A dragonfly buzzed Iroh as he walked further into the swamp. The droning hum was not alone, and it seemed that the very vegetation itself vibrated with activity and life unlike anywhere else in the world.
And it was getting louder.
A thick root with the diameter of a wagon wheel wound through trees, bushes, and marsh in front of Iroh. This was one of the many small arms of the Spirit Tree. For some it was a warning, but for Iroh it was a signpost leading him to his destination: the heart of the swamp.
With a few grunts and panting breaths, he made it atop the root and began following it, hoping his instinct was right about the source of the swamp's sounds. Unlike the stories of travelers getting lost in the forest trying to follow the roots, it felt as if he was being warmly received. It wasn't long before the root grew in diameter and linked up with similarly-sized others, leading to the largest tree that had ever existed. Surely it stood higher than any palace or wall man had made. And its roots were so large by this point that they were more like small hills, and there wasn't hardly any ground to walk on if Iroh had wanted to.
There was movement up ahead on Iroh's right. He stopped. A ball of vegetation moved unnaturally: vines reached out like arms from the dense tree line, congregated together on a distant root-hill, twisting and turning, and then receded, leaving behind a stout man in a loincloth and a large leaf fixed atop his head as a sort of hat.
Iroh raised a hand. "Hello!"
The man scratched his bare stomach then waved back, but he remained where he was on the other root, watching.
Taking that as a sign his presence was being tolerated, Iroh waved once more, then continued walking.
It was still well before sunset when Iroh came to the base of the banyan-grove tree, though for the last half-hour the sun had been completely blocked by the tree's massive canopy. The feeling of being watched had grown, though the intent was not unfriendly. This was a spiritual place, indeed.
He took a swig of water from the canteen hanging from his belt. Iroh sat down and closed his eyes, thanking the spirits for the wind that swept through the branches above and softened the summer heat. Now, to business.
Taking a breath, he let himself relax and let his spirit drift, tentatively touching the thick stream of energy passing deep within the roots and trunk. Scenes with details ranging from vague impressions to distinct images with sounds and smells swept past like leaves on the surface of a rushing river. But most of them were simple images impressing upon him unseen meaning: a red forest now bare, a monster creeping behind a veil, villages on the brink of war, the earth underground trembling in fear. So much fear. So much uncertainty. "I'm sorry," he whispered. I'm trying to help. I'm looking for something. An idea. Where ideas are kept.
The torrent of sounds and images suddenly dissipated like a crackling fire quenched by the hand of a firebending master. One image stayed with him, growing larger and clearer as it seemed to envelope him. It was filled with heavy shadows, and the impression of a musty odor reached Iroh's senses. A voice, smooth but cautious, tickled the back of Iroh's mind: "Who are you?"
"I am Iroh," he replied, choosing to keep the conversation formal until the Spirit indicated otherwise, "brother by marriage to Ursa, granddaughter of Avatar—"
"Do not speak his name!" thundered the Spirit. A dark body appeared on Iroh's left, animalistic of course, this one taking on the attributes of a bird. Its primarily white face stood out in the weak light, and its beak clacked after it was finished interrupting.
"I see you have met. I gather you did not part on the best of terms," Iroh remarked. His eyes drifted behind the Spirit, and the darkness revealed faint outlines of shelves leading away, each one overflowing with books and scrolls and whatever else could fit on them. What had been a tentative guess of where he was, as well as the Spirit's identity, had now become a certainty. Where ideas are saved, indeed.
"His incarnation is the reason I left his world." The owl's voice was quiet but by no means soft. "Mentioning him does not grant my favor, nor does concealing your identity, General Iroh to Lord Ozai the Younger."
Bowing his head deeply, Iroh replied, "Forgive me. When asking for aid, it does one good to be as amiable as possible, and I did not wish to disturb you by mentioning my connection with my brother. But since you are already aware, I pray you do not see my hesitation as dishonesty."
The bird towered above Iroh's perspective and bowed slightly. "Very well, but I cannot help you."
"Pardon me, Knowledgeable One, but you have not heard my request."
"You, like all the other humans, seek my knowledge, yes?" it said with an impatient flutter of a wing. "I am done helping them, and, by definition, you."
That was new. "May I ask what brought about this change? You have collected and shared knowledge for millennia. Countless civilizations have risen up with your help. You have helped myself on many occasions, even if you might not know it."
"And what are you to me?" it retorted. "A footnote among failed generals fighting for a nation that will be forgotten in another age. For millennia, I have seen men use my Library to kill and conquer each other. Knowledge, as you know, is a great tool to be wielded for good or ill; however, despite whatever noble causes sojourners reference as their reason to pick over my things—which I have accepted with increasing reluctance—those causes become corrupted, or the men themselves. My knowledge, however amiably taken, is always ultimately turned into a weapon. Do you offer any assurances to the falseness of this charge?"
"Sadly, I cannot. As for what would eventually result from my own use, I'm afraid, like most, I cannot predict the future. If I knew what was to come of this war—"
"Ha! War!" The Spirit's interjection was somewhere between a laugh and the sound of ripping paper. "Something about it stirs the blood in your human minds. Only then do you think about progress. Very few times have I been visited by a man not looking to me as his servant to aid in the destruction of another."
Thus was the nature of humans and war, and he was no different.
"I take your silence as assent. As I said, I cannot help you."
Iroh bowed his head. "I freely admit I want the Fire Lord stopped. He stands to destroy the world in his search for power he will never find."
"I remember such a man on a similar journey not three centuries ago, except he went by another name. Your brother is not a new invention, Grand Master Iroh. In every age, there exists this kind of powerful spirit that grips the fate of the mortal world. The world will survive in some form or another. It always does. No, even now, I will not help you."
"I thank you for allowing me to understand your plight. I know very little compared to your many years, but might I humbly offer a piece of knowledge I believe you could greatly profit from?"
The bird looked almost amused, if a bird could look it. "You are right in saying there is very little I do not know, but, then again, there never seems to be an end to the discoveries of new ideas, facts, and people. You know well that I will never decline an offering of such."
Iroh bowed his head once again in appreciation. "I have found the same to be true. The more we study this world, the more we know about its innerworkings. Knowledge provides clarity in the fog of the unknown. However, one could argue this clarity is brought only to our perception of the fog. We realize just how dense it is, or how far it reaches, or that it's not fog at all but something else. Our questions multiply with knowledge. Not to mention the forces at work that we cannot see, and, therefore, do not ask about or bother to study."
The bird ruffled its feathers, the sound like that of pages rubbing against one another. "Your reputation does not do you justice, Grand Master. I have considered the certainty myself and what that means for my work, but I am not dissuaded from my task. Your offering is an interesting thought, indeed, but not new."
"That I give in conversation, but it is not my offering."
"Then, please, make it."
"I share your wish for your preciously held knowledge to be used rightly. And, so, I give you this: wisdom."
"Unfortunately, I am not the Spirit of Wisdom. Therefore, I'm afraid I cannot accept."
"Ah, but isn't wisdom simply knowing how to use knowledge properly? Surely that is exactly what you need?"
"Then you have not listened," retorted the Spirit. "These men, these corrupters, take my knowledge under pretense and leave. I cannot control what they do with it once they have gone any more than I can control the wind. Their deeds are not mine, but the tools they act with are. Best I remove them before more blood is shed in vain."
"What are they to you? As you say, they will be forgotten in an age. Why care about the blood spilled? Should you not be happy to share your knowledge with the world under any circumstance?"
It clacked its beak in annoyance. "Your impertinence is unbecoming of a man such as yourself."
"Forgive me. I merely wished to reconcile what appeared to me as a variance in belief."
"Hmm. You have a way with words that I have not seen in a man in some time."
"I thank you," Iroh replied with a polite smile.
The Spirit regarded him with an impassive gaze. Its small eyes, black as the darkest shadow, remained fixed on Iroh's.
For an unknown amount of time—it was hard to tell due to the twilight lighting and stillness of the bird—Iroh waited, feeling time pass only because his skin, his body still on the banyan-grove tree, started to cool as late afternoon arrived. Or was it evening already? Time was an odd thing in the Spirit World.
Then some unknown thing seemed to rouse the Spirit, and it ruffled its feathers before reciting, " 'Summer flowers pass/Ocean waves carve the rocks deep/Embers burn forests.' It was offered up from a nameless woman many years ago," it added. "A Collection of Instants."
Iroh turned the haiku twice over in his head. "Moments can be beautiful, but superficial; taken for granted, yet powerful; harmful, but necessary."
"Yes, that is one interpretation," it replied, "but I perceived more. There is the impact of an instant, as you have stated, but what is intriguing is the moment itself—so short as if it had never happened at all. A wildflower lasts for a summer. A wave lasts for mere seconds. An ember, whether it grows to be a roaring fire or is snuffed out, may last for a minute on its own.
"You nod as if you understand, but I doubt you apprehend the true blessing and curse it is to see years pass in the blink of an eye or a turn of the head. How tens of thousands of animal and human moments live and die without a passing notice. And when I have attempted to help, to give them the tools to be better, live longer, grow together, I see how the number of dead grow."
"Does it not yet grow, still, despite withholding your guiding hand?"
The owl shook its head. "There is not enough information to determine that. I have only just begun."
"This coming comet, though, is not made by men nor as a result of what knowledge you have passed on, is it?" Iroh persisted.
The Spirit lowered its head so that it was eye-to-eye with Iroh. "I see the course you take," it said coldly and with a biting tone that could not be mistaken for anything but contempt. "You're just like the ones before you. It is only for your eminence that I withhold striking you."
"Let me speak plainly, then. You wish to remove yourself from this cycle of violence, as you see it. You do not want more men to die because of you, yet your actions say otherwise. If you stay out of this war, if you revoke your help from mankind, you will be responsible for tens of thousands of deaths, for my brother will not spare one man, woman, or child if they are in his way. You know this to be true."
"You dare accuse me of murder?" the Spirit's voice boomed, and it raised its head up high above Iroh, and he saw that, unlike a normal owl, this one's neck was probably close to the length of the rest of its body. "You, the Dragon of the West, killer of the holy?"
Iroh took a breath and gathered himself. "You are reminding me of what needs no reminding, Knowledgeable One," he answered as evenly as he could. "However, this does not change your current position. With my case given, I ask for your knowledge of all known things to help the Avatar find a way to stop my brother. Before you answer, I will add that neither the Avatar nor I wish him dead, but, if there is no other way to save the civilized world, I won't hesitate to stop him by other means."
The Spirit turned away, its neck shrinking as it did so, and began pacing. Its claws clacked against the hard floor, the only sound other than Iroh's own breathing. After a moment, the Spirit stopped. "This war—and your brother—have not gone ignored, Grand Master. No, given the century it has lived and the terrible loss of life, even the spirits take notice of such things." It took up pacing again, though at a much slower tempo.
"Some of us argue against interfering, while others say we must since it is only natural for the Spirit World to be next—the craving for power can never be satiated, as it's well known. But I cannot say what will come to pass. There exists the knowledge for mortals to discover the way in which to travel here, like you yourself have discovered, but there remains a vast chasm between discovering a thing and gaining mastery over it." It paused and cast its gaze at Iroh. "And by forceful means," it added, resuming its pacing. "Likewise, there has never been an instance where it has happened."
Iroh held his tongue. Surely the most knowledgeable creature ever to have lived would follow through its own line of reasoning and see the flaws. Interrupting its monologue preemptively could only hurt his cause.
"This doesn't mean it will never come to pass. He has upset the worlds' balance once with the mauling of Tui—foolish of those two to remain in the mortal world for so long, though I suppose I was no different as of late. Hm." It fell silent, still pacing. Its unseen talons played a scattering beat on the floor.
It felt as if Iroh blinked, and the Spirit was towering before him as it had done earlier, though not in malice like before. Time had passed or none at all. It was simply another mystery of the Spirit World that left him both awed and humbled. Upon reflection, his tether to his body felt weaker than before, which meant time had passed—a day or week or perhaps longer—or he had been weakened some other way. Regardless, he didn't feel to be in any great danger at the moment and remained where he was, staring up at the Spirit and awaiting its decision.
"Your case is well-made, I grant you that," acknowledged the Spirit. "It will be good for you to know there are several ways to stop your brother, but few to do it permanently, and without killing him. Very few—one, in fact. It is a dangerous way, and one that must be walked alone." [DG1] It hesitated, then clacked its beak once before stating, "There is a Spirit who guards it, one who can neither wholly determine victory nor failure for the Avatar, but it will decide the magnitude of the outcome."
Iroh inclined his head. "I see. If I may ask, Knowledgeable One, why share this way with me?" And what aren't you saying? he wondered.
"I provide knowledge at your request—and you question my intentions?" it retorted. But still it answered, its dark eyes watching with predatory stillness: "A tool is as good or evil—or foolish—as its wielder. Go to the Spirit. It will judge the Avatar and determine whether he is worthy of wielding the knowledge."
"And you don't believe he is."
"In this case," it said, moving away from Iroh towards a shelf piled high with scrolls, "what I think is immaterial." It came back with a single page, something that looked to have been torn from a book. "I realize I am helping the Avatar through you, but there is too much at stake not to explore all possibilities." The Spirit sighed. "For all the knowledge I've acquired, I still cannot see the right choice to make nor can I act on it. And so I leave that to another."
Iroh took the paper in both hands, feeling the textured surface against his palms back by the banyan-grove tree. He glimpsed the words, Lion Turtle.
Relief, more than he expected, poured through him. He bowed low. "Thank you."
The Spirit inclined its head slightly. "I have shared the existence of a path. That is all. It does not mean it must be traveled."
"No, but one must know a path exists in order to help one avoid it. I thank you all the same."
The Spirit nodded once.
His tether grew weaker, and Iroh felt his spirit drift back to his body. Before the bird creature faded from his sight completely, it said, "The Avatar may not."
A/N the ending:l hate me. So, my reasoning for stopping here is twofold. First, I think this was a natural stopping point given where we are in Zuko and Katara's relationship. In Catalyst, they come together for the first time as friends, and this time, as romantic partners realizing in themselves and the other that they might love each other or at least care deeply about the other beyond a purely platonic sort of way. Second, I found this to be the natural ending to season three in the show (assuming there was a fourth season). As a bonus reason, this fic was getting long and I wanted to make sure I'd actually be able to finish some semblance of a story.
As for a sequel/book 3, I don't know. I started writing this as a way to write a story I wanted to tell. I've told it and continued it into this book. I do want to continue and wrap everything up in a book 3 (I've already come up with an ending slightly different from the show that I think has a better setup) and even explore new stories in a post-finale book 4. But I also wrote this as a way to practice my writing without the pressures of "Can I finish a book? Is my writing good enough? Will anyone read it?" that the original works I had started in the past frequently generated. Now I know I can finish a book (two, in fact); my writing is good enough (though I have plenty of room for improvement); and people will read what I've written and perhaps, perhaps enjoy it. So, with that said, I have ideas for a book 3 and even a 4th book, but for the time being I think I'm going to try to write some original stuff and see how that goes. Who knows, maybe I'll be back here in a month or a year or two years, wanting to return to this story and to you all.
As before, I want to thank God for the lockdowns that gave me the realization of my true passion. Also, A.R. for beta reading and answering all my questions, and M.B.d.L. for being a loyal fan and checking in everything few months for word on progress. Thank you also you, readers, weekly or latecomers, for sitting down and reading this. I hope you enjoyed it and don't hate me too much for how I ended it. Trust me, it could have been worse. (Seriously—think Solo and Leia, end of Episode 5, separated for potentially forever…plus I was this close to killing Hakota off in front of everyone…yeah…you're welcome.) Once again, thank you for reading and reading this far. Love you all.
