From the air, the Capital was a rough circle; a burnt-out volcanic crater, its outer slope striated by partially camouflaged defensive emplacements and the various sundry apparatus of newfound peace. The mansions that filled the circle were also arranged in rough concentric circles, dropping from precarious perches on the hillside down to the central bulls-eye of the Palace. The Ember Group had come from the northwest, overflying and completely ignoring the ring of defences. By the time the palace guard was mobilized, the palace itself was swarming with heavily armed drop troops, and Industrious Serpent carriers were already disgorging armoured spearheads. Mai's surrender stopped any real resistance dead in its tracks, but by the time she had done so the armoured columns had already rumbled up (or, in the case of those carrying Earthbenders, through) the hillside and taken the defenses. The genius siege engineers who had built the Capital had never anticipated an attack from the inside. The Capital had the strongest defensive emplacements in the world, but the Fire Nation's finest had no idea how to deal with polite requests to surrender coming from the speaking tubes of tanks which ignored their heaviest attacks at point-blank range. Then the infantry arrived, and their hearty encouragements to not do anything stupid rapidly forced their complete withdrawal. The Group had taken the Capital. As soon as the confused straggle of troops moving back into barracks was complete, the Ember Group engineering corps got to work. Joints were cracked. Pencils were sharpened. All across the capital, sheafs of onion-skin paper were laid under bright lights as eager engineers prepared to make their dreams reality. Dozens of Industrious Dragon pioneer tractors trundled out across the hillside, disgorging teams of Earthbenders in harness. Within half an hour, the Capital hillside was scored by three rings of threatening trenches and earthworks.
As their counterparts on the ground laid new trenches, the engineers in the air began a complete overhaul of the Capital's existing defenses. Bulk hauler airships hovered pregnantly over the old emplacements, their twin-hulled bulks disgorging heavy metal cubes. These devices re-emplaced the emplacements by virtue of crushing them outright, huge hydraulic pistons punching into the earth and securing the cubes in place. They bloomed like steel flowers, each revealing a bristling array of anti-air projectors, optigraph tubes, and observation posts. Around them, companies of Howling Dragons were gathering into artillery parks as the engineers brought up light field defenses and a network of fire control posts. The hill was alive with a sparkling constellation of optigraph lamps, chatter rippling across the hillside at the speed of light.
One hour after their first arrival at the palace, the Ember Group had fortified the Capital. Five hours had passed since the first mobilization of the Tulpa. If anyone had had the time, need or urge to sit around in some kind of lounge, drinking sake, they would have congratulated the Group on its fastest combat deployment ever. No one did, so no congratulations were in order. There was no time. Everyone had to hurry up and get ready so they could wait. The infantry were snug in their trenches, the tanks in their bunkers. Attuned benders were drugged up and twitching to, their senses twitching idly across the rolling hills that surrounded their new home. Optigraph operators (Op ops, as they generally loathed to be called) completed their final calibrations, trimming and retrimming magnesium wicks and partaking of various amphetamine-based divertissments to speed their reflexes. Artillery commanders reviewed their fire plans, sweating in the heat of massive boilers. All down the line, men and women prepared for a war they'd spent their lives training for but had never thought would actually happen.
At several points along the line, impatient tank commanders ordered all ahead full as they heard the roar of low-flying airships and the two-note shriek. Apologetic messages went down, angry remonstrations up. (Some damn fool in Logistics had loaded Commodore Lorma's Eye of the Storm with nothing but mis-labelled smoke shells. The Commodore, quite sensibly, refused to fly until her airship could actually fight, etcetera, etcetera...) Now the complete strike force moved out, two hundred assault and cavalry tanks backed by a mighty fleet of 24 airships, the Eye of the Storm at their head. After half an hour, their smoke trail had vanished into the rapidly gathering fog. Attuned waterbenders confirmed what Si, in his brand-new palace command post, had suspected; the Lotus were tampering with the weather. The air pressure was plummeting, along with the temperature. A storm was coming.
Thunder rumbled across the capital. Some of it was from the storm, but most came from the distant roar of battle. A blattering, freezing rain began to fall. As waterbenders worked to clear the skies, Attuned worked to keep Si informed on Lorma's progress. Each of the airships held a small assembly of various elemental samples, whose arrangement and temperature could be detected by a distant Attuned. By reorganizing these samples, simple coded messages could be sent both ways. It was through this system that Si learned Lorma had made contact with a massive force of Tulpa (near Yura's now-abandoned listening post, coincidentally). They had engaged. Caused heavy damage. Had lost several airships. Were being flanked by earth Tulpa rising out of the mountains. Had been forced to abandon a significant number of vehicles bogged down and frozen by water Tulpa. Were pulling back in a fighting retreat.
Orders spread down the line. Be ready.
He ran through the mist, lungs burning, barely feeling the oozing hole in his right side. It hurt to breath. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. The constant pounding in his ears and temples drowned out all thought and sound. He had dropped his sword and hadn't bothered to pick it back up. The others had been running with him, but he had lost them too. Nothing to do but run.
He couldn't see as he stumbled through damp, waist-high grass and shrubs. The mist was choking, unnaturally thick. He could be going in circles for all he knew. Occasionally he felt rather than heard large somethings roar by overhead. Something cold and sticky was dripping down the side of his head. Red droplets spattered on his hand. He kept running. Had he been anywhere else, the pistol bow at his side would have been a comfortable weight. Now it was just slowing him down. Muzzily, he debated about dropping it. Too much effort. His breath caught and rasped in the back of his throat, and he squinted against the stinging, blood-laced sweat dripping off his forehead.
He nearly lost his balance as the wreck of the tank loomed out of the mist. It had been almost cut in half by the massive chunk of rock that kept it pinned to the earth like a dying beetle. He kept running. His foot hit something soft. There was a scream of agony. He stumbled, regained his footing and kept running. He didn't look back.
Suddenly, the mist was clearing. His legs failed him, and he collapsed, his mouth open in a breathless scream at the thing that towered over him. A massive, squidlike bulk, its body of saturated wood and carved coral dripping brackish salt water. A single tentacle of coiled seaweed turned towards him, veins of light pulsating across its length. It was as wide as he was tall. Water surged at its tip, and he screwed his eyes shut, awaiting the end. Something dark filled his vision, and he was dimly aware of a faint screaming noise. He opened one eye. A massive mechanical figure knelt in front of him, the huge metal shields on its forearms straining against the punishing force of the water jet that bore down on them. The AP Harness struggled to its feet, a stinging corona of spray blooming around it. There was a flash of smoke and heat from its shoulders, and a cloud of silent missiles buried themselves in the base of the tentacle, severing it from the body of the water Tulpa. He looked around. The AP harness were everywhere, striding fearlessly forwards to fight massive beasts dozens or hundreds of times larger than they were. The air was alive with rockets, explosive arrows, and shells.
A mechanical hand, slick with ice-cold seawater, reached down and pulled him upright. He stared into the blank visage of the harness. There was a surreal, oddly reassuring clarity about its bulk. Painted across its thick chestplate was the legend "20% Harder", and a jagged multi-coloured bolt of lightning. With a hiss, its slitted visor retracted, revealing the glassed-in cockpit within. A series of red lights revealed the face of the pilot, the glare making her eyes shine pink. She spoke, and a rumbling boom emanated from the speaking tubes.
"You're gonna make it. Just hang in there."
The air above the Capital was filled with spindly, gossamer shapes; thin spheres of rice paper and silk, inflated with flammable lighter-than-air gas and weighted down by small capsules of exotic explosives. Air mines. It was almost impossible to hit an air Tulpa in flight with a steam projector or rocket. Air mines simplified that by slowing the Tulpa down, forcing them to dodge and maneuver. And if the projectiles fired at them happened to miss, and set off the mines... well, there was a good chance an airborne construct would be caught in the blast anyways.
Flight after flight of Tulpa dropped out of the stratosphere, straight into the cloud of mines. The sky lit up with fire as the anti-air projectors opened up, shells streaming near-vertically and bursting around them. Some of the winged forms were clipped and crippled, spiralling away as they burned. Others were more lucky, dodging the blasts or even knocking shells out of the way with bursts of air pressure. And then the mines began to explode. First a few, then more and more as the conflagration triggered the fragile devices. The sky went white, the mist melting away under the wave of heat. When the fire had cleared, only a few undamaged Tulpa were left. The lead one roared, plummeting towards the defensive line as a cone of clouds formed about it. With a thud, it broke the sound barrier, then continued to accelerate. It hit a hive shell travelling at a little over twice the speed of sound. The small cloud of bomblets tore away the left side of its head, carving deep gashes along its left forewing and tail flap. It rolled over in midair, slamming out of supersonic as its dive turned into a fall. It had begun to level out when it hit the ground, the impact tearing off its damaged wing and leaving a deep gash in the earth.
Crippled but still fighting, it stumbled to its feet.
EEEEEEEKRAKOOOM!
The roar of an Emperor Dragon. The Tulpa froze, its five eyes flickering. Small chunks of melted metal dripped from the corrugated edges of the puncture wound in its core. The round had gone straight through it, leaving a messy splatter of liquid sprayed across the ground behind it. The lights playing over its body brightened. It seemed to fold in on itself.
The water Tulpa reared back. It looked almost... afraid? The woman in harness wrapped her huge arms around him. He looked up at her in confusion.
"What's-?"
She smiled sadly.
"I'm sorry."
Then they were swallowed by a curtain of radiation and heat.
Si squinted at the distant pillar of fading light. It was almost too painful to look at directly.
"Only one detonation?"
"Yes, general. It's looking like we've lost a large portion of the First Heavy Infantry, but the storm is clearing. Artillery reports they can begin direct fire again.
"Shit. But better than expected. Whenever they're ready."
The room was cold and high-ceilinged, weirdly lit by the ambient green-ness. A small clock ticked in one corner. The polished gray marble floor was dominated by a large stone desk, strewn with papers. Most of the wall behind the desk was taken up by a huge white banner, marked only by 9 bloodred characters.
FROM ACTION, POWER
FROM POWER, KNOWLEDGE
FROM KNOWLEDGE, ETERNITY
Brahmos closed the door softly behind them. Sokka, being Sokka, broke the silence first.
'So... anyone else convinced someone's gone and spiked our food with cactus juice?"
Zuko snorted and Aang couldn't hold back a smile. Katara sighed a sigh that said 'brothers...'. A door, cleverly concealed in the far wall of the room opened, and Iroh entered, looking deadly serious.
"Uncle! Just what is going-"
Iroh cut him short, his voice no more than a growl.
"Zuko, I'm sorry, but now is not the time. Listen, I have a lot to tell you in not very much time."
"But-'
'Zuko. In a few minutes the Zhujue is going to come in here and tell you that it wants your help tracking down the Elrics. It will tell you that your skills are invaluable in preserving the balance of this world. It wants them under its control. This must not happen. No matter what it says, no matter how much it offers to help, do not trust it. The Elrics must remain alive, and they must not be allowed to fall under the control of the Order of the White Lotus."
He reached into a pocket of his white robes, pulling out a small disk of metal. He pressed it into Aang's hands.
"Avatar, keep this safe. Brahmos will help you hear what's on it. I cannot speak to you directly. Do not let the Zhujue know it exists."
The doors opened behind them, and a hulking figure entered, its face hidden by wide reflective lenses. Its voice was a sibilant rumble.
"Avatar Aang. Firelord Zuko. I am the Zhujue of the Order of the White Lotus. We have much to discuss."
Aang was the last one out of the paifang, the small metal disk hanging heavily in a pocket. Brahmos had slipped him a Pai Sho tile before they'd left, giving him a brief nod. They emerged in a dusty storeroom, packed full of barrels and crates of various dry goods and construction materials. Sokka collapsed on a pile of sandbags.
"Is it over yet?"
Zuko slumped down beside him.
'I hope so, buddy. What a day."
Aang dropped into a comfortable lotus position, feeling his hips pop. He had been on the move all day.
"Was it only this morning we were fighting off some kind of warship? And now we're... well, wherever here is."
Katara sat next to him, leaning against him and sighing tiredly.
"What are we doing, guys? I mean what in the hells is going on here?"
It was one thing for Katara to sound so world-weary, but something entirely different for her to swear. Aang hugged her close, trying very hard not to blush.
"It's... um, well I guess it's a lot to take in in one day."
Zuko got to his feet, stalking around the room.
"You're telling me! I suddenly discover that not only is Uncle still involved with the White Lotus, but it's some kind of spirit-world-monster-controlled... thing! I mean they had an entire world! Armies! The power to suck people into the Spirit World whenever they want! And now something's happened with Ed and Al- and don't get me started on whatever the hell's going on with those two! Arrrgh!"
His bark of anger turned to one of pain as his wild (missed) kick at an empty barrel sent his toes mashing into a very full one.
He sat on the barrel, cursing and cradling his foot.
"Uncle lied to me! Lied to us! With that kind of force under his control, he could have stopped the war! Claimed the throne for himself! Prevented the death of the Airbenders! Hell, for all I know he knows where my mother is! But is he gonna tell us? No! That would make things too easy!"
His last word was accompanied by a wild, uncontrolled rush of heat and flame. Both Katara and aang were on their feet immediately, dousing the flames. Zuko sat on the scorched barrel, cradling his head in his hands.
"I- I'm sorry. I lost control. I just- ugh."
Sokka sat up.
"Zuko, I thought Ozai told you where your mother was? What did he say, exactly?"
Zuko sighed.
"Nothing concrete; he just smiled and said she was alive, but in a place I'd never be able to reach. Helpful, I know."
"Huh. What's bugging me is all this crazy magic and technology stuff."
Aang smiled.
"That would bug you, Sokka."
"You know it! But seriously. First there was that warship; the weapons it was using were nothing like anything I've seen. Too powerful to be ballistae, but they didn't have the smoke trails of rockets. And the ship itself; I didn't see much of it, but it looked like most of it was under water."
Katara frowned.
"So someone stole your submarine design?"
Sokka shrugged.
"Either that, or invented it separately on their own. The Mechanist and I can't be the only inventive geniuses in the world, now can we. And another thing-"
"Yes, oh mighty inventive genius?"
"Sis, c'mon... Anyways. The spirit world. Aang, you said it was mostly forest, right? And that your bending didn't work there."
Aang nodded.
"Yes, but then again I only ever saw a tiny portion of the Spirit World. Aside from going after," he shivered, "Ko... But you're right. The stuff we saw there. The Rakshasa... it seemed kind of out of place from what I've been taught about the Spirit World. I know it's supposed to be a very fluid and, well... spiritual realm."
"Spiritual? Did those gigantic stone buildings look spiritual to you? Or the huge armies? Or the creepy slogans everywhere? Or the giant teleporting gateway-thingies?"
Aang leaned forwards, intertwining his fingers.
"There's a very old Airbender saying. It goes something like 'to the man on the street, the greatest Bending is the same as the greatest of machinery'. The original wording's much more witty, but It's completely slipped my mind."
"And what did the Airbenders know about technology? No offence, but you guys weren't exactly big on the clanky-clanky pistony-geary... stuff."
Zuko clapped sarcastically.
"Genius inventor, sure. But master of eloquence? Naaaaah."
Aang made a placating gesture.
"C'mon. And yes, Sokka, the Airbenders weren't nearly as advanced as the Fire Nation. But look at our gliders. Or the doors in the Southern Air Temple."
"Okay, point taken."
Katara stood, placing a hand on Aang's shoulder.
"Aang, what was that thing Iroh gave you?"
"Oh! Right!"
Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out the heavy little disc and the Pai Sho tile. The disc was about plam-sized, made of a metal that looked like it might be lead. There was a small circular indent in one side of the disc. Sokka grabbed it from his hands, peering curiously at it, then bit it sharply.
"Okay. Ptoo. Not lead. Much harder."
"Was that really necessary, Sokka?"
The Pai Sho tile was (not surprisingly) a Lotus tile. Sokka handed Aang back the disc then motioned encouragingly at him.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Put the tile in the little hole thing!"
"You think that'd do it?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
Aang shrugged, and obligingly inserted the tile into the indentation, put the disc on the floor, and stepped back quickly as it began to emit a soft humming sound. The disc opened like a metal flower, sending up a rapidly-unfolding broadleaf plant unlike anything he had ever seen. A single wide leaf sprouted upwards, while a set of smaller leaves curled around a bundle of gourds dangling at the plant's base. The plant shuddered to a halt, and skeins of colour began to work across its leaves. Then an image of Iroh appeared on its surface, and began to speak. The sound was low and wavering, emanating from the vibrating gourds. Iroh's face looked distorted and unfocussed, but the tension and stress in his face was obvious.
"Avatar Aang. If you recieve this, it means you've returned from the Spirit world, and presumably that the Ember Group have begun open military operations. You must forgive me for having decieved you for so long, but there are powers at work here unlike anything you or any Avatar have ever been forced to deal with. I'll try to make this explanation as brief as possible, but summing up several hundred years of political and military conflict is difficult. Please, bear with me.
A very, very long time ago, there lived a people of benders with the ability to control the chi that flows through all nature. They bent energy, the force that underlies all the elements. Theirs was a mighty force for good, acting behind to scenes to assist generation after generation of Avatar. But their numbers were never large to begin with, and as time passed and the Lion-Turtles began to die off, so too did the Energybenders. And so they undertook a great leap forwards. They energybent themselves, becoming entities of pure spirit. And as they took their first steps in the Spirit World, they named themselves the Rakshasa, eternal guardians of the Avatar's spiritual essence. Most of the time, they collectively went by their old human name, the Order of the White Lotus. It all sounds quite cheesy and overwrought, but that was the style at the time. Some things don't age well. Like certain teas-"
He stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose and grinning sadly.
"I'm sorry, I haven't slept in three days and the paifang lag is killing me. Anyways. The original generation of 'Shasa lived for thousands of years, recruiting new generations of humans in our world to assist each Avatar as they came and went. Their power grew to such an extent that they could even make new beings; a second generation of 'Shasa formed of pure soul-stuff, instilled with the will of their progenitors. And the new generation prospered as their creators slowly began to fade away, and memory of their true greatness was lost. Today, the 'Shasa are shadows of their predecessors, who have forgotten how to rebuild the mechanisms that brought them life. They can only imitate and copy, not create. They had begun to lose touch. Which brings us to about one hundred and twenty years ago. Zuko, your grandfather Sozin had, in his uncontrolled desire for progress, created an independent group; their aims were simply the preservation of the Fire Nation. They were given a near-unlimited materials budget, access to the greatest minds of the Fire Nation, and the greatest minds they could kidnap and suborn from the other nations. They had complete freedom, so long as they kept what Sozin vaguely referred to as 'the spark' alive. Of course, it wasn't long before the group of geniuses, inventors and theorists that was the Ember Group realized the obvious- that Sozin was at best deeply misguided- and joined the White Lotus wholeheartedly. In doing so, they gave the human arm of the Lotus an incredible power base; technology beyond its time, a vast network of intermediaries, consultants and available talent, drawing from each of the Four Nations and synthesizing them into something more. The Ember Group had become what the humans of the White Lotus had always wanted to be; a nation of its own, with influence over the other four.
And then the Hundred-Year War happened. And it became apparent to the Ember Group that the 'Shasa had gone completely off the deep end. They believed the best way to keep the balance was either all-out warfare or constant, tense peace. And then Sozin altered the balance by wiping out one of the four nations. And the Shasa did nothing. Three nations were easier to control. As they rescued the survivors of the genocidal campaign, the leadership of the Ember Group knew that they needed something different. A third option, other than war or the threat of war. So they chose war, but not in the way the Shasa thought of it. They would rise up; a fifth power, and unite the other four through high technology, economic dominance, and liberal application of scientific genius. The world was at war; each nation assembled its greatest minds and opponents, only to have them snatched by the Ember Group, still acting under the guise and vague approval of the White Lotus."
He paused again, and the image shook, as if he were adjusting whatever was recording his words. When the shaking stopped, his face was suddenly more clear, and the lines of exhaustion were visible in his face.
"Ava- you know what, forget it. Aang. Zuko. Katara. Toph. Mai. Suki. Ty Lee. Sokka. Whoever is-"
"Why was I la-"
"Sokka! Shut up!"
"-listening to this. I know this is a great deal to take in, but this world is in danger. If you have recieved this message, it means you can save it. Bear with me. After twenty-five years of war, the Ember Group acted. In the space of one fateful day- the Purge- they wiped their membership of all White Lotus loyalists, either through imprisonment, exile, or in the worst cases, brainwashing. The Dai Li have nothing on these people, let me tell you. The Group also used a variety of methods to weaken, but not break the bonds between this world and the next, denying the Lotus the ability to send their engines of war into combat. And they had a powerful ally; it calls itself-"
The view flickered.
"Damn. I'm low on time. I'm going to have to hurry this. If you can find any one of the other Old Masters, except Bumi, they can fill you in. Do not talk to Bumi. As the schism dragged on, the Ember Group became fatigued, horrified at the brutal tactics its leadership had been willing to use. Meanwhile, the Spirit world was destabilizing with no Avatar alive to keep it in balance, and the Shasa lacked the strength to maintain the balance and wage a full war. So peace broke out. And overall, the Ember Group won. They've been running things behind the scenes for years now, but choosing to save their strength. That's why the human White Lotus is still in existence. But now, Aang. You're back. And the White Lotus and Ember Group are moving. The few humans in the Lotus- old men, but you knew that- are starting to have our doubts. I- I think..."
He sighed.
"We're on the wrong side. The 'Shasa no longer have even the slightest interest in humanity. And they're working on something. Bumi calls it the Omashu project, when he's sane enough to speak coherently. I fear he's finally snapped, and built something terrible. It's a weapon- what he calls a chistone bomb, made out of some kind of explosive metal. I don't know how it works, but the 'Shasa seem to believe they can use it, along with the powers of these... these 'Alchemists', whoever they are, to completely sever the bonds between the physical and spirit worlds. Either it'll kill every human being alive and the Rakshasa will rule over a graveyard, or it will simply end both worlds. Which is why I am asking, no- begging you. Find the Elrics. Get them to the Ember Group. Fight the White Lotus. Don't let Bumi set off his bomb."
He turned away, taking a deep swig from a previously-invisible bottle. As the image faded away, he could faintly be heard to mutter something...
"Ursa was right all along."
"Is the metal sample in place?"
"Yes, King Bumi."
"Good. Test Downshot Cradle will now commence. Activate."
Across the mountain valley, the chistone bomb detonated. The radioactive shockwave washed over the mangled remains of the Wind Chariot, already altered by alchemical distortion. And something deeply wrong happened. The air- no, it was more fundamental than that- everything tore like paper for the briefest of seconds, and harsh colourless nothing shone through, scorching all who saw it with its non-existence. Bumi laughed hoarsely, reaching into a small paifang, retrieveing a scroll and reading what was written upon it. He turned to the Waterbender and the Firebender, laughing uproariously as blood dripped from his eyes, mouth and ears.
"Now," he spat, "now we are all sons of bitches."
And in their horror they laughed with him.
-~0X0~-
I was seriously tempted to reuse an idea from The Assassin and call this chapter 'In Which Exposition Happens', but then I realized that that would be exceedingly stupid. So here we are.
Did I really last post on Halloween? Jaysus. Well, consider this an early Christmas present. I hope to have chapter 11 done by mid-January, but that is by no means a solid... thing. You know what I mean. This chapter marks the last of the material i partially pre-wrote over the summer, and the start of material I pre-wrote during morning lectures on Martin Luther and Presocratic philosophy and the like. I have more .txt files filled with walls of text than you can believe, man!
Anyways, this took a while because work continues apace on Atlantropa, my originally-planned-for-NaNoWriMo-novel which has now just become my novel. If you like dieselpunk and alternate-history 1950s shenanigans, you'll love it! You can find it at Fictionpress dot com forward slash tilde barondepencier.
Thanks as always to you wonderful internet people for reading and reviewing, and for all the wonderful university people for being wonderful and okay and stuff.
Happy non-denominational midwinter celebration!