Chapter Three

Zuko awoke to the sound of his uncle’s weak coughing. Grabbing a blanket from the pile Smellerbee had left, he hurried into the next room. It was chilly, and he stoked the fire before going to Iroh’s side and putting the extra blanket over the bedclothes.

“Uncle?” he asked, trying not to seem over-eager as he knelt next to Iroh. His heart was racing.

Yet Iroh’s eyes were open and clear, and they focused without apparent effort on Zuko. He smiled at his nephew and attempted to sit up.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that,” Zuko cautioned. “You’ve been unconscious for several days. Azula attacked you.”

“Yes, I remember,” Iroh said, pausing for breath. He reached down and removed the blankets, struggling to rise. “Zuko – ”

Zuko quickly got up and helped his uncle to his feet. Iroh’s face was twisted, but it looked more like an expression of concentration than of pain. “Tell me – ”

“We’re in a seaport town,” Zuko said. “A man came upon us after Azula disappeared – ”

“All in good time,” Iroh forced out. “Right now I’m looking for a bathroom.”

“Oh.” Zuko gritted his teeth at his own foolishness, but then, he had never tended to anyone before outside of simulations during his royal training. He led Iroh out into the main room and back to the platform. Iroh gagged at the stench and Zuko kept a firm hold on his uncle’s arm, though he turned his head away politely.

When he had finished, Zuko helped him back inside. Still disoriented, Iroh had nonetheless taken in his surroundings, and he allowed himself to be put back in bed (though he sat, instead of lying down) while Zuko made tea and prepared a simple meal. As the rice cooked, Zuko told his uncle about what had happened in the past few days, purposefully finishing with a description of the ships and Jet’s news about Azula and Ozai. Iroh’s brow furrowed a bit, but otherwise he remained expressionless.

Zuko poured the tea and offered a cup to his uncle, who regarded it with more visible negative emotion than he had Zuko’s news of his brother’s coming marriage. He took a sip and grimaced. “Thank you, nephew. We seem to have had a great stroke of fortune.” His gaze returned to Zuko. “I know that it likely was not an easy decision for you, and neither has it been easy these few days. Yet from all I can see, you have done very well.”

Taken aback by his uncle’s praise, Zuko flushed. At this he was even more surprised and sought to cover it by dishing out the rice and fish. “What are we going to do, uncle?”

Iroh accepted his bowl and chopsticks with great satisfaction. “About what?”

Startled, Zuko stumbled over his words. “About…about the ships. Don’t we have a duty to let my father know?”

“I’m afraid the young man who told you about the ships was right. Your father is a very proud man, and he would no more accept advice from traitors than he would let those traitors go free: and as you have seen from the persistence of Azula, that he does not do.”

“But we have to do something! The Fire Nation is still our country. We can’t allow it to suffer in the war.”

Iroh sighed. “We are wanted traitors. Even if we are never caught, for the length of your father’s reign, we are effectively banished. Search yourself, Zuko. Are you really concerned for the welfare of the Fire Nation, or do you only wish to gain status in the eyes of your father?” He noticed Zuko’s hurt expression and added gently, “Not that there is anything wrong with that. But it is not worth risking both of our lives.”

Silence. “And what about Azula?” Zuko finally asked, struggling to keep his emotion under control.

“I find this rumour very hard to believe,” Iroh answered immediately. “Your father is many things, but I do not think that he would go to such lengths to ensure he has an heir, or for any other reason. Perhaps Azula’s dogged ambition has spawned gossip. Speaking of your dear sister,” he paused to wolf down another bite of fish and rice, “there is a good chance that she will not find us here. And we can use this time to our advantage.”

Zuko felt relief wash over him, leaving his body feeling weak and insubstantial. He did not press further discussion, willing the unpleasant rumour out of his head. “So we’re staying?”

“That is up to you, of course. You may make your own choice. But I’ll stay here.” Beaming, Iroh looked up at the ceiling. “I think I’ll turn this place into a tea shop. You didn’t see any tea shops, did you?”

Surprised, Zuko shook his head. “I don’t think that I did.”

“I’ve always wanted to run a tea shop,” Iroh said, seeming to be lost in thought. Then he caught Zuko’s gaze and held it steadily but without visible emotion. “And you, my nephew?”

“I’m staying with you,” Zuko replied instantly. “Both Jet and Deukku said that I’d be able to find work with ease.” He noticed Iroh’s expression change just slightly, and though it was difficult to tell exactly what he was feeling, he looked pleased. Encouraged, the corner of Zuko’s mouth twitched upward for a brief moment.

“I’m happy to hear you say that,” Iroh said. “I would be lonely without you, I confess.” He placed his empty bowl on the floor. “And we will finally have some time to work on your bending.”

Zuko tried to conceal his pleasure. He bowed his head, palms upward in a gesture of thanks. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Sokka woke slowly and kept his eyes closed, using his other senses to get a grasp on his surroundings. He smelled a fire, and a meal cooking. Faintly, the sound of a babbling brook was audible. He was lying on an uneven surface, likely the ground, though there were a layer of bedclothes beneath him, and one above. Although he could hear the songs of birds, he could not feel the sun on his face or feel any breeze, and so concluded that he must be inside. He was naked except for the thin bedclothes, the material of which felt expensive.

He paused in his thought and suppressed an urge to frown. He recalled the thunderstorm,

and falling off his mount. And pain…

There was no pain now, though his left leg felt somewhere between numb and simply heavy. He also did not feel any restraints. Sighing with relief, Sokka decided that it would be alright to open his eyes.

There was a soft rustling to his right, and immediately he sat up. As he had thought, he was inside a small tent. A young woman who could not have been over twenty was kneeling next to him with a polite expression on her face. Sokka relaxed a little and found his tongue.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

The woman seemed unconcerned by his rudeness. “I am Yamele. You are on the outskirts of a small Earth Kingdom village, the name of which I do not know, in the camp of my sisters. We came upon you unconscious after the great storm. I do not advise attempting to get up,” she added softly as Sokka clutched the bedclothes to his chest and shifted in a clear try to gain his feet. “Your leg was broken, though it has now been set.”

Sokka paused in his struggle. “Well, thank you for your trouble. Though I can’t say it was too wise. How do you know I’m not an enemy?”

The polite expression on Yamele’s face grew into a polite smile. “You are a young man of a Southern Water tribe; likely the very one that has been seen traveling with the Avatar. And is not it sung,

The newcomer

needs fire

his knees are numb.

A man who has made

his way over mountains

needs food and fresh linen.” She paused demurely, then added, “Which will soon be brought to you.”

His mouth dropped open as, if on cue, another young woman ducked inside the tent carrying a large bowl of stew, some nutbread, and Sokka’s clean and mended clothing. She set them before him, bowed, and took her leave. “How do you know that song?”

“We are gisaeng, son of water. It is customary to learn the ancient songs and cultures of the people of our world.”

“Call me Sokka,” he offered to her as he attacked the bowl of stew. Oily rings swam on the top, and large chunks of meat floated throughout, complimented here and there with a stalk of some wild vegetable. “Mmmm. This is wonderful.”

“I will convey your compliments to Umezko,” Yamele said as she rose. “Do you require assistance to dress?”

“I’ll try it on my own, thanks,” Sokka said through a blush and a hot mouthful of stew.

“Very well.” She ducked out of the tent, making sure that the flap found its way back across the mouth as she left.

Sokka spooned up another mouthful of the stew before he threw aside the bedclothes to dress. He winced at the sight of his leg, swollen and wound tightly with bandages and a wooden splint. It was difficult, but he managed to dress despite it, although it started throbbing painfully as he did so. Finally he leaned back, supporting himself on the palms of his hands and surprised to find he’d broken into a light sweat. Willing the pain to subside, he fell to the task of demolishing the rest of his meal with relish.

When he had finished, Yamele came back inside and took the empty bowl. She also folded up the bedclothes and handed him a long piece of polished, dark wood which split into two ends braced by a smaller piece of wood. On the other end there was a small round stone.

“You’ll need a crutch if you plan on much moving about,” she told him, showing him how to hold it. “It was the best we could craft in a short time.”

Sokka ran a hand over the smooth wood and noted a pattern of intricate carvings which

descended down one side. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

With the help of Yamele and the support that the crutch provided, Sokka was able to

make it outside into the afternoon sun. He was surprised to note that there were only three other women packing up the small camp. They bowed to him briefly, and continued to pack.

“Isn’t it dangerous to travel in such a small group? There are Fire Nation troops everywhere.” Sokka delicately tried to sidestep the gender issue.

Yamele’s face was somber as she helped him into their small wagon, pulled by a team of ostrich horses. “The Fire Nation troops have not yet been foolhardy enough to draw weapon against any gisaeng,” she said softly. “We claim allegiance to no country, and the Fire Nation has recognised that. Yet we have heard of the attacks upon the Avatar, and if he is not safe, then I suppose we are not, either. Still,” and here the pleasant expression returned as she gracefully settled down next to him in the wagon, “our lives are but quick-burning fires. If we die, then we accept death with honor.”

Sokka winced. “For now, I’d prefer to live.”

This time, Yamele actually laughed. “That is why we’re making haste to leave. The Fire Nation has no time to stop and interrogate every little wagon that passes by. And although you’ve not told us your story yet, I’m sure, with all your worries and weapons, that we have good reason to take to the trail.”

“I appreciate it,” Sokka said. One of the gisaeng took the high seat at the front of the wagon and gathered the reins for the ostrich horse team, while the others settled around him. Yamele and the one who had cooked the meal, Umezko, tucked cloths under his broken leg.

“The movement of the wagon may jar it, and that would affect its healing,” Yamele explained. “We are taking the most direct route to our destination, and the roads are old and uneven.”

“Where are you headed?”

Yamele exchanged a small smile with the others. “You’re in luck,” she said. “Our destination is Nanami, a few days northwest.”

“Great!” Sokka frowned as the wagon began to move. “But how did you know where I was going?”

Now Umezko spoke, though Sokka noticed that she glanced at Yamele before she did so. “We’re sorry for the breach of privacy, but we read the message that you had in your satchel.”

Yamele’s delicate eyebrows lifted, and Umezko cleared her throat. “I read the message,” she confessed, somewhat shamefaced. “I just wanted to ensure the safety of my sisters. One can’t be too careful these days. I mean to insinuate no accusation…”

“I’d have done the same thing,” Sokka assured her. She looked relieved.

The third gisaeng sitting inside the wagon gestured to the others for a chance to speak. “We know more about you than you have willingly offered to us,” she said to Sokka, head bowed. “Yet it is less than what you know of us.”

“Of course, if you are tired, then by all means take your rest,” Yamele interjected. “My sisters are merely curious. It is not often that they have a chance to converse with a member of the Water tribe.”

Sokka grinned. “I’m fine. I’d be happy to repay your kindness by regaling you with the tales of my journey.”

Yamele and Umezko exchanged smiling glances.

He told them what he remembered, though his tales were much less full of bravery than he had originally thought. He was filled with feelings of nostalgia and loneliness when he recalled Katara, Aang and even Toph. When he came to leaving the rest of the group, his cheerful voice faltered and he paused, lost in thought. Tactfully, the gisaeng sat with downcast eyes, waiting for him to finish. The rocky movement of the wagon reminded him yet again of the pain in his leg, and he had broken out in a fine sheen of sweat.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have left them,” he admitted. “It was frustrating sometimes to be the oldest, to be the only one who couldn’t bend. I don’t have a bond with Aang as Katara does, and as we grow older I can feel even my bond with Katara weakening. I left on an angry impulse, fueled by those disappointments and desperate to see my father. And I still do want to see him, but I know that I hurt my sister and the others. If and when I do see them again, nothing can be the same. I suppose that’s the choice that I made.”

“You quickly and honestly realise your own flaws,” Yamele noted. “That is a great gift.”

Umezko shifted a little before she spoke. “Though the choice you made was difficult, and your path is one of uncertainty, it sounds as if you have made a natural decision. This is a time of war, and though your sister has the Avatar and the young earthbender, your father has neither of his children, nor his wife. If only so that he may see you are safe, it is natural for you to go to him.” Seeing the uncertainty in Sokka’s eyes, she added gently, “We have no reason to be dishonest with you.”

Dishonesty or optimism, it’s difficult to tell.

“Time and distance heal many wounds,” the third gisaeng, Chie, added.

“Thank you for your advice. I’d like it if you would tell me about yourselves,” Sokka suggested hurriedly in an attempt to steer the conversation away from himself, though he was getting tired as the pain in his leg worsened.

Umezko smiled. “But what has Yamele neglected to tell you?”

“Well,” Sokka rubbed the back of his head. “To begin with, I’m not entirely sure what a ‘gisaeng’ is.”

All three fell silent. Sokka scanned their faces with something akin to worry. He had been sure that they had been honest with him, yet their hesitation wasn’t a good sign. Perhaps they were just excellent actors, and still meant him concealed harm?

“As I said,” Yamele cut into their silence smoothly. “We gisaeng have allegiance to no nation, yet the war has limited our range, and there never were many of us in the lands of the Southern Water tribe. But in all of your travels, have you never heard of –?”

Umezko cut her off with a calm hand gesture. “We are what you may know as uppsala.”

Sokka felt his blush spread down his face through his neck to the very tips of his toes, even the ones on his injured side.

“I’m flattered that you’ve heard of us,” she continued, with a demure smile. Yamele shot her a glance and took over.

“Sokka, the legends of uppsala in your tribe come close to the definition of a gisaeng, but there are several differences. The legend involving your sixteenth birthday, for example: untrue.”

“We also don’t have to worry about frostbite,” said Umezko cheerfully.

“Uh,” he commented.

“We are trained for years to become gisaeng,” Yamele said. “We learn song, dance, tea and incense ceremony, healing, storytelling, embroidery – all ten thousand arts.”

“As well as all of the forty-eight positions of – ” Umezko swallowed her words as Yamele shot her another icy glare. Sokka’s face was so hot he was reasonably sure that his head was smoking. “I suppose you get the idea.”

“We are one of the last nonviolent bridges between all of the countries,” Yamele said solemnly. “Right now we are returning from Omashu, since it is no longer a safe place for us. We have been guaranteed a position in the house at Nanami. An attendant from our house in Omashu was to accompany us and take up a job in Nanami, but he was not allowed out of the city. Security there has tightened so much that it was difficult for us to slip out, though now I can see why.” Sokka smiled sheepishly at her. “I think it was no mistake that we found you,” she continued, more mildly. “The passage to Nanami is not an easy one. I think we shall be just as glad of your company as you are of ours.”

“Sokka should get some rest now,” Chie put in. He noticed for the first time that she was noticeably older than the other two, and they seemed to defer to her. In any case, at her suggestion Yamele and Umezko arranged him so that he was lying comfortably and covered him with the expensive bedclothes from the night before. He thanked them as they tucked the blankets around him, trying to hide his embarrassment. Umezko bowed a little.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable,” she apologised. “As Yamele said, none of us have even seen a member of the Southern Water tribe. Besides, you seemed like the type to be able to take a joke.”

“Lucky for you that I am,” Sokka replied, grinning. She smiled back and he pillowed his head on his arms, already feeling sleep approaching.

“I’m here,” Zuko announced as he entered the once-tavern, not completely at ease with calling it ‘home’ just yet. He spotted Iroh at the far side of the main room, standing on a table and trying to affix a lantern to the wall, and nearly dropped his netted basket. “Uncle! You shouldn’t be doing that!”

“Relax,” Smellerbee, who was holding the table steady, replied. “He’s up for it.”

Iroh finally managed to adjust the lantern just right and accepted Zuko’s hand as he slowly got down from the table. “With such an excellent doctor, I’m not surprised that I feel up to this,” he complimented Smellerbee while reassuring Zuko. Zuko noticed that though she tried to hide it, she was obviously pleased. Sniffing, she drew herself up and headed for the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow around the same time, old man,” she said over her shoulder. “And this time I won’t let you hog all the work.”

“Of course not,” Iroh called after her. “I’ll make you breakfast. Bring your appetite!”

Zuko watched his uncle carefully as Iroh sat on the table to regain his breath. His colour was better, and he looked sweaty but extremely happy.

“Look, Zuko,” he said after a moment had passed. “We got quite a bit done today.”

Zuko glanced around the room. The holes, which had been messily plugged, were now properly plugged with mud and covered with a thin wood. Small patches of different paint colours marked one wall, and an assortment of tables with benches attached, rugs, and loose chairs were stacked neatly in one corner. Lanterns had been fixed in a variety of places to give the room a warm, soft light.

“I know you didn’t do all of this by yourself,” he said.

Iroh grinned. “You’re right. It seems that Jet, Smellerbee and Longshot have taken on the task of renovating, rebuilding or demolishing the ruined buildings in this town. They offered their help to me, though Jet says I’m crazy. He says the residents of this town will not know what to do with a tea shop. But we’ll sail that sea when we come to it.” Iroh’s gaze swept the ‘tea shop’, and Zuko felt his heart soften at his uncle’s excited face.

“I’m glad you’re pleased, Uncle.”

Iroh looked up at him, expression growing more serious. “And you? Did you have any luck finding work?”

“I had some difficulty getting hired,” Zuko admitted. “But at last an old man agreed that he would have me for a pearlfisher.” He held up the netted basket. “He warned me that it would be dangerous.”

“I see.” Iroh got down from the table and allowed Zuko to help him to his room. He stayed silent except for that small comment, feeling that his nephew had more to say.

“But I thought of what you once told me, Uncle, that the power of firebending is the power of breath.” Zuko hesitated. “I thought that this would perhaps be a good way for me to train my breath.”

Iroh graced his nephew with a broad smile and placed a hand on his back, guiding him into Iroh’s room as opposed to his own. “You’ve chosen well. Come, I’ll show you some exercises that might be useful.” His smile grew mischievous. “Though from what I’ve heard of the fighting oysters on this coast, your biggest problem may not lie in mastering your breathing.”