Letters from the Falling Sky

Author's Note: There will be ONE more chapter after this.

Thank you all for your continued support. I read all of your reviews; I just wish I could reply to them individually :(

Another short chapter, but the next one is at least four pages already. I can't believe this is coming to a close! I'm nervous just thinking about it...

scorpiaux

.24.

"You have a baby." It was the first thing he thought to say when he noticed Toph's wrapped bundle, slung almost casually around her shoulder, in front of her chest. They had kept communications up via messenger hawk—Katara and Aang always wrote more (perhaps, rather, Aang did), always told anything and everything, kept their life an open book for Katara's brother and his then-fiancée. Neither Sokka nor Toph had disclosed the birth of their first. They hadn't told them of the wedding, either, and Aang felt sick looking at the engraved stone around Toph's neck. What had he expected? They hadn't lost touch completely...but something greater was lost in that hotel room nearly a year ago.

Maybe, simply, it was that they had stopped trying.

"Lao, after my father," said Toph, handing Aang the baby. "He's a real loud mouth...he fell asleep on the way over here. If you're careful he won't wake up for hours." Toph laughed. "That's a warning, by the way."

They embraced, talked. Sokka asked after pleasantries where Katara and Lynnie were, and Aang disclosed in an embarrassed manner that he wasn't entirely sure, but most likely they were in the temple kitchen having tea and breakfast. He hadn't felt like eating for a few weeks now.

"You're getting thin," said Toph, pointing to Aang's sleek gut. "You need to eat."

Aang forced a smile. He lied, without the intention of ever eating, "So I've heard. If you come down to the kitchen, we'll all have some breakfast together."

"How is everything?" Sokka had taken Lao from Aang and stood with an acute firmness; Aang was impressed. He had always known Sokka would make a promising father. The way he watched over Katara was enough to establish that. But now, "How is everything?" was almost a plea, a merciless demand. "How is everything?" wanted the response "Everything has been just fantastic" to assure Sokka that he had done nothing wrong by allowing Aang to bring his sister up here. "How is everything?" had the same tone as "Toph, is my sister lying?" nearly six years ago. Truly, though Sokka was thin and only muscular if you looked closely, he had an intimidating air about him now. Aang guessed—possibly correctly—that the same intimidation held its roots in Katara, as well.

She had reduced him to tears before, in their arguments, when he still cared enough for it to hurt.

But he was not afraid anymore, and Aang watched Sokka's eyes with a twisted satisfaction when he said, "If you have to know, everything's horrible."

He hesitated before Sokka got the chance to inquire further. "I don't know what's going to happen. Katara doesn't want to live up here anymore, but every time I suggest moving she clings to this place obsessively. I don't know what to do. I thought it would be best for Lynnie to have some seclusion, some privacy...a little space and time to grow up, you know..." He was talking more to himself; he looked at Lao's closed eyelids. "But the truth is...none of us know what we want. We aren't moving; we aren't a family. We are stagnant and rotting, and for once it's actually getting to me. The optimist." He added, at a distance, "It got to Katara a long time ago."

"I understand," said Sokka. He handed his son to Toph and rummaged in his bag for a tall Earth Kingdom scroll. "But there's this. This is why we're visiting. It came in the mail a few days back, and when I read it, I knew I had to bring it for you and Katara to read too."

His sister, the vision of youth, the ultimate of the femme mystique, the muse, the pinnacle of gorgeousness...how she had degenerated in his time away from her. Her entire body, perhaps from lack of sun or lacking diet, had paled, her eyes had yellowed in some spots and reddened in others. Yes, there was still an undertone of her beauty: her hair was full and at its longest, her shape was curved, supple. Any man who hadn't seen her before would gladly have her over for a night, he thought. His sister, late twenties, was still sexy enough to be painted in naughty positioning. It was not that she had become something different. It was just that she had lost something vital—did he dare to call it hope? Or youth? Or innocence?—something that made Katara his Katara, and Aang's Katara. This Katara was distant, cold. Perhaps, were he to be cruel, she was morbidly beautiful. She had become a flavor of machine, a stiff afterthought, a toy. Sokka wanted, very badly, to blame it on the excess makeup and less-than-appropriate nightgown.

"I missed you," she said into his neck. Her voice was hoarse, grainy. She cleared her throat.

"I missed you too." He held Lynnie; Katara and Toph hugged and talked briefly. Lynnie's cut had healed well, to the point where the scar practically blended with her skin. Sokka was pleased and excited, and after Katara and Toph fell silent, he removed the scroll again. Aang watched from across the room, arms crossed, frame wavering.

"This came for me and Toph a few days ago," he announced. "As soon as I read it, I knew I had to come back and tell you guys. But I don't want to read it to you." He handed the scroll to his sister, holding on to her shoulder with his free hand. She looked up at him. "I want you to be the first to read it," he said quietly.

Katara blinked and smiled lopsidedly. "Okay," she said, turning her attention to Aang. "I'll read it."

To my granddaughter,

By the time this letter reaches you, my ashes will have already swirled around the world at least once, already dipped into the ocean, peppered a bird's lung, dripped through a cloud. I know now that the Resistance has poisoned me. I am guessing that it was one of the healers. My darling, my hours on this earth are numbered. You are being difficult. I want very badly to speak to you, but this is the best way to portray my grief for you, the only way I can reach you knowing that you will pay attention. Only after my death.

Katara, since your youth I knew you were destined for something great, but it was after the birth of Kya Lynn that I realized your greatness was not meant for me or our tribe. Your place, your true place, is with the Avatar, with the world. You have responsibilities that are beyond us all, and for the past four years I have watched you writhe in self-produced morbidity and self-pity. You are more than what you reduced yourself to these past four years; you are more than what you think you are. I know you stopped trying since the birth of your daughter. I know you gave up ages ago.

My darling, I was never upset that you came home with that child. I realize that many gossips enjoyed our story, and gave you a hard time. Consequently you were embarrassed of Kya Lynn, and obsessively prideful of the fact she was yours. And also very bitter. What Fate has done to you is wrong, it is a twisted mistake, it is a perversity of vicious shadows, a hideous cycle. You lost your mother young, lost your father and your sister-in-law. In a matter of hours or days, you will lose me, and then Pakku, and goodness knows who else. The Resistance will also try to take Kya Lynn once they find out about her from a more reliable source. They will stop at nothing to break you. I know it seems frightening, even impossible. They will keep at their attempts until you overcome your own inner demons: in your case, it is shame. In Sokka's case, it is fear. In Aang's case, it is helplessness. In Toph's case, it is duty, and truth.

But Katara, you will be amazed at how much the human form can accomplish once it is finally at peace with itself. You will be amazed at how your hands can fit the sky between fingers and palms, how you can direct the sun and planets, how you can stop or start your own Fate, how you can mend the seams in seamless Destiny. The world is a magnificent tragedy, my darling, and I have lived long enough to tell you only the truth: what you become is only up to you. And while the sky falls in pieces, the world ends only once. Meaning, as long as there is still some thread of sky, some shattered remnant of hope and goodness, the world is not over. We pick up the pieces and put them back. Life, battered, breathing, beautiful, continues.

I have tried for all of your life to help you find your way, and as I am writing this, I find it is so difficult to say good-bye to you. My entire life has revolved around you and your brother and—more recently—Kya Lynn. I only ask two things. Firstly, take care of that girl. Do not leave her alone. Brush her hair, call her Kya, interact with her in the ways I won't be able to. Know that I am watching and that I will be disappointed if you ignore her as you have been.

Secondly, I am attaching the last of the Spirit Water given to us by our sister tribe. The water in the marsh is polluted and cheapened; it won't heal a shallow cut. But this, this is the last of the true Spirit Water, and it is ancient, fabled to cure any ailment. I want you to use it when your hope is at stake. I want to know I was somehow able to help you, my dearest one. I have held on to this since I was Kya Lynn's age. Many times I have thought to use it—I can use it now to rid myself of the poison, but I refuse, my time is past expired—I have saved it. I know it will be better suited for you; you are smart, you can put it to use. Something tells me, in my heart, that you will need it.

My hands are tired and brittle. Death is close and cold, and I've missed you, my darling. When I watch from the Spirit World, I hope to find you always smiling, and if the Spirits decide to place me in a new body, it is my biggest wish that I hear your voice again, surrounded by those who love you, old and in good health, and laughing.

With all the love I am capable of giving,

Gran Gran