I'll answer a few questions here, and address the rest at the end. Azula's physical weakness was solely caused by the bad case of pneumonia she was suffering. When she recovers, physically, she'll be the Azula you remember. The Malu Aang knows and the Malu from the mountain are the same girl... more or less. Ursa is still gone, but Iroh's wife was with Zuko and Azula when their exile began. She died very recently, thus Iroh's mourning. Ozai is... dealing with the lack-of-an-heir situation. And most importantly: Azula is not a shaman. She believes in spirits as much as Sokka believes in vegetarianism. One of the things I just said is a lie.
The glider scudded to a stop just outside the walls, with the sun pounding down from on high. Neither the passenger nor the pilot had said anything in about half a day. Considering everything needing saying had been said, that was something of a windfall. Nila, at least, didn't feel like dragging this out any longer than she needed to. And considering that a sand glider wouldn't be of much use if her idiot of a brother made it into Dakong, that meant that Misty Palm was as far as this took her. She glared at the smuggler who finally let his arms drop. He was, no doubt, every bit as tired as she was, and probably more, because she could rest, if vigilantly, while he had to spent the last twelve hours bending.
Yeah, it was not the most comfortable trip, but better, and faster, than walking.
"Well, I guess this is where I get off," Nila said.
"If I never see you again, boy, it'll be too soon," the smuggler said with a harsh tone.
"Girl, you idiot!" Nila shouted. "I'm a girl!"
"I don't care if you're the Avatar herself. Just go away and leave me to come up with a better story of why I'm two days late than that I got hijacked by a little freak," he said, crossing his arms before his chest. Nila put on an uneven grin and hopped off the craft. To the man's credit, that he could move off again spoke to his stamina: Sandbenders were close to earthbenders, so the focus on ungodly resilience and fortitude seemed to be something they shared in common. Nila had put quite a bit of thought into those sorts of things. It beat having to deal with the eventualities of living on the Sentinel Rock.
Misty Palms looked... well, about nothing how she read it would. In all of the tomes and scrolls that Mother had been able to provide on the subject of foreign lands, they always painted a certain kind of picture. And about Misty Palms, the story was about a wayward spirit from the North Pole, which got lost and ended up stranded here. Utter poppycock, but it still played host to Air Nomad pilgrimages between the Temples for generations, so it was a well trodden place. And the tomes also told of how the place shined like gold in the sun, how its great gates could cast a shadow a mile long.
Reality was making a damned poor showing, then.
Misty Palms Oasis looked like just about any other water-town that Nila had the misfortune of getting dragged to, save it was even more dilapidated, if that could be believed. Its 'great gates' were wedged open by sand-dunes which intruded into the town proper, and everything was the color of dried mud. It was almost as though all of reality decided to reconstitute itself in various unappealing shades of brown. So Nila let out a low growl, quietly cursing both her mother for putting her here, and the universe on general principle, before moving into the crumbling town.
Of course, with her unexpected ride, she might well have come here ahead of him, if he was indeed heading south. "I guess I'll have to ask somebody then," she said to herself as she passed the low, misshapen lump of ice which this two-bit town took as its prime attraction. "I mean, he can't stop being a freak for five minutes. If he's been here, they'd have noticed him."
Despite being almost tired enough to fall asleep standing, she tried asking at any of a few places which that idiot would have gravitated toward; namely, anything that looked 'interesting' to somebody with an attention span of not more than three minutes. Her attempts were fruitless, aggravating, and time-consuming. So it was with something between an irritated growl and a scream at the heavens that she finally ducked out of the afternoon sun and into a drinking house. It was dim and murmured quietly in more than a dozen voices, of people who knew better than to be out in the oven of noon-time. No few sets of brown eyes – and no few green like her own, strange to notice – turned to mark her entrance, before returning to whatever it was they were doing or speaking of before.
Shaking the sand from her robes with a grumble which might have been obscene if it were in a coherent language, she moved to the bar, only too late trying to put on an innocent expression. The bartender eyed her askance when she tried batting her eyelashes. "Would you be willing to spare some water for an impoverished, parched girl?" she asked.
"Sure. Where is she?" the bartender asked. Her innocent expression turned sour, just as he let out a chuckle. "Just messing with you, child. Water is free, so long as it keeps flowing."
"That's an odd charity you're showing," she said, handing over her jug, which even from only a day under the sun, was more than half empty.
"There's no point in charging for what trickles up for free in the oasis," the bartender pointed out, before hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "If you want it to taste like something, that's when it'll cost ya."
"Not very shrewd," she said. He dunked her jug in a barrel which was as wide as he was tall, before handing it back. She sent a glance around the room. "Tell me, do you keep track of strangers?"
"It's been my habit. Strangers sometimes bring trouble with them," the bartender noted.
"Well, I've got a particular kind of trouble," Nila said. "Green eyes, about my height, a scar over one eye. Thick as a lead brick. You see anybody like that?"
She could have sworn he flinched at that description. "No, ma'am. Can't say that I have."
"Ma'am?" Nila asked. "I'm not forty years old."
"If you don't mind, I've got work to do," the bartender said abruptly, shooing her away. Nila eyed the man narrowly, before taking a step away. She knew he was giving her short shrift. She hadn't the first clue why, though. Sharif wasn't nearly clever enough to pay people to shut up about him. Most times, he left a wake of scandalized conversation behind him everywhere he went. She shook her head, hefting the jug onto her shoulder once more.
"What about the rest of you? Anybody seen him?" she asked again, addressing the room. Most of the people shook their heads, but one of them, who was wiping at his eyes like he'd gotten some mild acid in them, let out an angry but affirmative grunt.
"Yeah, I've seen that little freak," the man with the bloodshot eyes said. That was a hopeful sign; He knew Sharif by the same name as just about everybody else would.
"When did he get here? Which way did he go?" Nila asked tersely, and rather a lot like how Mother would speak, which was in a way both surprising, and a touch disturbing.
"Little bastard smote my eyes," the man continued. "I mean, who does that to a person? He owes me big."
"I'm sure he does. Now which way did he go?" Nila asked.
"You want him too? What'd he do to you?" the man asked.
"Years and years of aggravation," Nila answered.
He chuckled darkly. "How about that. I guess that makes us kindred spirits," he said.
"Hm. Not even," she said. "Are you going to tell me which way he went, or are you just going to sit here and waste my time?"
"Tell you? I'll do you one better," the man rose. "I'll show you."
"That's magnanimous of you."
"Magna-wha?" he asked.
"Gracious. Gods, does anybody out here read?" she asked.
"You've got a smart lip, boy."
"GIRL!"
"...I don't see it," he said with a shake of his head. "My name's Udu, and I'll be your guide for this vengeance quest."
Chapter 3
Wind, Snow, Sand and Fire
Frankly, it was a miracle that the ramp went down at all. Zuko stood at the docks, looking up at the battered shell of the ship and couldn't help but shake his head at the folly which had befallen it. Not that it was the ship's fault. In fact, if Azula hadn't run off near the South Pole, much of this wouldn't have happened. "See to it that these repairs go through immediately," Zuko said to his uncle, as Iroh descended that slightly warped ramp. "We're too close as it is, and I don't want her to find his trail until she's healed."
"What, do you mean the Avatar?" Iroh asked distractedly.
"Don't say that name on these docks!" Zuko whispered harshly. "He is an opportunity which I will not see squandered. Without the Avatar, I have no bargaining position, and every firebender on this base would jump at the chance for my father's rewards. I can't afford being distracted by all that competition."
"Competition over what?" another man's voice cut in, causing Zuko to flinch inside. But only inside. He turned with a forced sort of casualness which belied his true annoyance and aggravation at having to find Zhao standing in his shadow.
"Captain Zhao," Zuko said flatly, but not harshly. Zhao was a blunt instrument, but he was also one of the three most powerful firebenders alive, and a master of his art. The smug smirk on his face grew, pushing out the thick mutton-chop sideburns that edged his jawline.
"Admiral, now," Zhao countered. "Your father has invested a great deal of faith in my abilities and my insights. Why, if it weren't for me, we would never have occupied Great Whales so quickly. Almost bloodlessly, I hasten to add," his smirk grew dark. "Personally, I would have preferred if those orange haired heathens put up more of a fight."
"I'm sure my father holds you in great esteem," Zuko didn't invest that with any emotion at all. Let the fool think what he would.
"Oh, he does. I must say, it is an honor to have his brother and his son visit this quaint little bastion on the fringes of utter barbarism. So tell me, General Iroh, what brings you to my base?" Zhao said, turning away from Zuko completely. The snub brought a puff of fire from his breath, but he restrained himself otherwise.
"Retired," Iroh interrupted half way through Zhao's question.
"I see," Zhao offered. "Regardless, you are welcome guests in the newest lands of the Fire Nation. So I repeat; what brings you to this humble harbor?"
"Resupply and refit," Zuko said.
"Yes, that ship does seem to have taken a lot of damage," Zhao admitted, addressing Iroh still. "How did you say that happened, again?"
"It was amazing. Almost unbelievable," Iroh said with a grand gesture, before leaning a bit closer. "Did we crash or something?"
"Yes," Zuko took up the lie quickly. "We were rammed by pirates off the coast of Gwynt. We managed to run them off, but they did some serious harm."
"You'll have to regale me with the story in full," Zhao said with a patronizing look to Zuko. "Perhaps you and your uncle can have a drink with me. Whatever did become of your sister, by the way?"
"We have to go," Zuko said flatly. "This ship isn't going to repair itself."
"My offer was not optional, Zuko," Zhao said harshly, looming down. "I have business with your sister, and you will oblige."
That was exactly the wrong thing to say. Zuko stomped into Zhao's face, staring up into the man's dark, amber eyes with fury in his own. "You will stay away from my sister," Zuko said clearly and wrathfully.
"Prince Zuko, please," Iroh said, ever the soft touch. "Forgive my nephew. He has had much on his mind recently. I would love to have some tea with you. Do you have any Ginseng tea? I've always wanted to try it."
Iroh walked away, his hands folded inside white sleeves. Zhao shot a look over his shoulder at the snubbed royal. Not a face, not even an expression, just a look. A look which spoke to contempt so clearly that it made Zuko want to pound his face in. Zuko waited until Zhao had turned back, before flaring out with his hands in the briefest tantrum of fire, scouring the strange white sands of this foreign land, before taking a calming breath, and heading into the ship. The crew gave cautious nods to him as he passed. They could tell he was in one of his dark moods. When that was the case, each knew the best option was to stay away from the other. So he made his way to his sister's room in silence. Inside, he found her painting again.
"Are you feeling better?" Zuko asked. She looked up at him. Her skin was covered in sweat and her eyes were underlined by thick dark circles.
"Do I look better?" Azula asked caustically, that unplaceable accent still strong in her voice. He often wondered where it came from, and why it appeared as and when it did.
"I was being polite," Zuko said. "We've been invited to tea."
"I'm not going," Azula answered, dipping her brush into the malachite based paint and using it to describe something crisp and green against blackness. There were also two figures that he could see, but they lacked definition.
"We weren't given the option to bow out," Zuko said. "Zhao is drunk with authority."
"Zhao?" Azula asked. Zuko nodded. "That smug, sanctimonious jackass, Zhao?"
"How many other Zhao's do you know?"
"They aren't as common as Lee, but there are a few," Azula said. She stood, then winced as though she still ached in movement. "Very well. Let's see what the idiot wants from us now."
"You aren't going to set him on fire again, are you?" Zuko asked, a smirk finally coming to his face genuinely.
"I make no promises, Zuzu," Azula answered crisply, a mirror to his own smirk appearing on her face.
Fog hung low, nestled in the great cleft which split the Batola Mountain range into two islands, spreading out over the waters and the lowlands of Da-Aer Island. Nestled above them was another fluffy layer, this one the low lying clouds. Weather was not kind to Great Whales, whereupon the Southern Air Temple rested; most islands only saw sunlight a hundred days a year. It was no great surprise that they produced waterbenders, if infrequently, or that they were so pale, nor even that they were so humorless. Aang had had a heck of a time trying to get along with the locals, before he just stopped bothering. Despite sharing the same island, the two cultures, Whalesh and Air Nomad, couldn't be further apart.
The rumbling of a stomach called the airbender's attention back. "Shut up, stomach, we all know you're empty," Sokka pointed out, upending a bag. "Wait a second... Aang, did you eat my jerky?"
"I'm a vegetarian, Sokka. I don't eat anything that used to have a face," Aang pointed out. "I think I've got some left-overs from the party in the back, though."
The sound of girlish glee from Sokka was all the thanks Aang got.
"Are you sure you want to eat that?" Katara asked, half way out of the howdah, coming to join the bison's pilot. "It is almost a hundred years old, after all."
"It's food. How bad could it get?" Sokka asked.
"He's going to eat something that's going to break his little mind one day," Katara said wearily. She settled down next to him, pulling her parka in on herself a bit. "Aang, there's something we need to talk about."
"Can it wait? We're almost home!" Aang said, his excitement bleeding through his words.
"Yes, but nobody's seen an airbender for almost a century. I just want you to be prepared for what's up there," she said calmly. Aang raised an eyebrow at her.
"Prepared for what?" he asked.
"The Fire Nation is ruthless," Katara said, a dark and virulent pyre of hatred in her voice. "When I was little, it was just the five of us. We didn't have much, but our family was whole. The Fire Nation changed that. They killed my mother, they took away all of the children besides Sokka and I. Even my sister. There's no telling what they did to your people."
Aang frowned at that. "I don't know why everybody hates the Fire Nation so much," he said. "Most of my best friends were from there. Besides, we met Zuko and he's from the Fire Nation. He's not that bad."
"Just you wait," she said. "He's probably plotting at this very moment how to get his claws on you."
"Look, just because nobody's seen an airbender in a century doesn't mean they're all gone. We have air bison; the Fire Nation would never be able to keep up. Heck, if you don't have one, you can't even get to this temple!" he said. He began to urge the beast upward, and it heeded his commands quietly and contentedly. It knew the way home, and was just as eager to return as Aang was.
The beast soared up through the cloud, rippling it away like a skipperfly raking its legs across the stillness of the pond, only in three dimensions and much fluffier. Come to think of it, the metaphor didn't really work, but it was where Aang's mind went, so it would have to do until he could come up with a better one. The ascent crept closer and closer to vertical, until Katara beside him had a rictus of quite genuine fear on her face, and behind, he could hear Sokka swearing in his native tongue. Finally, with a blast of south-summer heat pressing upon them, even at this high altitude, they broke from the obscuring second mist of the clouds, and the peaks of the mountain came into view. While the true peak of the Batoma Range was several thousand feet higher, daring to build up there was folly; it took years to build up the airbending mastery to survive at such extreme altitudes. Building in the 'kill zone' as it was so inelegantly put, would have made the South Temple sterile, stagnant, and bereft of the voices of a young generation. Exactly what its founders did not want.
But still, it was a palace on the roof of the world.
It gleamed of silver and orange and white. Not a pristine white, but something set and faded, a natural color, the groundedness which was an inescapable part of the lives of most Air Nomads. Only the very wisest could wear the faded whites, showing what they had moved past in their meditations and studies. A smile came to Aang's face as he thought of all the things he had seen, not only here but in each sister temple. The life he'd had.
"It's... amazing," Katara said.
"I know. Pretty neat, huh?" Aang said with a note of pride.
"Are you trying to kill me?" Sokka shouted. "I almost fell out of the saddle!"
"Sokka, have some respect," Katara snapped. "We're the first outsiders to visit this temple in a century."
"So... there's not going to be fresh meat there, is there?" Sokka asked, slightly crestfallen.
"Unbelievable," Katara said with a shake of her head.
"What? I'm just a guy with a boomerang. I have simple needs," he said, crossing his arms. Aang turned away from that, though, and swooped toward the bison stables. As he did, a mounting unease began to thread through him. They were vacant. There was no reason they should be vacant. Appa landed light as a leaf, and Aang let the reins drop as he vaulted to the ground.
"Welcome to the South Air Temple," he announced. More privately, he patted his bison on its massive head. "We're home, buddy."
"Yeah, that's great," Sokka said, dripping with sarcasm. "Big old palace in the sky and no food to eat for miles."
"You're not the only one who's hungry, Sokka," Katara pointed out. She then turned to Aang. "You don't look so great. What's wrong?"
"This place used to be full of bison and lemurs and monks," Aang said, his grey eyes flitting around furtively, almost like middle creature mentioned. "Now there's just weeds. I'm going to go check some things out. Feel free to make yourself at home."
Aang bounded, airbending hoisting his every leap, up to the picnic spot he had frequented in his youth. It wasn't much, just a bit of the mountain which the Temple had twisted around, a bit higher than its surroundings. He looked down, and beheld the palace in all its majesty. And nothing else. Not gliders nor bison nor monks. He closed his eyes, and he listened. There was the slow drone of the wind, the constant companion of every Air Nomad, as it made its easy way past this great prominence. And nothing else. Not music, not voices. The entire Temple was silent. Like it was dead. Or maybe, it was just waiting for something.
"Man, I can't believe how much has changed," Aang said sadly. Then, he perked up for an instant. "Man, I can't believe I haven't cleaned my room in a hundred years!"
Zuko was, for lack of a better term, amazed at Azula's restraint. Although she had broken the stream of Zhao's monologue from time to time with obviously unintentional phlegmatic coughing, disgorging that foul gunk which was now coming up out of her lungs with a frequency and volume which made Zuko wonder where she was storing it all, Zhao took the distractions in stride. Of course, Zuko was also annoyed, impatient, and well outside his comfort zone.
"Per my arrangements, by the coming of the spring, the great walls will fall and we will walk their streets triumphant," Zhao finished off, dragging his hand across the large, if embarrassingly inaccurate map of the world as he did so. Zuko had spent enough time on Uncle's ship to know a good map. This wasn't. "With that, they can sweep south and mop up the Earth Kingdoms with ease, secure that we cannot be set upon from behind. The Fire Nation will claim total victory in this war."
"If you really think the rest of the world will follow Father willingly, then you are a fool," Zuko said bitingly.
"Excuse me?" Azula snapped.
"Don't. You know his reputation as much as I do," Zuko said.
"Father is strong and decisive," Azula instantly jumped to his defense. For the life of him, Zuko couldn't understand where her attitude toward Father came from. He was brutal to both of them. And the things he said... they couldn't ever be forgotten, nor forgiven. "They will follow because he is the only man capable of leading them into a new age."
"I doubt the Water Tribes will bow to any Fire Lord," Zuko countered.
"They wouldn't be," Azula began, but was cut off when her face pulled into a pained rictus, and she started coughing once more, contaminating and forcing the discarding of the seventh handkerchief since she'd been dragged into this tent. That alone set Zuko's teeth to grind. She shouldn't be here. She should be resting.
"You should heed your sister, Zuko. She shows uncommon wisdom," Zhao answered, a smug smirk on his face. Iroh, standing behind him, began to inspect a few polearms stacked haphazardly about.
"My sister has her opinions. So do I," Zuko said, giving a look which dared her sister to answer him. The glare she returned told him she desperately wanted to, if her diaphragm would cooperate.
"True, but her opinions have an uncanniness to them that I much appreciate," Zhao said. And from behind there came a great crash as the weaponry that Uncle had been fiddling with all toppled to the floor. He looked up, a sheepish look on his broad face.
"My fault, entirely," he said, before moving back to a short chair next to a tea-pot.
Zhao shot the old man a contemptuous look, then turned back to Zuko. "So, young prince. How is your little search for the Avatar going?"
"We..."
"There is no sign of him," Azula interjected. "But we will persevere."
Zuko tried to give his little sister a warning look, but it was lost to her. Zhao, on the other hand, took the opportunity to turn his attentions to the ill-girl wearing the uncommonly thick clothes in Fire Nation style. In truth, they were just Tribesman's clothes, redyed and slightly altered, but they did the job. Zhao smiled then, and it was not a smile that Zuko liked.
"I'm surprised you show such fire and verve in this task, Princess," Zhao said. "The Avatar has been missing for a hundred years. Your own family has searched generations for him in vain."
"And mine is the generation which will find him," Azula said plainly, and no small bit sharply. "Uncle searched for the Avatar on a lark. Father was only at sea for a month before a more important task called. Azulon was too old, too comfortable, by the time he tried. I, on the other hand, will stop at nothing until my hand can close around his throat."
"I like your fire," Zhao said, with a glance toward Zuko. "Fitting for Fire Nation royalty. Not guttering and simpering and fitful. Strong, bold, and blazing. Such a pity that your birthright was taken from you."
"I will be Fire Lord!" Azula roared, fire following her words as she bolted to her feet. Her chest heaved as she stared up at the amused man opposite her. "I will bring the Avatar to Father, and he will restore my place on the throne. And when you bow to me, Zhao, I will not forget this impudence."
"Such a pity that you have no idea where he is," Zhao said neutrally. "Because he is the only person on this Earth who could end our glorious expansion. So if you have an ounce of loyalty left to your father and your nation, young prince, then you had best tell me the truth. Did you find the Avatar?"
"No," Zuko said plainly, a lie. He feigned a sigh. "For all we know, he died with the rest of the airbenders. And since we own the waterbenders, and he hasn't broken the Siege yet, he's probably some Earth Kingdom peasant, which means you will never find him."
"Like I said," Azula said, getting breath back in after her outburst. "We will persevere. Uncle, put down that cup. We're leaving."
Zuko rose, and turned for the door, but somebody was entering. He was not particularly tall, and had the tilted eyes and a trimmed but drooping mustache that made him look eternally mopey. "We searched her chamber as you ordered," Zhao's lackey said. "We found it."
Zuko's eyes widened as the lackey tossed Zhao Azula's journal. Zhao casually flipped to the last page, a grin growing on his features. "'At long last, I have found him. Damn this frail body for betraying me, when I should have slain the Avatar. He will not escape me again'," Zhao snapped the book closed, as Zuko's teeth started to grind so hard that he could almost feel them crack. Beside him, he could see the outrage plain on his sister's features.
"It is treason to steal from the royal family," Zuko said venomously.
Zhao snorted with derision. "Please. You are exiles from your Father's house. You hold no position in Fire Nation society. I am well within my rights to take the clothes from your backs if it suited my needs. The only reason I do not is out of respect to the war hero who considers you his ward."
"You have betrayed my hospitality, Zhao," Iroh said, his own gruff tones drawing down. "You have no right to do this to the guests aboard my ship."
"I may act in whatever way best serves the Fire Nation, Your own brother saw to that." Zhao answered, staring down the much shorter, fairly older man. He turned to the siblings, the journal in hand. "So tell me again, young exiles. What happened to your ship?"
A glance to his side showed Zuko that Azula's fists had become so tight, that her nails now cut into her palms. It was an rage they shared in common.
And they were powerless.
The landscape on the far side of the river was far more lush than that which Sharif had just left. Shaking the water off of his shoes, he peered out across the great expanse before him. The Earth Kingdoms were vast, it was often said, but not densely populated. The great void of Dakong, the fairly aptly named 'Big Empty', was all the proof one needed of that fact. Nothing but slowly rolling hills stretching for hundreds of miles in every direction, covered in short, wild grains and bitter but useful grasses. It was more color, besides the gratuitous browns and blues, than Sharif had ever seen in his waking life.
"I've really come a long way," Sharif said to nobody, or perhaps the universe, or maybe even the spirits which wafted around him. These were not developed, their bodies immaterial. More motes of dust in a ray of sunshine than a creature, but they were every single one of them alive, and they whirled around him, curious and unafraid. Most spirits never got very strong, just a wisp of emotion, a shade of concept, a whisper of ideal. Some, though, became terrifyingly strong. It was the only lie that Sharif ever told his mother when he claimed he didn't know where Wan Shi Tong's library was, when she brought it up in idle conversation. He could feel that old entity, out there in the sands. Old, powerful, bitter, and suspicious. While it hurt to lie to Mother, he didn't like to think about what would happen if she went to that place.
A chorus of trills and chimes flowed around him, a dozen questions, most of which were variations of 'a long way from what?'. Spirits didn't have a strong grasp of distance in the Inner Sphere. It was just their way. They could have no other. And neither could he.
"Well, no time to doddle. Gotta see what all the fuss is about," Sharif continued, letting his hood fall back, now that the air held some moisture in it, and he didn't suffer the constant and deadly threat of heatstroke. He breathed deep, the new and fascinating smells of the grass and the wheat. Then, he promptly sneezed. "I'm not impressed with the grass, so far. Don't see what the big deal with that is."
Sharif walked, and the spirits walked with him. Sometimes, old companions broke off and drifted back into the Outer Sphere; sometimes, new spirits slid down to take their place. Their aspect was changing, Sharif could tell. Heat, sand, and void were the most common before. While void remained in equal measure, heat and sand had been replaced with plant and rain. Habitats for spirits had odd interactions with the world. Sometimes it fit like a tailor-made glove. Sometimes, the relation was well off. That was how an ice spirit ended up in the desert, it was said. Sharif, though, was lost in his own thoughts, as he walked through shin-high grasses, over rolling hills.
There was a great thundering of feet, which was finally enough to pull Sharif out of his inner world and return his attention, however incompletely and inexactly, to the world around him. He had walked far to the south, the river which separated desert from grassland long behind him despite his not even noticing fording it. He even found himself to be eating cheese when his attention returned. But what caught his attention, was the vast troop of ostrich horses, running wild and feral in the grasslands. They numbered almost a hundred, a herd that could make a rustler's lifetime if captured. But Sharif had no interest in ranching the massive fowl. He stood back, a small smile on his dark face, and watched with quiet wonder as they moved past.
It was a force of nature. Thunder across the plains. Poultry in motion. Dark eyes turned to him as they passed, but they had other intentions. Water, most likely, with the river so close, relatively speaking. One, though, slowed, turning away from the troop and moving toward Sharif with its vestigial wings flared open, his great head with heavy beak lowered to roughly eye level. A rancher or hunter would recognize that as an attack posture. Sharif just watched as the grizzled old bird came closer. Closer.
"Hello," Sharif said innocently. The bird halted, its dark eyes blinking. It tilted its head to the side for a moment. "Why would I?" Sharif asked. "They look like they're perfectly fine as they are."
The wings flapped in, and the ostrich horse took on an almost contrite appearance. "Don't worry. I understand. You have to protect the ones you care about," Sharif nodded. It was then his turn to tilt his head. The male was old, the oldest in the troop, well past his prime. Many of the young in that herd were not his, but the descendants of his descendants. "Well, it was nice seeing you. They're quite impressive."
The bird fluttered its wings with a note of something akin to pride, before taking one stride away. It then turned, letting out a warbling cry. Sharif's eyes widened. "What?" he asked. "Where?"
The bird turned again, and Sharif let out a sigh. "Right, well, I can't expect miracles. How did you know about him? Did somebody tell you?"
There came a chime of quite a different sort. One of the void spirits, so much like a tiny robin without feet or a head... or wings for that matter. Sharif turned to the south once more. "But I can still feel him that way. Why turn west?"
The silence was an answer all of its own.
"I guess you'd know better than I would," Sharif admitted. He looked to the great bird once again. "I know it's a bit much to ask, but Dakong is big, and apparently, I need to hurry."
The bird let out an annoyed grunt, but moved closer lowering its head toward Sharif. Sharif reached into his pack and pulled out the last of his cheese. The patriarch accepted the morsel without a moment's hesitation. "You have my thanks, Patriarch," Sharif said. The bird lowered itself, enough that Sharif could crawl onto its strong back, and take ahold of of the matted mounds of down on the beast's body. It was slim purchase, but Patriarch was old, and only somewhat faster than a human afoot. But it would be fast enough.
As the bird began to walk, away from its herd on the simple request of a humble shaman, Sharif realized something. "Huh. Maybe I should have told Mother where I was going," he said. Even the bird laughed at him for that.
Airball turned out to be about as much fun as Sokka expected. A figure that would require a negative sign to be accurate. After the seventh goal, as he lay on the ground in the snow and scrub, he muttered angrily to himself that there were far, far better things he could be doing with his day. Like finding something to eat. He'd tested some of the leaves of the plants that he'd found, and noted how unpalatable they were. However, they didn't seem to be poisonous, and the sated his hunger for the moment. He regretted that decision now, because it made it so there was actually something to come up if his nausea pressed much further.
"Remind me not to try to make Aang feel better again," Sokka said, levering himself up.
"Come on, Sokka! Games run until eleven!" Aang's excited voice came from the court, a forest of poles set perilously high above the ground. Truth be told, it was a miracle that Sokka hadn't broken his head after the falls he'd taken. He chose to chalk it up to his might, South Water Tribe physique.
"Sokka, come on. We both agreed to take his mind off of things," Katara chimed in, moving to help him to his feet.
"So why is it me who has to get bombarded by... airballs?" Sokka demanded testily.
"I threw earth, you threw fire. That's the way it works," she said primly. Oh, there were days he wished he wasn't above hitting a girl. He shook his head, turning away from both the airbender and his weird sister... and he saw something on the ground. His eyes narrowed, as he stooped down, trying to figure out what this odd thing was. "What is it?"
"There's something half-buried, here," Sokka said. He grabbed, and he heaved, and something dark red, shaped like some sort of metal, burning skull came up. He looked at his sister warily. "I don't think this thing is Air Nomad, do you?"
"Are you saying that's... Fire Nation?" she asked. Both turned from each other, then back down to the battered, discarded helm in Sokka's hands. Neither had the memory long enough to recall what the Raiders had looked like. Nobody in the village would talk about it. It was an old wound, true, but still raw after more than a decade.
"I think Aang needs to see this," Sokka said. The look in their eyes as they turned back to the airbender, who was still trying to cajole Sokka back up onto the pillars was one of perfect understanding. They didn't even need to share a nod.
"Aang, you should take a look at this," Sokka shouted up. Katara glanced between the two youths, one bounding down, the other inspecting the helm. She got a resigned look on her face, as the airbender drew close, and then swept her arms down. Sokka barely had time for a shocked yelp before all of the snow clinging to an overhang dropped down and buried him. After a few moments, he floundered his way to the surface, to find a laughing airbender pointing at him.
"I just had a new waterbending move I wanted to show you," Katara said innocently, but her blue eyes flashed a warning to her brother.
"Yeah, that's a good one. You should really practice more. You could get really good one day," Aang said, before turning to Sokka. "I assume this means you forfeit?"
"Yeah, you win. Good game," Sokka said flatly. Aang, quite pleased with himself, strutted away. Sokka twisted back to his sister. "You can't hide this from him forever. If that was Fire Nation, then he didn't come alone, and Aang's going to find out from something else."
"Well, maybe we don't have the right to break his heart," Katara said quietly. "If it's going to happen, let's just let him have a few minutes more hope, alright?"
Sokka sighed as he pulled himself out of the snowbank. "He deserves to know," was all Sokka said on that matter.
Zhao was pacing the width of his tent, casually flipping through Azula's private journal, chuckling to himself. He must have been consciously trying not to hear the combined gnashing of teeth of two thirds of the present royal family. "So, not only is the Avatar the last airbender, but he is also a teenage boy. A withered old senior, even for his frailty of body, would have been a worthy opponent. But a child? That's just disappointing," Zhao clucked his tongue, before turning to Zuko. "And somehow, you managed to let him slip through your fingers."
"It won't happen again," Zuko swore.
"The Avatar will not escape me," Azula added.
"Of course he won't," Zhao said. "Because you're going to help me catch him."
"What? Why?" Zuko demanded.
"Not you, boy, you are worthless to me," Zhao spat. When he turned to Azula, though, his eyes held a much more calculating look. "But you? Your insights have proven utterly invaluable. While your brother proved himself a failure, inept in catching the child, I know you will not falter nor fail."
"Oh?" Azula asked.
"Azula, don't..."
"Don't interrupt your host," Azula cut him off, but while her tones were honeyed, her eyes were fire. "Please, do tell more pleasing things about me."
"It is not flattery, young princess," Zhao said, snapping the journal closed and using it to point at Zuko. "This is a task not suited for a teenager. Your search for the Avatar has come to an end, because the responsibility is too great to be leveled upon a useless child."
"But I, on the other hand, have shown much greater capacity," Azula said, a smirk upon her lips. "I am ruthless, efficient, and cunning, and he will not escape two of the greatest minds in the Fire Nation."
When Zhao scoffed, he could see his sister's left eye twitch a bit. "It is not your cunning nor your efficiency which interests me, little girl," Zhao said. He pointed at her down the spine of her own journal. "Five years ago, you predicted the siege of Fan Shui. You even had the names of those responsible for that upset. More telling, you even predicted the precise tactics that the generals employed to turn the tide."
Zuko shot a nervous look to his sister. Iroh was the one who rose his voice into that silence, his tones gruff and displeased. "What are you saying, Zhao?" Uncle demanded.
"I am saying," Zhao said with finality, "that Azula is an oracle."
Azula and Zuko shared a look, before the former burst into a peal of laughter. It went on, until she started coughing, hugging her ribs as her weakened state caught up with her. "Agni's blood, I shouldn't have done that," Azula muttered as she regained her breath.
"Oracles are tricksters and charlatans," Zuko powered in, taking up the gap that his sister had unwillingly left. "Anybody who believes them, or believes in them, is a fool."
"It is not folly to believe what I have seen," Zhao said. "Your sister sees the future. In snippets and disjointed images, perhaps, but I have no doubt that I can turn that great gift to my advantage."
"You have no right," Uncle said. "My brother will..."
"I have every right. In fact, I think I will inform the Fire Lord right now of my intention. He will no doubt give me full license to my task," Zhao said. He leaned down to the two royals. "I am going to destroy the Avatar, and she is going to help me. And there is nothing you, Zuko, can do to stop me."
Zhao, smug as ever, turned and left, tossing the journal over his shoulder as he did so. Zuko waited until he was just out of the threshold, then kicked the table in the center of the room, an arc of fire splitting it in half and destroying all that lay atop it. Zuko stormed away, and Uncle sighed.
"More tea, please?" the old man asked.
Katara had stayed quite close to Aang since that unsettling discovery near the airball court. Her brother, on the other hand, had ranged far and wide, claiming that he was 'looking for firebenders or things he could eat', as though the two didn't overlap. A moment of pondering 'Sokka, the cannibal' had her shaking her head. He might be a dedicated carnivore, but she doubted he would go that far. Time and time again, she considered broaching the topic of that helm they found, but her nerve kept failing her. What if he lashed out? What if he abandoned them? Not only would the be exiled, cut off from home, but without any means of reaching another waterbender. All of that they'd lost would have been for nothing.
She was just getting steeled again when she saw the airbender brighten like a lamp, as he shot a bit ahead of her. "Katara! Sokka! Look at this!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm seeming to burn away his earlier moments of melancholy. He might have been only a year younger than her, but sometimes, he seemed younger still. Brother and sister converged on the bald monk in a patio garden, columns rising in a slightly bowed out line holding the scraps of a long ago collapsed roof. Katara and Sokka shared a look. Where was the rubble? The place seemed swept clean, but for a thick plinth in the center of the space, and atop it, a wooden sculpture.
"I want you to meet my friend. Monk Gyatso," Aang said, bowing to the cracked wood, depicting a very old man with long, full mustaches and kind, tired eyes. The depiction wasn't the best, she might have even called it slightly amateurish, but it seemed to capture the man; she felt like she knew him, despite never having met him. There was even a hint of a smile on those carved lips. "He was my teacher back when I lived in the South Temple. He was like a father to me."
"Aang, they don't make statues of living people," Sokka said.
"Sokka!" Katara chastised. She set a comforting hand on Aang's shoulder. "You must miss him, dreadfully."
"I do, but... I'm not really surprised," Aang said quietly, a strong smile on his face. "He was an old man, and I've been gone for a long time. At least I got to say goodbye to him," he reached out, laying reverant fingers upon a medallion which hung upon the wooden chest, carved with whorls like blowing wind. "I'm starting to realize just how long it's been. There's nobody here. It's like everybody just left."
The way that Aang's eyes looked, grey and full of pain, it made Katara want to give him a hug. "Tell me about him," she said. He brightened a bit at that, if not to the radiance he had shown earlier. Sokka, though, rolled his eyes and put on a face like he expected to be bored.
"We got into all kinds of trouble," Aang said quickly. "One time, he and I baked forty cakes, but then the lemurs came and stole them all, and that was just terrible. So we baked forty more, but we used salt instead of sugar, and when the lemurs tried to eat those, they got a rude awakening!" he let out a ready laugh. "He seemed like he wanted to tell me something, back then. But he never did. He just told me that, whatever it was, it could wait until I was older. Must have been about girls or something," he shook his head with a chuckle. "Heh, like I hadn't learned all of that stuff from the other kids!"
"You learned about...?" Sokka asked, a bit baffled.
"Couldn't have been very helpful," Katara muttered. "What do little boys know about women anyway?"
"You'd be surprised!" Aang said brightly, then he quickly strode away, leaving the siblings to share a slightly uncomfortable glance, then follow after. After a bit of jogging, they caught up to the airbender, entering a long hallway which seemed to move down into the heart of the Temple.
"Aang, where are you going?" Katara asked.
"The Air Temple's Sanctuary," Aang said. "They say that only the Avatar or the eldest of the Temple Monks are allowed to enter there. Since I'm technically a hundred and thirteen, I'm pretty sure I qualify."
"I can't see fault in the kid's arguments," Sokka noted. "So what's in there?"
"I don't know," Aang answered. "Could be anything."
"Like gold? Or precious jewels?" Sokka brightened with each guess, but rubbed his hands with glee at the last, "Or a delectable selection of cured meats?"
"Meat? Really?" Katara asked. "Unbelievable."
Of course, her exasperation was nothing compared to her brother's appetite, and he hurled himself bodily at the great door, with its massive, intricate central boss that spanned both panels with twisting whorls, much like adorned much of the rest of the temple. There were even a pair of horn shapes bending out from the face. Despite Sokka's best efforts, he came up in vain. "Tell me, do they keep the keys to this thing lying around somewhere?" he asked.
"The key, Sokka, is airbending," Aang pointed out, gathering himself, then jumping forward, hands flared, and a gale moved with him. It slammed Sokka against the door, granted, but it also shot into the horns, and traveled through the tubes which made up the boss. One by one, what she assumed were just colorful decorative panels flipped open, releasing a procession of musical notes, until there came a loud clunk, and the door started to open, sending Sokka rolling into the room.
The Tribesman bounded to his feet, and pointed an accusing finger at Aang. "Alright, I'll let you have this one. But don't make a habit of smacking me around, or I'll give ya one right back!"
"Whatever you say, Sokka," Aang said, not threatened in the least. Sokka wilted at having his capacity at intimidation utterly ignored. She pushed the doors open more, and beheld with the light that slipped through them, that the room was laid out in a great spiral. "Wow. Look at that!"
"What? Statues?" Sokka said, despairing. "WHERE'S THE MEAT? What's the point of having all these rock people staring at me when..." he trailed off into something that wasn't quite language, but contained a healthy dose of frustration and disappointment.
"Aang, who are these people?" she asked.
"They..." Aang seemed as baffled as she was for a moment, but his eyes widened. "Wait a second. Look at these ones," he pointed to a woman with an arrow-like-shape carved into her brow. "Airbender," to a man wearing Tribal armor, "waterbender," to a hulking, massive woman bearing a pair of fans, "earthbender... and firebender. It's a pattern, and it goes all the way out."
"These are the Avatars," Sokka said, snapping back to reality. "All of his past lives, up until when they stopped making statues of him."
"What?" Katara asked, perplexed how he'd know this.
"That's Avatar Yangchen," he said, pointing to the airbender woman. "She's the woman who broke the South Water Tribe almost six hundred years ago. She's why we still live in homes you can lick away."
Katara nodded, as that tidbit of Water Tribe history returned to her. "That means that he's Avatar Kuruk," she said, pointing to the man beside her. "I don't know who those two are, though."
"Oh, man, get a load of this chick!" Sokka said, leaning against a statue which seemed utterly odd, compared to those around it. "She must have dressed herself while blind and drunk!"
Katara ignored her brother for the moment, and turned to Aang. He was standing before the statue at the heart of the spiral. He seemed transfixed upon the face of an old man, his beard long and flowing. The stylized headpiece carved into stone hair bore a flame motif, which put Katara's teeth to grinding before she remembered there was something more important to consider. "Aang? What's wrong? Who is that?"
Aang gave a start, and turned to her. "This is Avatar Roku. He was the last Avatar. Or the Avatar a bit over a hundred years ago. What happened to the Avatar after him?" he asked, a bit urgently.
"After the last Avatar vanished, the world waited for the next one to be reborn into the Air Nomads. But then, the war started, and the Nomads... were scattered. After that, I guess people just assumed that the Fire Nation had done him in," Sokka said. She glared at her brother for being so uncouth, but Aang's eye had returned to the firebender.
"I feel like I know this man somehow," Aang said quietly.
"The last Avatar was a firebender, eh?" Sokka said. "Well, I guess we can't trust him, whoever he is. Firebenders are just bad news."
"I used to have a lot of friends who were firebenders," Aang pointed out.
"You also grew up when Chimney Mountain had a city next to it," Sokka pointed out. Then, he tensed, spinning on his heel.
"Sokka, what..."
"SHH!" he hissed urgently, before racing to the foot of one of the statues. Sokka might be a fool, but he had a canny instinct... sometimes. It always served better to assume the worst, so she and Aang both hunkered down behind another statue.
"Don't make a sound!" he whispered loudly.
"You're making a sound!" she pointed out.
"SHH!" both males hissed at once. She glanced into the gap between statues, and beheld something approaching. Something with a unique profile, great horn shapes moving up as it bobbed into view. It was almost like that helm from the field. Sokka pulled his club out, and readied himself.
"Firebender won't know what hit him," he whispered, before jumping out of hiding. He then stood still, a befuddled look on his face. Aang leaned out, and Katara peeked out over his head. There was something small, monkey like in stance and stature, with large green eyes, and black and white fur. Its tail was long, and striped. Aang started to grin so wide that Katara could practically smell it.
"Lemur!" Aang exclaimed.
"Dinner!" Sokka countered, and he was off like a shot. The lemur let out a shriek, and skittered away.
"Don't run away! You're going to be my new pet!" Aang called out at he raced after the Tribesman and the creature.
"Stop! I wanna eat you!" Sokka's voice came from further ahead. Katara took a deep breath, which she released as a sigh.
"Well," she said. "At least it won't be a boring trip."
Zuko turned to the flap as it was whisked away, and the man in charge strutted in, full up on his own authority and power. Brother and sister stood shoulder to shoulder, a wall of solidarity. Uncle, on the other hand, stayed back, a dark look on his usually placid face.
"By all means, read it," Zhao said, throwing a scroll to Azula. She didn't. She just burned it in her hand. That made Zhao smirk. "Oh, don't think that will change your fate. I have copies, and personal dispatch from the Fire Lord holds much weight."
"He would not sell his daughter," Azula said.
"He told me to take what steps I deemed necessary," Zhao said with a sweeping out of hands. He then gestured to Zuko. "Your ship has been repaired, and you and your doddering uncle can leave whenever you please. But the girl is coming with me."
"The girl?" Azula asked, rage darkening her otherwise sallow complexion.
"You have no right," Zuko pressed. "This is kidnapping."
"My nephew is right," Iroh agreed. "I will not stand for this treason against the royal house."
Zhao laughed at that. "Your brother made it perfectly clear that your word holds no weight. Now waddle away to your ship, and let the man in charge bring down the Avatar."
"I will find the Avatar before you," both siblings managed to say in almost perfect unison.
"One of you might," Zhao agreed. "But then, the other won't have hundreds of warships at his command. He will be blind, deaf, and enfeebled. But you two? Banished children, useless children."
"Zhao, I am coming very close to losing my temper," Iroh said quietly.
"Shut your mouth, you senile old man!" Zhao shouted. "You have nothing to say that matters here."
"When we find the Avatar, we will be welcomed back into the Fire Nation and restored to our rightful place," Zuko said, taking an aggressive stride forward. It didn't have the effect he desired, though. Zhao started smirking again.
"Oh, really?" Zhao asked. "The banished prince thinks that his father still values him? Well, if that were the case, don't you think he would have let you return to the Fire Nation by now, Avatar or no Avatar?" he rubbed his chin, feigning pensiveness. "Face it, boy, to him, you are nothing but a disgrace and a failure, and she a mad dog needing constant supervision, so it doesn't bite somebody important."
Zuko's voice quavered, as his left eye twitched. "That isn't true."
"You know it is," Zhao said, reaching past him and grabbing Azula's arm. "You have the scar to prove it.
Zuko pointedly did not reach to his left ear, instead, kicking at the wrist that grasped his sister, even as she snapped her hand away. "MAYBE YOU'D LIKE ONE TO MATCH!" Zuko roared, his hands dripping scarlet flame onto the dirt. Zhao waved the pain out of his hand as Zuko took a moment to pull some semblance of composure back into him. "You have insulted my family and committed crimes against them. I demand restitution by Agni Kai."
"Really?" Zhao asked. He let out a put-upon sigh. "Very well. Although it will be a shame that your father won't be here to witness your second defeat and humiliation. Your uncle will have to do."
"Have you ever fought the Fire Lord, Zhao?" Zuko asked.
"Very few have, and lived," Azula answered the question he raised.
"Unlike your father, I won't bother toying with you," Zhao said. "Sunrise, in the training fields. I will be waiting for you."
With that, the contemptuous presence of the man finally vanished as he ducked back out of the tent. With that done, Zuko backed up until he was before a seat rather like his Uncle's, and sat back in it, letting his head loll back, his hair draping behind his shoulders.
"I must admit, I'm somewhat pleasantly surprised you didn't lose your nerve," Azula said.
"Nobody hurts my family," Zuko said.
"This is not wise," Iroh pointed out. "Don't you remember what happened last time you fought a firebending master?"
Zuko's hand reached up, feeling the bubbling scar on the side of his neck, the withered, defunct scrap of flesh, more a curl of over-cooked bacon than a left ear, and sighed. "I will never forget."
Chasing lemurs instantly threw Aang back from the melancholy of the abandoned temple to his childhood. Lemurs were quick, cunning, and maneuverable, which made them fun to run after. That they could escape in literally any direction but down, it required quite a bit of skill to even touch one, if it didn't want to be touched. And this one was doing its very best not to get touched. In fact, the young, spry lemur was proving itself perhaps too quick even to spot, especially since Aang had opted to leave his glider staff with Appa. But still, for those wonderful minutes, he wasn't the last airbender in the South Temple. He was just Aang, a kid, chasing a lemur.
Even as he moved at a flash, the complaining voice of Sokka trailing well behind, he knew every place that the lemur's panicked flight took him through. The derby rink, the infirmary, the library, its tomes rotted away to dust. The nursery. The children's quarters. There, though, the sly creature finally ducked Aang's attention, so he had to slow, looking through the rubble.
This building looked different to the others. Much of the temple was still standing, unblemished. Parts of it, though, had fallen into neglect. This building, on the other hand, seemed to have been actively punished. Scorches and scree abounded, and the entire place seemed to be trapped in a hush, not of waiting, but of hiding. Aang looked hither and to, but every shadow seemed to hold fear, an animal terror unwillingly pressed into human form. He didn't even know why he felt these things. It was just a ruined building, if one he'd spent quite a few years living in. But still, he could smell pain. He could taste fear. Hatred and anger ran along him like the delicate footsteps of a spider walking along some part of him that he couldn't see, nor reach to swat.
Something bad had happened here.
"Don't worry about Sokka, little guy," Aang said. "I won't let him eat you."
He rounded a mound of fallen roof, and banged his toe hard on something almost lost under the scree. He hopped around for a minute, trying very hard not to swear, before he looked at what had stubbed him. It was armor. Red, rusted armor. His eyes widened as he recognized it. He'd seen it before. A century ago, and a week ago. Those 'pirates'. They weren't pirates. "Firebenders came here," Aang said quietly.
Then, he started seeing the bones.
At first, he thought them chips of rock, but now that he understood them, he couldn't un-see them. Pulverized bones. Hundreds of them. Small, smashed skeletons. The children. All of the children, gathered into this one last defensible spot, as though they had been beset from all sides, and in the end, huddled around their last bastion. Aang carefully walked around the bones, as much as it was possible, to what lay past them. The armors weren't empty. Firebenders had died here. But who would kill them? Who would have the strength, the skill?
The saffron robes, around a ossified figure at the corner of the room was Aang's answer. A monk had broken the greatest of all vows, not to end a human life. Who would do that? And why? "A monk would never kill. Who would..."
Aang reached out to the form, and pushed the weathered skull back. Splayed out on its chest was a wooden medallion, adorned with whorls like the wind. Aang fell back onto his bottom. "Monk Gyatso?" he asked. "Why? Why would you..."
They killed them.
"Why did they do this?" Aang asked. "What kind of monsters were they to make you – you – break your vows of peace?"
The fire erased the sky.
"Why did they do this?" Aang repeated, his voice getting louder. "We aren't a threat to anybody! We're peaceful! Why would the Fire Nation want to hurt the Air Nomads?"
So much pain. So many innocents, snuffed out.
"What did we do to deserve this?" Aang screamed.
The Avatar returned, as an airbender's son.
With that, the whole world vanished into white.
"You're remarkably calm about all of this, Zuzu," Azula noted. And to tell the truth, he was. His life when he was a child was complicated, complex, and demanding. Now, all that he was could be distilled into one duty, one ongoing task. And there was a comfort in that.
"Uncle always says to go into a battle with a clear head," Zuko said placidly. He gave a glance to Iroh, but the man began to snore lightly, rolling over to put his back to them. It was bad enough that they had to sleep on cots on the shore. What did Zhao think, that Zuko was going to run away? That wasn't an option. It never was. "I think Zhao's trying to rattle me. Make me sleep out here so I won't be at full strength for the fight."
"Zhao always was one to cheat his way to victory. It's one of the very few qualities about that man that I approve of," Azula said. She let out an annoyed grunt as she wiped her face for the fifth time that minute. "Agni's blood, where is all this sweat coming from? I'm not even that hot!"
"Your fever's breaking. That's a good sign," Zuko said, taking a sip of the tea at his side.
"It's filthy and I feel like some unwashed peasant," Azula countered, pouring another measure for him. "Why did you do that?"
"I have to protect my sister."
She glared at him for a moment, before she shook her head. "I don't need you to protect me."
"Then consider it my privilege," Zuko said smoothly, taking another sip. His wan smile soured. "I will not allow that pompous windbag one inch. He will take nothing from me, not without paying for it a dozen times over in blood," Azula smiled at that, a small, private smile. "What?"
"Sometimes, you actually sound like a worthwhile sibling," Azula said. She sat back, wiping her sweating face once again, as a frown overtook her. "Uncle said you fought a firebending master before. Who?"
Zuko's brow drew down. "What do you mean, 'who'?" Zuko asked. "You were there!"
"Do I frequently ask questions that I already know the answers to?" Azula asked cuttingly.
"All the time. Usually to make somebody else look like an idiot," Zuko answered.
"Well pretend for the sake of conversation that I'm not," Azula prompted.
"It was Dad," Zuko said.
"Father?" She leaned a bit, as though trying to see his left side, and he turned away. "I don't remember that day."
"I'm not surprised. It was a bad day. But you were there. I don't know when you got there, but at the end, when he was closing in for the kill, you shouted something. What was it you shouted? Do you remember?"
"I haven't the first clue," Azula admitted, shame darkening her features. "Fire and flame, I hate being like this. Not being able to trust my own memories. I used to be stronger. I used to have focus. I used to be useful."
"Don't start that Azzulll..." the word slurred on his tongue. "Azzuuu..."
"What is it, Zuzu?" she asked, her tones innocent.
"Poiss'n," Zuko said, as his body began to sway, his vision blurring. "He p-p-poi..."
"No, not poison, Zuzu. I don't intend to kill you, after all. And not Zhao, either," Azula said, gently pushing him over onto his bedroll. She leaned over him, a smirk pulling at her lips. "You never were good at all of these power politics, were you? Don't worry, it's just a strong sedative, so you'll wake up... a bit after sunrise," that smirk became a cold, expressionless mask. "I don't need anybody to fight my battles for me."
The last thing Zuko saw was his sister opening a small box, and extracting a panel of cosmetic paints. He couldn't even speak as she settled herself in front of the mirror, and soon, even his vision fled, and he was catapulted down into a nightmare of invalidity.
"Aang? Where'd you go?" Sokka shouted as he wandered the ruins of the South Air Temple. He'd managed to fall so far behind the airbender that he abandoned the hunt as futile. If anybody was going to get that little meat-thing, it would be Aang and his airbending trickery. It simply wasn't fair that the kid could run on the ceiling if it suited him. So he wandered.
First, he'd come back to the statue of Gyatso. He knew something struck him strangely about that thing, the moment he laid eyes on it. This time, since the airbender's path had been positively break-neck and reckless, he shot through there leaving a bow wave in his wake. It was enough to dislodge the statue just a bit. Sokka had turned back, giving it an idle shove back into position, when he saw that the statue wasn't even attatched to the plinth. It had been obscuring a plaque, also inexpertly made, and engraved with a message.
"In memory of the Teacher, on the anniversary of the death of his final student," he'd read, and then did the math in his head. The date was less than thirty years ago. Whoever installed this thing, had done so long, long after the Air Nomads were wiped out. And Sokka continued to wander.
"Look, I promise I'm not going to eat the flying thing, alright?" Sokka shouted. "Unless he ticks me off or something," he added under his breath. Picking a random direction and walking was a terrible idea, and one which Sokka ordinarily wouldn't entertain, but given he had no clue which way the mercurial airbender – if that wasn't a redundancy in terms – had gone, he didn't have any other options. So he set out toward a building, and distracted himself from the tedium of the hunt by focusing on the loud, ominous noises coming from his guts. "Yeah, I know you're hungry. I'm workin' on it!" he said.
Sokka shook his head as he entered the large building, and then his eyes widened as he beheld devastation. This place had been put through the wringer a few times, then set on fire to add injury to insult. Despite his sister calling him thick-witted and dull, his eyes were more than keen enough to pick out the dead, not just soldiers in that red armor, but also smaller ones, long turned to crumbling bones. And at the far end of a chamber, almost hidden by a scree of rubble, one more form. The slight form of an airbender, on his knees before a skeleton.
"Oh, man," Sokka said. "Are you alright?"
Aang didn't speak. He was utterly silent, his eyes pressed shut. "Look," Sokka attempted, "how about we go back to Katara? She'll know what to do."
He didn't move. Sokka gave him a tug. "Come on, Aang. We can't stay here all..." He trailed off, when the blue tattooes on the kid's body turned white. "Aang, what are you..."
That was when a roar emitted from the child, not of a boy's voice, but of a chorus. A thousand voices, all shouting out in rage and pain and hatred. A wall of wind almost as solid as flesh smashed Sokka aside, dashing him against the back wall, before it too was blown down. He wanted to shout at the airbender to stop, that the roof would fall in, but Aang didn't seem to care. So when the roof did fall in, Sokka could only watch helplessly as the rocks fell... and then stopped. Not held aloft by air, but by a flick of the airbender's hands. He rose, not on his feet but a sphere of solid air, and tilted his head back. The entire building came apart, rotating around him in a perverse mockery of gravity, as he thrust out his hands, feet, and voice, and screamed.
The scream lit with fire.
Five pillars of flame shot out, bathing the building, only stopping short of barbequing Sokka by another flexing of fists, and the pillars drew into five globes of burning death, which orbited opposite the former-temple-outbuilding. The snow, which was now flying about in a stinging barrage, flowed next, snapping closer to him, heaving up from the outside and compressing in until it was a cruel, segmented and serrated blade which spun around him
"Aang! What's going on!"
The boy turned, slowly rotating on an invisible axis, until white glowing eyes fell to the northwest, long past Sokka. That scream stopped, and the head dipped low.
"There will come a reckoning," the thousand voices intoned. "The Balance is gone. Death walks in dream, a dark avatar of terrible hunger. There will come a reckoning."
The wall which Sokka had been, not to besmirch his manhood, cowering behind, was beginning to crumble, to rise and strive to join its revolving brethren. Damning his luck, for landing between whatever the hell this was, and wherever the hell it was going, he could only brace himself a moment, before Aang, or whatever it was that Aang had become, cast out an arm, and the entire remaining ruins of that building were smashed into the naked sky, and Sokka flew with it. There was a sort of stunned wonder, looking down and seeing a drop of a sheer vertical mile, with nothing between him and the clouds below. The sort of stunned wonder which didn't last nearly long enough as he started to fall.
The sunrise over the edge of the walls bathed the battleground in scarlet light, bathing across the two which had gathered there. Well, three, but the third had given a start as he walked past the cloaked figure, facing toward left of the rising sun. He had reason to. What he'd seen was unexpected, and he'd run off to make sure that nothing tragic had transpired. In truth, it was all part of her plan.
"Heh, I thought you were going to run away," Zhao's voice came from the far side of the arena. "No matter. You are but a child. I am the master, here, and this will be over quickly."
Azula turned, letting the cloak fall away and pool behind her. Clad in a halter and shorts that stopped well short of the knee, she looked like she ought be on a sick-bed, not on the battlefield, but she didn't care. This was the only work of art of hers that she ever took pride in. She had started working on it even before she regained the ability to speak, honing her body from the frail and weak vessel it had been, into one of refinement and power. Her shoulders, pale as they were, were broad and strong, and hard muscle corded down her arms, her back and her legs. She didn't doubt she could beat a grown man in an honest fist-fight. She would never be weak again. And her lips, so long benuded, now finally showed their proper bright red luster. They had gone so long without, that she was starting to forget what it felt like to be complete. Zhao started, flinching back, his own robe falling away to reveal his muscular frame. "You are right about that, Zhao. This will be over quickly."
"What is the meaning of this?" Zhao asked.
"You insulted Zuko's honor in there, but you failed to take into account that you leveled a far crueler insult on me. I am not property. I am not a tool; I am not your compass or astrolabe or sextant. You picked a fight with Zuko. I chose to be his champion," she said, twisting those words into a denigration of the highest order, punctuated by her smirk, that trademark smirk which only Zuko could approximate.
"So Zuko thinks he can stay my hand by making me fight my prize?"
"I AM NOT YOUR PRIZE!" Azula roared, rage swelling up in her. "You fight me because I demand reparation. Or you can slink away like the coward you are, and leave the Avatar to somebody capable of taking him. Your choice."
Zhao sighed, in a long-suffering sort of way. "Very well. If you require a lesson from your betters, then I shall give it to you. And when I'm done, you will do your duty to me with enthusiasm and verve."
"Are you going to blather, or are you going to fight?" Azula demanded.
"Ladies first."
"That's why I'm waiting for you," Azula said. He let out a growl, and sent forward a surge from his fists. As the fire bore down on her, a peace settled onto her. No more confusion. No more grinding of thoughts against each other. No more whispers seeding doubt and fear. Just herself, and the fire, and the fight. Azula side-stepped the hasty blast with little effort. That was probably for the best, because despite her strong showing, she was still terribly weak. Her long illness had sapped her badly, and only her years of preparation for this most portentous year had saved her from becoming a cripple. She answered with a bound into the air, a graceful and deadly arc of fire sweeping off of her bare toes, and searing its way across the distance toward Zhao, scarlet against the scarlet morn.
Even as the fire raged, there was a purity, a clarity which swelled in Azula. It was almost the exact opposite of that horrible feeling she got, when she lost who she was and fell into the blackness. In the fight, as her body moved in motions nobody taught her to fight somebody nobody expected her to, she actually knew who she was. And having finally tasted that sweetest, most rarest and most necessary of fruits, Azula knew she would do anything to hold onto it. For the first time in years, there was no confusion, no fear, no doubt. There was just Azula and the battle, and she could almost weep for joy at the feel of it.
Zhao stood his ground, twisting his arms through a root-break, smashing the wave around him, before surging up and around with his own arch kick with seared toward her. She slashed through it, parting red flame with red, and powered forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Uncle returning, giving a shoulder to Zuko, who looked like he could barely stand. Fitting. Neither could she, but she did so anyway. He redoubled his efforts as the distance between them closed. Usually, Agni Kai didn't even begin until they were this close, but Zhao was a powerful bender. And contrary to popular belief and opinion, so was Azula. She lashed forward, her hand a knife-edge which sent a discrete blast of flame toward the Admiral, one he swatted aside. She had to admit, he was very good. They both paused, standing perhaps ten yards apart, having crossed the great expanse through attack and counterattack. Each gazed upon their opponent, she with a withering glare, he with a calculating smile. Then, she felt a shudder run through her, as her weakness surged up for a moment, breaking her concentration. Zhao took that instant of hesitation and turned it to his advantage, moving forward with a barrage which drove Azula back, as she began to defend with greater vigor. In truth, defense was her greatest weakness. She always ascribed to the quintessential Fire Nation military doctrine, that the only worthwhile defense was overwhelming offense. So when she started losing ground, the momentum swung distinctly and violently into Zhao's favor.
With a final blast, the impact was too much for her weary form to take, and she lost her balance, falling supine onto the stone. Zhao quickly mounted, staring down his fist at her. "Don't make me mar that pretty face of yours, girl," Zhao warned.
"Azula!" Uncle shouted from the sidelines. "The fire is in the breath! Not the muscles!"
Inwardly she kicked herself. How could she possibly have forgotten that, put it to the side? Whatever the reason, as soon as the lesson was returned to her, it returned with passion and flame. She took a deep breath, then surged up with both feet, a blast of fire which Zhao only barely managed to contain, but at the expense of being thrown across the arena. Azula pulled herself to her feet, her chest heaving, sweat dripping off of her sallow, pale skin. The power of fire came from the trinity; fuel, from her pool of chi, heat, from her body and from Agni above, and air, from her lungs. With those three pillars in place, she was unstoppable. She sent forth a blast from a kick, and then began to spin, every kick sending out another curling wave of golden fire. Zhao, now under constant and withering assault, found himself driven back, and she advanced, unstoppable, indefatigable, a force of nature. She might not beat him for power – why not? – but he couldn't keep up with her technique. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and every wave that he had to block or have consume him drained his stamina.
No firebender trained for stamina. That was why they failed. That was why she succeeded. That was why she could still stand, still fight. That was why she would have the Avatar. Much like Zhao under her assault, the Avatar would have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and would crumble under her flames. Zhao fell to a knee, and she surged forward a great pillar of fire, feeling her energy flowing out of her faster than she could recuperate it. He split that wave, but it was pushing him back, back, back. Finally, Zhao's balance gave out, and he fell supine. She finally released the wave, which was ideal, because much more, and it would have likely made her black out. She leveled a hand, golden flames playing along her nails, toward him, her other fist cocked back.
"You are going to let us leave," Azula said. "And you are going to limp back to my father and tell him that his little girl is a better fighter, a better strategist, and a better heir than you will ever be."
"I..."
"I know full well you want to be plenipotentiary, but Father will not share power with a worthless waste of skin, waste of bones, and waste of breath like you," Azula said. She turned, masking the fatigued shudder that ran through her. "And you can forget the Avatar. That prize is mine alone."
"I'm not through with you," Zhao shouted.
"I really wonder what Father ever saw in you," Azula said derisively as she walked away. Zuko was smiling at her, with genuine awe on his face. Iroh, too, had a strong note of surprise to his features. She disregarded the man on the ground, fighting the urge to shiver. Despite the flush of victory, she was so cold. Perhaps she'd pushed herself too far? Well, if she didn't she'd never know how far she could go. She smirked, looking at her family and preparing to ask a sarcastic question, but Zuko's eyes widened in alarm.
Azula didn't even think. One moment, she was walking away. The next, she was twisting, one leg sweeping out and chi flowing down her hands. The blast of fire which had been sent to sear her posterior and legs was smashed aside, and two fingers lanced forward. The fire which shot from that stance, that unusual, unconscious flow of movements, was not scarlet, nor golden. It was bright, hot, electric blue. Zhao's eyes widened as that burst of blue flame shot toward him, and he brought up his own shield of fire. Her azure flame smashed straight through it and seared along the side of Zhao's face. He let out a scream of pain and dropped, cradling the left eye and ear, rolling on the ground. Azula slowly rose up out of the stance she'd dropped into. "Consider that a warning," Azula said lightly. "Next time, I'll aim three inches your right."
"Azula, that was... unwise," Iroh said.
"You poisoned me," Zuko said.
"It was for the best," Azula said. She moved past them, so that Zhao was now out of sight, and finally allowed herself to slump. "I think I'm going to pass out in a second here."
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Iroh asked, a querulous look on his face.
"I..." Azula said, finally taking his offered arm to keep her able to move. She was so, so very tired. "I'm not sure," she admitted. Together, the family limped back to the ship.
The crash was her first sign that something had gone terribly wrong. The second was the rumble which ran through the very floor under her feet. The third, and most ominous, was that the eyes of all of the many, many statues had begin to shine with an eerie white light. She started to stumble, then run at full sprint, away from the room and the unknown, the unimaginable, the inexplicable, and try to find her brother and Aang. Somebody who would know what was going on. Well, not Sokka, in that case, but possibly Aang.
She was shouting his name when an entire building lifted off of its foundation, crumbling into blocks which spiraled slowly inward. Every rational part of her mind was telling her to flee, to pick a direction as directly away from this as possible and sprint that way. But her heart wouldn't let her. Her heart spurred her feet into motion, and she was moving toward this anomaly, this unthinkable thing.
"Aang? Sokka? Where are you?" Katara screamed against the wailing of the wind. It was tearing across the mountain at a gale, where before there had been but a whisper. Harsh, angry, red light filtered up, glaring off of the chunks which still hung suspended in the air, slowly revolving around an unseen point. She felt something fly past her, and ducked as quite a bit of the snow from the banks nearby flew up past her, into the center of that maelstrom. She raced along the paths as fast as her feet would take her.
"Aang? What's going on?" she could hear her brother shout. And then, there was another voice. A voice both recognizable and not, its words blasting in the wind indistinct but of undeniable power and anger. And then, she could hear her brother scream. Her eyes went wide as she could see Sokka in his pale blue parka flying through the air, set against the dark blue sky of the rising sun. The way he was going, would send him over the cliff. With a flick of her wrists, her gloves flew off and landed on the ground, and she flowed through a motion she had practiced for years, despite having none better.
The water, the snow and the ice yet on the ground listened to her desperate plea. It surged out, a tongue of thick slush that lashed into the distance, anchored at the cliffside. At the exact moment that Sokka dropped through it, she slammed her fists shut, and her eyes as well. She couldn't bear to watch this if it didn't... "Katara!" Sokka screamed. "Did you do that?"
She opened her eyes. Sokka was in the process of crawling up himself, and then hacking his leg free of the ice she had formed. The shock, that she had managed to do all of that, caused her control to waver, though. As he took his first free step, his foot sunk far lower. He didn't bother looking surprised. He just broke out into a panicked sprint, his last pace a bound for the comforting rock as she finally lost all control and the slush turned to water, which slipped from her control. "Are you alright?"
"I think I pulled my ankle!" Sokka complained. "It's Aang! He's gone all... Glowing badass on us!"
Katara, her attention no longer fixated on her kin, finally saw it. Him. It was Aang, there was no doubt about that, but he hung suspended inside a sphere of fire, ringed by broken discs of flame, of jagged ice, and orbiting stone. "Tui La," Katara said quietly. "He's bending all four at once..."
"Make him stop! He's going to blow us off the mountain!" Sokka demanded. Katara wasn't sure how to do that. "It's the airbenders. He found their bodies!"
She glanced to her brother, then back to Aang. To the bender of all four elements. To the Avatar. "Aang," she shouted over the gale. "I know what you're feeling. I've felt that pain. Sokka and I both have!"
She took a hard step against the wind, and Aang stared impassively onward, to the northwest. "We know how much it hurts to lose the people that you love," she continued forward, despite the wind trying to blow her away. "When the Fire Nation killed our Mom, when they took our sister, it seemed like there was nothing but anger and rage! And we weren't alone: Almost everybody lost family that day. And Monk Gyatso and the airbenders were your family..."
She paused in her strides, just outside that ring of swirling death that separated them. One step. She closed her eyes, and trusted in faith, faith that Aang was still the kind, warm-hearted boy they met on the ice. Still the young man who valued people, who remembered how to love. That he wasn't just the Avatar. She took the last step, eyes shut, and trusted that he would be there, and that he wouldn't hurt her.
And he didn't.
She took his hand, and pulled him down, wrapping him in an embrace. "We know how much it hurts to lose family, but you're not alone anymore. We're your family too, now," Katara said. "You're the younger brother we never had. We're family, and we are never going to leave you."
The brilliant white light faded, disappearing from the tattoos and his eyes, until he slumped against her. He straightened after a moment, blinking in fear. "Katara?" he asked, his voice small. "What just happened?"
"It's alright," Katara said. "Nobody's hurt."
"No, I mean, what happened?" he pushed her back a bit, his grey eyes flitting around the ruins. "How did this happen?"
"You did it, Aang," Sokka said, limping in.
Aang stared at him for a long moment, mouth agape. "That was real?" he asked. "That really happened?"
"Aang, why didn't you tell us you were the Avatar?" Katara asked. The boy took a long step back.
"I'm not the Avatar," he claimed. "I can't be. Somebody would have told me if I was the Avatar."
"I saw some earthbending and firebending," Sokka pointed out with an odd sort of sarcastic calm that seemed a bit out of place. It was likely that Sokka was shaken up just as the rest of them were. "As far as I know, there's not something airbenders can do."
"I'm... I can't be the Avatar, I just can't!" Aang curled up on himself.
"Aang, it's alright," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, to comfort him.
"Why didn't Gyatso tell me?" Aang asked quietly. "I don't know anything about being the Avatar. I'm just an airbender. A lazy, coasting-on-his-talent airbender. I can't be this... mythical guy."
"Y'know, I bet quite a few Avatars have said that about themselves," Sokka pointed out, squatting opposite Katara, at Aang's other shoulder. "And they've probably all had somebody like me point out the fact that every other Avatar got where they were the same way I get to the outhouse; one step at a time."
"Sokka, that's disgusting."
"What? I'm trying to be helpful."
"Thanks, Sokka," Aang said, nodding to himself. "I'm... I'm the Avatar."
He looked up, and a pair of big, green eyes was looking back at him. Seeing the lemur brought a long-overdue smile to the airbender... the Avatar's face, as the creature moved a bit closer and glanced between them. Katara shot her brother a warning glance so absolute that it could have melted ice in a winter blizzard. And Sokka heeded it. The creature seemed to pick its target, and quickly scampered up Aang's kavi and settled onto the youth's shoulder, chattering quietly into the airbender's ear and picking at Aang's flaring ears with its cunning fingers.
"Looks like you made a new friend," Sokka said sarcastically.
"Yeah, it really does," Aang said. He stood, looking at what remained of the South Air Temple. "He and I are pretty much all that's left of the Air Nomads, aren't we?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "But that's alright. I've got a purpose, now."
"What purpose?" Katara asked.
Aang looked back, a befuddled look on his face. "I'm not really sure. Avatar stuff, I guess. I'll figure it out as I go."
"That's the spirit," Sokka said, clapping the airbender on the back. "By the way, did you find anything to eat?"
Katara rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."
Nila glared at her so-called partner. "What do you mean, the trail ends?" she demanded.
"It is shaped like itself, boy," Udu said sharply. Nila once again ground her teeth. "I could track him for a thousand miles across desert, but in this scrub, I'm as blind as a badgermole."
"And the trail?" she prompted.
"He was walking south until here," Udu said, pointing where he was standing. He squinted around, but shook his head. "After that, there are no trail-signs, at least not anything made since last rainfall."
She looked around the ground, at the barely noticeable scuffs which were the sole portent of Sharif's passage. There was also something else, a two-pronged mark which repeated back and away. She pointed it out. "What is this?"
"Ostrich Horse," Udu said. As he moved to the tracks, though, he let out a growl. "And a big one, by the look of the foot. Probably a bull male," Udu let out a bitter laugh. "Probably came on that little runt and ran him down. Body got dragged off by predators. More's the pity. I wanted to tear his skin off and make a necklace of his tongue."
"You need some serious help with that anger of yours," Nila said, slowly looking around the great expanse of outer Dakong. Sharif wasn't dead. She knew it as well as she knew that she continued breathing. She looked down at the Ostrich Horse tracks again. "What are the chances somebody picked him up?"
"Picked him up? Dakong is huge, and not very well populated," he said. "Besides, look at the toes. Domesticated Ostrich Horses have their talons clipped. This one was feral. Feral beasts will kick you to death as quick as look at you. The boy is dead. Accept this, and part company."
Nila didn't say a word. Her gaze continued to sweep the horizon, until it seemed to hitch on the west. She wasn't sure what it was or why she felt it, but she was sure beyond all scientific sensibility or doubt that if Sharif was still alive – and there was no way that he would release her from his inanity by dying – then he had to be that way. There was no other way to put it, than that direction annoyed her more than any other. Udu started singing a traveling song to himself as he walked back to the north, away from the sparse grasses and toward more familiar sand dunes. She sighed to herself, rubbing at her shoulders where the straps dug in. It wasn't the first time she regretted carrying around excess weight, but she was damnably hard pressed to rid herself of it. The entire situation reeked of defeat, and she didn't like the feeling.
For a moment, she continued following him. Returning home, telling Mother the same line that Udu had told her. It wasn't even lying, not really. It could have happened, for all Nila knew. But as much as she would have liked the easy way out, there was another aspect to her personality, one which drove her to shave her own head after two successive attempts at a new combustible set her hair afire. It wasn't until the thirty fifth that she got one that was to her liking, and by then, she'd also lost her eyebrows. Those, at least, grew back. Nila was many things. Smart, slothful, sharp, sarcastic, but of all the s-words that could be used to describe her, the one which rose head and shoulders above all the rest was 'stubborn'.
With a quiet growl against the universe for saddling her with a demanding mother and an idiot brother, she stalked toward the west, with the noon sun beating down on her with a fraction of the force it did in her homeland. It occurred to her if she traveled much further south, she might start getting extremely cold.
"If I freeze to death trying to hunt you down, Sharif, I swear that I'll find a way to haunt you," Nila said, an set out afoot over the great expanse of Dakong.
I fairly unabashedly steal characters from pretty much anywhere I can get them. Malu, for example, was part of the A:tLA Collectable Card Game, where she was an Air Nomad who survived the purge before she could be recognized for her airbending mastery, living as a figure of myth in the mountains. I take characters and play with them; it's a favorite tactic of mine. Just a list for disclosure's sake, for the point that I've reached in tacking out the narrative, I'm also taking Keung from Equivalent Exchange, and Rufftoon's Kwan. Yes, Benell was a reference to Children, but it is only that. It's worth a chuckle if you know what it means, but if you don't, it's something to be ignored and moved passed without detriment. Another example of a self-imported character is Sativa Badesh bint Seema din Nassar. She was a Rogue/Paladin (Heavy on the Rogue) from a Pathfinder campaign I played a few years back. Since I never managed to reach the point where I could consider her story complete, I see no reason in not reusing her, and creating her non-existent fictional progeny to do as I need them to.
That actually set in motion something that amused me greatly. Since Sativa was created as a D&D adventurer, why not make her a retired adventurer, who had her own party back in the day? Yes, you will be forced to endure her as well; I know that OC's burn like acid to the skin of a purist, but what can I say, besides that if she were voiced in the cartoon, it would be by Shohreh Aghdashloo, and she gives me options?
Regarding Sharif in particular. Nila's twin wasn't dull by nature. He is only the way he is because he suffered a traumatic brain injury and subsequent infection which gave him an ad-hoc total frontal lobotamy. Mental retardation isn't a term I use lightly given my vocation, but Sharif is fifteen years old, and has the mind of a nine-year-old; that isn't going to change. Ten years old at best. The only upshot of that, if it can be said to be an upshot, is that Spirits find Sharif extremely pleasant to be around. He is the spiritual equivalent of a warm bath after a cold day, and his instincts are more or less intact, so his ability as a Shaman is not completely wrecked as it would be if he were a bender (he's not, by the way).
One final tack: Quantifying shamanism is like nailing jello to a wall. Pointless and messy. But if I have to rate power to make a point, I do it thus. Making Sharif equal 1.0 on a scale has the following effects. Average shamans equal 0.3, while 'named' spirits such as Heibei or Irukandji usually come in the 1.1 to 1.4 range. Animals, which unlike humans have spirits instead of souls, come in at around 0.01 to 0.1; Some spirits, like Koh, equal 1.6 on that scale. Aang, being Avatar, is 1.5.
That thing inside Malu is a 4.
Yeah.
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