Fire and Rain

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“Zuko, have you seen my bag? The one I kept my tea things and my Pai Sho pieces in?” Iroh asked his nephew as he scoured their new (and bare) campsite.

            The young firebender sat on a log playing with the fire. “No, Uncle, I haven’t. We left everything at that waterbender’s tent. If it’s not destroyed, she probably stole it.”

            Iroh paused in his search long enough to marvel that if the ire in Zuko’s voice were any thicker, he could slice it with a knife. “That’s too bad,” he remarked. “We’ll just have to replace them at the next village.”

            “How can I replace my Blue Spirit mask?” Zuko shouted. “It’s one of a kind! I painted it myself!”

            “Will this one do?”

            Iroh and Zuko turned toward the sound of Kairakea’s voice and found her on the edge of the campsite, holding Zuko’s mask, their bedrolls, traveling packs, and Iroh’s bag. She placed them on the ground in front of her then bowed deeply, her hands folded in salute.

            “Prince Zuko, General Iroh, please accept my apologies for the misfortune that caused the loss of your personal effects. I hope I may be forgiven and still be of service to you.”

            At first, Iroh was surprised simply to see her. As she spoke, surprise turned to deep puzzlement. She’d just intoned a traditional speech given by Fire Nation citizens asking for forgiveness of the royal family.

            Zuko too, having used a similar script quite often with his father, stared at her with his jaw slack. Kairakea turned to go. Zuko bolted up. “Wait! How do you know that! That speech?”

            The dancing girl twisted her head around. Iroh snatched the opportunity to study her face.

            He had learned, in his extensive travels, of one great similarity between waterbenders and firebenders. Though the elements they bent were antithetical, they showed an identical tendency to wear their emotions on their sleeves. Kairakea seemed no different. Her eyes carried the depth of her emotions no matter what her face showed. Genuine and gentle remorse muted the crisp blue of them. Iroh was wildly curious how she kept her intense, mercurial emotions (a distinctly Fire-Nation trait) from interfering with the steady flow of chi she must control to be a skillful waterbender.

            “I know it because I once lived in the Fire Nation.”

            Things clicked for Iroh. Her carriage had been proud, nearly regal, and her manners impeccable. Like Fire Nation upper class.

            “When? For how long?”

            “Almost fifteen years. Since I was sixteen.”

            Thirty-one? Could this girl—woman—be at least thirty-one?

            “Why?”

            Kairakea bowed again. “Prince Zuko, General Iroh, If you would be willing to share your fire with me, I’ll tell you my story.”

            “On one condition,” Iroh proclaimed. “You stop calling me General.”