, pulling his skin upwards as if to aid the huge, wide grin that splits his cheeks from side to side. Pure white teeth glimmer at me, almost as pure as the moonlight reflected off of his glasses, filled to the brim with a childlike glee and exuberance. The expression is decidedly happy, yet there is no happiness in either it or the scene that surrounds us. All that stands before me is a face of pure malevolence, delighting in the pain and suffering that encompasses it, and filled with some unattainable knowledge that only full acceptance of the worst parts of our natures can bring. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end, accompanied by the chills sent up and down my spine, and my hand subconsciously moves to graze the sword hilt on my back.
I'm terrified, and every inch of my person, every ounce of me shrieks to end this man, to kill him and to rid the world of everything that smile can bring; well, either that, or run as fast and as hard as my legs will function.
"Sokka?" A voice. Ty Lee's, fluttery and happy. "Are you ok?"
My inner struggle is abruptly cut off by her insistent question, dragging my eyes back to meet hers. Worry crosses the face of all three of the women before me, even the stoic face of Mai, and I force an air of easiness into my actions that could not be farther from the tension that I'm filled with.
"What? Oh yeah, I'm fine!" I respond. Their faces are unsure, but they seem to let it go. I quickly pull my hand from the leather-bound pommel of my sword. My gaze shifts back to the crowd, but the man has disappeared, as if he never was.
Several pleasantries and banal exchanges later, Toph and I walk across the empty, desolate streets back towards the castle. Her hand knowingly slips into mind, as if reading my mood, my fear and my tension.
"Did you feel him?" I ask. If I need to elaborate, she didn't.
"Oh yeah," she answers, squeezing my hand, "It was a big crowd, but he stood out like a Platypus Bear. His smile... I don't know, it..."
"Felt like evil?" I ask. She doesn't answer, but it's ok, because she doesn't need to. I say what needs to be said before the idea can fade away.
"I haven't gotten a vibe like that from anyone since Azula," I say, and it's the truth.
Toph Bei Fong:
I fall into the bed as we enter the room, my knees giving out from the exhaustion of the nights. The cool sheets cradle my body as my head collapses into the cushion of the pillow, and my mind begins to sink into the deep, poignant fuzz of sleep.
I hear Sokka come in behind me, slower, more measured. I can hear from the steadiness of his stuttered gait that his mind is deep in the clouds, showered in a frigid rain of internalization. The bed rocks prodigiously as he sits on the side, jolting me back into reality. My mind immediately turns to the events of the evening, playing flashbacks of my parents' regal voices and vicious intentions. My sleepiness forgotten, I roll over, exposing my face to the light summer air.
"You alright?" I ask, more gruffly than I intended.
"Yeah," he lies, "I'm just wondering about stuff."
Ok, if we're talking, he's not avoiding the subject to spare my feelings. My hand flies out of the sheets to impact heavily into the side of his arm. He seems to register the meaning of the blow; the subtle scraping of his calloused hand rubbing against the irritated spot is done subtly, with no pretensions of anger or misunderstanding.
"Alright," he says, his voice carrying a bit more of its characteristic whine, "I'll admit, your parents got to me."
"I told you not to let them get to you," I say, again more gruffly than I intended, "We were left here because this place is falling apart, not because you're not good enough to bring to the front. They needed us here."
My answer has been practiced and rehearsed in the forefront of my mind as the night has played out, carefully delegated word-for-word and structured like a carefully-designed building. We both know that tonight went very well for Sokka, and that no one else could have put out the fire and saved the building as effectively as he did. All that remains is to see if it was enough to quench the lingering doubt that my parents so adroitly wormed into his subconscious.
"I know, and you're right," he says. I grimace at the 'but' that I know is about to come out of his mouth, knowing that he's still a bit unsure of himself. Sure enough, he says, "but it did get me to thinking about stuff."
He shuffles nervously against the bed, pushing the blanket away and ruffling it up behind him. He stares away from me, though he knows it wouldn't matter if he were facing me or not, betraying some of the nervousness that is coursing through his veins. I sense that his mouth is about to flow with an outpour of stupidity, but I keep my trap shut and wait.
"You know, a messenger hawk came for me a week ago," he begins, his voice taking on a tone of seriousness and deep thought, "It was an offer, from Ba Sing Se University. They awarded me an honorary degree, and want me to accept a Professorship in Martial Strategy. The pay would be good, enough for us to kind of settle down, put up roots. Plus, I hear the Earthbending Tournaments in Ba Sing Se put out some pretty famous names. Maybe it's something we should think about, you know, when the Fire Nation is a bit more stable."
Sure enough, I'm taken aback at the wash of dumb that he has all but drowned me in. "Sokka, I swear, sometimes I'm sure that you have all the brain power of a Saber-Toothed Moose Lion." He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, knowing that, for his sake, I have to get him off this line of thinking. "No, what in our experience together makes you think, in any way, shape, or form, that I want to settle down? I mean, seriously! And you don't want to teach, you'd be a horrible teacher! You'd end up getting angry at the students who didn't think the same way as you, and you'd alienate the entire class before the semester was over. For the life of me, I don't know what's going through your mind! We're out here doing what we do best, fixing problems together by busting heads, and we're doing a killer job, and you want to give it away to sit in a stuffy class room?"
He's looking at me now, and even though the cushion of the bed isn't exactly conducive to my perceptions, I can feel the half-smile, half-shock expression that manifests on his stupid face. The little tuft of hair underneath his lip is probably cocked at an angle, brushing up against his chin, and I feel a wash of irritation carried by embarrassment force heat to my cheeks.
"Uhh," he says lamely, matching the stupidity of his expression, "I just thought..."
"No, you didn't, and that's the problem!" I spit at him, too irritated and mortified to quit now, "Stupid, I've been having more fun now than I have in so long, getting to live in a palace just to go out and beat up on stupid, violent punks! What more could you possibly want?"
"Well, it's not that!" he stammers, suddenly finding his voice amidst my vicious assault, "I just thought maybe you'd like to solidify things!"
"Things?" I spit, "What things?"
"Things like you and me!" he counters. The suddenness and bluntness of his answer serves its purpose, silencing me, forcing me into a focused, open-eared quiet. "Look, we've been together for awhile, and I've been so happy, really, I have. I just wonder if maybe we should start thinking about the next step. I mean, right now, all our relationship really consists of is us hanging out all the time, like always, only now you randomly pull me into make-out sessions whenever the mood takes you."
Mixed emotions fight in my stomach, battling backwards and forwards for control. I feel rushes of love, and warmth, and flattery at the fact that he feels strongly enough about me that he wants to push forwards, but I can't stem the bit of me that worries about him, and fights with a solid, stable anything. I like the ebb and flow of our relationship, and all I really want is to keep our freedom.
"Are you complaining?" I ask coyly, belaying the inner-battle that goes on in my stomach.
"No!" he insists, "I like the random make-out sessions. Really, I like them a lot, like a lot, but we could start putting down roots and still keep our freedom to bust heads together! Don't you think?"
My mind suddenly shifts focus, wondering where his motivation is in such a statement. He hadn't ever thought about anything like this before; the sudden onset of this immediately after being attacked by my parents makes me wonder about the workings of his mind, whether this seeming desire to become a more stable couple is motivated by negative emotions. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can say anything, as seems to be the way with this castle, we are interrupted by a quick knock at the door.
It bursts open before we can say anything, wrenched with considerable force and purpose; both of our attentions move to the figure that enters. The voice that echoes through the air is that of Mai's, gravelly and potent, but in a turn of events that sends my stomach into a nosedive, frightening me and focusing my senses, her voice is urgent, upset, and anything but bored.
I hear fear in her words.
"Guys, you need to come with me now! Something horrible has happened."
Jiro the Mouse:
The moon falls into obscurity behind a sooty cloud of ash and smoke, wafting gently into the air and signaling our moment to move. Wazha stands before me, wiry and sinewy behind the flickering torchlights around the street. I can feel the musk of his breath on the side of my face as he focuses intently upon the street, waiting, deliberating.
I'm not entirely sure what we're supposed to do tonight. All Wazha would tell us was that the orders came directly from Singe, and that our role was of critical importance to the cause. I'm not sure precisely what 'cause' that is per se, but I've never been as well fed as I have been since pickpocketing for the Family, and I'm not about to start asking bad questions now.
I can feel the two behind me more than see them, remnants of the terrible bust that all but decimated our little section, preparing with baited breath for the actions of the night. We're waiting for someone, but who?
Sudden footsteps, all but alone upon the cobblestone pavement pull my attention forwards; my eyes strain against the impenetrable gloom of the night, trying to stretch out the torchlights by the street as far as they will go. Then, they emerge, materializing out of the dark like ghosts, shadowed, yet oddly benign.
A man, and a woman. The man takes the woman's hands in his, caressing them and coddling them with the care and attention of a lover. She is very pretty, with silken black hair and a warm, caring face, adorned with several makeups and cosmetics. Her neck cranes forward as she leans in to kiss his cheek, softly; his reaction reveals a hideous burn scar, stretching out angrily across the side of his face, puckered flesh oozing from his ear down to his nose. Their mouths move, accompanied by smiles and glimmering eyes, but they're just out of earshot, and I can't tell what the conversation is about. I notice his eyes flick over towards the darkened moon, and his expression suddenly begin to convey the tensed muscles of worry, but she seems to react easily, and his mood subsides. A short, tender kiss later, they part, and she begins to walk in our direction.
"She's the target," Wazha says.
Ah, so that's the plan. We're going to rob her. It makes sense, given the silken, expensive clothes and the makeup that adorns her face; she must have something that Singe needs, or wants. I wait for Wazha's signal, sure that he is going to make use of my quick hands.
Surprise attacks my gut as he says, "When she moves past us, and I give the signal, we're going to come behind her and grab her. Li, Kysumu, you two are going to pin her arms while I gag her. Jiro, you're to keep an eye out for any unwanted visitors. Understand?"
The words are carried out in smoky, dangerous whispers, carried with the weight not only of illegality but immorality. Li and Kysumu both nod behind me, readied and prepped, but all I can do is keep the cogs in my mind from forcing their questions out through my mouth. Do we have to restrain her to get at what we need? Are we going to give her a message? How is this going to work?
Soon, far too soon, the pretty, wealthy girl crosses past the alleyway, moving nonchalantly past our concealed, enshrouded forms. Something is very wrong. I can feel it, but I don't know what it is.
The three beside me suddenly burst out from hiding, their images suddenly being cast in painful clarity by the streetlights, the rustling of cloth and the hurried, furtive movements paint out a scene that is clear and yet surreal. She struggles ferociously as Li and Kysumu pull her arms behind her back, tying them down; movements turn to flesh-colored blurs as the gag is forced into her mouth, accompanied by a toothy smile from Wazha.
I stand, firmly rooted in place, my eyes darting back and forth, futilely attempting to make sense of the situation. Her muscles tense and writhe underneath the clutches of my comrades, snaking back and forth with desperate, hopeful strength. Wazha's gaze flicks from the struggling girl to me, at my gaping jaw, at my unsureness. What does everyone know that I don't?
She is dragged back into the alleyway, pulled into the filth and the dark from whence we came, struggling and writhing but unable to overcome the three men that hold her. I flatten myself against the wall as they bring her close, pulling myself as far away from the girl as I can, not out of fear, but out of something I can't quite place.
I can make out her eyes, dark brown yet glimmering strangely in a light whose source I can't identify, so touching and fervent with emotion that it is almost as though she does not need the rest of her face to convey it; her eyes transmit such a deep portion of her thoughts and feelings that I can feel them myself, glowering down from my eyes into my stomach.
Wazha reaches into his cloak and withdraws something that glimmers in a different way.
"What's about to happen to you," he says, his voice carrying a firm menace that flows so differently from the tone he used when I was introduced to him, "is going to happen because of what you rich scum regularly do to the rest of us. I want you to know that."
"Wait, what are you doing?" I demand, more out of a lack of understanding than anger. The words stream from my mouth of their own accord, flowing into reality and leaving me in a floating void of confusion and fast-paced motion.
"What does it look like?" he asks, angrily, hurriedly. The knife moves forward.
"We're just... We're just going to kill her?"
The knife stops.
Wazha's gaze settles upon me, glowering, filled with a malevolence, a lust for violence fueled by irrepressible rage and consternation that I have never seen before. Kysumu and Li both freeze, holding her down, struggling not to look at us.
"Yes," he answers simply.
My mouth moves up and down, gaped open and exposed, becoming dry and uncomfortable. I don't know what to say but a terrible feeling of dread and guilt has sunk into me, overwhelming my ability to think or act.
"You know, Mouse," he adds, "You're starting to scare me. You're starting to make me think that maybe you aren't a part of the team. That maybe you'll go talking to some people about things you shouldn't. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe two bodies should be found in the morning."
I've got nothing. No reaction other than a palpable, clammy sweat that dribbles across my palms.
"Or," he clarifies, "Maybe if you do the deed, that don't need to happen. In fact, I think that's the plan."
His thick, meaty fist pushes the weapon forward, into my sweaty nervous grip. I can feel the muscles begin to shake in my hands, begin to twitch and burn with a dread and a despondency that I'm not sure I can overcome.
My gaze turns to meet hers. I watch a lone tear trace down her cheek, which causes her face to shine and glow.
What can I do? What can I honestly do? This girl who lays down before me is already dead. Her fate is sealed. There is nothing that I, or anyone else, will be able to do to stop it. Why should I be killed along with her? Is that what she would want? What else can I do?
I close my eyes, firmly screwing them shut against the world and the cold weight of reality. My knees scream at the impact of me falling to them, suddenly ingrained with hard bits of concrete and gravel. The wooden pommel of the knife feels hot and alive in my hands, begging to be used, drawing back my hand of its own accord.
Her flesh is shockingly hot, breathing, and alive. Soft, loving, tender.
The blade sweeps down.
A/N: Alright, there it is! Not much to say after this one, but tell me what you think about Xiang's death! I know its a rough plot-twist, especially considering the fact that it marks the return of Jiro the Mouse, but I thought it ended up alright. Let me know what you think!
Keep reading!
Superbleh11