Switch: ii. Stone Heart

Author: overlithe

Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender

Characters/Pairing(s): Azula, Ursa, Zuko, Ozai; gen

Rating: M

Summary: Earth Kingdom!Azula AU. Ba Sing Se falls in a hail of fire when she is thirteen, and the Lady Zula escapes with her brother and mother. Zula swears retribution… but before she can have her vengeance, she has to stay alive in a war-torn land. Very, very loosely based on the Snow White fairy tale. Rated M for violence, warfare, death, and other mature themes. Written for au_bigbang 2012.

Word Count: 26,800

Four

'Steady.'

They called it the Night Army. Zula wasn't sure where the name had come from. It was a thing whispered about in corners, hinted at under the buzz of a market. Once in a while news would trickle down, not pasted on any notice board, unmentioned in the papers the ash-heads printed: a convoy ambushed at a pass, their attackers vanishing without a trace; barrels of blasting jelly would go missing and a garrison would be blown up weeks later.

'Don't lose focus.'

Four boulders floated around her. Zula's stance didn't change, her knees bent slightly, her arms in the Buzzard-wasp's Grip. The stream's chatter was a thousand miles away.

Buried under the hum of the earth beneath her bare feet.

The boulder on her right hurtled towards her. She slammed a wall of earth against it and spun around to crash two other boulders together. The stone's cry echoed in the forest air. The itch in her feet climbed up her legs, tugged at her muscles. She swallowed a groan and pushed her chi forward to strike at the last boulder.

A stone rose through the dirt to hit her calf. She pushed back at it with a flick of her foot, but her focus snapped like a cut erhu string. Her flesh filled with the shape of the earth under her feet, the channels and tunnels dug by tree roots. She groaned again, not bothering to swallow it this time, and pushed all she had against the boulder advancing on her.

Dirt rose around her, stung her eyes and nose. Her feet slid backwards, leaving furrows on the ground. Her body seesawed and she clenched her teeth in frustration.

In front of her, the boulder dropped to the ground and rolled harmlessly towards her. She resisted the urge to kick it—her bare feet would get a lot more damaged than the rock anyway—and turned around.

Mother had sat down on a fallen moss-covered trunk and was busy wiping her feet on the hem of her dress. Something flared inside Zula, settled.

'I want to go again,' she said.

Ursa looked up. 'It was enough for today,' she said, and slipped her still dirt-stained feet into her shoes as though she were sitting on a chair inlaid with carved jade, back in a parlour in Ba Sing Se. Silk and brocade instead of coarse wool and cotton. Tree-lined avenues instead of a tangled forest by a forgotten little town. 'We have to get back to work.'

'I could have won this time,' Zula said. 'It wasn't my fault. It was—' That stupid itch in my feet.

'No,' mother said as she stood up and picked up the basket heavy with berries. 'You keep getting distracted by your targets.'

'That doesn't make any sense,' she said, but Ursa ignored her.

'You're drawn into costly, pointless attacks. You're forgetting about the basics: the key to earthbending is remaining—'

'Rooted. I know.' Zula rolled her eyes as they walked out of the woods, back towards the path leading to their little cottage. Above them the early autumn sky was a hot, dusty blue. She thought of the standing stones game. She and— beginner earthbenders played it. You took turns lifting and holding together small coloured stones until someone let the tower fall apart and lost. The base, however, remained unchanged. It supported the rest. It endured forever.

Until someone broke it.

'You have to think about it as a game of pai sho,' Ursa said, as if she had half-read her mind. Zula glanced at her, but her mother's face remained expressionless. 'Think of the moon tiles. Their opening moves are unimpressive. Seemingly useless, even. But a good player knows…'

Zula tuned the rest of it out. She had never cared for pai sho, and doubted that a bunch of painted tiles could teach her anything about earthbending. Soon after they had settled into the little town of Tao Shu—a war widow calling herself Min and her young daughter Lily—and claimed the cottage with its fallen door and its veiling of cobwebs and its nest of ridged possums, Ursa had told her she was going to teach her some earthbending. Zula looked up from the wooden bench she was scrubbing raw. 'What for?' Ursa was repairing the door frame, her arms and lower legs bare, her hair pulled back under a splash of green cloth. 'You already know some,' she said, and Zula knew her mother wasn't talking about shaping peaswan-neck arches or glowing crystals. 'But you should be able to protect yourself.' A season and lifetime before, Zula would have scoffed at that. Instead she'd just nodded, and thought of the bracelet at the bottom of the bag.

She glanced over her shoulder at the forest with its yellowing leaves and spiky pines. She'd heard there was a Night Army regiment right here, hiding somewhere in the vast woods. Maybe there had been eyes in the shadows, watching her—

fail

—practice. She folded up the thought and put it away as the cottage's roof rose into sight. Below it, the rest of the town unfurled in its bowl of land: streets, a square, squat stone houses, the tower of a small garrison like a blunted tooth. They walked through their small plot of land with its climbing bean poles, the wire fence to keep burrowing hares away. That was the breadth and the width and the depth of their life now: the rows of vegetables in the little patch of earth; the spinning wheel and the tubs of dye where skeins of thread floated like the hair of someone drowned and whose stench made the air sting; the piles of clothes for mending. She went to bed with stew in her belly instead of the howl of hunger. If a noise startled her awake in the night it was always a cat-owl or the flapping wings of a batwolf instead of the tread of heavy boots or komodo rhinos.

No, not always. Sometimes she was stirred awake by the sound of her mother crying. Ursa always remained very still, her face turned to the wall, and the sound was no louder than a muffled sigh, the whimper of a trapped animal who knows its hunters will return soon. Zula wouldn't even notice it if her sleep were not as brittle as it was. On those nights Zula would rise before her mother did, and get started on the day's spinning, or shell some lentil-peas, or cook some porridge. Then her mother would get up, and the two of them would pretend nothing had happened, which suited Zula just fine. Comforting words were just things people spilled to cover up their embarrassment. Far better to do something useful.

Her mother's fingers brushed the small stone hanging outside by the doorframe as they stepped back into the cottage. Other stones dotted other doors in the town, each for someone lost in the war. Theirs, though, was a tigergator-eye that had sat in father's study. The glossy russet was marred by a drop of red-brown, like a pinprick of blood. 'Why don't we sell it?' she'd snapped when mother had first hung it on the door. Why didn't they get rid of it all? Bury it. Trash it. After all, Lily had barely met her father, and she'd certainly never had a brother. But Ursa hadn't answered, and after a while Zula had realised it was supposed to be recognisable.

That mother was still hoping that Zuko would somehow find his way to them, something coming in from the night, scratching at their door, waiting to be let in.

'Lily.'

Zula blinked, and felt a flash of anger at herself. She wasn't a dreamer. Mother finished gathering up several skeins of thread and handed them to her in a basket. 'Make sure you get a good price,' Ursa said as Zula walked back out, basket tucked under her arm.

She would, of course. Most of their thread was a perfect red.

She did a few quick calculations in her head as she wound her way down the path and the clusters of houses around her thickened. That was the sort of thing Lily—Zula had sewn a life-story for her, bit by bit; she had been a rather sticky, snot-nosed child—worried about. A good price. Watching the leaves on the cabbage-yams for signs of purple blight. Stitching seams so fine they looked like a single strand of hair. A shiver, deep in her flesh: maybe that's what you always were. Have you thought about that? Maybe you were always Lily. Maybe Lady Zula in Ba Sing Se was just some dream you had, the fever-dream of a girl wandering in the woods or trembling with sickness in a boat or—

Shut up shut up shut up. She drove her nails as deep as she could into the skin of her palm. The pain was shallow but clear, and her gaze caught in the banner hanging from the top of the garrison's tower. It was scarlet and gold, instead of scarlet and black. A peace banner, under whose wings the Empire's citizens could shelter. Something moved out of the corner of her eye and she almost spun around in a strike. But it was only one of their neighbours, a scorpion-beekeeper's veil covering her face. Zula wouldn't care about the greeting, but Lily would return it, so she she lowered her head and raised one hand in answer. The woman turned around, the end of the heavy scarf she always wore trailing behind her. Once Zula had seen what was underneath it: a handprint, burned onto her throat.

She resumed her trek, her eye still on the rippling scarlet banner. Citizens of the—

it should have a new name this strange country it should be called

—Empire. When she washed clothes in the river with the other girls, their hands scrubbed raw, and it was her turn to bend river rocks to slap the dirt out, she always made sure to use the biggest stones. None of them would stop on the times when a soldier would happen to ride past on an ostrich-horse or a mongoose-dragon, but it didn't matter. The soldiers never hastened, or told them to stop, or even gave them more than an uninterested glance.

All of them lived in a different country now. The scarred woman's daughter, a little girl who could firebend. Earthbenders with golden eyes. People whose grandparents had been Earth Kingdom subjects but who wore red and black. The people who moved under the golden-winged peace of the Empire with angry red ridges of flesh, or missing limbs, or eyes that stared into some spot a thousand yards away. A country with its own special rules and its own special laws.

Stop it. Lily didn't get angry very often, but Zula did, and so she let a few drops of it sharpen her. What did she care about this dust-ridden, moth-eaten nonsense? She kept walking, eyes on the ground, edging out of the way of other people. As she got nearer the town centre, the rows of houses were almost as close together as the trees in the woods. She thought of—

purpose

—the Night Army again. If they were in the forest maybe they sent scouts into towns—this town, perhaps—disguised as peasants or travelling pedlars. Maybe that was how they recruited people, the most useful ones, the best. Perhaps one of them was walking behind her even know—she could almost hear their footsteps—ready to brush past her and drop a scrap of paper in her hand. We have been watching. Come. Come. Co—

A shadow fell on her like a cold slap. She stopped and looked up at the garrison's tower, the dragons curled open-jawed in the corner of its roofs, the windows that looked like black, unblinking eyes. Then she edged into a corner and pretended to look for something in her basket. No one was watching her. No one would. Lily was nobody. Lily was invisible. She stole another look at the garrison. Tao Shu's sole claim to importance was that it wasn't far from the Gaipan river. The garrison was never heavily guarded, and more than once when Zula chafed too much against Lily's skin she had snuck inside and had never been caught. It was easy: the ash-heads put doors everywhere and they didn't really understand anything about earth and how to shield yourself with it. She had never found or heard anything important, but that almost didn't matter. It was like doing a perfect earthbending form.

Make sure you get a good price. She snapped the basket's lid shut and swallowed. Her heart pushed against her lungs, and the air smelled of rust, but every nerve felt wonderfully, terribly alive. She wound her way through the alley, through the stretch of land around the garrison wall. A quick glance showed no one watching. She sidled up to one corner and touched the wall. Her muscles itched again. She felt for presences on the other side, the tread of a footstep, the heaviness of an animal. The coast was clear. She bent one corner open and shut it behind her, then hurried towards the tower. There was a window open on the first floor. Voices wafted out. Her heart sped up, her skin prickled. She swallowed again, her mouth drier, and edged under the window until she was almost sinking into the stone wall. Words drifted, sharpened. Supplies? They were talking about supplies?

'—to have taken at least twenty barrels of blasting jelly.'

Her breath hitched. She considered standing on her basket, but it was probably too weak to withstand her weight, and she doubted the added few inches would make much of a difference. Instead she pressed her ear to the bottom of the windowsill, as if that would help.

'—sure they are in this forest?'

Footsteps, but they weren't coming her way. The first voice sounded like it was coming from farther away. 'We have narrowed it down to this area.'

'The Gaipan dam would seem to be the logical target,' a woman said.

'They know we are on the lookout there. So they hide here until it's time. Or they have an entirely different target and they hope—' For a moment, the voice grew too low for her to hear. '—mind.'

'—keep a tight lid.'

A second man spoke up. 'We've never had that sort of trouble here. Our citizens are loyal.'

'Better full with the Fire Lord than hungry with the Earth King, eh?'

There was laughter at that and an almost drowned-out protestation. She drew away from the window, not even bothering to get angry. Hot anger—the kind the Fire Nation had—made you foolish. Hers was cool, a rock face. It helped her think. So the Night Army was here, in the forest. Or a part of it, rather. Capture one member and the rest would vanish, unbetrayed. Cut off one head and a dozen more would spring up. Let every speck of dirt and every grain of sand besiege your enemy. She had forgotten most of the book she was supposed to never forget, like—

pages consumed in flame

—words written in sand, erased by the rising tide. That, however, she still remembered. She picked up her basket. Maybe they were—

'Hey, you!'

Her veins turned to spun glass. For an endless moment she was sure she would be unable to move forward, that her feet had turned to roots, deep in the ground. Then she took a step, another. Her breath came out, making her throat ache.

'Stop!'

She stilled. Her grip was tight on the basket, the wicker digging into her side. Don't draw their attention. Do as they say. Don't argue. Don't get smart. Don't talk back. She turned around, slowly, a simple peasant interrupted on her way to the market. Two Fire Nation soldiers walked towards her. Their expressions were unpleasant, but they always looked like they'd just—

found a dead elephant-mouse

—swallowed a scorpion-bee anyway, and they weren't hurrying. Smile. She felt her lips twist up, but was sure it made her look like a hyena-shark. She stopped smiling just as she felt laughter bubble up and was forced to swallow it.

'What do you think you're doing?' the woman soldier said.

'You're not supposed to be here,' the man said. They both got closer, trapping her against the wall.

'I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect,' she said, sure she didn't sound sincere. 'I was just on the way to the shops.'

She tried to take a step forward, but the soldiers edged in front of her. The man placed a hand on the wall, boxing her in with his arm. She had to suppress the urge to dart underneath it.

'This isn't the way to those streets,' he said, so close she could see every strand of his closely-cropped beard. Another inch and Zula would feel his breath on her face. He was leaning against the wall, his stance relaxed. Zula looked at the woman. She stood stiffly, almost at attention.

'How did you get in?' the woman asked, bordering on kindly.

Zula held the basket in front of her mid-section like a shield. Her feet itched again. 'No, I was just going to sell my thread but it was getting late—' Yes, babble. Like an idiot. '—and I thought I could really use a shortcut and then I saw the garrison and I know you're not supposed to just walk in but then I thought well it's not like I mean any harm, I just want to walk through quick as you please, and no one was watching anyway and I know it's wrong but—'

The man cut in. 'What do you have in the basket?'

Blasting jelly. She blinked. 'It's just my skeins of thread. I was going to take them—'

'We're going to have to take a look at it,' the woman said. Her voice was calm, a weak smile on her lips. She was trying, Zula deduced, to sound reassuring. Maternal, almost.

The other soldier grabbed the basket's handle. 'Come on, kid. Ten seconds and you'll be on your way.'

'That's mine,' she said, and yanked back.

Their expressions changed. The man's grip on the basket tightened and he stood up straight, almost pushing her against the wall. 'Kid, you don't want any trouble—' he began, but she barely heard him. She was trapped—footsteps in an underground corridor, the crack of twigs in snow-clear air, a burning handprint, a chained-up body, the smell, that smell, like roasting goat-pig, oh it was so sweet—

'Let me go,' she spat, and ran straight at the gap between the bodies towering above her. They weren't expecting it, so she nearly made it. The basket's handle snapped in two; she mistook it for the crack of bone. Her shoulder rammed into the woman's side, where there was only padded leather instead of plate. Something grabbed her shoulder, pulled her back.

'Hey!'

The weight of the man's hand felt like a burning brand. 'Let go!' She threw herself forward, clawing blindly. The man fastened his grip on her tunic and yanked.

She felt the slap of pain as she hit the ground before she could register the sound of fabric ripping. The world stopped. She opened her eyes. The basket lay on its side, torn open like a gutted fish, and the skeins of thread had fallen on the ground. One of then finished rolling towards her and bumped against her thigh, a red tail unfurling behind it.

The tunic's fastenings had burst open, and the seam on her shoulder had given way. Torn fabric hung on her lap. The band around her chest had come undone and her breasts were exposed, the nipples hardening in the cool air. Her scars were bared too: the ridged lines, pale against her bronze skin, that went down the middle of her chest, curved over one shoulder, finally hidden under the fabric still covering her arm.

She looked at the two soldiers. They were still, frozen like she was, like the speck of a bird in the sky, the scraggly tops of pine trees.

Hurt me.

I'll bury you.

They didn't hurt her. They didn't even move. Instead there was a sound like snapping wood and this time she was sure it was a bone breaking.

It wasn't. It was laughter. Just a dry chuckle, at first, coming from the man. Then louder, deeper. The kind of laughter that spreads—it was spreading to the woman, and even if she did put her hand over her mouth, she couldn't stop her shoulders from shaking—and makes your belly hurt and your eyes squeeze out tears and keeps going even after you wished it would stop.

'Sorry, kid,' the man hiccuped.

The woman stepped forward. 'Let us help—' she began, but another burst of laughter overtook her.

'Don't touch me,' Zula yelled, and scrambled to her feet. A motion of her hand and foot and earth rose up to trap the soldiers' legs. The laughter was quelled in an instant.

'What the—' the man said, but before either of them could react, Zula turned around and ran. She slowed as she exited the garrison, but no one stopped her. No one even noticed her. There was ring of gongs and bells, no rush of footsteps behind her, no shouts, no flames. Her hand held up the torn tunic, her grip so rigid her fingers dug into her shoulder, bruised her collarbone. They hadn't believed it, she realised it. They hadn't believed that some—

stupid little girl

—random, inconsequential peasant had just trapped them to the ground. As they laughed. As they—

She picked up the pace, and soon ran so fast the world blurred around her. She darted away from the streets, into the fields, the edge of the woods. No one should see her. No one could see her. Windows glared at her in the sunlight, their stare dark and heavy. Her breath shook her chest, the sound of her footfalls came sharp like laughter. She ran until she had a stitch in her side, until pain was pumping through her legs, until she saw the house again with the little blood-speckled stone hanging by the front door and the rows of cabbage-yams. The table where they did their sewing. She was looking at the table.

'Zula!'

She must look bad enough for mother to drop their disguise. Ursa scrambled to her feet. Beet peels tumbled—

skeins of thread

red

—to the floor.

'Are you all right?' Ursa had her hands on her shoulders, then started looking her over like a dog worrying a pup. Zula hadn't seen her get close. Her eyes went to the peels on the floor. Little flecks of purple had spattered around them. Mother's hand were still stained with it. 'What's wro—'

The torn fabric came loose from Zula's grip and hung between them like a war banner. The breast bands had come looser still. They pooled around Zula's waist, the off-white fabric streaked with dirt where her fingers had brushed it after being on the ground. Her exposed flesh looked pathetically soft, rippled with goosebumps. She looked away in disgust. Her mother's eyes widened.

'What happened?' Ursa said, softly. 'Did anyone…' She seemed to struggle for the right word. When it came, it was in a whisper. '… touch you?'

'No,' Zula—

you can say it we ran from it

—snapped, and covered herself up again. But instead of a stone, the denial had felt like water in her mouth. Her throat ached. Her eyes, she realised, were brimming with tears. In a moment she would be shaking.

Pathetic, she told herself, but the anger she wanted didn't come. Instead, only pain flowed in under her skin.

Aren't these people funny?

Her mother still needled. 'Tell me what happened.'

'There were soldiers…'

So weak and stupid! Why do they let these things happen to them?

The hazel-green eyes narrowed. 'Soldiers? Where?' Mother released her. 'Tell me you didn't go sneaking around the garrison again.'

'I didn't let them do anything to me,' Zula said.

'What did you do?'

Zula didn't answer, but she didn't have to. Mother stepped back, sending one of the beet peels skittering across the floor. 'Did they follow you? Are they going— They're coming for you, aren't they?' Her hands balled into fists, then she grabbed Zula and shook her shoulders. 'Can't you let us have a moment's peace? It's always the same with you. Always fighting. Always looking for trouble. Why couldn't it have been—' She stopped herself. Her eyes widened. Her hands dropped to her sides. 'I'm so sorry,' she whispered. 'I—I didn't mean that.'

'No,' Zula said. The word hung in the air, filling up the little room. Very slowly, she brought up her hand to her face. Her knuckles wiped away snot. 'No. You're right. It was such a stupid thing for me to do. Inviting trouble like that. But that's what you get with me. You know, you must really hate the way that ferry accident turned out.'

'Zula, no. Please. I—'

But she had already turned away, and when mother raised a step from the floor to try to stop her, it was too late to stop her from rushing out the door. Her torn clothes hung free. She no longer cared who saw her.

She ran. She ran faster than ever before, lifting up clods of earth as she raced through the garden, slipping on the wet grass outside. She ran until she could no longer hear her mother calling for her. She ran until the trees were so close together they almost blocked out the sun. She ran until her lungs felt like they were going to burst from her chest and her thighs split in two… then she ran some more.

Her own body felled her. She dropped to her knees. One of her shins struck a root, but this new hurt was coming into a body too crowded with pain to make itself felt. She rolled onto her back—

they're going to laugh at you

—and sat up.

Around her the forest was silent. No cries from her mother. No footsteps. No birds.

No soldiers.

She crawled backwards until she could lean against a tree. Around her the trunks were damp with fungi, hairy with moss. The air smelled old and green. Even the shafts of sunlight looked dusty.

She lifted one hand. It shook, but not, she knew, with fear, or anger, or shame. She wiped away the tears that still clung to her cheeks, the snot drying on her upper lip.

Under her skin, the flesh had turned to granite. Marble. Basalt.

Diamond.

Everything had to be stripped away before the rock face could be revealed. Yes. She understood now. She understood it all.

I have become invincible, she thought as she carefully refastened her breast band and tied the torn fabric together with loose thread. The thought was fleshless, a pared-down blade of stone. Burrs and leaf crumbs clung to her clothes. She ignored them.

She was just being practical. Her nakedness no longer embarrassed her.

A flower of fire bloomed inside her head: the Fire Lord's rooms at Ba Sing Se, full of scarlet slashes, consumed in flame by the ash-heads' own blasting jelly. Herself, laughing as the fire grew higher and the earth crumbled around them. Then everything went black.

She did not mind that either.

'I know you are here,' she yelled. A starburst of pain filled her lungs. She breathed against it, forced it back as she got to her feet. 'I know you are here,' she shouted again at the thick canopy of leaves. 'I know you're probably thinking of taking out the Gaipan dam.' She took a few steps into the undergrowth as she yelled, still looking up. Only a few scraps of sky were visible. 'If you do, you are fools.'

Silence.

She lifted a rock from the ground and bended it at the treetops. It crashed through the leaves with a snap of twigs and a loud rustle and dropped back to earth. 'The plan is to take back Ba Sing Se, isn't it? Well let's do it already.'

The last few words were the loudest. Underneath her the earth moved, each vibration a ripple across the sole of her feet. The left foot felt number. She looked down; it was still shod. The other shoe, she had lost somewhere without noticing. She kicked the remaining shoe away and dug her bare foot into the thick green carpet. Yes. She was part of the earth now. Her roots deep under the mountains. Her skin an inconsequential film of moss. She understood. It made perfect sense.

The hum came from behind her, but she barely had time to turn around before she was struck so hard she was nearly bowled over. Ropes wrapped around her body. She yelled as she was dragged up, dangling upside down in the air. Blood rushed to her head. She tried to struggle, but the ropes bound her ever tighter. 'Cut me down! Cut me—'

The world flipped around again and she dropped onto a wooden platform with a bone-shaking thud. Loose hair spilled over her face. She spat out bits of fallen leaves. A blade darted by her face. She tried to spin out of the way; a blow to her back pushed her down.

'Be quiet,' a voice said above her head. 'You're making more noise than a whole herd of camelephants.'

She fell silent. The ropes came undone and a pair of legs stepped away from her.

She scrambled to her knees and looked into a ring of metal. Blade tips and arrowheads stared at her. Above them there were painted faces and hard eyes. So many kids, she thought, with a mechanic touch of superiority. One of the girls had to be younger than her.

A young man stepped forward. 'Stand up,' he said.

'I—' she began, but he didn't let her finish. One gesture, and a bag suddenly tightened around her head. She didn't struggle. This too was part of her destiny.

'Bring her,' she heard, the sound slightly muffled by the bag. Hot, musty air pooled around her face. She made herself breathe slowly as she was manhandled by someone much bigger than her. She went limp as she was carried in a sweaty grip. Air whistled against her body. Her naked feet dangled over some unseen drop.

After an eternity, she was dropped onto what felt like another wooden platform. She staggered to her feet and pulled the bag off her head. The young man from before stood in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. Behind him a hut nested in the tree branches. She tried looking down over the platform, but from where she was standing, the ground was too far away to see. She looked back at him, remaining perfectly still. Gazes lay heavy on her back, from the people hiding in the branches, their arrows ready to fly at any moment. She ignored them. They were as insubstantial as midge-gnats.

'Who are you?' he asked.

'I am the Lady Zula.' There was a smirk at that, and what could have been a titter of laughter or only the whisper of a breeze.

'Is that supposed to mean something?'

She wiped some of the forest's debris off her sleeve, taking her time. 'No. The only thing that means anything right now is that you are idiots and fools if you're planning on attacking anything in this region.'

'And you're the idiot if you think we give a toss about a stranger's opinion.' He took a step forward. His voice turned lower. 'If we want, we can knock you out, drop you right in the middle of your friends in the Tao Shu garrison, and you wouldn't find us even if you razed down the forest bit by bit by bit.'

'They're not my friends,' she said, but there was no anger in her voice. She didn't think she was ever going to get angry again. The mountain face did not get angry at the ants crawling upon it. 'I am an earthbender,' she added.

'That means nothing here. Especially now,' he said. Someone wearing clothes so bulky Zula wasn't sure about their sex approached him to whisper something in his ear. She said nothing, did nothing, only waited for the exchange to finish before replying.

'You should concern yourselves less with me,' she said, 'and more with the people who have already sworn to crush you. And instead of stinging the ostrich-horse, you should perhaps consider taking down its rider.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

She could feel the tension in the still air, bowstring-taut. It did not matter. She knew she had them already, stepping stones under her feet. She pictured the trees burning, bodies stacked like cordwood in their houses and platforms, faces ropey with blood, eyes open and unseeing. She felt nothing. Then she pictured herself, her body lying naked and broken at the base of a tree, arrow shafts protruding from her flesh. She still felt nothing.

'Ba Sing Se,' she said.

There was a snort of derision at that. 'Ba Sing Se is closed tighter than a miser's fist. If you knew anything about anything you'd know it's way better to make them spread themselves too thin than waste our lives on a target we can't even hit.'

She had heard that before. Her country was a world unto itself. Glaciers snaking through mountain ranges. Deserts of burning sand stretching from horizon to horizon. Mangroves where the flowers had petals as thick and heavy as tongues. Gorges so deep you could not see the bottom. A land so vast and intricate no human army was large enough to occupy it.

It was so simple once you understood it all. Their enemies had won because they only cared about winning.

She would crush them because she cared about nothing.

'Then you are idiots. Worse, incompetent idiots.' Noise, behind the foliage. It did not matter. They would listen. 'Play soldiers in the woods if you will. Or take out the high command in Ba Sing Se with your twenty barrels of blasting jelly and start winning this war. It's up to you.'

The leader cocked one eyebrow. 'And I guess you have a plan to get into Ba Sing Se.'

She shook her head disdainfully. 'I grew up in Ba Sing Se. I was there when the Fire Nation broke through the Inner Wall. They know every street; I know every tunnel. They have sentries in every entrance; I know about the ones they haven't even dreamed of. If they've blocked something, I know five different ways around it. I know all the weak spots, all the strong spots, all the spots that will bring the occupation army to its knees once we collapse them. And when I am done… I am going to kill the Fire Lord.'

There was no laughter at that. She already knew there wouldn't be. She was the mountain. She was the rock face. If she were facing the Fire Nation's entire army, they would break upon her like paper chains.

'That's your plan? You got no call to say anyone else's an idiot,' he said. She didn't move. He was merely posturing for his people, like a strutting rooster-pig.

'In that case, I guess you don't need me,' she said with a shrug of contempt, then turned towards the platform's edge. 'I can probably bend my way down.'

'Stop.'

She drew her foot back, looked over her shoulder.

'She's a fool,' a girl with a painted face said.

'She might be useful,' the leader told her, and called to Zula with a hand gesture.

And she stepped forward, towards the shadow of the wood and her destiny.

++The End++

Notes/Disclaimer: A country with its own special rules and its own special laws — from the novel and film The Sweet Hereafter. Inspiration for the confrontation between (A)zula and her mother after the incident with the soldiers and (A)zula's subsequent reaction to it came from the Cold Case episode Rampage. The two scenes are substantially different, though. I actually think Zuko survived the dam disaster (and perhaps assumed the Blue Spirit persona). Then he and Zula inevitably end up in Ba Sing Se at the same time and one of those farces in which someone walks in through the door while someone else exits through the window ensues. Possibly set to the Benny Hill theme tune, because obviously that's the only thing you can do after writing this sort of story. ;) No, but seriously, I think a sequel could be quite interesting if people would like to see one, but I really think I'll have to write something a little more cheerful in the meantime!

Much like my goal with A Force That Gives Us Meaning was to take a sympathetic character and put her in a world in which her dedication to her family, her community, and her society have a very different meaning and consequences, in this story I wanted to take a competent villain and see what she'd be like as a relatively disempowered character caught up in an unstoppable invasion/occupation. As you can probably guess, I like to explore how characters interact with their contexts and how the effects of their actions are so deeply entwined with said contexts. All that aside, I hope you enjoyed the story!