I hear Iroh's voice even before I enter the galley, and it holds tragedy and answers. I do not enter the room, afraid my presence will break the spell of storytelling. "-turned to face his opponent, he was surprised to see it was not the general. Zuko had spoken out against a general's plan, but, by doing so in the Fire Lord's war room, it was the Fire Lord whom he had disrespected."
My back straightens, fists tighten. A boulder settles into my throat. "Zuko would have to duel his own father. When Prince Zuko saw that it was his father who had come to duel him, he begged for mercy." The image of young Zuko from the painting in his room comes to mind. Free of his scar, but not for long. I press my head against the wall, trying to gather my bearings. Zuko's father? Could he have done such a thing to his own son?
"However, the Fire Lord wanted Zuko to fight him. He would not accept disrespect or cowardice. He said, 'You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.' When he stepped toward Zuko, I looked away."
Jee is the only person to break the silence. "I always thought that Prince Zuko was in a training accident."
"It was no accident. After the duel, the Fire Lord said that, by refusing to fight, Zuko had shown shameful weakness. As punishment, he was banished and sent to capture the Avatar. Only then could he return with his honor."
"So that's why he's so obsessed. Capturing the Avatar is the only chance he has of things returning to normal."
"Things will never return to normal. But, the important thing is, the Avatar gives Zuko hope."
Understanding floods me. I step away from the wall and the galley, leaving Iroh and the crew to continue talking, though the weight of air is pressed heavy against everyone's minds. I rush down the stairs, heading for Zuko's room.
His father. His own father burned him.
Just as I am about to reach his door, a crash rocks the boat from side to side. Thunder follows right on top of it. We are hit. Zuko bursts from his room, eyes quickly falling to me.
"Zuko," I start, quickly standing up.
"Not now. Get on deck, quickly. We've been hit."
"Zuko, I understand now -"
"Zia, shut up." He does not stop to talk to me, or to see if I am following him. But I am right on his heels, rushing after him, wanting, desperately, to talk to him, to let him lean on me.
Everyone else is already on deck. There is smoke piling from the top of the boat, from the burning of coal. There is no damage immediately seen by anyone. The rain soaks through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. The waves lap at our feet, every crest sending us another, another, another. It takes a lot of effort just to keep me standing.
"Where were we hit?" Zuko says, voice loud to break through the cacophony of sounds from the storm.
"I don't know!" Jee shouts. Everyone is laboring to keep from being tossed from the boat. Is it really safer out here than inside? Or did Zuko just not want me to be pulled under when the ship sinks?
"Look!" Iroh points helmsman is dangling by the railing of the crows nest, which has split off the top of the ship.
"The helmsman!" Zuko says, already running toward the ladder, Jee right on his tail. They climb, hands finding purchase on the ladder in the slippery rain. Lightning flashes to my left, and I watch as Iroh is struck by lightning.
My heart falls, until I see the lightning shot upwards and away from us, hitting the water and sending more splashing over us. "Iroh!" His hair is standing up at a point, smoke billowing from him. "Iroh! What did you do?!" I run up to him, grab his arms, feel him for a pulse. But he shakes himself out of the jolt, as if this is an everyday occurrence.
"I redirected lightning," Iroh chuckles, grabbing my arms to steady himself. "It was a little . . . "
"Shocking? Definitely, especially to watch. I thought you were dead."
"No, not dead yet. Let's go help Prince Zuko with the helmsman. The worst of the storm is still upon us."
Zuko and Jee pass the helmsman to a soldier, likely directing him toward medical attention. Besides being shaken from the experience, he will likely be alright. The turbulent rain continues to pound us down, weighing clothes down. I stand close to the furnace that is Iroh and Zuko, radiating a small amount of heat.
As if pulled by a string, everyone turns to look at the horizon. Zuko yells, "The Avatar!"
I move forward, but Jee grabs my arm roughly. The Sky Bison disappears behind the next wave. "What do you want to do, sir?"
For once, Zuko seems to have seen sense. "Let him go. We need to get this ship to safety."
"Then we must head directly into the eye of the storm," Iroh says, ordering people around to proper positions. Once again, I feel useless, but the hope that Zuko feels about the Avatar is one I share. The urge to speak to Zuko will not leave me, so I follow him until he is staring at the eye of the storm.
The calmness is around us. I go to grab his arm. "Zuko." Words catch in my throat. I forget how to speak. There is no heat in Zuko's gaze anymore, and he doesn't toss away my hand. "Zuko, I understand. I do." The rain stops, and Zuko and I share a long moment of silence.
Iroh appears behind us, looking out into the darkness of the storm while we sit, quietly, in the calm of the storm. Without turning, Zuko says, "Uncle, I'm sorry."
"Your apology is accepted," Iroh says, nodding and looking out at the sea, turning away eventually. A wind blows through my damp clothes, and I hug myself, watching the waves. From the still section of water that our eyes are on, a Sky Bison erupts from the waters. I step back, slipping on the wet metal. Zuko's hand snaps out and grabs my wrist, keeping me from hitting the deck, but his eyes are locked on the Flying Bison and its passengers.
Aang looks back at us, and no recognition seems to pass his eyes as he looks at me. Eventually, they are too far for us to look at.
I fall to my knees, pain shooting briefly at the contact. "Maybe it was just my clothes," I mutter. "Maybe he doesn't recognize me because of the Fire Nation clothes." Zuko's eyes cut to mine, and I know he knows that Aang doesn't remember me. However, he keeps his mouth closed.
After our long silence, eyes still looking at the dot that might be Aang, Zuko says, "You'll get sick if you stay out here much longer. Come on. I bet Jee finished making dinner, and you should change into some dry clothes."
In the quiet of the night, when we are docked in a small port town near a fortress to refuel, I wake up sweating. Coughing loud enough for Iroh and Zuko to burst into my room, I know something is wrong. First of all, Zuko is dressed as if he just came inside, swords on his back, black clothes clinging to his skin. Second of all, Iroh is concerned, coming up to me, touching my forehead.
The room swims, jumps, swirls and dances around me as I try to sit up. Iroh hushes me, as if I spoke aloud, pushing me gently down. Zuko huffs, saying, "I told you to change before you ate dinner. No wonder you got sick." He turns and leaves, Iroh hovering over me in the haze of the moon.
"Don't mind him. The noodles were made with skill and love. Definitely worth a little cold. I'll go make some tea for you. We should be leaving port soon. It is almost morning."
When he returns, he is no longer Uncle Iroh, healer of burns, teacher of teas, but General Iroh of the Fire Nation, former heir to the throne, related to the killer of my people. His hair turns to flames, his eyes to rubies, his grin to a sneer, the pot of tea in his hands the flame of my demise. I cry out, and, inside, I know Iroh means no harm, but everything is twisted into a nightmare. I sit up, lurching the room around me, pushing myself against the wall.
Iroh, in all his wisdom, does not move from his position. He says something, quietly, but I cannot hear. The world drifts in and out of a nightmare, of me being awake and of me being asleep, waking to a world that is not familiar to me. I wake once, to find tea on my bedside, which I slosh all up my shirt, half aware of the lukewarm feeling of the tea.
The day blurs away, and, somewhere, I feel us lurch to a stop. There are noises outside, and I can't move, sweating, huffing, crying out almost, but I cannot see who is shouting outside. At one point, my room catches fire, and in the flames, dancing in agony, are the monks I once knew.
Lo, on the left, crying out in pain, clawing at the flames.
More, in the center, yelling at me to come back, to linger a little longer at the Southern Air Temple, to come back. To come back.
Gurmey, shaking his head in disappointment, in the back of the row.
No amount of tossing pillows and books at them will turn them away. Eventually, I fall asleep into a fitful nightmare. It is filled with flames.
Pushing the flames apart, a blue spirit flits through. Behind him, the flames dim. Exhausted, as if an ordeal brings him to my nightmare, he approaches me. He speaks my name in a familiar voice, though his grip is hot on my shoulder, keeping me in place. I try to cry out again, and I throw a fist up to meet him. He catches it easily, and pushes something cold and slimy into my mouth.
The coldness seeps into my bones, taking away the hotness of my fever. The coldness brings with it a restful sleep, free of nightmares and dreams.