Chapter 12

Zuko's consciousness hovered in a hellish plane somewhere between nightmare, delirium, and unconsciousness. Red swirls of agony coursed through him and around him, noises from all sides pierced his ears, and even total darkness was not dark enough.

Images of the past blended seamlessly with nightmarish visions of the present. Toph was lost somewhere—calling to him helplessly in the dark—but he was held by lengths of vine that sent long poisonous thorns into his flesh and pulled at him until his joints popped.

Then his surroundings would slip off into other realities—realities where he was being lashed by a cruel cat o' nine tails on Admiral Zhao's ship or falling into the steaming waters of the Boiling Rock as the gondola fell, Azula's laughter echoing as his skin began to burn and peel away.

He saw his mother turn away from him in disappointment as his father scorched the flesh from his body. Then he was slipping into the heart of the volcano on Tuzai Island, the lava devouring him. Then everything grew dark, and he could hear Toph begging him to help her, begging him not to leave her, but he couldn't find her in the darkness.

When he finally managed to open his eyes to his true surroundings, part of him was aware that Toph was with him and was safe, but the pain was ever constant, almost alive in its intensity.

The conscious part of him wondered how much longer he could endure before breaking completely; then wondered if perhaps he'd already broken. His throat was raw—had he been screaming? His face was wet—were they tears?

Then as horrible as it was already, the pain began to get worse. No longer aware of his surroundings, he tried to just breathe with the torment, to take it into himself and own it, robbing it of its power. But every breath sent shards of glass into his chest, even the air against his skin was acid burning away his flesh.

He knew he was probably crying out like a child, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He wondered how long it would take him to die.

Then the pain began to distance itself from him, slowly at first, then more rapidly, as if it were falling away like a cloak. He began to float, almost bodiless, leaving the physical world behind.

As if waking from a terrible dream, Zuko found himself lying in the middle of a garden of green. The red haze began to fade away and he became aware that the spirit Lian Shen sat beside him, her beauty and gentleness radiating around him.

The grass was cool and soft against his skin, and her fingertips grazed his temples and forehead with a healing touch as she spoke to him in a low, soothing voice. He couldn't make out her words, but somehow he began to feel better. The wracking pain began to ease, and he slipped into a deep, real sleep.

At his side, Toph heard his breath go from ragged and strained to even and smooth and she knew the worst of it was over.

"Lian Shen," Zuko whispered and his hand moved as if he were reaching for someone.

A stab of jealousy ran through Toph, but it was quickly replaced with gratitude. Lian Shen might be an annoying diva, but if she were able to help Zuko get better, Toph could afford to be generous with her—to a point.

Meanwhile in the guest hut, Aang's dreams were filled with visions of the past. Past kings and queens of Omashu filed by him, each asking him the same question: "Who will hear the voice of the earth? For its voice is patience and respect for living things. Tell us, avatar, who will hear the earth speak?"

Bumi himself came to him as he appeared many years ago, a young man embarking on a journey of self-discovery, a journey which led him into the swamp.

"Aang!" the young Bumi called to him. "You're back! I thought you were dead!" They met there in a tangle of vines and trees, clasping forearms, then exchanging a warm embrace.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Bumi?" Aang asked. The wild-haired boy of his childhood and the crazy old king he knew most recently were combined somehow in this adult version of Bumi, one he never knew.

"What have you been up to, Aang?" Bumi asked curiously. "I miss our days of running wild through the city."

"It's a pretty long story," Aang replied. "What about you? What brings you to the swamp?"

Bumi looked off into the distance as if trying to come up with the words to explain. "I met this woman, Aang. I think it was in the spirit world. She said I would be king of Omashu, can you believe that?" Bumi turned back to look at him directly. "I'm a nobody. How can I be king?"

"I think you'll make a very good king, old buddy," Aang replied. Then the dream began to fade away, and on his cot in the hut, Aang turned over once and began to dream about Momo.

At his side, Katara tossed restlessly, calling out to her mother. Then just as suddenly, she was quiet again.

Jet lay awake, listening to the sounds of the others in the hut as they tried to sleep. He understood what they were going through. He tried to go back to sleep himself, but at his side Mai suddenly sat up, her eyes wide.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

She was breathing hard, her eyes darting about the room restlessly as if she were looking for someone.

"Where's Tom-Tom?" she asked. "Who has the baby?"

"It's okay, Mai," Jet answered calmly, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder. "It was just a dream."

To his surprise, she burst into tears and pressed her face into her hands. For a second he was at a loss as to what to do, then his better nature took over and he reached out to put his arms around her.

But her tears didn't last long at all, and she looked up at him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm okay," she said. "Thank you." Then she eased herself away from him and lay back down, turning to face the other way. Soon, her breathing let him know that she was asleep again.

But he was irrevocably awake. So he quietly gathered his boots and swordbelt and headed out the door and into the night. At that moment, whatever creatures that lurked in the darkness were far preferable to the creatures that lurked in his dreams. He had to get out of this swamp.

He sat on the step to pull on his boots and looked up in time to see Toph open the door of the healer's hut. He walked quietly across the grass toward her.

"How's he doing?" Jet asked quietly.

To his surprise, Toph jumped as if stung, throwing one hand to her chest, completely startled. "It's me, Jet," he explained. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

Toph reached out to take his arm, partially for comfort, partially to get a better look at him. "It's okay," she said breathlessly. "I just can't see anything in this stupid wet mess. Where's the water? I need to refill the jug," she said, holding up a large gourd container.

He took the gourd jug from her hand and walked over to refill it from the clear stream that ran past the village. "So is Zuko any better?" he asked.

"He seems to be," Toph answered, genuine relief in her voice. "He's resting now—really resting."

Jet carried the water jug back to the hut for her. "Then why don't you get a little rest too?" he suggested. "I'll stay with him for you. I can't sleep anyway."

A warm, damp wind blew lightly through the trees. Above them, small creatures called to each other in the darkness. Toph shivered a little and reached out to feel for the door. Jet stepped up and opened it for her, and she took the water jug from his arms and went inside.

"Thank you, but I'm going to stay here," she said softly. "Good night."

Jet could make out Zuko's sleeping form on the cot inside and watched as Toph quietly placed the jug on a table, then carefully adjusted the light coverlet across him, her face reflecting her concern and her love.

She came back and placed her hand on the door. "Good night, Jet," she whispered. He could see the dark circles under her eyes. She looked completely drawn and exhausted. He remembered that it hadn't been that long since she'd been so sick herself and could tell by looking at her that if she didn't rest soon, she'd be putting herself at risk.

"Let me know if you need anything," he offered gently. "Try to rest now that he's resting." She nodded with a little smile, then eased the door closed.

Jet stood there alone in the darkness for a second, then wandered back over to the firepit, the embers barely glowing. He squatted down beside it, tossing on another log, more for light and company than heat. Dawn was still hours away.

He leaned back against a large log and watched the flames burn, his sword pulled across his lap in readiness. The air was cool, and the night sounds were less menacing than usual. Soon, despite his best intentions, his eyes drifted shut and he began to dream.

His dream was very much like the other dreams he'd had of her, except this time he held Mai in his arms. The exotic scent of her perfume drifted from her dark silky hair where it brushed against his neck. He could feel her breasts rise and fall against him with her breath.

His hand was at the small of her back. She fit so well against him, her body curving into his. Then she looked up at him, her eyes shining, her lips red and soft. He could feel his muscles tense in anticipation as he bent his lips to hers. The taste of her was like expensive wine, heady and intense.

The kiss consumed him.

At last he pulled away from the intoxication to look in her eyes, aware that he was at her mercy. Then she began to laugh at him, a mocking laugh, a laugh that said she knew what he was—nothing. A refugee, a mercenary, a bandit, a killer.

Jet woke with a start, her laughter ringing in his ears.

All around him was darkness and quiet, with only the crackle of the flames and the sound of the wind sighing through the vines in the trees.

He didn't sleep any more that night.

Back in the healer's hut, Toph tried to rest. Part of her had collapsed in relief that her Zuko was no longer in such awful misery, but another part held back from thinking he was completely out of the woods—literally.

She knew Lian Shen had done something to help him—she knew that she now owed the swamp spirit for her husband's healing. But she wasn't sure what the spirit would want in return.

A king for Omashu was already a given. But what now? Would Lian Shen claim a piece of her husband's heart for her own? How could anyone deny a spirit what she wanted? What kind of charm could she lay on him that he would be powerless to resist?

Toph had seen enough of Lian Shen, she reasoned, to believe there was nothing that oversexed green witch wouldn't do. She'd also seen the look in her eyes as she'd talked with Zuko, the way she'd casually found an excuse to touch him.

Toph looked over at her husband, taking him in with all her senses. In a mushy wet world almost completely free of bendables, he was her constant. She could see him there, his hair falling across his forehead where he'd rolled onto his side, truly sleeping at last.

She could see the long line on his thigh where Katara's healing waters had closed up the terrible incision they'd made to save him. She could see the rise and fall of his chest as he slept, peacefully.

She could see the tracks on his cheeks made by the tears that had poured from his eyes during the worst of it, the salt crystallizing on his skin in patterns both beautiful and heartbreaking to behold. She lay down on the cot beside him, her hand once again only grazing the ends of his hair for fear her touch would disturb him.

Lian Shen was welcome to help her husband, Toph thought to herself, and she was grateful. But there was a line the spirit would cross only at her peril. As she slipped into the only dreamless sleep of the night, Toph entertained herself by imagining ways to earthbend a spirit into a variety of small containers.

Mai, in the meantime, had drifted away from her nightmare about Tom Tom into a more restful sleep. She was back home in Omashu. She stood on the balcony of her apartment in the bright sunshine and looked down into the stone courtyard below.

A tall, darkhaired man dressed in a green sleeveless tunic and breeches worked out with sword and dagger against an opponent in red wielding twin curved broadswords. They circled and fought, metal clanging against metal, evenly matched.

The two men laughed as they fought, challenging and taunting each other. Mai found herself leaning forward in excitement, drawn into the intensity of the swordplay. Her heartrate picked up a little with each parry and thrust, each narrow escape, each clever attempt to score a touch on the other.

The man in red she soon recognized as Zuko, but the man in green's identity was hidden from her. She began to watch him more closely, studying his style, his bearing. It seemed so haphazard, a sloppy mix of techniques and styles. But the longer she watched, the more she realized that though his style of swordplay was unorthodox, it was devastatingly effective.

Just as Zuko seemed about to take an opening, the opening would close, but never in a way she recognized as conventional. The man's attacks likewise came from a wide variety of stances and styles. Zuko couldn't pin him down and sometimes only barely avoided the tip of that strange dark sword.

She watched as the muscles in the man's arms and shoulders tensed and relaxed with every stroke and parry, as he lightly traveled the dusty courtyard, his steps quick and sure. She found herself delighting in every movement, longing for the moment when the exercise was complete and she could run to him as she had done so many times before, could feel those strong arms around her once again.

Suddenly a small child darted across the courtyard toward them, just as Zuko lunged into a thrust. The man in green sidestepped, but the child tangled in his legs, slowing him just long enough for the tip of the curved blade to snag his side. Blood began to pour from the jagged wound that suddenly opened.

In her dream, she was terrified and ran down the balcony steps to the grounds, her heart pounding, sobs tearing themselves from her lungs. She ran to the side of the man in green where he somehow remained on his feet, his hand pressed against the savage wound. Blood flowed red against the gray of the courtyard.

She reached him and looked into his face, tears of terror streaming from her eyes. It was Jet. She threw her arms around him as his knees began to buckle. He sank to the ground, his breath catching in his chest.

She knelt beside him as he looked up at her, an important message in his dark emerald green eyes. "Mai," he whispered, reaching up to her face. Tears poured freely from her eyes as she looked down at him. Then despite her repeated pleas for him to stay with her, Mai watched as his eyes grew dark and he died.

Back in the guest hut, her eyes flew open as a cry wrenched free from her chest. Then as quickly as it had come, the dream went, leaving only a hazy mark in her memory and she slept again.