Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12015303.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Avatar:_Legend_of_Korra
  Relationship:
      P'li/Zaheer_(Avatar)
  Character:
      P'li_(Avatar), Zaheer_(Avatar)
  Additional Tags:
      Origin_Story
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-06 Updated: 2017-09-08 Chapters: 4/? Words: 19136
****** crimson ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     She is thirteen when they come for her.
Notes
     just a heads up:
     - this is very very long and far more p'li-centric than i originally
     planned, especially the first part.
     - this fic gets pretty dark and disturbing. there's rape, torture,
     depictions of slavery, and a lot of pain and suffering. if any of
     that bothers you, please be careful.
     - the rape scenes don't involve zaheer. HOWEVER, p'li is underage for
     the entire story and he is a grown man, so the dynamic of their
     relationship might still be upsetting for some readers.
     - i know there's virtually no fandom dedicated to this pairing but i
     LOVE THEM.
***** Chapter 1 *****
She is thirteen when they come for her.
It is a crisp autumn evening and the world is red. As she walks home, P’Li
glances up at the twilight sky, which has worked itself into a rage - an
explosion of deep crimson as the sun disappears over the hills. The changing of
the seasons have not claimed all the leaves on the trees, not yet: the few that
remain are also red, like droplets of blood falling to the ground. She looks
down at her hand, clenching and unclenching it. Fire can be orange or gold,
hot-white or even blue (if the legends are to be believed), but sometimes P’Li
will generate the tiniest flames in the centre of her palm and she swears,
truly, there’s a split-second of pure red before it evens out into the colour
it is meant to be. The idea makes her smile. It is a shocking, angry colour,
but she has always loved red, more than any other colour in the world.
The village is quietening down in preparation for the long night. Shops are
closing, traders boarding up their stalls and heading to their own homes and
families. She was lucky enough to make it to the healer’s shop in time, running
all the way from the noblewoman’s house in the neighbouring town where she’d
spent the day scrubbing floors and washing dishes. The healer had handed over
the small bag with a pitiful smile and asked her to greet her mother for him,
adding he would say a prayer for her later that night. The sympathetic words
had wiped the smile off her face, and she merely clutched the bag of medicine a
little tighter before walking away.
Her house is on the outskirts of the village, but the long walk home is always
worth it. She lives alone with her mother, a quiet woman with a soft smile who
has fallen sick in the recent months. She tells her daughter it is nothing, a
passing illness, but she has grown weaker and weaker as the days go by. She
will still urge P’Li to sit down between her legs on the floor as she braids
her long, black hair, nodding and humming as eagerly as she can as P’Li details
the fantastic life they will have in the future. A big house. Dozens of
servants and maids. Three hot meals a day, maybe even four. A private
firebending instructor so she can wield flames even better than the Fire Lord
himself! Her mother smiles eagerly, and for a small moment, it’s as though
everything will be fine. But the spell is broken when she turns away to cough,
discreetly disposing of her tissues. But P’Li sees the splattered blood on the
crisp white cloth, and she sees the grimace that mars her mother’s face
whenever she tries to get up. P’Li worries for her. Her mother is all she has
in the universe. She will work like a dog for the rest of her days, she will
never know happiness or even freedom, if it means she can wake up to her
mother’s soft warmth in the tiny bed beside her in the morning.
She is nearly out of the small forest that leads to her home when she hears a
voice.
‘Little girl.’
She spins and finds a man standing, half concealed by the darkness of the
trees, a few feet behind her. He must have followed her home through the woods.
A thief? P’Li swallows, clutches her bag of medicine tighter and stumbles
backwards. In response, he steps forward, the moonlight unveiling him further.
He is short and stocky with wide eyes that stare at her like an animal in a
zoo, sending shivers down her spine.
‘What are you doing all alone at night? It’s unsafe,’ he tells her.
He is not from the village, she realises. P’Li knows everyone in the tiny
village, and they know her too. They know better than to ask why she wanders
the streets alone at night. She has never seen this man before. His accent is
also different. His voice lilts towards the end of the sentences, almost
cheerfully.
‘Who are you?’ she demands. ‘What do you want?’
He ignores the questions and steps forward a little more. ’That’s a funny
mark,’ he says, nodding towards her forehead. Instinctively, P’Li reaches up
and touches it, feels the pulsing beneath her fingertips. The red eye in the
centre of her forehead. It is indeed a funny mark, one that has plagued her for
as long as she can remember, but it has been years since the last talk of its
sudden appearance dwindled down. This man is a complete stranger. He watches
her, mouth slightly open as though fascinated.
‘It’s just as beautiful as they said,’ he murmurs. ‘Yes. He’ll be happy. Truly
happy.’
‘Who?’ she asks. ‘You better leave me alone. I’m a firebender,’ she adds in a
tone of warning, getting into one of the basic fighting stance she knows. P’Li
could never afford to attend lessons under a master, but she would spend the
little free time in the open stretch near the hills punching and kicking
wildly, watching the flames appear with satisfaction, hoping she would prove a
threat to whomever tries to stand in her way.
He smiles as though amused, a cold twist of the lips. Before she can react, he
lunges forward and grabs the wrist of her outstretched arm and yanks, pulling
her forward so he can dig his fingers into the pressure points of her bicep and
beneath her elbow. P’Li screams at the pain as her arm goes numb, and he pulls
her forward once more, head colliding with his chest as he repeats the
procedure on her other arm and then, the side of her neck and hollow of her
collarbone.
The bag of medicine falls to the floor and she hears the glass vial shatter.
The pain is overwhelming, making the edges of her vision blacken, and she feels
like she’s burning all over. The man circles her, keeping his gaze locked on
her all the time. Uselessly, she tries to lift her arms to strike him, tries to
turn her neck, even urges herself to summon forth the smallest flame, but
nothing. Nothing but agony.
When she tries to kick, he lunges forward again, impossibly fast, and she feels
the same pressure in her legs and ankles, setting her entire body on fire once
more. P’Li sobs, falling to her knees before collapsing onto her back like a
sack of rice, all limbs disabled as though torn from her body. The sky is
brilliantly lit up with the light of a thousand stars, and she realises she is
going to die here. She is eleven years old and has spent so much time worrying
about the fate of her mother but she is the one whose life will end here,
tonight. After he has raped her, most likely, once or twice if he sees fit. She
is young, but younger girls have been defiled in worse ways. The stars are
blocked from view as the man stands over her, staring down at her fallen body.
‘Weak,’ he mutters quietly. ‘A lot of work to be done. But,’ he sighs, ‘we
mustn’t waste any more time.’
He crouches down and grabs her, forcing her upright. P’Li wants to scream, but
all that comes out is a whine that is so pitiful he laughs cruelly. He hoists
her up, tossing her over his shoulder before setting off with quick, light
steps back into the forest. Where he will take her and what he plans to do with
her, she does not know. Part of her, a small part, hopes it is all just a
dream, and that she will wake up in the morning in bed by her mother’s side.
Part of her, the more coldly rational part, hopes to never wake up at all. As
though hearing her prayer, the darkened edges of her vision return and slowly
take over, growing bigger and bigger as his steps grow quieter and more far
away, and the world goes black.
 
—
She wakes up in a cell.
It is cold and pitch black and smells musty. She has no idea how much time has
passed, but the sluggishness and thick taste in her mouth implies it has been a
day at least. There is a small amount of light entering through the bars of a
tiny window on her right side, showing her the purple bruises on her legs and
arms. She is slumped over uncomfortably. She has no energy to breathe beyond
shallow little whimpers, let alone weep. She wants nothing more than to yell,
to call for help, to determine if anybody is out there listening. But the pain
is so severe, even more than it was when the man first struck her. It’s as
though someone prepared a knife, held it over a dancing flame and pressed its
blade slowly into every inch of skin on her body again and again. So she cries
and cries until she enters into another deep sleep.
She dreams of her mother. She is clad in a white dress with her hair cut short
and dancing around her face, and her smile is enormous. They are both dancing,
together, in a green meadow filled with daisies and roses. Her mother is
singing an old folk song about a woman with long dark hair who waits for her
lover to return home from war. The ground beneath their feet is pliant and so
soft. P’Li’s feet sink into the wet green until the water reaches her pale
ankles.
With a jolt, she wakes up. It is dark, but the moonlight from the small cell
window reflects on the pool of water between her legs. She has wet herself.
P’Li sobs. What did she do to deserve such a fate? A poor girl from a small
village who only wanted to see her mother survive the winter. She was too young
to commit any of the crimes that would warrant such suffering. So why?
Before she can even think about it further, the cell door bursts open and the
man - the kidnapper, the attacker - stalks inside. His face glows in the
moonlight, making his face appear more angled and gaunt. His nose instantly
wrinkles at the smell of urine.
‘Up,’ he orders her, beckoning with his hand.
P’Li blinks at him dumbly, uncomprehending. He scowls in frustration and steps
over to her, grabbing her by the hair, and she shrieks in pain, coming back to
life at once. She still cannot move, however, and feels like a rag doll as he
maintains his iron grip on her long black curls, dragging her out of the cell.
She wants nothing more than to slice off his fingers, burn the skin on his
cruel hands to a crisp, to make him feel an inch of the pain she is feeling.
P’Li watches the little cell disappear, watches the black cobblestones pass
beneath her bruised legs as he leads her by the scalp mercilessly into a
corridor and then into another room, colder and more spacious.
He releases her hair, and her head collides harshly with the ground. He grunts
as he walks away, commanding her to wait (as though she can do anything else).
She whines, trying to find the words to beg him for mercy, but then realises
she can feel something beneath her fingertips. Water. There is water
everywhere, making her hair cling to the floor. P’Li tries to summon all the
energy in her body to crane her neck upwards, but finds herself unable. But she
can glance to her right, straining her eyes and notes that there is moonlight
in this room, as well, and it glints off the floor to show clear white tiles
glistening with wetness. This must be a bathroom of sorts.
The man returns and grabs P’Li, maneuvering her so she sits upright before he
sets a bucket down beside her, the water sloshing out and onto her toes. The
pain is still there, but has now dwindled down somewhat, and breathing comes
far easier. P’Li watches him, taking in the hook of his nose and the thin lips
before she realises he is taking her clothes off.
‘Nngh-‘ she whimpers, and tries to move away, but he grips her by the forearm
and leans in close.
‘Listen, girl,’ he hisses, squeezing so hard she sobs, ‘I’ve got to get you
nice and presentable for my master. He can’t have you in dirty rags, soaked in
your own piss. So shut up before I make you scream.’
She shuts up. P’Li is not a coward. Even as a child, she was always more
curious about the things that terrified other children her age - bugs, heights,
the dark. But she pictures her mother back at home, breathing shallowly and
waiting day in, day out for a daughter who might never return. But P’Li will
return. She is sure of it - she has to. In her mind, she is already formulating
a way home. But for now, that plan includes biding her time. She cannot escape
if she can barely move her own body. If she is pliant and obedient, he may free
her movement, after which she will fight and take him down. She is not a
coward. She is biding her time.
She repeats this to herself as the man tears off her dress, ripping at the
cotton like it’s paper. She wants to cover herself with her arms but cannot
raise them. He eyes her body for a few seconds, looking almost languidly over
her black hair, the pale expanse of her belly, the bruised legs and long arms,
the small dark nipples reacting to the cold air, the mound between her legs -
and the feel of his gaze burns into her skin. The silence is deafening. He
stares a little more before turning away to drag the bucket closer to them
both, dipping a cloth into the water before he begins washing her.
He scrubs at the layers of grime and tears. The bruises come to life under his
touch, emphasising the contrast between the horrific pain earlier and the dull
throbbing of the moment. She doesn’t want to feel that pain again. Every now
and then, he dips the cloth back into the water, turning it darker and darker
before he resumes his work. To her surprise, he completely ignores her face and
head.
Despite her hopes, however, he does not spare her breasts, running the cloth
over the small mounds quickly and efficiently. He roughly spreads her legs,
ignoring her whimpers. When he uses the cloth this time, it is much gentler as
though caressing the area, softly coating the area from her buttocks to her
vagina with the cold water. She flushes in confusion and fear, the blush
setting her pale chest and cheeks alight. He notices and chuckles, and then he
suddenly sets the cloth down before dipping his entire hand in water. He lifts
it out so it glistens in the little light, and the sound of the droplets
returning to the water echo through the room.
Without warning, the man reaches in between her legs again, using two fingers
of one hand to spread her folds wide and the index finger of the other to
caress what is between, lazily drawing a line up and down. It is an area P’Li
has never really explored, and she is startled to feel it tingle.
‘Stop,’ she whispers. Realising she can now speak, she breathes in deeply and
repeats louder, ‘Stop.’
He licks his lips slightly as he continues his ministrations. 'Stop what?' he
breathes. 'I'm just cleaning you.' The man is now playing with like a toy, his
finger making her shudder violently. How can one finger cause such a reaction
in her body? She hates herself so much, so much, when she realises it feels
slightly good, and forces the feeling down and away. Every now and then, the
man looks up at her to see how he is reacting to his fingers. She closes her
eyes eventually, to which he responds by hardening the touch again so that she
lets out a sob.
After what feels like hours of this torture, his finger dips inside. P’Li makes
a noise between a cry and a groan, releases a breath she didn’t know she was
holding, and he chuckles again at her response as though that was exactly what
he was waiting for.
‘Feels good?’ he asks. ‘It’s alright if it does. You’re young. Beautiful.’ She
doesn’t know what that has to do with anything. ‘Not supposed to touch you,’ he
continues in a whisper like he’s sharing a secret, dipping the finger in and
out, but carefully making sure it doesn’t enter her too deeply. He then resumes
the act of simply stroking up the folds and down. P’Li stares up at him, mouth
hanging open, and tries to summon all her remaining willpower to stop herself
from feeling the pleasure, but it disappears when his strokes take on a little
more insistency. ‘He wants you all to himself, see. But I was the one who got
you. So I deserve some fun.’
Suddenly, he angles his finger so that it strokes something - a spot right
under her mound and above the folds, and she keens at the sensation, her voice
echoing in the room. He groans quietly in response and leans forward, hot
breath fanning her cheek as he does it once more. She has goosebumps all over,
from his hands, his whispers, his eyes. P’Li’s breath is coming in short gasps,
and her mouth hangs open as she stares up at him in a mixture of horror, shame
and awe. She feels like she’s on fire, every inch of her body, and it's the
space between her legs that are lighting the flames. He strokes the spot a
third time, circling it so teasingly her entire frame trembles. When he pulls
his fingers away from her without any warning she whines, and he laughs once
more.
‘Desperate,’ he remarks.
She agrees. She is desperate - for what, she isn’t sure. For him to leave her
alone - yes, of course. But the idea of him taking his fingers away and leaving
her and that spot throbbing violently for the rest of the night is horrible.
She curses him, curses every bit of him, for starting this fire within her and
leaving her helpless and desperate for more.
As though reading her mind, he takes her face between his big, rough hands and
stares into her eyes for a long time, lips twisted into a sharp smile, eyes
wide with admiration. She shivers when she realises she is the one he is
admiring. He reaches up to touch her forehead, to caress the mark he was so
fascinated by earlier, running his fingers around the red lines on each side of
the eye but never the eye itself. And then he kisses her.
P’Li has never been kissed. She is a girl, yes, blossoming into a woman, but
her hectic and busy life in the village prevented her from ever even striking
up a friendship with a boy, let alone kissing one. And now here she is, in the
middle of a bathroom miles and miles from home, being violated by the fingers
of a man who can hurt her - will hurt her even more if he sees fit.
His lips are rough and cracked as they move against hers, and then he shoves
his tongue into her mouth and instantly begins licking at the inside of her
cheek. P’Li whines, but he removes one hand from her face and returns it
between her legs to quickly open up the folds, which have now grown sticky,
shoving his thumb against that bundle of nerves. P’Li twitches as he circles it
again and again and again, pushing it like a button, even scratching at it so
very gently with a fingernail, and she moans loudly with her mouth open wide.
It feels so good. It feels better than anything she has ever felt. It sends
waves of pure pleasure across her entire body, and she doesn’t know what she’ll
do if he stops. He chuckles against her lips as her tongue lolls forward and
begins sucking on it, sucking up the saliva that has pooled in her mouth from
his blissful ministrations, pulling back ever so slightly to bite at her lips,
and never once abandoning his task between her legs. P’Li’s eyes fill with
tears. She is beyond shame, at this point. All she can do is feel and enjoy and
hope he will carry on.
She feels impossibly wet, and is unsure if it’s the water from her bath or the
juices from her folds that are coating her outstretched thighs. She has grown
wet before, down there, but only once or twice and only at night when she
dreams of bodies sliding against each other and wet mouths and sighs and moans.
She has no idea where these pictures come from. And by the time she wakes up,
the ache in her sex is quickly disappearing, and she has little choice but to
ignore it and get on with her day.
Now, though, it’s as though a pressure is building within her, like a kettle
filled with water brought to the boil. It’s building and building as he plays
with her, and when he stops kissing her to mouth at her neck, hot tongue
drawing lines on her throat, she moans again, louder than ever.
‘You want this,’ he whispers. ‘You won’t tell him. And I sure as hell won’t.’
She is dazed by the time he removes his fingers from her entirely and leans
back, face a little flushed. He lays her down on her back on the wet floor,
hair growing heavy as it is coated in the water. She looks up at him as he
stands, mind clouded over by the pleasure as he unbuckles his belt rapidly and
shoves his pants down to reveal his length. His member is thick and red,
curving upwards towards the ceiling, and all she can do is stare with wide eyes
as the pleasure and desperation begin to dwindle and are quickly replaced by
fear.
The man gets onto his knees and reaches forward to spread her legs even more,
and then wrapping them around his waist. When he lets go, her legs fall to the
floor, but he has already started to lean in and she can feel his girth against
her, hot and thick. She is so wet she can hear her folds separate, as though
opening her up to the man as an offering. He licks his lips again in
anticipation.
She begins to cry, overwhelmed by self-loathing. She had panted under him like
a whore, so desperate for his attention and his touch, so terrified he would
leave her, it was inevitable he would now want some pleasure of his own. She
brought this on herself, and cannot blame anybody but her traitorous body and
feeble mind. And now he will take her, rob her of what little innocence she has
left. As a last resort, P’Li whispers, ‘Please.’
He looks down at her and smiles, interpreting the plea as impatience. And then
he shoves himself inside.
 
If she is to be grateful of anything, it’s the fact that he only uses her once.
He does not take long, either. The pain is horrible when he first pushes
inside, but compared to the blocking of her chi paths and numbing of her limbs,
she knows she will be able to overcome it.
After he shoves himself into her, he groans deeply and begins thrusting wildly
in and out of her, the thickness rubbing against her folds and making that spot
sing each time he quickly pulls out. The wetness eases his way, and she numbly
suspected from the harsh stinging that there is blood mixing with her fluids as
well and making it even easier for him to enter her.
At first, he moves fast, in an almost paranoid manner as he gripped her by the
hips and shoved into her rapidly, his fingertips pushing against her skin hard
enough to add to her collection of bruises. But after several thrusts he
relaxed somewhat and began pushing in deep and slow, leaning in close so that
the leather of his shirt rubbed against her sensitive nipples. Now, he was
fucking her, grunting heavily with each intense snap of his hips, almost like a
dance. She could feel everything, how his thickness was stretching her wide
open, how deep he was going, how his thickness pushed against her inner walls
and left fire in its wake every time he pulled out, and how she died and came
to life each time he shoved back inside. She had no idea what to think. All she
could do was feel as he opened her up again and again. That ache had finally
been satisfied, the itch finally scratched. It felt sinfully good, and she was
drunk on the pleasure and too far gone to feel the pain, tongue heavy in her
mouth as she met his deep gaze. It was so dark, but she could still see the
glinting of his eyes, could feel it on her skin.
He moved his hands from her hips to hold her up by the buttocks, his entrance
now differently angled so that the sweet, dangerous spot was getting some
attention of its own. He was squeezing at her ass, pinching and tugging,
spreading the cheeks wide. Before long, the pressure within her began to build
again, and P’Li’s whines were mingling with his in the dark, empty room.
He continues to hold her up with one hand, using the other to toy with her
sweet spot, rubbing against it fiercely and she pushes against his fingers,
begging him not to stop. And then, without warning, the pressure builds so much
and so fast she has no choice but to explode. She screams, unable to stop
herself, as her vision goes white and her body shakes wildly in an explosion of
pleasure and bliss and relief, throwing her head back as she twitches all over.
Seconds later, he also reaches his peak, and he pulls his length out of her and
grips his dark red cock, rubbing up and down with a wild, hungry expression on
his face as he looks down at her, mouth opening and closing as though he is
praying. White fluid shoots out of the tip and onto her chest, coating her
belly and breasts as he moans at both the sight of her covered in his come and
at his blissful release, slowly turning flaccid in his own grip.
P’Li closes her eyes, suddenly exhausted. She is numbly aware of him putting
his pants back on and composing himself somewhat before he wipes his semen off
her body. He washes her with the cloth once more, as though trying to hide the
evidence of what they just did. Then he leaves the room with the bucket, and
she hears him dumping the contents outside. He is gone for a few minutes, but
her body is too hot all over to really feel the cold air. When he returns, she
opens his eyes to see him carrying a towel and another piece of cloth, and his
expression gives nothing away - no pleasure, no smugness, no regret. It’s as
though nothing at all happened. How many other girls has this man snatched from
their doorsteps and shoved into dark cells before claiming their body for
himself? He rubs the towel over her body to dry her, and then helps her into
the cloth, which she now realises is a dress, pulling it over her head and
tugging it past her hips and thighs.
When he is done, he lifts her up and throws her over his shoulder again and
takes her to another room, placing her onto an impossibly soft cloud she
realises is a bed. Perhaps it is his gift to her, in return for her innocence.
He walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it, his
footsteps disappearing down the dark corridor. She keeps her eyes closed the
entire time. If she cannot see, she cannot feel. And if she cannot feel, she
does not have to live with the weight of what just happened. Her brain, no
longer an enemy, now returns to her side by gifting her sleep.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     thank you for making your way to part two! in this chapter, P'Li will
     be mulling over the events of the night before. she will also finally
     meet Zaheer before making her way to her new 'home'.
     warnings for this chapter: P'Li will be reliving the rape that
     happened last chapter, and there is a lot of trauma and grief
     depicted. however nothing else graphic happens.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
She wakes up to the sound of the door creaking open. She sits up with a start,
and then realises she can now move her body freely. She is still numb and sore,
both in her limbs and between her legs, but she can move. She also realises it
is daytime, the sunlight pouring into the room and making her eyes hurt. The
cell is not a cell but an actual room, with a mirror on top of a big set of
drawers and a larger window without any bars.
Before she can think any further, a man enters holding a plate of steaming
food. It is not the man from before, not the one who appeared in her
nightmares. This man is much younger, probably in his late teens or very early
twenties, but he is still definitely a man, having crossed over from boyhood a
long time ago, it seems. His body is powerfully built like a warrior’s, his
hands are big and strong and his bare arms muscular. He could use those arms to
shove her down onto her back, those hands to hurt her in even more vicious
ways. As he walks forward, she notices a thick scar has been sliced into his
left eyebrow. She wonders how he got it.
P’Li watches him, about to break out into a cold sweat. He is obviously a
colleague of the one from before, perhaps even his companion, and she is the
prisoner of them both.
But all he does is place the plate of food on top of the drawers and keep his
distance. In the undiluted sunlight, his eyes are the colour of olives, and he
wears a simple gold chain around his neck. P’Li sees he is not smiling or
smirking but looks hesitant, almost uncertain.
He makes to leave the room once he puts the plate down, but she calls after
him. ‘Wait,’ she says. Her voice is rough from disuse, scratchy and carrying in
the largely empty room. He pauses and turns to face her.
She asks, ‘Where am I?’
He frowns and looks as though he does not want to answer her. ‘This is an old
prison. It was used during the War,’ is all he says, his voice deep.
So that explains the cells and large bathroom. But it does not answer her
question. ‘But where? How far away from my home am I?’
‘I cannot answer that,’ he replies evenly.
‘Please,’ says P’Li. ‘Can I go home? Are you going to kill me? What do you
want? Where are you taking me?’ The questions come tumbling out of her mouth
like a flood, his brow furrowing further and further with each word she utters.
Still, he says nothing.
P’Li gives up. He obviously isn't going to tell her anything. He sees her
silent surrender and finally turns away to leave. When he reaches the doorway,
she speaks one last time.
‘The man,’ she whispers. ‘From before.’ Is he with you, she does not say. Is he
outside, waiting for me? Will he be back for more? Will he return to hurt me
further?
He looks at her, and his face darkens.
‘Gone,’ he tells her. ‘He wasn’t supposed to touch you.’
P’Li exhales shakily. The man says gone as though he has been disposed of. She
isn’t sure why touching her would warrant his dismissal, but P’Li hopes it
hurt. She hopes he was forcefully entered and owned and degraded by someone
else. She hopes he is dead in a ditch, throat cut open. She swiftly changes her
mind and hopes, finally, that he is still alive. So that when she escapes (and
she will escape), she will destroy him on her own.
But you enjoyed it, whispers a part of her. You liked how it felt. How he made
you feel. You didn’t want him to stop-
‘No,’ she sobs. She is crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and she covers
her face with her hands, weeping wildly. She is a traitor. A liar. A fraud. She
shamed herself and her name, threw away her honour and dignity like it all
meant nothing, just so she could play that man’s pet for one night. P’Li cries
and cries as everything catches up with her, the gravity of the situation
making her burst into tears that are seemingly endless. She is all alone. She
aches all over. She has no idea what’s going to happen, but what she is sure of
is that the pain has only just begun. The man should’ve killed her after he got
what he want - should’ve slit her throat and left her for dead.
This other man, the one who brought the food, shifts uncomfortably as she cries
loudly. Part of her feels ashamed - she is not a child to be weeping. Part of
her feels sorry for this man. She is just a job to him, she realises, like a
parcel meant to be delivered from one location to another, and he did not sign
up to comfort a crying girl. Part of her is scared he will beat her to shut her
up, and again she thinks of the strength of his arms,. But he simply goes over
to the drawers and picks up the plate of food before making his way to her
side.
P’Li sniffs, looking up at him. She expects to see disgust and frustration, but
his eyes are too difficult to read. What she gets a glimpse of, however, is
pity. Sympathy. And anger.
‘Gone,’ he repeats, placing the food in her lap. She clutches the warm plate
and swallows wetly as he straightens up. P’Li watches him as he leaves, takes
in the stiffness of his back and tightness in his jaw.
Before he closes the door, he turns to her and nods at the plate of food,
telling her, ‘Eat.’
Then he shuts the door quietly and locks it before stalking away.
P’Li does as she is told.
 
When she finishes her food, she puts the plate down on the floor and sits with
her legs crossed in the middle of the bed. She reaches out with her hand,
turning it over and tries to create some flame, but finds herself unable. Did
the man manage to take her firebending away? P’Li is terrified at the thought.
She will stand no chance of an escape if she cannot firebend. She tries again
and again, but finds the attempts useless. She can’t create even the tiniest
flicker of fire.
P’Li she crosses her arms, disturbed. If she leaves them outstretched, she
imagines that man’s fingers ghosting along her skin, leaving little dancing
flames behind them. This younger man told her he was gone. His voice had been
insistent, and she realises he has no reason to lie. They were both working
together, however, as part of a team transporting her to their mutual employer.
A master of sorts. P’Li does not know what he wanted from her. She is from a
poor family, raised by only her mother. She doesn’t have a single penny to her
name. She was not strong nor powerful-
Her forehead throbs. The mark. P’Li reaches up to touch it, and then thinks
better of the idea. Could it be…? The man had been fascinated by her mark, had
glanced at it like he wanted nothing more than to touch it. It’s as beautiful
as they say. Who was ‘they’? And why was P’Li’s mark the subject of such
intense discussion? Even this younger one had stared at it, albeit a bit more
discreetly. Is her mark significant in some way? P’Li had never fully
understood what it was, and neither had her mother. All she knew was that it
was a sensitive spot, and if it was struck or touched roughly she would faint
and sometimes even have a fit. She remembers crying herself to sleep because
another child had called her a freak for having it. But with time, she learned
to live with it, assuming it was a birthmark like the blotchy bit of purple on
her mother’s ankle. The other villagers had been intrigued by it at first, but
soon accepted it as part of P’Li, just like her impressive height and thick
curls and generally quiet demeanour.
These men are obviously more learned in such matters, and the mark on her
forehead makes her a valuable item to be coveted. So valuable that touching her
wrongly would warrant serious consequences. Their master obviously wants P’Li,
perhaps to study or examine the mark for academic purposes. Perhaps he has a
mark of his own and wants to meet her. P’Li remembers her one of the villagers
telling her that she’s not the only person with such a mark out there in the
world, but she didn't think much of it because the rational side of her assumed
she would never actually see that world. So much has changed in just a day, in
her life, her mind and her body.
She shivers as her thoughts become darker, and she wonders if this ‘master’
wants to make her his the same way the man from the night before did, and that
only he should be the one to touch and explore her. Her mark, she thinks, could
be a source of excitement for him the same way some men are excited by full
lips and heavy breasts. She won’t allow it, she tells herself. This time, she
will choose death over such a loss of her dignity.
Hours pass with P’Li deep in thought, the sun slowly making its way across the
sky as the afternoon begins. It is a hot day and she begins to sweat, the
fabric of the dress clinging to her. The disturbing flow of thoughts only add
to her discomfort. There is no word from the man who brought her food. She
assumes he has gone, and will be replaced by a third man. All she can hope is
that the newcomer is also kind to her. Her heart cannot bear any more pain.
Eventually, she stands to examine her reflection in the mirror, and when she
sees herself she is stunned to note little change. Her face looks the same, but
there are bruises all over her neck - a combination of the man’s chi-blocking
and his desperate lips and teeth against her skin. She flushes, watching her
throat turn a blotchy red as she remembers it all. She turns and returns to the
bed where she crosses her arms and legs once more and tries to fight back the
tears of shame and disgust.
After a while, the door opens again and the one who brought food enters. He has
changed out of his cotton clothes into black leather garments like the first
man, making him look more threatening and dangerous (like him) and she
instinctively jumps back.
He stares at her, perturbed, and she freezes. She does not want to offend him,
to give him a reason to hurt her. But he simply approaches her slowly,
carefully, as though not to startle her. She lets him put a bundle of clothes
into her hands.
‘Put these on,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes. We’re setting off.’
‘Where?’ she immediately asks.
‘To my master,’ he responds.
‘Who is he? What does he want from me?’
He says nothing, but he does clench his fists and stare down at the ground as
though thinking very deeply about something. P’Li holds her breath and waits,
and he still says nothing, just stands there stoically. She looks down at the
clothes in her hands and murmurs, ‘My bending.’
He sighs. ’You were chi-blocked this morning,’ he explains. ‘A secondary form
that only takes your bending. It will wear off by the time we arrive. But it’s
just a precaution.’
He nods at her as though saying goodbye, turns on his heel and marches away
fast, again locking the door behind him. P’Li looks at the clothes in her hands
and thinks. A precaution? Because they thought she could stand a threat? She
wants to laugh. She wasn’t much of a threat when the man easily disabled her.
Nor when he had you on your back begging for more. She digs her fingernails
into her thighs and squeezes hard enough to draw blood until the disgusting
thoughts vanish. Then she puts on what he gave her. It’s a hooded robe. She is
sure, now, that if she is to be hidden, then she is valuable. What she will do
with this knowledge, she is not yet sure.
As promised, the man returns after a few minutes, waiting for her beside the
door. P’Li stands to meet him in the doorway, and sees the thin gold chain
again. This time, he wears it over the black material so it stands out even
more, and she notices it has a square-like piece of gold attached in the
middle, with an engraving in a language she doesn’t understand. He sees her
staring and reaches up to touch it with his fingertips.
‘Laghima,’ he says.
She doesn’t know what that means, and looks him in the eyes confusedly. Sensing
her bewilderment, he clears his throat and turns to walk away, and she follows
him with small steps, careful not to disturb her aching body. She wonders what
Laghima means. Is it a prayer? The chain definitely looked religious. Does he
follow a religion, then? It clearly cannot mean much to him if he is willing to
oversee the kidnapping of a vulnerable girl.
He leads her out of the room and into the corridor, and she passes a dingy
little cell that she suspects is the one from earlier, although it is now
clean. The two walk through the corridor and outside, where P’Li gasps at the
fresh air. All she can see is yellowed grass and a few bare trees, with a dirt
road leading as far away as she can see. They are in the middle of nowhere, the
perfect location to hurt a girl and make her scream without worrying if anybody
will hear. It is evening, just like it was when she was captured, the autumn
sun having vanished over the horizon.
She hears a horse neigh and a carriage comes into view, being driven by a bald
man also clad in black with a bandage on the side of his cheek. They all seem
to be wearing the same uniform, probably supplied to them by their master so
that everyone can know they work for him and are under his protection. He nods
to the man beside P’Li, and he nods in response. Then the bald man looks at
her, eyeing her up and down. She shivers under his gaze.
‘That her?’ he asks suddenly.
The man next to her nods again.
The bald man scoffs in derision, fiddling with the reins. ‘All this fuss over a
little girl.’
‘The first of her kind to be found in a generation,’ says the other, voice low
in warning.
‘Still,’ says the bald one dismissively, ‘Lao only played with her a little.
Y’know, I liked Lao. He actually talked to me, unlike some people.’ He is
grinning now, and the man next to P’Li does not smile in response. There is
absolutely no mirth in his eyes.
‘Let’s go,’ is all he says. The bald man turns away, chatting to the horse. As
soon as he does, the man next to P’Li grips her by the wrist and leans in close
to whisper, ‘Let me give you some advice. Don’t try to run away, and don’t even
try to fight.’ She looks at him, sees the furrow of his brow and those deep
green eyes. She lets him lead her forward.
 
He sits next to her in the carriage and spends the entire journey silently
staring out of the window. P’Li glances at him every now and then, having given
up appreciating the outside view when she quickly realised there wouldn’t be
any. The night grew dark at a rapid pace, and she is surprised the bald man
driving them can see anything in the pitch blackness. She assumes he has taken
this path before, with other toys of their master.
She contemplates something else she heard. The first of her kind to be found in
a generation. Now she knows for certain that her mark is the reason they came
for her. Still, she can hardly believe the funny little eye on her forehead
makes her so desirable. It was the stuff of jokes between her and her mother.
She remembers her mother presenting her with a gift on the evening she turned
thirteen. You’re growing so fast before my eyes, and here I am, dwindling away.
Her mother told her to close her eyes so she could surprise her with the
present, and had forced her to cover up the ‘third eye’ between her eyebrows,
laughingly saying it could see just as well as the other two. P’Li laughed and
did as she was told, and was surprised to feel the eye throb unhappily when she
pressed her palms against it. Sometimes it was like it had a life of its own.
The present turned out to be a new pair of shoes, red with white ribbon. Now,
in a little carriage bumping along a dirt road, surrounded by strangers with
ill intentions, she wonders for the millionth time what it all means.
P’Li looks at the man next to her, consumed by his own thoughts, and suddenly
feels a wave of hatred towards him. No matter how much kindness he shows her,
or how many genuine warnings he tries to pass on, he is still complicit. He is
still actively taking part in this ordeal, contributing to her pain. She wants
him dead, she decides, as much as she wants the other one dead, and the bald
fool driving her. The one who laughed at her misery, mourning the loss of a
friend and not sparing a thought to her lost honour.
The man next to her catches her gaze. Her heart starts to beat wildly, but she
is sick of not having answers. She wants him to speak to her. She blurts out,
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Doing what?’ he replies at once, as though he’s been expecting an outburst.
‘Taking me?’ she asks. ‘Hurting me?’
‘I didn’t hurt you,’ he says.
‘You know what I mean,’ P’Li says. She starts to cry, feeling pains in her
chest. These tears, like the ones from before, come from deep within her soul
and makes her ache all over. Her chest heaves with the sobs. ‘Please,’ she
says. ‘Just let me go home. My mother - she’s sick. I’m all she has, and she’s
all I have. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t come after you. I want
to go home.’ She sobs and wipes away the tears, feeling weak and helpless. He
stares at her for a long, long time before looking away.
She is learning to not expect an answer from him.
 
They arrive at the destination a few hours later. He swiftly gets out of the
carriage and then beckons for her to follow, watching her as she gets up. She
fumbles for the edges of the door in the darkness, body heavy and aching from
hours of sitting. Before she can react, he grabs her from under the armpits and
lifts her up before putting her down. She scowls at him as she straightens her
dress and robes, removing her hood.
She looks up to see they’ve reached a house. A mansion, like the ones in the
neighbouring town that P’Li goes to clean, but far bigger than any she’s ever
seen before. It has big, wide windows and it’s lit up both indoors and outdoors
with flaming torches. The sight eases her heart a little bit, and she relaxes
even further when the bald man bids them a good night and drives his carriage
away and around the side of the house. But then the man next to her leans in to
speak.
‘You’re going to meet our master now,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Only speak when
spoken to. Always address him as ‘my lord’. And don’t try to fight back. We
cannot hurt you, but he can, because you’re his property. You belong to him
now-’
‘No,’ she snaps, surprised at the heat in her voice. ‘I don’t belong to
anyone.’
He leans back, and then shrugs. If she’s not mistaking it, she can see a little
bit of respect in his eyes, mixed in with more pity. Then he leads her up the
steps of the house, watching her to see if she needs any help (she does not)
and knocks on the door.
After a few seconds, it opens. A woman dressed in a simple red robe stands in
the doorway, her black hair scraped back into a tight bun. She has a scowl on
her face. ‘You are late, Zaheer,’ she says coldly.
The man next to P’Li bows.
‘My apologies,’ he says. ‘The road was a long one. And I am sure you heard of
the difficulties with Lao.’ His voice is quiet and humble.
The woman looks P’Li over as though examining a lacklustre selection of
vegetables at the market. She nods quickly and beckons her forward with a small
hand, and P’Li walks inside. The man, however, stays behind and bids the older
woman a goodnight. Is he leaving now? The thought makes her panic. As much as
she hates him, she doesn’t want him to go. He catches P’Li’s eye and his gaze
softens. But as he usual he remains silent, giving her a tiny nod before
stalking off into the darkness.
The woman clears her throat impatiently. ‘Follow me,’ she says, tone clipped.
P’Li follows her into the house. It is even bigger than she anticipated, with a
huge curved staircase leading upstairs and spotless white tiles. The walls are
a soft cream colour with numerous delicate paintings hanging from them. There
is a large sitting area with glossy wooden chairs and silk couches facing an
impressive fireplace. Before she can examine it anymore, she is being led up
the staircase, trying her best to keep up with the woman’s quick pace.
The woman leads her into a huge bathroom where another younger woman stands
waiting. The chamber has red tiles and a huge bath in the middle, surrounded by
numerous soaps and oils. This second woman stands beside the tub, hands behind
her back and smiling tentatively at P’Li, who edges forward.
‘Jian will be attending you for the evening,’ says the older woman, voice
harsh. Her hair is scraped back tight enough for little veins to pop out above
her ears.
Jian bows, and P’Li realises it is meant for her. She does not know how to
respond, so she fidgets with the cloth of her dress and looks at the crimson
tiles, noting how the colour contrasts with her pale feet.
The older woman orders Jian to wash her and fix her hair. She adds, in a rude
tone, for her to be generous with soap. P’Li scowls deeply, glaring at her from
under her eyelashes. Jian nods attentively, listening to all the instructions
almost eagerly, and then bows when the older woman walks out.
‘Please, Miss,’ Jian says softly.
P’Li looks up and sees her reaching with her hands outstretched, smile shy. ‘If
you’ll remove your clothes. It’s time for your bath.’
P’Li hesitates. The last time she was undressed for a bath, she suffered a
nightmare. She does not know if this woman plans on also degrading her. ‘What
if I don’t want a bath?’ she asks.
Jian’s smile falters. ‘Well,’ she replies carefully, ‘My master wants you clean
before you meet him.’ She does not say, I will be punished if you are unclean.
But her eyes do, widening with fear. P’Li suddenly feels exhausted. This girl
is not much older than she is.
‘Alright,’ she says quietly, stepping forward and disrobing. She is too tired
to feel shame at being naked, and thinks it would be hypocritical at this
point, after everything that has happened. She lets Jian help her into the tub
filled with clear water and slowly sits down. It is nice and hot and despite
herself, she groans aloud, letting the hot liquid coat her aching muscles. Jian
fills a small bucket up with the hot water and pours it over her hair, making
her entire scalp tingle. P’Li shivers at the pleasure.
Jian doesn’t take long. Her fingers work quickly and efficiently, and feel
impossibly good as she coats P’Li’s scalp in soap and works the liquid into her
hair with confident strokes. As it settles into her hair, she lathers the
girl’s body in a different soap, eyes widening when she sees the bruises but
thankfully she does not say anything.
She rinses her off and then washes the soap out of her hair. P’Li washes her
own face, and when she opens her eyes she sees Jian is staring at her. Or,
staring at the mark between her eyebrows. She flushes when P’Li catches her
gaze and instructs the younger girl to stand up, covering her in a thick towel
and rubbing the water away. Then she grabs a vial of oil which she begins
rubbing into P’Li’s skin. The oil smells like lavender, and she thinks of the
wild lavender patch in the forest near her home. She thinks of her mother and
sighs.
Jian leaves the room and returns after a few minutes, holding out a silk green
dress. ‘Please put this on,’ she says.
P’Li doesn’t even entertain the idea of protesting. She puts the dress on and
notes that although it reaches her toes, it leaves her arms bare. Goosebumps
appear even though she feels warmer than she has in days.
Jian leads her out of the bathroom and down the hallway, her footsteps quick
and quiet. When they reach the door at the end, Jian says, ‘I’ll be leaving,
now. When I am out of sight, please knock three times. He is waiting for you.’
She turns to leave, but before she can walk away P’Li tells her, ‘Thank you.’
Jian turns back to her and smiles a little sadly, bowing in response. And then
she is off. When P’Li can no longer hear her footsteps, she takes a deep breath
and turns to face the door, knocking three times as instructed. Who or what is
waiting for her, she is not sure. She wants that man, Zaheer, by her side. She
wants Jian by her side. She wants, more than anything, her mother to be here
holding her hand. But they’re not, and P’Li is alone.
After several moments, the door opens.
Chapter End Notes
     in the next chapter, P'Li meets the man they call master.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
P’Li has always been a very tall girl, standing at least a head over the other
children in the village for as long as she can remember. She never used to hate
it. When she was younger, she enjoyed the other children’s appreciative,
envious glares directed at her height. But for the past year, as she entered
womanhood, she has grown six inches and transformed from an elegant girl into a
gawky, lanky teenager. She always feels huge and brutish, and certainly not
pretty. She is reminded of her uncomfortable height in moments like these.
The man they call ‘master’ is a small man. A cruel part of P’Li wonders if he
can be called a man at all. He is not stocky or built, not like Zaheer, but
instead slender with womanish hips, like a young boy. His white hair is short
and soft. When he speaks, his voice is gentle. She wonders how a man so small
and feeble-looking can be the master of anyone.
She sits on a couch by the fireplace, sipping at some herbal tea. He sits
opposite her, silently watching her with a small smile on his face. Since she
entered the room, he has merely greeted her and offered her some tea before
leading her to the couch. She is unsure if he has any intention of speaking.
The room is spacious, with a large bed covered in red silks and cushions.
There’s a fireplace, and P’Li spends most of her time staring into the
crackling flames, wanting to jump inside and let them consume her. The room
also has a large wooden desk covered in lots of papers, and a poster with the
crimson emblem of the Fire Nation hangs high on the wall.
When she entered the room, he took her by the hand and kissed it softly, as
though she were his wife. He told her he had been waiting ‘far too long’ for
her arrival. He uttered her name, P’Li, like he was praying to a spirit. And
then he guided her to the couch and gave her some tea.
She should feel unnerved, especially with him sitting so close to her, his
little body leaning in as though trying to absorb her warmth. His small golden
eyes twinkle dangerously with emotions she is incapable of reading. But since
she stepped out of the bath, P’Li has felt an eerie calm settle over her body
like a cloak. She feels nothing and thinks very little, looking into the fire
until her eyes cross over.
‘You must be wondering why I have brought you here,’ he tells her. ‘I will tell
you the truth. I want to make you invincible. And in turn, you will make me
invincible.’
She thinks this over. Takes a long sip of her tea, not flinching when it scalds
her tongue, unable to taste anything. ’I don’t understand,’ says P’Li.
The man nods, as though he expected this. He looks towards the Fire Nation
poster and says, ‘My name is Fang Yi. I am the ruler of this specific land.
Nothing like our great Fire Lord, of course. But I am in charge of the lives of
many people, rich and poor. They look to me for protection and support. And it
is my job to keep them safe. But,’ he says with a smile, ‘I cannot do that if I
am dead. And believe me, a great number of people want nothing more than to see
me dead. So that is why I brought you here.’
‘To keep you safe?’ she asks, incredulously.
He laughs at her surprise. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself. You have enormous
potential, my sweet girl. With you by my side, properly trained and readied,
nobody will ever want to get in my way.’
She considers this, picturing herself clad in armour and wielding huge flames
as she stands by his side. The image is ridiculous. ‘How?’ is all she can say.
He smiles, brown eyes twinkling. He lifts a thin finger and reaches up to touch
her mark. He slowly traces the red lines, all six of them, and then presses his
fingertip against the centre of the eye. P’Li gasps at the touch, feels the eye
pulsing under his touch, but cannot bring herself to move away. But, she
realises, it does not hurt. After a few moments he pulls his finger back, only
to bring it back to his lips, kissing the tip softly, and she shudders, feeling
as though he kissed her.
‘So much power in a tiny spot,’ he says. ‘And yet you are ignorant. In due
time, I will teach you everything. I will give you everything, P’Li.’
P’Li slowly puts the cup down onto the floor. This man looks at her hungrily
like he wants to devour her, and if the tension in his body is anything to go
by, he is barely holding himself back. But he is different from Lao in a way,
she can feel it. Lao looked at her and saw brief pleasure. Fang Yi looks at her
as though he venerates her.
‘You’ve had a long day,’ he tells her softly. ‘A long journey. You must get
your rest.’
He leads her to the bed, and P’Li stiffens. He senses her discomfort and merely
smiles. A fatherly, caring smile. Everything about her appears predictable and
amusing to him, like the performance of a small child in a show.
‘Come,’ he repeats.
He takes off his outer robe and moves onto the bed, expecting her to follow.
P’Li wants to laugh at how tiny he looks against the large frame, how his feet
don’t come anywhere near the edge, but she stays silent and follows him without
removing her clothes. She is glad when he does not comment on this, and she
sinks into the silk pillows beside him with a deep breath. With a wave of his
hand, the flames are gone, and they are laying in complete darkness, the room
silent save for their breathing.
P’Li wants to relax. Her eyes feel heavy, and her body is sore. She wants
nothing more than to sleep and escape into her dreams. She gasps when, out of
nowhere in the darkness, his fingers reach for her, stroking her clothed side.
‘Shh,’ he says quietly. ‘Come here.’
He wraps an arm around her waist and moves closer, his small body pressing
against hers. He clutches her tight, as an infant would a stuffed toy. He noses
her hair and sniffs a few times, inhaling her scent with a contented sigh.
Within minutes, he is fast asleep, snoring softly into her ear.
P’Li stays like that for hours, barely daring to make the slightest movement.
His touch on her body makes her skin crawl. She goes over his words again, how
he’d focused on her third eye, saying it was the source of ‘so much’ power. She
is still so confused as to what type of power this is. Is it magic? Something
to do with spirits? She turns the pieces of the puzzle over in her mind. She is
the first of her kind to be found in a generation. The third eye has a life of
its own, and is capable of greatness. The throbbing symbolises something deep,
the pulsing of a force to be reckoned with. And this man will help her unleash
it.
—-
When she opens her eyes in the morning, Fang Yi is gazing down at her with a
smile.
P’Li gasps and pushes away from him, watching his smile widen at her shock.
‘I hope I didn’t startle you,’ he says. ‘I’ve waited so long to see your eye, I
wanted to study it while you slept.’
He rises from the bed, his red silk pyjamas looking even more ridiculous in
daytime, like an outfit for an infant. P’Li watches him make his way over to
the desk, where he grabs a thick book and one of the many papers scattered over
the wood. He returns to her side and sits with one leg folded under the other.
‘P’Li,’ he says calmly, ‘How much do you know about your mark?’
Her stomach rumbles silently. She is far too hungry and disorientated to be
having this conversation right now, and she gives him a slow shrug, hoping
breakfast is on its way.
‘Not much,’ she replies. ‘Nobody could ever explain it to me. My mother had
never seen anything like it before, and so we all assumed it was a birthmark of
some sort.’
He frowns at this, dissatisfied. ‘But you are aware you’re not the only one to
possess such a mark?’
She nods. ‘But I never thought it a serious issue.’
Fang Yi puts the paper down in front of her, pointing towards an illustration
in the middle. With wide eyes, she sees it is a sketch of herself, asleep, with
her forehead enlarged so the third eye takes centre stage. She blushes. What a
strange little man.
‘The third eye is not a birthmark,’ he says, scoffing. ‘Have you ever seen the
Avatar?’ He asks the question suddenly.
P’Li shakes her head, even more confused. She knows the Avatar is a man named
Aang, the sole survivor of the Air Nomad Genocide. Her mother told her stories
about him and his adventures, but P’Li always assumed it was mostly legends and
folk tales. The man seemed so far away from her mundane, small life.
Fang Yi opens the heavy book and flips through its dusty pages to open an
illustration and essay about man, turning the book to show her. The words are
in a language P’Li cannot comprehend, but the picture is captivating. The man
looks to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, with small lines around
his eyes and mouth. He stands up straight, looking impressively strong for his
age, holding a long staff in one hand. His head is shaved bald and his ears
stick out a bit on each side. But what P’Li finds captivating are the long,
bold tattoos stretching out around each arm and on his head, leaving a thick
arrow-shaped to rest above his eyebrows. There are similar arrows on the back
of each hands, and she assumed the tattoos even extend to his legs and feet.
‘Marvellous tattoos, aren’t they?’ he asks. ‘Yes, the airbenders were a wise
people. These tattoos are not for decoration, P’Li, or for beautification. They
follow the path of the chakras, the energy of the body that allows them to
airbend. All benders have such paths, but most remain ignorant of its power and
vulnerability. This flow can be disrupted, which actually happened to you when
Lao blocked your chi and took your bending.’ He closes the book with a thud and
looks her in the eyes excitedly. ‘And your mark gestures towards another
chakra. The light chakra.’
P’Li reaches up to touch her mark. ‘It hurts sometimes. When I put pressure
against it.’
He nods quickly. ‘Of course. It it there for a reason, P’Li. It must be
protected, respected. Not hidden and ignored.’ He continues, ‘You are a
firebender, correct? Well, your mark allows you to further your capabilities.
It gives you further strength and power. Just as certain waterbenders can grow
strong enough to focus their energy and bend blood, when you are done with your
training, you will bend more than just fire, P’Li. You will be able to
combustionbend.’
Combustionbend? This does not make any sense. Noticing her confusion, he flicks
quickly to another page in the book. This time, the picture is more like a
diagram than anything else. It shows a bulky, bearded man with a mark exactly
like hers, but instead of the thin red lines pointing outwards from the eye, he
has thicker oval shapes surrounding his, like the petals of a flower. He is
drawn with his eyes shut tight, and a thin dotted line protrudes from the eye,
leading to an explosion where it ends.
‘You mean I can do that?’ she whispers. Fang Yi slowly takes the book away and
shuts it.
‘Yes, yes. You will be far more impressive than that, though,’ he says, as
though the man in the diagram isn’t causing an explosion with his mind.
P’Li can’t believe it. So this is the power she possesses? The reason she is so
valuable? Because she can unlock a second form of firebending, one capable of
incredible destruction…? Now it makes some sense. If she were to be able to
perform such feats, she would certainly be able to protect Fang Yi from all
sorts of threats. But then a terrible thought appears in her mind.
‘Will I have to…hurt people?’ she asks hesitantly.
Fang Yi pauses. When he looks at her, now, his eyes have stopped twinkling.
‘You will have to hurt anyone who poses a threat, yes.’
‘But,’ she says, searching for the words as his eyes grow colder and colder by
the second, ‘I I’m not sure if I…want to hurt people.’
Fang Yi says nothing for a few moments. When he speaks, his voice is still
soft, but there is no cheeriness in his gaze any longer. ‘You have dedicated
yourself to me, P’Li. Remember?’
‘But you didn’t give me a choice!’ she blurts out. She is stunned at the anger
in her own voice. Just last night, she was cold and calm, and now she is
burning with rage, feeling the red blood in her veins simmering angrily. ‘I
don’t want to hurt or kill people. If this power is capable of such cruelty, I
don’t want to use it!’
Her voice rings through the room. Outside, a bird chirps cheerfully as it
greets the morning. P’Li does not look down at her hands or into the subdued
fireplace. She looks Fang Yi in his eyes and stands her ground.
Before she can react, his face twists furiously and he grabs her by the scalp,
pulling her hair roughly. P’Li cries out and clutches at her curls, trying to
pry his fingers away, but he digs in deep and yanks. He makes his way off the
bed and drags her onto the floor where he shoves her away, panting.
P’Li’s head is ringing, her scalp burning terribly as her face collides with
the thick carpet. She is certain he pulled some of her hair out with his
fingers and reaches up to finger the stinging patches. She underestimated this
man’s strength, not thinking someone so slight could be capable of such power.
‘I have read all about your kind,’ he says, voice like ice. ‘I know you are
hot-blooded and easily angered. That is your inherent nature, and it is
understandable. But you will submit to me, P’Li.’
As she lays crouching on the floor in pain, too afraid to look up at Fang Yi,
P’Li has a vision. She knows it is a vision immediately, because it is far too
clear and poignant to be a daydream, taking on a clarity and certainty that
grips her and transports her to a world far away from this room. In the vision,
she sees the master marching into a village with legions of warriors behind
him, coming to claim what he believes is his. P’Li is by his side with a leash
around her neck. She is tall, far taller than him, standing like a giantess
with her dark curls wild and unruly, tumbling past her back. She looks wild and
terrifying, and her eyes hold no expression at all. And when Fang Yi yanks the
chain around her neck, she takes in a deep breath and summons something. The
power. And within a split-second, this power collides with the body of a fallen
villager and makes it explode, brains and bits of his limbs splattering
everywhere. And this P’Li, this stranger that is her, simply turns without
missing a beat and repeats the action. Within seconds, half the village is
burning, a smoke of ash appearing above the smirking Fang Yi and his human
weapon, and the screams of the townspeople rise above the flames.
P’Li gasps as the vision ends abruptly. It felt so real and vivid, and her
heart is pounding. Was that a vision of her future? She has heard people
witnessing events of things that would come true. Good fortune in the harvest.
A loved one passing away. But no. It can’t be. P’Li cannot end up like that, a
monster without any conscience or remorse, taking lives whenever he pulls at
that chain. And oh, spirits, that chain. A symbol of how he owns her. She is
less than a human, less than even an animal. A weapon of destruction, violence
and hatred to be used over and over.
She cannot let that happen to her.
Her body moves on its own. P’Li lunges for Fang Yi’s legs and grabs hold of a
skinny ankle. He grunts in surprise when she yanks with all her might and he
tumbles to the ground in shock, the back of his head colliding with the wooden
floor. He groans, immediately reaching up to touch the wound. P’Li leaps up,
forgetting the pain in her scalp and the aching of her bruises, and she grabs
his beloved heavy book and slams it down on his ribs as hard as she can. He
screams, sitting up from the pain before collapsing again, eyes fluttering
shut. P’Li rushes towards the door, throwing it open.
She runs.
She runs and runs as fast as she can. She cannot breathe, she cannot even stop
to hesitate or think about what she is doing and where she is going. She lets
her sore feet lead the way and they carry her down the hallway, left, right,
remembering how the first lady and Jian led her around, down the spiral
staircase in the foyer of the grand house where she entered yesterday, and she
finally comes to a stop, panting wildly.
‘Good morning,’ says a voice.
P’Li spins wildly. It is Jian, looking fresh and cheerful like the morning sun.
She smiles at P’Li. In her hands she is holding a silver platter of fresh
fruit. ‘I was just about to bring these up,’ she tells her. And then she
freezes, eyes widening. ‘What’s wrong?’
P’Li realises she must look a mess, still in the same silk green dress from the
night before, face unwashed and hair uncombed and out of place. Before she can
respond, make up a lie of some sorts, she hears a roar of sheer fury coming
from upstairs.
P’Li looks at Jian, who returns the gaze with wide eyes, and for a split-second
she thinks the girl might help her. In that split-second, she pictures the girl
dropping the plate of fruit and taking her by the hand, rushing her out of the
house and to a faraway place of safety, telling her everything will be fine.
But the brief moment passes, and Jian’s eyes turn cold as she glares at P’Li.
‘May!’ Jian shrieks wildly, and P’Li’s blood turns cold.
P’Li hears footsteps and immediately, the cold woman from the night before
stalks in with long, confident strides, assessing the scene. P’Li does not wait
for her to speak. She turns and sprints to the door, grabbing the handle and
trying to force it open. But the door remains shut and locked.
‘I suspected you would try to escape,’ says May, voice dripping with cruelty.
‘I could see the fire in your eyes as soon as you arrived, and thus I took the
necessary precautions to ensure that would not happen.’
P’Li wildly looks between her and Jian, who has now put the platter down, and
the two women slowly towards her.
P’Li lashes out with a fiery punch on instinct, letting the flames appear
without any inhibitions. She strikes Jian, who falls to the floor with a cry,
clutching her side. But the older woman, May, manages to duck and avoid the
blow with a deftness that surprises P’Li. Before she knows it, P’Li is lunged
at, and she imagines herself robbed of her bending and mobility again. She is
as stunned as May is when her body moves on its own, allowing her to step out
of the woman’s path. She turns to May and kicks her square in the stomach with
all of her might, forcing a blast of fire from her foot to double the blow. The
woman tumbles to the ground, landing on her back with a groan, the spot where
P’Li kicked her sizzling and smoking.
P’Li turns back to the door, her mark throbbing, and she takes a deep breath to
summon as much fire as she can. She is nowhere near a competent firebender, let
alone a master. But she will not spend a second more in this house. She will
not let that vision become reality. She pictures her mother standing by her
side, guiding her, guiding the fire through her body, and she strikes the heavy
wooden door with all her might, gasping with relief when it tumbles down.
P’Li jumps over the doorway and leaps down the steps, prepared to set off
sprinting again. But suddenly she feels an excruciating, heavy pain in her back
and she screeches in agony, unable to stop herself from tumbling down the
doorsteps before she lands in the sandy dirt of the courtyard on her knees,
looking into the house through eyes filled with tears.
‘You bitch!’ It is Fang Yi. He storms past May and Jian’s groaning bodies and
approaches P’Li. ‘You filthy whore!’
She realises quickly, from the heat that came and went, that he sent a blast of
powerful fire towards her all the way from the staircase, hitting her in the
back. She also realises it burnt the back of her dress so the silky material
has now melted into her skin. It feels like hell and although she is in too
much pain to turn and look, she knows the pale skin of her back is largely pink
and bubbling. P’Li smells something burning and realises it is the ends of her
hair, having been singed by his powerful blast. She shifts in agony and bites
back a scream when the silk stuck to the burning skin is disturbed by the
movement.
Fang Yi makes his way over the wooden mess of the broken door and down the
steps where P’Li is still kneeling and trembling, kicking her hand away when
she tries to send a weak punch of fire at his approaching body. When he is
close enough, he grabs her by the hair, pulls her head back and then shoves his
knee into her face with enormous force. P’Li’s face explodes in pain and she
hears something crack - her tooth, a nose, she is not sure. She falls onto her
back, winded and faint, but feels her consciousness returning when the burnt
skin collides with the dirty sand of the courtyard. She screams, and the edges
of her vision turn black as she looks up at the cloudy morning sky. Yes, she
thinks, urging unconsciousness to save her as she closes her eyes and
surrenders to its grip. Let me go. Let me sleep.
Fang Yi, however, is not unharmed. Her blow must have hurt him more than either
of them anticipated, because when she lets out the scream he stumbles backwards
and clutches at the back of his head, groaning.
P’Li suddenly hears footsteps rushing into the vicinity, heavy boots coming to
a stop beside her. She lets her eyes open and sees a man looking down at her
with wide olive eyes. Eyes the colour of her silk dress. Part of her, the part
not yet surrendered to the deep black sleep, thinks this man looks strangely
familiar, and this suspicion only increases when his gold chain necklace glints
as though winking at her.
‘My lord,’ he says. ‘What happened?’
‘What do you think happened?’ snaps Fang Yi. ‘This whore tried to escape. She
struck me down, as well as Jian and May.’
‘My lord, I’ll summon the healer straight away to get your wounds looked at,’
says the man. His voice holds no concern for his master.
‘Yes,’ Fang Yi nods. He clutches at his head again and groans loudly, and a
hand reaches up to clutch the other wound on his chest, where P’Li struck him
with his book. Pathetic, she thinks.
‘Deal with her,’ says Fang Yi, gesturing towards P’Li as she lays on the
ground, breathing shallowly. At this point, her body has more or less faded
away into a cold numbness. ‘Sort her out. I’ll collect her when I’m released
from the healer’s office.’ He crouches down to look P’Li in the face,
expression cold and furious, but she lets her eyes flutter shut so she doesn’t
have to see the fury there. She is suddenly exhausted. Why won’t this man let
her sleep?
‘You will submit,’ he hisses quietly, ‘I will make you mine.’
Without another word, he straightens up and marches away back up the stairs.
After a few seconds, P’Li hears his door slam shut angrily. It is only then
that she releases a breath she did not know she was holding, and lets her eyes
open.
The man with olive eyes is looking down at her. His face is also twisted into
anger and disgust, but he is not looking at her, instead focusing his gaze on
the patch of dirt next to P’Li where the master crouched down to address her.
This man’s face changes when he looks at her, and he gets down on his knees and
reaches for her arms, gently, without pulling.
‘Can you move?’ His voice is quiet, like a whisper.
P’Li says, ‘I want to sleep.’
He doesn’t say anything, but gets up and jogs away quickly. P’Li stares at the
clouds above her, wondering if those same clouds will reach her village and
rain over her small cottage. She thinks of her mother’s smile. The man returns
within seconds, and he kneels beside P’Li again and slowly slides a hand under
her head.
She winces, feeling the place where Fang Yi gripped tight to pull her off the
bed, the patches stinging. This man removes his hand at once, murmuring an
apology, but then slides the fingers under the nape of her neck this time and
starts to lift her up, slowly, carefully. She is thinking of how tenderly he is
treating her when out of nowhere, P’Li’s body comes back to life, the agony of
the burns on her back setting her on fire all over, and she starts shaking
violently and crying aloud.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘But you have to drink this. It’ll help the
pain. Please.’
She has no reason to trust him. If anything, what he is trying to give her
might cause her even more pain. But she cannot resist when he places the mouth
of a small glass bottle against her lips, dark eyes urging her to swallow. She
lets her lips fall open and feels the rim of the vial touch her teeth, and then
her throat is filling with a cold, sweet liquid.
‘Thank you,’ says the man, his voice still quiet as he puts the bottle lid back
on and stowing it away in his robes.
Before long, P’Li feels the dark edges of her vision growing bigger and bigger
until she can’t see anything at all. And then the throbbing of her back
subsides, dwindling away into what feels like the caressing hands of a loved
one greeting her after a long time away. Before she falls asleep, however, she
lets one word fall from her lips. 'Zaheer.'
Chapter End Notes
     thanks for reading!
     onto the next chapter!
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING:
     this chapter includes molestation at the end. also lots of angst and
     suffering. just all around super heavy dark shit.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
She wakes up to the sound of running water.
The first thing she feels is pain. Her back is burning, and her face is
horribly sore, as though she ran head-first into a brick wall. There’s pain in
her hair as well, and then she slowly begins to remember what happened. She
fought Jian, May and - Fang Yi. He’d grabbed and pulled her hair, kicked her in
the face and blasted a pillar of flame to knock her down. She’d been trying to
escape his cruel clutches after being confronted by a vision of her future self
- a future she was so desperate to prevent. But her weakness, her inferiority,
all betrayed her in the end and she had failed.
Is she dead? No, that can’t be. If she was, she wouldn’t be feeling anything.
She wouldn’t be hearing anything, either. Death brings a comforting cold with
it that lays over you like a cloak. That was what her mother used to say.
When she opens her eyes, she sees complete darkness. No - not complete. Her
eyes slowly adjust to the little light coming in from the window, and then her
heart seizes up in fear. Is she back in the cell in the prison? Did she even
make it out of that hell? Is the man they called Lao going to come back for
her? She remembers, against her will, his hands on her body and his lips on her
neck. Her heart pounds furiously, but before she can scream, she hears a voice
- deep, familiar, somewhat gentle.
‘Ah,’ it says. ’You’re awake.’
Her eyes begin to make out the figure of a man crouching down next to her. His
hair is wild and unruly, and his hands are busy fidgeting with some type of
wrapping.
P’Li croaks, ‘My back.’
‘Yes,’ Zaheer replies, holding up the wrapping. ‘These are meant to help. I’m
not a healer,’ he adds quickly. ‘But I know a little bit about tending to bad
wounds.’
She thinks of the scar in his eyebrow and wishes she could see it. It’s a nice
scar, she decides. Unusual. She wonders what other scars he is hiding, all over
his body - bigger ones, deeper ones.
She notices with a jolt that she is naked. Or more accurately, her chest is
bare. She can feel the cold air of the room on her skin. The silk green dress
she had been wearing has been tugged down to rest around her waist and thighs,
but leaving her breasts and belly exposed. She feels her face and neck warming
up in shame and anger. He has to tend to her wounds, she knows, and the
material staying so close to her burns is a serious risk. She's sure he even
had to pull some of the fabric away as she slept, which explains the severe
stinging right now. But still, she feels as though she’s been ripped open.
What if, as he applies the bandages and medicine, his fingers begin creeping
down her back and along those intimate areas? What if this man slips into the
same daze as Lao and becomes mad with hunger and desire, desperate to claim her
body as his? There is no way she could stop him or resist. Fang Yi might still
want her alive, but she angered and offended the man so much that she is sure
he wouldn’t care if she was now ‘played’ with a little more.
It doesn’t help to speculate, she tells herself. Zaheer, unaware of the
whirlwind of emotions taking place within her, clears his throat and begins
preparing some sort of thick salve meant for her burns. ‘Where am I?’ she asks
him, trying to keep focus on his movements in the dark so he can’t surprise
her.
‘Oh,’ Zaheer says. ‘The barracks where Fang Yi’s men sleep. The others have all
gone to their morning training.’
‘But you don’t need training,’ she blurts out uncertainly, and she is glad the
darkness will hide her blush.
Zaheer huffs out a laugh as though the idea is amusing. ‘If I needed training,
he wouldn’t have hired me.’
Ah. So she was right to assume he was a warrior of some kind. His build gave
him away, as did those hands, full of raw strength and power. The way he moves,
as well, is so controlled and disciplined, gesturing towards a lifetime of
intense training and practice. He must be a bodyguard of Fang Yi, hired and
tasked with protecting the man and his livelihood.
She allows him to reach for her again, watching his hands disappear behind her
back before she feels herself being gently pushed forward and onto the mat.
‘Can you lie down on your stomach, please?’ He says ‘please’ like she has the
option of saying no. P’Li does as he asks, slowly easing herself down and onto
her stomach, stretching out as much as her back will let her. It’s not the most
pleasant position, and she feels extremely vulnerable and exposed, but it will
have to do.
Zaheer begins working immediately. P’Li feels the cold dripping of the salve
onto her back, causing a horrible sting that takes her by surprise. She gasps,
and he responds by apologising quietly, but doesn’t pause in his actions. After
a few seconds, when the salve has coated her back entirely, she feels soft
bandages being applied onto the areas where the pain is particularly severe.
His hands are impossibly soft as they wrap her wounds in the cloth. P’Li
notices two things that leave her stunned: it is light outside, but he has
deliberately left the room dark so she can feel somewhat covered, and that he
is doing his best not to hurt her.
He finishes his task quickly, and then he takes her by the armpits and
straightens her back up into a sitting position, being careful not to let her
wounded back touch the wall. Then he reaches behind him and grabs a long piece
of cloth, which he slowly wraps around her body like a cloak to guard her
modesty before turning around and packing the medicinal things away.
P’Li watches him through half-lidded eyes, breath coming easier now her body is
covered. When he stands, she swallows thickly before saying, ‘Why are you
helping me?’
Zaheer remains quiet as he reaches for the window above her head to push it
open, and daylight floods into the room, making her eyes sting. He walks over
to a long cupboard where he stows the items away before eyeing his reflection
in the mirror. Finally, he glances back at her with a frown. ‘Fang Yi told me
to-’
‘Yes,’ P’Li says, looking up at him earnestly. ‘He told you to deal with me.
But you’re - you’re being so - gentle.’ She feels a little foolish as she lets
the words tumble out of her mouth, heavy and clumsy on her tongue.
Zaheer turns back to her with a raised eyebrow, crossing his arms. ‘You know,
the least you could do is thank me.’
‘Thank you?’ she repeats, feeling oddly betrayed. Her heart is pounding wildly
as she slaps her palms onto the floor in frustration. ‘Thank you? For what? For
healing me so that I make a much better plaything for your master? Well, thank
you,’ she hisses, letting the anger drip from her words. ‘You’ve treated me so
well.’ She doesn’t know why she’s so angry with him. He is right - she should
thank him.
‘Stop,’ he snaps. ‘Don’t talk like that. I just -’ He pauses and sighs in
frustration, rubbing at his forehead, so different from the stoic and collected
man from before. ‘I wanted to help.’
‘So you could feel better about yourself,’ P’Li finds herself saying in an
unimpressed voice. ’So you could fool yourself into thinking you’re not an
entirely terrible person?’
She wants so much to like this man, to trust him, to feel as though he is her
ally. She’s felt an overwhelming loneliness since this whole horrible ordeal
began, and all she wants is someone to confide in, to ease the pain in her
heart. But she doesn’t want to be a fool.
He takes a deep breath and glances around them, even though they are the only
two people in the barracks. ‘You’re right,’ he tells her. ‘I suppose a part of
me feels that by helping you, it means I’m not a monster. I certainly feel like
one, after seeing what he’s done to you and knowing I played my part in making
that happen.’
P’Li scoffs, but before she can make a cutting remark, Zaheer carries on
talking urgently. ‘I haven’t been loyal to Fang Yi for very long. I’m from
Republic City. This is my first time in the Fire Nation. I’ve spent most of my
life taking orders from cruel, power-hungry men. But I’ve never done anything
like this.’
She feels her eyes widening. How can he talk about his master so harshly? Just
hours earlier, he had been bowing to the man and taking orders from him
earnestly. If Fang Yi were to hear this change in heart…
She catches Zaheer’s eyes and sees the storm within them, the mix of anger,
shame, regret and even desperation looking back at her. She asks, ‘How do you
know I won’t betray you? That I won’t tell him how you really feel?’
He is silent for a long moment, looking away at the ground. ‘You won’t do
that,’ he replies finally, voice confident.
And he is right. She hates him for being able to read her so easily, for being
able to determine the fact that she will not expose his true feelings to the
monster Fang Yi. She hates him for looking into her dark red eyes and seeing
loyalty and trustworthiness no matter how much she has been through, no matter
how much she wants to lash out at someone, anyone.
‘Tell me what I should do,’ she whispers. ‘I can’t go on like this.’
Zaheer leans in close to her, and he reaches out to take her small hands in
his. She must look so young to him and so vulnerable, like a little bird with
broken wings. ‘What I told you before. Stop fighting back.’
‘I can’t submit to him, Zaheer,’ she says frightfully. ‘Do you know what he
wants me to do? He wants to make me into a monster, like him. He wants me to
lose all of my humanity. He wants me to kill.’
Zaheer frowns unhappily, but says, ‘I know. But if you don’t do as he says, he
will hurt you. Again and again and again. And then there’ll be nothing left.’
Nothing left to return home to your mother, he does not say. But the unspoken
words hang above them, and P’Li’s heart aches at the thought of her mother all
alone in their little cottage, crying herself to sleep over a daughter who
might never come home.
Sensing her thoughts, Zaheer carries on, ‘You’re incredibly rare, that is true.
But he is a rich and powerful man, and he could find another person with your
abilities to carry out his goals.’
‘Goals?’ she repeats.
Zaheer nods, his frown deepening. ‘You don’t really think he wants you just for
protection, do you? He’s a rich and powerful man. He has people like me working
for him, an entire group of fighters who can protect him from even the most
serious threat. No, his plans for you are much more serious.’
When he says that, P’Li remembers, with a jolt, her vision. ‘I had a vision,’
she tells him. ‘It was like a dream, but it felt so real.’ When she looks up at
Zaheer, his dark green eyes are wide, urging her to carry on. ‘He was leading
me into some sort of battle. It was like he was conquering some new territory
and he needed me by his side to cause all that destruction. That’s why I tried
to run away.’
When she is done speaking, Zaheer’s expression has shifted into one of awe.
‘How often do you have these visions?’
She shrugs, shyly. ‘That was the first time I’d experienced one. Why?’
He says, ‘I think the spirits were trying to tell you something. The spirits of
that land, maybe, trying to protect their home.’
‘Spirits?’ P’Li knows little about the spirits and the world they originate
from. Part of her always believed they were just mythical. It’s all part of a
greater history, far bigger than herself, and thus she never learned to
question it.
Zaheer nods quickly. ‘Unlike us, the spirits don’t have cruel kings and queens
sacrificing their lives in the name of nations and countries. People like Fang
Yi want nothing more than to enforce their perverted ideas of order across the
world, when the only thing that will truly advance us is freedom.’
She considers his impassioned words. P’Li has never been a patriotic person.
She’s lived in the Fire Nation her whole life, but has never known anything
beyond her small little village. When the Fire Lord abdicated, citing poor
health and old age, she didn’t feel any sadness or regret. He was a stranger to
her, the same as all other rulers - distant, faraway figures who were only
concerned about themselves and their own goals, not the needs and livelihoods
of poor people like her. She doesn’t feel that much anger over the fact -
injustice and inequality are the most oldest concepts in the world. Poverty and
strain are all she has ever experienced. Even if she were to grow upset over
it, nothing would change.
But Zaheer’s eyes tell a different story. In them, she can see hope,
determination.
‘And you learned all this in…Republic City?’ she asks.
He smiles. ‘Yes,’ he replies coyly.
‘I’ve never been,’ she tells him. ‘I don’t even know anything about it.’ She’s
slightly ashamed of how ignorant and uncultured she must look to him. But his
smile only widens further.
‘It’s a great place,’ he says. ‘People of all nations living together side by
side. It’s not perfect, of course - otherwise I wouldn’t have had to leave. But
there’s a harmony in Republic City that other parts of the world could use. And
it really makes me think that it’s possible.’
‘What’s possible?’ she asks.
‘A world without people like Fang Yi,’ says Zaheer, eyes turning stormy at the
mere thought of the man. ‘A world without cruel and oppressive rulers who think
freedom is something that can be given and taken away, like a parent waving a
toy in front of a baby.’
That would be a nice world indeed. P’Li pictures it. A world where people like
her and her mother were truly free, where she wasn’t constantly reminded that
she was on the lowest part of the totem pole of society. Fang Yi wasn’t exactly
doing anything new by using P’Li as a personal weapon. How long had wars been
waged by unjust kings and queens, all in the name of honour and power? And who
had suffered but the poorest and the worst off? What he is telling her is
right. She knows it in her heart. But as much as she wants to agree with
Zaheer, it all seems like a fantasy, a childish dream. One that can never
really come true.
Slowly, with an aching arm, P’Li reaches up to take the pendant of Zaheer’s
necklace between her fingers. The strange language looks beautiful and
mysterious, the letters curving around themselves like the tail of a cat.
‘Laghima,’ she says. ‘What does that mean?’
Without taking his eyes off her, he reaches up to loosely wrap his fingers
around her hand. ‘Guru Laghima was an airbender. He lived thousands of years
ago, and he wrote lots of poetry about the stuff we’re talking about right now.
How chaos is the natural order of the world, and all these regimes and systems
are against all of our best interests, and how the only way we can build a new
and better world is by destroying the current one.’
P’Li wants to laugh nervously and dismiss his words as crazy talk, but…part of
her is in awe of what he is saying. To her surprise, her heart accepts it as
true and logical. There’s no way people like the two of them can ever bring
about lasting change by negotiating and talking. Only a complete upheaval of
the current system will ensure a shift in the imbalances of their society.
Complete…destruction. Her mark throbs for the first time since she opened her
eyes, and she reaches up to rub at the angry red lines around the eye.
This sudden movement breaks the spell around them, and they are both
transported from their hopeful fantasies of a free world to the cold reality of
Fang Yi’s bunker, where the air itself seems oppressive. Zaheer blinks and his
face shuts down, going from passionate and expressive to distant and detached.
She knows it is all a performance, a necessary one, but she realises with a
jolt that she hates it when he is hiding. She doesn’t like this Zaheer anywhere
near as much.
‘We have to get back,’ he tells her, voice gruff as he makes to rise. ‘Fang Yi
is going to get suspicious if we take too long.’
‘Zaheer,’ she says, letting his name fall from her lips in a plea. He looks at
her, and she flushes. ‘I - Will I be able to see you again? To…talk with you?’
She knows she must look pathetic, begging for his company so openly, but she is
far too desperate to care. He is her first friend in so long, and she does not
want to let him go.
His gaze softens as he looks down at her. ‘It will be difficult. If Fang Yi
catches us together like this, the consequences will be severe. Especially for
me, since I am expendable in his eyes.’ He pauses. ‘Also, I am working on other
jobs in Republic City. However, Fang Yi is still my main employer, so even if I
leave, I won’t be gone for long. And the sooner you play your part, and the
more convincing you make it, the less suspicious he will be about everything.’
She nods as she takes his words in. Her heart wants nothing more than to
resist, but she knows it is time she chose her battles more wisely. She has to
cut her losses as much as she can. Her mother did not raise a coward, but she
did not raise an idiot, either.
She lets Zaheer help her up, ignoring the trembling of her own body as he eases
her into a standing position. He doesn’t say anything further, instead slowly
leading her to the door. Her body is sore and aching all over, but she will
learn to live with the pain. She reaches for the handle herself and bites back
a grimace when the strain triggers even more discomfort in her wounds. He huffs
a little bit of laughter, amused at her stubbornness.
‘Ah,’ says a cold voice as soon as the door swings open. ‘So I see you’ve
tended to her accordingly, Zaheer.’
P’Li instantly feels her blood boil at the sight of May. The woman is glaring
at her, the only change from her appearance earlier in the day being a bandage
wrapped around her middle. P’Li hadn’t even thought to think of her, but now
her heart swells with pride at the knowledge that she did that. Still, she
wishes the wounds were a lot more serious. She wishes May was dead.
Zaheer interrupts her hateful thoughts to reply to the woman, ‘Yes. Her back
will heal with time.’
May nods briskly as though she expected this, and gives P’Li a cold, assessing
glance, looking her up and down. The girl’s heart starts to beat faster. She
wonders if her face is giving anything away, and tries to school her expression
into a cold one like Zaheer’s. May asks, ’Was she stubborn? Did she put up any
resistance?’
‘None. I don’t think she has enough energy for a tantrum. She did mention a
desire to eat and drink, however I thought I would consult with the master
before I gave her anything.’
May seems satisfied with this response. ‘Very well. The master asked to see her
at once. He is in his chambers. Bring her.’
May spins on her heel and marches off across the courtyard and back into the
main building. Zaheer’s grip on P’Li’s waist tightens ever so slightly as he
guides P’Li into a hobble-walk in the same direction. She steals a glance up at
him, but he looks straight ahead, face impassive. She smiles inwardly, feeling
coy at the knowledge that she knows that face, those eyes and that mind far
better than everybody else here.
As they enter the main building, she is surprised to see everything has been
cleared up. It’s as though a fight never even happened. The door, now opened,
has been replaced with a heavy one with even more locks and a thick chain. The
lobby is clean and the staircase spotless. Fang Yi’s team obviously moves very
efficiently.
Zaheer helps her up the stairs. She is glad May is looking ahead and not back
at them, because Zaheer is being far too gentle and soft with P’Li. He avoids
touching her wound, and his hand grips her good side comfortingly, the fingers
grazing her lower belly. He uses the other hand to hold her forearm, which is
slung around his neck, paying enormous attention to her facial expression to
ensure she isn’t uncomfortable or in pain. She flushes, realising she likes the
warmth of his hands and his gaze perhaps more than she should.
As they approach Fang Yi’s room, her thoughts shift from Zaheer’s touch to the
matter at hand. Her mind is mostly made up now about how she will proceed, but
she cannot shake the discomfort at the idea that what she is going to do is a
bad idea. She feels like she is betraying herself. Her mark throbs almost
painfully, but she cannot help it.
They reach the master’s door. Zaheer releases her and she places a hand on the
wall to steady herself. He bows to May, who sniffs in response.
‘I will return to my barracks now,’ he says, voice calm.
‘Very well,’ is all the cold woman says.
Zaheer does not even spare P’Li a glance, and although she knows it’s necessary
for him to act like he doesn’t know or care about her, she finds herself
slightly upset. She watches, from the corner of her eye, as he walks away and
goes down the stairs. She already misses his warmth, his arms around her,
dizzyingly comforting. With him she felt safe. It might have been a poor
replacement of home, but it was something. He was a solid presence for the
first time in forever, and she is sad to see him go.
Fang Yi’s door opens.
The master stands in the doorway looking as composed as ever. Unlike May, he is
wearing no bandages or wrappings. He must have worked to hide all evidence of
his injuries with the same efficiency used to clear the staircase and lobby.
His cold eyes glint down at her satisfactorily as she stands before him. P’Li’s
blood boils in rage and shame.
‘Ah,’ says the master, voice pleasant as though the events from earlier hadn’t
happened at all. ‘I see you’ve had your wounds treated. Do come in. It’s time
we had a talk.’ He spares a quick nod to May, dismissing her.
May bows deeply, sparing P’Li one last cruel glare before walking off to the
staircase, disappearing downstairs in a few seconds. P’Li turns back to Fang
Yi, who is holding the door open for her.
P’Li realises she cannot make her way into his room without clinging to the
wall. Further, he has no intention of helping her, but she realises she prefers
it that way. She’d rather crawl than accept his scrawny little arm.
She slowly but gradually enters, keeping her balance by using one hand to grip
the doorframe and the palm of the other pressed against the wall. She feels his
cruel eyes on her, and is relieved when he turns to shut the door behind them,
the relief quickly vanishing into despair upon realising they are now alone
again.
When she is sitting on the plush crimson couch, he walks over to his desk and
comes back with a tray of tea. P’Li feels a strong sense of deja-vu, recalling
the exact same scene taking place when she first arrived in this strange, sad
place. She accepts the cup reluctantly and sips once before gulping at the hot
liquid quickly, desperate to quench her thirst.
Fang Yi finally speaks. ‘P’Li,’ he tells her. ‘I have no reason to beat around
the bush. You have clearly tried to prove yourself a capable adult, so I will
treat you as such. It is time you realised that there is no point in trying to
escape. This is your home now, whether you like it or not.’
P’Li says nothing. She feels the rebuttal on the tip of her tongue, the desire
to insult and spit at him, but she fights it back by taking another long sip of
her tea.
Fang Yi continues, ‘I will not punish you for your outburst this morning. As I
already said, I am well aware of the hot-blooded nature of your kind. I prefer
to work it out of you in a more organic way, perhaps one that will be more
likely to impact you.’
She looks up, confused, and finds herself staring into cold, dead eyes. There’s
nothing in his gaze but cruelty and hatred, pride and arrogance. It makes her
sick, but nothing can prepare her for the words that come next.
‘Huilang,’ he whispers, and her blood runs cold. P’Li feels a panic come over
her, eyes widening. No. It can’t be.
Sensing her fear, he merely smiles. ‘A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
And if she looks anything like you, I’m sure she is indeed beautiful.’
Huilang is her mother’s name. But how? How could he possibly…? P’Li’s heart
pounds in fear as she pictures men in black robes approaching the door of her
small cottage. She imagines them stalking towards her mother as she lays in
bed, weak and afraid. She should be there to protect her.
‘Don’t worry,’ Fang Yi says. ‘She is safe. For now. And she will remain safe if
you choose to co-operate with me. If not, I’ll send some of my hounds to pay
her a visit. And I cannot promise they’ll be as kind as Zaheer.’
At the mention of his name, P’Li’s heart pounds even further. This man - she
underestimated him.
Fang Yi laughs softly at her troubled expression. ‘Yes. Do you really think I
haven’t seen the way he looks at you? Zaheer has been in my service for a few
months now, and I’ve never seen that cold mask flicker for even a moment - not
until you arrived. I’d say the fool is already in love with you.’
Fang Yi reaches up to push back a lock of her dark hair, tucking it behind her
ear tenderly. ‘But who could blame him? You truly are breath-taking. Tell me,
P’Li. Did he touch you?’
P’Li wants to cry. She feels herself shaking her head. No, he did not touch
her.
Fang Yi smiles, and the wetness of her eyes make it easy for her to picture it
as a genuinely kind one. ‘That’s good. Good for him, anyway. I’d hate to have
to dispose of someone so useful.’ He shrugs. ‘Anyway. It’s your choice, really.
I have no intentions of giving you up. I need you if I want my dreams to become
a reality.’
He rises from the couch and makes his way to the bed. He sits down at the edge
of it, placing his hands on both sides of him, legs falling open slightly. He
looks down at P’Li with an expectant smile and raised eyebrows.
‘Well?’ he asks.
She wonders, once again, what she did to deserve this fate. What cruelty she
committed in a past life to be the receiver of so much pain and misery. She
imagines her mother with her throat cut in the middle of their home, the
crimson blood seeping out and forming a thick puddle. She pictures Zaheer
pierced with arrows all over his body, dead before he could give freedom to
himself, let alone the world.
But she realises speculating will not save her now, nor will these pictures and
visions. Her mother will not save her now. Zaheer will not save her now. Only
she can save herself. She takes a deep breath, putting the cup down. And she
rises from her seat, slowly, watching his eyes on her. She walks over to him,
ignoring the pain in her body and her soul, and when she is a few feet front of
him she lowers herself so she is on her knees on the cold wooden floor.
P’Li leans forward, bowing lower and lower until her forehead is touching the
floor. She feels his breath hitch at the sight of her prostrating so deeply.
Her mark throbs angrily when it is pressed against the cold wooden floor, but
she dismisses it. She will learn to dismiss a great number of things in the
upcoming years.
And so, with this act of submission, she seals her fate. Fang Yi reaches for
her, taking a hold of her shoulder and raising her up until she is beside him
on the bed, the red silk like blood against her skin. She does not look at him,
focusing her gaze on the empty fireplace as he caresses her with small white
fingers, unwrapping her like a present. A fair trade, she thinks numbly. She
offered herself up to him as such, didn’t she?
He runs his hands over the sides of her body, slowly pulling down the cloth
from her shoulders, revealing her small and slender form. His fingers stroke
her neck, his thumb presses against her pulse, and she feels nothing. He runs a
fingertip lower, reaching her nipples, rubbing back and forth between the dark
buds at a maddeningly slow pace, his gaze flickering between her breasts and
her face with eyes full of awe. He reaches lower still, pulling the silk dress
up so his hand creeps up her thigh, stroking at the impossibly soft skin until
he reaches between her legs and presses against her folds, trying to conjure up
that slick wetness.
It is too late, however. She has shut herself off, reborn into someone - or
something - so very far away.
Chapter End Notes
     thank you for reading! why not leave a comment and let me know what
     you think? it would make me super happy!
     the next chapter will be the final part of this series. BUT i am
     considering adding an epilogue or a one-shot sequel. basically i
     still have lots of feels about this pairing and i want to write some
     more about them <3
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