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Bitter Alliance	By : Looneyluna Category: Avatar - The Last Airbender > Het - Male/Female > Katara/Zuko Views: 31138 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Act III

Bitter Spirits

Chapter One

--

I miss tea! I miss the way the steam warms my face and that first burst of sensation as the liquid warms my tongue. Luckily, I no longer hunger for food, for I am a non-corporeal being now – lost and astray. I have little memory of how I died. I seem to recall a giant fireball, but that seems so fantastical that even I have difficulty believing it. Then, of course, I am a master Firebender. Maybe something went wrong.

I know that I am dead; my short time with Lu Ten having shown me that there really is life after death. I just can’t seem to find my way to the Spirit World. I’ve been there, and this isn’t it.

The red haze above us prevents us from ascending into the stars. By us, I mean the Avatar’s pets and myself. I am certain that the red clouds block the path to the Spirit World. I was saddened to see that they would be making the journey with me. I know how Aang will grieve for them.

I have seen many ghosts roaming this realm, waiting to pass on. Something is terribly wrong. It is as though the gate to the Spirit World has closed. At least, I think there was a gate the last time I visited. Things were so hazy back then that I honestly don’t remember.

I have even seen Azula roaming close by. Apparently, the gate to the Dark Land is also closed. But, who am I to judge Azula’s soul?

I have spoken with her. She seems repentant, but I know her manipulative, scheming ways are far from over. She says she died from a fever around the time the fireball claimed my life. She blames her father.

Her accusations send a chill down my spine. I never paid much attention to the reasoning behind Sozin’s War. I did as I was told, wanting to please my father, Azulon, and my nation. I fought because I was born to do so. I led because it was my destiny.

Apparently destiny had other plans. I, General Iroh, the Dragon of the West, am dead. I have no difficulties accepting my fate, but am perplexed as to why my kami has been detained. Perhaps I don’t have as clean a slate as I thought I did. But I cannot see the reasoning as to why the air bison and the lemur are with me. They should have entered the Spirit World. Their souls are pure.

I shudder as I consider everything around me. We are not the only spirits who are trapped between this world and the afterlife. There are others we have encountered. I fear the worst. I fear the rumors are true.

When I was a child, my father told me of the power of Sozin’s comet. Legend states that it will give its user incredible power, even power over other realms. I fear that this has come to pass. I fear that my brother has harnessed the power of the comet.

If this is so, then the Avatar may be too late.

Time is an illusion here. There are no sunsets or moonrises to mark the elusive concept. I can only wait and care for Appa and Momo until the Avatar comes for us.

--

I wonder through the desert, my memories fractured and nonsensical. There are more like me, but they cannot help. They are trapped like I am. I know there is someplace else that I must be, but I cannot remember where. In the distance I see a crude rendition of a village. It looks familiar, but I am not sure.

Cocking my head to the side, I read the sign, barely able to make out the worn words. “Misty Palms Oasis.” This place seems so familiar. Walking past the sign, I see a crater in the center of the town. It bubbles and spits steam into the air, momentarily obscuring my vision.

Rambunctious laughter breaks my concentration and a burly man dressed in dark green pants runs into the courtyard. He is carrying a child – a little girl with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes – on his back.

“Run, Uncle Boulder!” she squeals and kicks him like he is her own personal ostrich horse.

A little boy bursts through the door and points his finger at them as if to shoot them. “Fire!” he yells excitedly.

The little girl giggles excitedly, the perfection of her laughter marred by her struggle to breathe. “Mommy’s a…Water…bender, not a…Fireben…der!” she wheezes.

“I can be anything I want, Kaya,” the boy retorts sharply, ignoring his sister’s struggle. “Right, Uncle Boulder?”

Swinging the little girl from his broad shoulders, the Boulder carries Kaya like a precious porcelain doll toward the bubbling goop. “Yes, Iroh,” the man agrees readily. “Now go get your mother, Iroh.”

Rolling his eyes, the four-year-old runs indoors.

I should feel comforted by the scene, but it disturbs me in some ways. The little girl’s eyes narrow and stare straight at me.

“Who is…that?” she asks her uncle, as he cradles her in his arms and nears the crater.

“Who?” the Boulder questions her, setting her on the rim of earth next to the bubbling mixture of minerals and water.

“That boy over there,” she whispers breathlessly, pointing directly at me.

The man looks through me, his eyes narrowing as if trying to focus on a far off distance. “Katara!” he bellows, the expression on his face worried.

“Hi!” I say.

She replies with a shy smile, but says nothing.

“Hurry up!” the burly man shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t think it’s helping!”

There are concerned voices in the distance and I back away. Four women and a man approach the little girl. The man is leaning heavily on a walking stick and is supported by a large, burly woman. The little boy follows closely, disinterest in the little girl’s condition evident in his features.

A woman dressed in faded green robes takes the little girl and cradles her in her arms. Sitting on the edge of the small pool, she swings her legs into the mud and wades into the center of the pool.

“How often have I told you not to run, Kaya,” she chastises the young girl like a mother would a child as she scoops mud into her palm and rubs it onto the girl’s chest.

Kaya squirms, protesting the muddying of her clothes. “I wasn’t…running, Mama. Uncle Boulder was…my ostrich horse. He was carrying…me. We were playing. Iroh was pretending to be a Firebender and we were…running away from him.”

A petite woman stands near them, her eyes a misty green. She snorts, covering her mouth, yet doing nothing to stifle her words. “He gets more like his father every day.”

Kaya (I have come to find that that is the girl’s name) grimaces as mud gets on her neck. Her breathing is even and steady. “Now I have to go around naked while my dress is washed!”

Her mother lifts her off her lap and sets her along the edge of the earthen edge of the spring. “I can dry your clothes and I am sure Aunt Toph can lift the dirt off.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Kaya frowns. “It isn’t the same as washing them.”

The mother wipes her muddy hands on her robes and sighs, calling upon the patience reserved for dealing with small children. “Then I guess you’ll have to walk around naked while your dress dries.”

“I lend you my shirt,” the man who is leaning on the walking stick volunteers, his speech is slightly slurred.

Smiling, Kaya runs up to him and gently wraps her arm around one of his legs. “Thank you, Uncle Sokka.”

As Kaya hugs her uncle’s leg, her gaze meets mine. The scene is so warm and full of life. “You’re not a Sandbender. How did you get through the desert?” she asks me directly.

“Kaya?” her mother looks perplexed and her Uncle Boulder shrugs his shoulders.

“She said she saw a boy earlier,” the large man announces, his voice tinged with concern.

“You can see me?” I take a step toward her, but she tenses and hides her face.

The short woman tilts her head to the side as if listening for something. “I don’t see anyone out there. Then of course, it all looks fuzzy to me.”

“I’m lost,” I plead with Kaya. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

Turning her face from her uncle’s tunic, Kaya eyes me warily. Her eyes are the color of ice. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

A smile creeps past my lips. It is a wise lesson to learn. “You’re right. I’m… Well, I actually don’t know who I am.”

“Kaya, who are you talking to,” asks her mother, her long braids framing her face as she stoops and kneels next to her daughter.

Kaya lifts her arm and points directly at me. “That boy.”

Her mother looks in the direction her daughter has pointed, but sees nothing. Her eyes are the same color as her daughter’s. Although they are the color of ice, they look warm and inviting. “I see, and what does this boy look like?”

Kaya studies me for a moment, taking her mother’s hand and holding it. “He doesn’t have any hair. He has big ears. He has blue, pointy stripes on his head and hands. He’s wearing orange and yellow clothes.”

Her mother’s warm smile collapses and a look of sad desolation takes its place. “Aang.”

That one syllable word… I know it is my name. The gentle winds of fate have guided me to this oasis…to my past. Flashes of my life pass before me as memories rush me. The recall would probably hurt, but I have no body and no sensations.

Suddenly, things are more brilliant, shimmering in vivid colors around me. The hues of red and orange catch my attention and I look to the sky. It seems oppressive and wrong. I look at my hands and notice the vibrant blue arrows that adorn my skin. I look up at the people who are surrounding the four-year-old child who can see me.

Katara… Tears fall down her cheeks and she cries openly. Her hairstyle is the same as braids touch her sad face. She looks older and afraid.

Sokka looks so much older. His body is worn and battered -- by what I do not know.

Toph looks resilient as always, her fists closed by her sides in a familiar pose.

There are others there…some who seem familiar, but others I am sure I have never met.

One man stands apart. He stands in the distance, a look of malicious scorn etched into his cruel features. He wears a garb of bold red, mirroring the angry sky above. His topknot holds the imperial symbol of the Fire Nation. I feel the malevolence ebb from him.

Anger flashes through me as I stare into the eyes of the man who killed me – Fire Lord Ozai! My death was quick and efficient as the blue flames claimed my flesh in a flash of light. Clenching my fists to the side, I rush at him, ignoring the shrill protestations of Kaya.

We are intangible beings, incapable of harming one another, and I pass right through my mortal enemy. His laughter rankles my nerves as it mocks my attempts. His smile is malicious.

“Stop it!” Kaya shouts. “Leave my grandfather alone!”

Katara blanches, her normally dark skin turning ashen white. She scoops Kaya into her arms and runs into the dirt hut. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes skim the horizon in fear.

“Iroh! Come!” she calls to the little boy to follow her, and the others follow her with quizzical looks on their faces.

“The child is mine,” hisses Ozai, circling me. “There is nothing you can do. You are as trapped in this realm as much as I. Only she can release us. Only she can restore the balance and my rightful place.”

--

I lock the door once everyone is inside though I know it will do no good. Panic, my familiar and constant companion, has taken hold of me once again. A chill runs up and down my spine even though the temperature in the room is quite warm. The word “grandfather” echoes in my mind. If I have learned anything in the last five years, it is that Ozai is capable of anything.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Kaya sniffles as she hunches her shoulders and bows her head.

I stop pacing and look up. Everyone in the room is staring. I try to speak, but am unable.

“What is it, Katara?” Song’s warm brown eyes hold a haunted expression.

She tries to hide the look in her eyes, but I see it before she succeeds. Feeling Kaya growing more agitated, I kneel before her and pull her into my arms. “It’s okay, Kaya. I’m not angry with you.”

My daughter clings to my neck, rubbing her tear-stained cheek against my face. “Why don’t you go with Uncle Sokka and Aunt Toph and help them make dinner.”

Sniffling, she follows them into the kitchen. Always shadowing his sister, Iroh follows her.

Song’s gaze lingers on the door, as it swings closed behind the children. She knows something – something she is not telling me. The betrayal is sharp -- the sting over Kaya’s words, still lingering in my mind.

I have not been whole for several years now, a part of me will always mourn Zuko, while the other part of me mourns for everybody else I have lost. Before the comet, there was a measure of control in my life. After the comet, my life fell apart. To be taken against one’s will is like having a part of your soul removed. Though I know now that it was all a ruse, it was still difficult and painful. To be used in the manner I was is unforgivable. I was a brood mare, a vessel for the next Avatar.

My child! My daughter! I pray to my ancestors for the strength and wisdom to find the right path, for all this time I was sure my son was the one. I felt for sure that he was the Avatar. He has unknowingly demonstrated Firebending skills, whereas Kaya has demonstrated no particular talents other than mischief.

But I heard her. I heard her describe Aang as though he were standing right before her. A brief surge of hope thrummed through me. The Avatar is the bridge between this world and the next. Could it be possible that she really saw Aang? Or is it just her imagination? But to see Ozai? What madness have I descended into?

Yes, the Avatar is the bridge between this world and the Spirit World. Since when do the spirits travel to this world? The only spirits who linger are angry spirits – like Hei-Bai, the Forest Spirit. I want to believe the Spirit World is harmless, but I know better. Hei-Bai took Sokka and I was powerless to stop it.

“What’s wrong, Katara?” she asks, avoiding my questioning glances. In the years we have lived together in exile, I have forgotten who this woman really is. She was handpicked by Mahari to see the Avatar born into this world. She is the voice of reason that always calms my worries when the burdens of motherhood weigh heavily upon me.

She is the seer’s spy.

“I don’t know,” I reply, approaching the shorter woman. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? I forgot who you really were, Song? I forgot you take your marching orders from Mahari?”

“Katara, you’re being ridiculous,” she counters, taking a step back.

“Am I?” I don’t stop. I’ll do anything to protect my children. “Do you speak with Mahari often? Does she visit you in dreams? Or does she send you news through the Sandbenders who deliver our supplies?”

“What are you talking about?” Tears are in her eyes.

I feel so manipulated, so betrayed. Clutching Song by the shoulders, I shake her. “I don’t know! Tell me! What am I talking about? Kaya yelled something about her grandfather! She cries for her father at night! There’s been no news – no news of Zuko for…” My voice clogs with emotion as I realize how long it’s been. It’s been five years since I last saw him. Three years since I dreamt of him.

Song shudders and sobs as I do. “You can’t leave. She’s safe here. The sand protects us.”

“Tell me!” I shake her again, this time more forcefully.

Her shoulders are shaking. Her voice trembles. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you sooner. I didn’t realize what she meant.”

“Mahari?” I say the seer’s name, bitterness filling my inflection.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“What has happened?” The question seems too short to answer the questions I have.

“Ozai is dead. Zuko killed him.” Tears stream down her cheeks. Crossing the room, she kneels next to her pallet on the floor. “I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how.”

I am wary as she turns around. I do not trust her. As she approaches me, I notice she is holding a worn piece of parchment.

“I haven’t received any letters other than this,” says Song, holding the paper out as though it is a rare treasure. “Things aren’t as they should be.”

Stamping down my fear and distrust, I take the letter and open it. The first thing that catches my attention is that the letter is dated almost three years ago.

Dear Song,

I hope this letter finds you and all you are with in good health. Your mother and Damuk are well. There is still no word on your father.

We have done it! Fire Lord Ozai is dead and the Resistance has control of the Fire Nation capital. There are small pockets of radical elements that continue to support the dethroned fire lord, but we are dealing with them swiftly and without mercy.

Rays of yellow sunshine peak through the burnt clouds of red. They are few and far between, but I believe that we shall restore the balance soon. I hope to feel the rays of the sun upon my skin once again before I enter into the next realm.

Ozai did not die easily. He very nearly succeeded in taking Zuko with him. It has been several months since we seized power. Zuko has yet to wake. I fear his spirit is too weak to work through the pain of the recovery he faces. I fear his essence will seek a final rest soon.

He was burned horribly. Damuk has done his best, but I fear that Zuko’s injuries are beyond his skills as a Waterbending healer.

Please do not tell Katara of this news. It will only upset her. It is not yet safe for the Avatar to return. The sands of the desert are the best protection I can offer at this moment. Surely you realize the need for secrecy. Do your best to protect both children. They will serve their purpose in time.

Mahari

The letter falls from my hands and flutters to the ground as if it has wings. A savage stupor devours me and I fall to my knees. I’ve been numb before, but never like this. The words are ominous. Iroh and Kaya’s future has been set by this woman – the seer, the woman who had the resources to free us at any time, but saw fit not to. She wants my children. Of that I am sure.

Swallowing my flourishing hysteria, I clutch my forearms and begin to rock back and forth. Even with the threat to my children, only one question echoes in my mind….

Is Zuko alive?

--

TBC

A/N – I must beg for forgiveness for the lack of update on this story. I had my surgery. I have recovered. Thanks to all who offered warm wishes! They were greatly appreciated. During recovery, I had plenty of time to think about the direction of this story. I have set what I hope is a plausible course. Thanks to all who have reviewed. Reviews encourage the muse.

Message for Spleef: I totally lost your email address! I'll catch you on AIM :).

To anyone wanting an email alert for when I update: I need your email address. If you leave an anon review, it doesn't list your email address. I've had several of you request update status on this story. I'm sorry I cannot honor your request. If I have an email address, I would be more than happy to do so. Thanks again!

Of course Zuko is alive. We know that, but Katara doesn’t.
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Bitter Alliance