The tea steamed in the small, black teacup. Iroh brought it slowly to his lips, taking a long, deep sniff of the jasmine smell before he did so. Iroh's hair was frayed and out of place, his knuckles torn, his shirt singed. There was the air of recent battle upon him.
Zhao did not care for tea. He allowed it to steam before him without taking a sip, watching the older man as he drank. Like Iroh, the memory of battle hung upon him, clothing torn, still-bleeding cuts upon his arms. He seemed oblivious to them.
"I am guessing your son is the reason for this," Iroh said it sadly, suddenly. Anger flittered across Zhao's face.
"The boy is a headstrong, hot-headed fool. And this Azula will betray both him and me - she is exactly like her father."
Iroh flinched a little at his words, but no will was left in the old man of Agni to defend his brother. Not since that night in the unholy streets of Balda Haram; not since broken teeth in the street, not since blood running in the gutters. Not since the dark and empty eyes of a silenced Lu Ten.
"I remember what they used to say about Zhanu, Zhao. They said he was his father's son. An ideal young man."
It was suspicion in Iroh's voice. It was uncertainty in his eyes. But Zhao was full of fire and ambition, and he did not fall to the old man's tricks.
"I am not trying to convince you that I am like you, Iroh. I agree with Ozai, and the legends of the Fire Nation. But I will not have mine own son usurp me, and I will not see wretched Ozai, nor his whore daughter, on the throne of the Chosen King."
"You should watch your tongue, Zhao. It is my niece you speak of," the room itself seemed to spark. The two men stared each other in the eye for a long moment. Zhao finally pushed back his chair, here within the ruins of an inn Azula's troops had destroyed. SMoke was still rising from some places; piles of ash was stacked in corners, and dried blood was on the floor.
"I offer to aid you, but if you will not have me then I will go elsewhere. Or perhaps I will look upon the circumstances in a new light."
Iroh swallowed the hot, sweet tea. He felt a doubt, in the pit of his stomach.
But he took the Pai Sho tile out of his pocket to Zhao. He tossed it to him and Zhao caught it, uncertainly.
"Welcome to the White Lotus. Do not treat it lightly. It is all that is now left of the Old World."
|-------------|
|-------------|
|-------------|
|-------------|
"This is a great day! Do you think this is a great day? I think this is a great day."
Suki looked up briefly from her bed spread with a half-amused grin at the Wolf Clan Prince. Sokka had just returned from Chief Arnook's quarters, and he was beaming with immodest pride at the success of his idea.
The Prince's plan to trade seal oil to the war-ridden Union had, at first, met considerable resistance; difficult questions were raised about the morality of selling such a war-sustaining product. The Chief of the Turtle Clan had raised an excellent point before Arnook - for with the threat of the East looming over the quickly shattering stability of the Union, and the overall destructive state of the world, would it be a responsible act to sell oil for war machines? How far would the Aurora Tribe truly go to sustain itself - far enough to destroy others, however indirectly? The Turtle Clan Chief's words made Sokka feel cold, and in dread he began to doubt the supposed mastery of his plan. Arnook had rescued him. The aged man assured the other Chief's that, no matter what the Tribe decided, the Union and the East would be at war. If oil could not be found within the boundaries of an Empire, it would simply be sought, taken, stolen from elsewhere. In supplying the needed product as a trade item, the Tribe could help avoid further bloodshed from the pursuit of oil.
With Arnook's approval, the other Chiefs were at Sokka's side (and his lineage to Wolf Clan Chief Hakoda didn't hurt either). Preparations began immediately to begin on Sokka's plans - extra merchant vessels, along with captains, traders and crew, would have to be obtained and built for shipping; an excess of oil drums would have to be constructed, new warehouses for the preparations of seal skins and oils. Some sort of limits would have to be enforced on the hunters who went out for the seals, but in the past few hundred years of the Tribe's isolation, the tiger-seal population had grown so great that this was not an immediate concern. Sokka would have skipped home from the meeting if it had been possible on the ice-lined streets, and had returned straight home to Suki with his victory.
"You're amazing, Sokka," Suki said honestly, but she was preoccupied with preparing a Reading for the coming weeks. "Now... do you mind getting that bowl? It's just there, on the table. Put it on the floor in front of the fire."
Sokka practically danced over to the table and swiped the huge, smooth, black obsidian bowl for Suki. He couldn't exactly dance back towards the fire, as the bowl seemed to weigh more than he - but after he had deposited it before the hearth, he delightfully and quickly made his way back to the Kyoshi-Shaman.
"We should celebrate," Sokka said slyly, leaning over her where she sat on the bed. She smelled of the jungle still, despite all the sea-breeze and the cold scents of the North. It intoxicated him - she was a dark, deep, wild as the untamed land from which she'd come. The scent of those massive, exotic, brilliantly-colored flowers was engraved in her skin, with the smell of fruit and mist and growing trees. She was a jungle-child in moss-caves beneath waterfalls; she was a Kyoshi-Shaman with seashells on her hips and red paint on her face. Acchai was barbaric, but she was wild as a black leopard, a level of raw beauty that sent the Prince of Al-Abhad reeling.
"I can't now, Sokka. I'm busy," Suki said, keeping her eyes on the bed spread. Strewn out before her were a great many bundles of dried herbs, seashells, fish bones, bottled liquids and potions, and other ceremonial materials: hollow bowls, a crushing stick, a red heart-jewel, various fangs and animal claws, a chain of beads to ward of evil. In a small leather bag, just off to her right, a number of Seeing Stones and owl-cat bones lay in waiting, to be throne at the Reading.
She threw the bead-chain over her head and took one of the potions from the bedspread, along with an armful of seashells, her crushing stick, and the bag of Seeing Stones. Gliding lightly around Sokka, who's face was pleading, she assembled the various things around the obsidian bowl before the fire, returning for the heart-jewel. She then seated herself before the obsidian bowl, before the raging red fire; with both her golden hands she crushed the heart-jewel and bled its juices into the bowl.
"Ah...Suki," Sokka moaned pitifully. Frustrated, he went down to his knees behind her, making little noises of displeasure that made her smile. As she poured tossed the heart-jewel aside and began to pour a new potion into the black bowl, he pressed his lips longingly against the golden skin of her neck. "Suki... I'm in such a good mood, Suki..."
"It's just a ceremony, Sokka," but she was enjoying his caressing lips on her neck. "...I have to perform it on the full moon. It will be over in a few minutes."
Sokka groaned, but flopped back onto the bedspread obediently. Suki smiled to herself as the potion mixed and hissed before her. When she was satisfied, she scooped a great quantity of it out with another wooden bowl, and then poured it into an iron pan she had waiting above the fire. She repeated this until most of the pan was full; it spat and sizzled as she dripped the potion into it, writhing like some living thing.
A remnant of the heart-jewel blood still remained in the bowl; Suki raked through her collection of shells and, after some moments of indecision, dropped several of the most brilliant into the bowl - one radiant yellow, one aqua sea-blue, one red as fresh blood. These she crushed beneath the sharpened points of her Shaman-tools, the filed ribs of a boar-q-pine. She chanted as she did so, once in Gev, and once in a language Sokka didn't understand.
Coin si deya, coin se dado?-------------- (Who's your mother, Who's your father?
Pukker mande drey Kyoshis,------------ Do thou answer me in Kyoshi,
Ta mande pukkeravava tute.----------- And I will answer thee.)
Rossar-mescri minri deya!---------------- (A Hawk I have for mother,
Vardo-mescro minro dado!---------------- A Tiger for my father,
Coin se dado, coin si deya?--------------- Who's your father, Who's your mother?
Mande's pukker'd tute drey Kyoshi;----- I have answer'd thee in Kyoshi,
Knau pukker tute mande.---------------- Now do thou answer me.)
Petuiengro minro dado!------------------- (I have Cagn for a father,
Purana minri deya!------------------------ And Uhlanga for my mother,
Tatchey Kyoshi si men ------------------- True Kyoshi both are we -
Mande's pukker'd tute drey Kyoshi, ---- For I've answer'd thee in Kyoshi,
Ta tute's pukker'd mande. --------------- And thou hast answer'd me.)
The tune was varied, and she sang it in a soft, drifting way that kept Sokka entranced. As she sang, she finished crushing the seashells so that the melded in a fine, multicolored powder within the deep blood-mix of the bowl. It looked odd and bright against the black obsidian, a captured rainbow beneath the Shaman's hands. Afterwards she took a long vial from her side; it was filled with clear cactus juice, of a most potent and powerful kind. She drizzled it over the bright powder as the potion in the pan began to hiss and boil. As soon as the cactus juice sank into the powder, Suki snatched up a handful and threw it, sparkling, into the fire.
"Makhosi!"
The fire sprang to life, erupted into fierce emerald flame. Sokka sprang up on the bed, startled and captivated.
"Makhosi!"
Suki threw back her head and downed the rest of the vial of cactus juice.
A smell from the fire spread almost instantly through the room. It was a heavy, warm, intoxicating smell; Sokka breathed it in an felt himself grow inexplicably light.
The emerald color of the fire blared, grew unbearable bright. The remainder of the room blurred and went out of focus. Sokka's body tingled, rushed, shook. A grin overcame his face and he laughed, his body filled with desire, with life, with ecstasy. He tried to shake his head to see if it was a dream - but his body seemed to move too fast. Or maybe his mind was moving too slow. His head swam. His eyes focused on the silhouette of Suki's perfect, golden body.
Suki's pupils had dilated. She looked up at the ceiling with a hint of a smile on her own face; as if of their own accord, her hands undid the Seeing bag and she withdrew the handful of bones and black stones. Her body was beginning to tremble; her eyes threatened to roll backwards into her head.
"Makhosi! Makhoso! Makhosi!" she cried.
She flung the stones and bones down upon the floor. The crackled and jumped, living things, before the red fire.
Suki, still drugged, looked for a long time at how they had fallen. She studied the stones uncertainly; she blinked, rubbed her eyes, and studied them again, as though she hoped something would change.
But nothing changed. Dead bones and cold stones upon the floor.
And something was wrong with the Reading.
"I have rushed myself," Suki said it in a numb voice. She could feel her fear crowding in around her like a shadow, like a whisper.
Sokka began to leave the bed as she gathered up the stones again. He was madly high, rushed, at a point so far beyond ecstasy he was having a hard time laughing simply for joy. He knew of only one thing that would make this experience better, and she was sitting before an emerald fire.
"Makhosi! Makhoso! Makhosi!"
Suki threw down the stones again, this time with more force, more purpose. A few bones dances from the earth and jumped into the midst of the red fire; they sparked and cracked, quickly charring to a deep and ominous black.
Suki's hands shook as she lowered them.
"I don't..." Suki stared at the stones, at that charred bones in the fire. She didn't seem able to finish her sentence.
Sokka had reached her by then. He was too high to speak; his breathe was heavy with desire and his movement was decisive. Suki, seated cross-legged on the floor, was immediately overcome - he kissed her beneath the shell-shaped curve of her ear, down her neck, all along her golden skin. Still staring hesitantly at the green fire, Suki allowed him to press her down the floor.
The floor before Suki was a mess of black stones, of shining white bones. The Reading was unlike anything she'd ever seen.
She tried to focus as Sokka kissed her skin, as he tugged longingly at her clothing. She tried to concentrate, to conjure up something to say to stop him, to focus on the severity of the Reading. But Suki was beyond that, now; she had never done a Reading with someone else in the room, and she was so wild and ecstatic now that Sokka's kisses were elaving fire on her skin.
So instead she turned her head and kissed the Prince. Instead she writhed and rang her fingers along his back, his sides, his chest. Instead she pressed her golden skin to his dark, and they made love on the floor before the roaring emerald flame, before the Seeing Stones and the owl-cat bones.
Before the desperate message in the Reading.
|--------------|
|--------------|
|--------------|
|--------------|
Toph was sitting on one the highest ice-bridges near the center of the Tribe, her feet dangling idly over the side of the railing. She knew only how high she was by the wind whistling past her, and by the mutterings of people as they past ; "Isn't that the blind girl?", "Does she know how far up we are?", "What if she falls?"
Toph hated them. At least, that's what she told herself. But in the depth of her heart, she knew she couldn't hate them - they were ignorant, and knew her only as the blind sister of Princess Katara. They respected her, of course, though she was not Hakoda's daughter - but they did not know of her strength, of her unequaled bending ability, of her power. Toph had struggled her whole life to maintain this strength, victimized beneath the sneers of Vulha and Inau and Ravi, beneath Fong's cruel hand. Weakness was not acceptable in her nature, and it tore her apart to be considered such in this ice-land of the North. It seemed to justify everything the Lord Fong had spoken of her - a blind babe, a helpless whore-daughter, a blemish. A mistake.
Aang found her there, stumbling away from the spirit oasis and his confrontation with Yue. Guru Pathik had allowed him to leave after some deliberation, the Guru himself pondering the meaning of Yue's words. He remained seated before the pool in the oasis still, talking gently in his mind's eye to the chattering Enma, Lord of the Dead. The spirit-monkey had much to say about Yue, and the trouble the Avatar had found himself in.
Aang himself was still shaken, still unsure of what he had seen, what he'd felt. The kindness and terror of the Moon Goddess, and the impact of his own destiny, had hit him in a way nothing else had - not the death of his mother, not the sacrifice of Gyatso. He dreaded returning to face Guru Pathik, Master Pakku. He dreaded having to tell Katara and Sokka, having to explain the severity of his mistake.
But most of all he dreaded Toph. He dreaded what she would think, what she would say, when he told her. He dreaded leaving her.
Because Aang was decided, already. Aang knew he was leaving.
"Toph?" he was hesitant. Even now, he could tell she was in a bad mood, and it was making him sweat beneath the pressing cold.
"Hey Aang," Toph muttered, feeling completely useless in the presence of the Avatar. She sniffed and rubbed her nose, red and running. "...Don't mind me, Aang. I'm just... here."
Aang watched her, still caught in the cobweb of his own despair. Slowly, he climbed onto the railing beside her, seating himself close to her fur-covered side. He decided he liked her better dressed in green than in blue; the earth-colors suited her.
"No one seems a good mood 'round 'ere," Aang muttered. He felt cold, strangled - as though the spirit-wood was still trying to capture him. Toph sniffed and didn't turn her head toward him.
"I hate it here," she claimed, quietly, and tears sprang unwilling to her eyes.
Aang hesitated, scratched the back of his head, and looked at her. Bundled in the huge, awkward blue furs, her black bangs flown all over her tear-lined eyes, she looked so despondent that it forced even Aang out of his slump. The cloud over his own head seemed to lessen, when he tried to comfort Toph.
"Ah, y'know... ain't so bad. The food be rank an' all... an' is colder than an iced hell... but 'sides tha'..."
A smile flittered across Toph's face, but it was fleeting. For a long moment after that the airbender and earthbender sat in a depressed silence. Aang could not at once think of another conversation starter, and Toph was trying hard not to lose it beside the Avatar. The earthbender, as useless as she felt, was even more aware of the fact when she was beside him. Aang must have sensed it, must have sensed something, and felt compelled to speak.
"I'm sorry 'bout this all, Toph," even though Aang wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for. "Can't 'magine you got much to do 'round 'ere. None of us see ch'other no mo'. An' you got dragg'd 'way from the only place y'knew. I know wha' it feels like, see, to get dragg'd from home. If I 'adn't been so wrong, back in Masabi... "
"It's not about that," Toph cut him off quickly, so that the memory of Masabi could not return to them. She was aware of his aversion to that incident and didn't want the air of the night to grow even gloomier. Aang drummed his hands on the railing, fingers inches from Toph's, and turned slightly towards her.
"Well... wha's wrong?" he asked, honestly. Toph shivered, clutched her fur coat closer to her chilled body.
"...I'm... I'm just feeling sorry for myself, you know," she muttered, but there was a tremor in her voice. Aang thought for a moment, and then edged closer to her just a bit, so his hand hardly touched hers on the cold railing.
"Toph... s'ok to talk 'bout," it had to be said that Aang, at this moment, had selfish thoughts going in his head as well as his concern for her. Scared as he was to admitting he was leaving, he thought perhaps if he eased her own turmoil first, she'd better respond at his own announcement. He had decided she would be the only one he told; Katara was well-adjusted in her training, and Sokka was comfortable with the company of Suki and the approval and guidance of Arnook. They would be able to handle his departure, whereas he knew Toph was left alone. And she, he knew deep inside, was the one he needed to say goodbye to most of all. The one he needed to explain to most of all.
"It's not..." she said, but stopped. Aang waited, quiet as the grave. When she did not respond after a long, conflicted moment, he finally put his hand on top of hers. She jumped a little at his touch, but didn't pull away.
"Toph..." he barely whispered it, but her ears heard it like a shout.
She trembled, and closed her fingers around Aang's.
"I've lived my whole life blind, Aang. But I've never felt blind."
She brought her knees up to her chest, then, and buried her face in them so he couldn't see her tears. Her body shook; Aang's heart failed him as she did so, and in a moment his arms were around her, a tight and sorrowful embrace.
She cried for some time, muttering incoherent things to the airbender Aang held her tight, stroked her dark hair. It was getting late, and the full moon was staring down at them in earnest; Aang tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the face of Yue from the high heavens. The wind died down in modest respect to the couple on the bridge, Toph struggling to control herself in the arms of the torn airbender, still unsure of his own self.
"Thanks, Aang," she said uncertainly, his arm still around her. "I'm sorry... I'm fine, really."
Aang kept his arm around her, his fingers playing idly with her black hair. She settled into his shoulder after a minute, not really knowing what else to do, and enjoying the warmth of his body beside her. Aang held onto her, enjoying the moment as much as she; he was secretly taking in the fruity, fragrant smell of her hair, the feeling of her small form. He glanced down at her face, half-covered in the niqab, and began to wonder how her creamy skin would feel. The color of her lips.
It made it more difficult to make the moment last, and he struggled not to let his mind wander. The Avatar hated what he had to tell her now. He hated his decision. He hated it because he knew it would draw them away from this good, close position they were in. He knew it would ruin it.
"Toph," Aang finally said akwardly, in a low voice. "I been... I been thinkin'. This place don' seem ta' be helpin' me none... can't do what needs ta' be done 'ere. Y'know wha' I mean?"
"Everyone keeps telling me it will get better," Toph huffed sarcastically. "Everyone keeps saying to give it time. I don't really believe them, though."
"Yeah... yeah, 'xactly. S'not the righ' place, see? I mean... so... I need ta'... I need ta' be gettin' somewhere else. Somewhere I can get it figured, y'know?"
Toph hesitated, and pulled a little out of Aang's embrace. His mouth went dry.
"...What?"
"Is jus'..." Aang swallowed, felt fear flow through him as her misted eyes looked in the direction of his voice. Even though she was blind, even though he knew there was no way she could see him, her gaze pierced him as sharp as the icicles hanging from the bridge. "Please, Toph, see, is jus' - can't explain it, really. Jus' - I jus' gotta get from 'ere. There be - there be things I need ta' be doin', an I can't do 'em 'ere. Is things I - hell fo', is so damn 'ard to talk with you lookin' at me such, Toph -"
"Aang..?" Toph was completely bewildered by Aang's halting, nervous words. "Aang - what - Aang you can't leave! Why are you talking about leaving?"
"Is... Is 'ard, Toph. is 'ard, tellin' you. A feel closest to you, see. But... but I gotta go. Gotta figure things..."
"Figure things?" Toph exclaimed, and slid down from the railing onto the ice bridge, still staring furiously in the direction of the airbender. "Figure what things? You can't just - just run away! You don't run away from your responsibilities! You don't run away from the people who care!"
"Toph, please," Aang got down from the railing too, feeling like his heart had dropped down to his toes. "I ain't... I ain't runnin' 'way. I got ta' go. Is... is Avatar stuff needs fixin', see? An' I gotta do it somewhere else. Somewhere... somewhere far. Is the only place I know of can 'elp me some."
"You -" Toph hesitated, but then pressed on relentlessly. "No, Aang! We just got here! We came here so that you could be with Guru Pathik, so that you could figure out this Avatar stuff! You're - you are running away, and you're a selfish bastard for doing it! Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm tryin' to do the righ' thing, Toph!" Aang's voice was raising, raising to a yell. "Ya' think I like it? Ya' think I wan' it? Is 'ard like hell, Toph -"
"Don't you dare fuckin' make excuses to me! Don't you fuckin' pretend like you're doing the right thing!"
"Don' go cussin' a storm! I don' wan' it like this, Toph! Don' make it 'arder than it is!"
"You're the one making it hard!"
"I'm tryin' to be righ'! I'm tryin' to do ma' duty! Your the one as can't deal with it!"
"Bastard -"
Toph shook her head angrily and stepped towards where she thought Aang was, her hand flying out to push him hard in the shoulder. She missed by a mile, and threw all of her weight into empty air. Before Aang could blink, her balance was off and she had slipped upon the ice, slipped and fell forward towards the railing, her mouth open in a silent scream of surprise.
Aang lunged, placing himself between her and the railing, saving her from smacking her head and getting a concussion. She fumbled into him and they both slid down to the bridge, surprised and askew, Toph fallen on top of him. Aang landed hard on his ass, which sent a sharp jolt of pain up from his rear and made him utter a very unflattering gasping sound. Toph was still fully on him, fully unable to be on her own feet, and she floundered to try and get herself up.
"Aang - Aang, I'm sorry -" she struggled to get off of him, but did not entirely make it, still slipping on the ice. Aang propped himself up and grabbed hold of her waist so that she steadied somewhat, her hands placed awkwardly on his shoulders. Their furs had slid every which-way around their arms and faces, and as she adjusted her hood and coat, he became increasingly aware of his fingers wrapped around her hips. He remembered how she looked in the Wedding Feast dress at Masabi, the miles of curves he'd drank in, imagined, dreamed of. Now his hands were at her hips. Now her was feeling her curves beneath the thickness of the blue furs.
"Is... fine, Toph, I'm full fine," the airbender assured her. His fingers traced nervously along her waistline.
Toph must have felt his fingers there, must have known he was fixated on her delicate curves. The realization of it sent a rush through her; a rush of delight, of fear. Her heart beat in a way that was new to her, a way that was wonderful and terrible. Part of her wanted desperately to push away from him - but part of her wanted him to continue, to glide his hands along her body, to admire the every inch that made her. It was an idea so tantalizing she remained half in his lap for a longer moment than she should have, staring up blindly where she guessed his face to be.
"Take me with you," she whispered finally, miserably. "Take me away. I hate it here. I hate it."
Aang stared at her. The longing in her startling, glazed blue eyes was the most convincing thing he'd ever seen, and her warm body beneath his hands was not helping the matter. He tried to restrain himself, control himself as the Avatar was want to - he had often heard of the importance of restraint, of responsibility, from Gyatso. But Aang had been a shitty Avatar so far, and there wasn't much sense in changing that now.
"Wha' 'bout Katara? Wha' 'bout Sokka?" he breathed. He couldn't even come up with a protest.
A brief, regretful gleam came into Toph's eyes. Aang was so captivated with the misted blue of her gaze he almost didn't feel her fingers reaching up to his chin, trailing to the edge of his mouth.
"Aang..."
He realized her fiingers at his lips. He realized the intent in her eyes, though she could not see him.
Aang reached up and immediately undid the niqab; there was a half moment as he leaned forward, as she went to wrap her arms around his neck.
Her lips tasted like cinnamon. Aang kissed her, deeply, took her in his arms. Toph placed herself in his lap, did not pull away.
And Aang knew he couldn't leave her.
|--------------|
|--------------|
|--------------|
|--------------|
Myobu was seated at the very top of the mountainous rock structure that loomed in the Thieve's camp. No tents had been pitched here, lest these Thieves be at the mercy of an unrelenting Desert sun. That, and the top of the rock had an odd, carven shape in the midst of it that the Thieves claimed to be sacred: an oddly decorated hexagon, embedded about three feet into the rock.
The Fox stood in the middle of this hexagon, shaking, snarling, waiting. He knew the Sahib was coming and found no interest in the fact; except, perhaps, that he would like to tear out the Thief's throat. He had swiftly and instantly forgotten about Zuko and the plan to enlist the Thieves of Gihad; there was no more importance to him regarding the firebender's destiny and Acchai. Something else, something far greater to the being of the Fox, had reared its ugly head.
Sahib arrived directly after the sun had set. Myobu had been growling long before he came, standing over the hexagon protectively. As the Thief mounted to the top of the stone, the Fox lunged for his tanned throat, ignoring whatever damage it would do upon him.
A biting, shrill ring went through the spirit's ears.
Myobu stopped short, claws cutting grooves into the hexagon. He snarled, fangs bared, saliva hanging in wet ropes from his jaw.
Sahib Timur's sword was half-drawn, his body tensed, his eyes hard. His cold, white blade gleamed in the gathering darkness.
"Myobu, Voice of Inari."
The Fox growled, leapt again towards the Sahib, clipped his fangs together in an iron snap.
Sahib drew the long, straight blade from its sheath with a deafening ring. He sliced the air before him and held it straight out to his side.
Mybou writhed, snarled, but did not dare to strike again. The Sahib remained perfectly still, studying the movements of the spirit-Fox. There was something wrong with Myobu, something wrong altogether; he was crazed, deluded, uncertain, and dangerous because of it. Within the Desert, at the doorstep of the Thieves of Gihad, a deep, old scent had stirred his nostrils; the scent of a world before Time, a world still new in the expanse of the Void. In his enslavement to Wan Shi Tong, when he had come the Thieves for worship, the scent had not made itself known to him. He was not of his own will, and the Great Owl had kept such things hidden from the Runners; but now the scent was his own, and it was one so startling and terrifying and wonderful it had thoroughly confused the younger spirit, and in his confusion he bared his teeth and snarled.
It was a scent masked by knowledge and regret. It was scent that possesed power over the red earth, over the spirit flowing through the Fox. I was a scent of the ages, a scent of worlds beyond even the spirits.
Sahib knew he would get no answer from the crazed Fox. But as the Hundred Eyes retreated to the edge of the rock, towards the winding path that led down to the red Desert, Myobu bared his teeth.
It was not Myobu's voice that sprang from the depths of the Fox; it was an older voice, a fiercer voice, a voice soaked with the echoes of the Void. It shook the air, shook the fur on Myobu's coat, shook the soul of the Sahib.
AWAKEN GUI XIAN. AWAKEN THE BLACK WARRIOR.
|----------------|
|----------------|
|----------------|
|----------------|
|----------------|
Cagn is the god of creation in the Kalahari Bushmen legends; Uhlanga is, in the Zulu legends, a swamp from which all humanity was born. The song is a Romani song called Welling Kattaney (The Gypsy Meeting).
By the way, sorry about the lack of Zutara lately. But the whole next chapter is dedicated to it :D