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It could not have gone worse. Minutes before their plan could go through, one of those Beifongs pulled out what remained of the poison, discarding it onto the ground like it was nothing. Like Zaheer and his friends and compatriots hadn’t spent years crafting this plan.
His compatriots who were also arrested, his friends who were by all rights dead. He ignored the oppressive feeling of grief that tried to overwhelm him. Zaheer breathed. And breathed. His feelings were valid, they were his best friends after all. He had gotten arrested with them many times prior to the failure at the South Pole, and it had been a weight he hadn’t realized rested on his shoulders that they were whole and hale after being locked away for so long. His feelings were valid and yet not worth dwelling on. What happened, happened. He could not change the past, only consider the future.
Encased in that earth prison, he could do nothing but watch as all their plans, all their hard work culminated in failure once again. Even if the Avatar succumbed to the poison, she wouldn’t be in the Avatar state, and the cycle would begin anew. It was as much of a waste of her life as it was his own.
Zaheer did not recall much of what happened after the sock had been placed in his mouth. Part of him knew he had been hysterical, what had it all been for if it just ended in failure, and another part of him knew he had been drugged. It had to be similar to whatever concoction they had given him the first time, as waking up was a horribly violent affair. Bound hand and foot with metal manacles, a small bucket was placed nearby. He had managed to crawl enough to empty what little was in his stomach, mostly gagging on bile. Taking stock of his surroundings, he was in a horribly well lit room, with white walls and a door without a handle. A small opening in the door for what he assumed was food, but otherwise empty.
His wrists were tightly bound in front of him and then connected to his ankles. He wasn’t certain of the composition of the shackles, but assumed it was some sort of metal that allowed them to control him from a distance. The White Lotus had always been cowardly, afraid of a fair fight.
The room stank. Zaheer could smell the bucket and pushed it away from him as gently as he could without spilling the contents before scooting away from it. He knew he didn’t smell too fresh either. It had been two days before the capture of the Avatar that he had been able to properly clean himself, and beyond splashing his face with water, there was no time for anything else. His admittedly lacking hygiene before, combined with an undetermined amount of time spent unconscious, resulted in a largely unpleasant atmosphere.
Zaheer did not anticipate the White Lotus making any effort to rectify his situation. He supposed he would be lucky if they didn’t reconsider his punishment of lifetime imprisonment.
Nausea rolled his stomach, and Zaheer took deep mouthfuls of air. He was certain that with the restraints he had on he was still capable of fighting anyone who tried to talk to him. There was enough slack between his legs to walk, and with his newfound airbending abilities, he didn’t need to have his hands freed.
Another breath and he could feel himself floating. He rearranged his legs into something resembling a meditation pose as he waited weightlessly for a visitor. His captors had always loved to gloat, and he was certain that nothing had changed, especially not when they had won twice.
Sliding metal and the hatch on the door opened, “Zaheer, get down.”
He pretended not to have heard. It was better to find out now what disobedience would bring, if it would bring the tighter shackles and the fists like last time, or if they changed their methods.
Zaheer spent very little time wondering what the new protocol would be, if standing in the back of his cell would be considered good enough. His legs were jerked by the chains connecting them out from under his floating form and his wrist followed suit. He landed hard on his hands and knees, and he knew that there would be bruises if he were to check in an hour. Certainly not platinum, then, which made his life marginally more difficult. Being manipulated like a puppet from afar certainly was not on the list of things he wanted to experience again in his life.
He waited for the guard to say something, for him to have been disturbed for a reason, but none was forthcoming. He supposed he should have expected that. Zaheer tried to appear passive and halt the glare that wanted to emerge when he looked at the door.
The opening shut once more, lock sliding into place.
——
Each attempt at flight was met with the same response, and he soon stopped. Meditation was just as possible on the ground anyway. He cleared his mind, and resolutely did not think of his friends or her. She would be disappointed in him and that did not matter. She was gone, and it was no use to think about her or or her fate. He banished the thoughts. He followed suit when he thought about the tiny waterbender of the burly lavabender. He could not help them if he wanted to, and they knew the risks.
He was unable to find the proper headspace to leave the confines of the barren room and instead find himself in the spirit world. Part of him, the part from thirteen years ago, that remembered being trussed and thrown about refused to let his guard down. He was better now at being aware of his physical body while in the spirit world, but he still couldn’t shake the anxiety that emerged when he thought about leaving his body defenseless. It would take them only moments to harm him.
He estimated that hours had passed. There was no noise but the sound of him breathing and nothing to look at but the stark white walls.
Zaheer did not startle at the rough scrape of metal against metal at the latch opening again, but only through sheer force of will. His heart pounded at the sudden intrusion and he refused to let it show. Leisurely opening his eyes, he saw an earthen tray floating towards the ground, a single bowl of watery porridge on it.
It had been nice to have food with flavor and texture that didn’t match paste while it lasted. It was a small concession to eat such things for the rest of his life if he had managed to free the citizens of the Earth Kingdom from the egotistical queen.
He didn’t move from the facsimile of a lotus position he managed to contort himself into. The White Lotus, who were certainly the people who had him now even if he couldn’t remember the transfer of custody, had never appreciated his movements before and judging by the fist sized bruises on his knees they would not appreciate it now.
The door slid shut and the latch fastened. Taking it as a sign he wouldn’t be harshly thrown to the ground, Zaheer uncurled himself and reached forward. A small spoon sat next to the unpatterned bowl, and he lifted it, twirling it in his hands before using it to scoop the porridge.
He thought it tasted rather funny, and was wholly unsurprised when he felt very tired a few minutes after finishing. He had known this would happen, anyway. At least this time they weren’t trying to suffocate him and jab a needle into him. He pushed the bowl away, the rough tray scraping against the smooth floor.
Zaheer arranged himself so when he next woke up, he might not have a painful crick in his neck.
——
The first thing Zaheer became aware of was how sore he felt. The second thing was that his arms were bound tightly behind his back, some sort of board in between them, and his legs were immobile.
He didn’t stiffen, knowing they must have been watching his every move. His breaths, forced through his nose by the gag over his mouth, stayed even. His head hung limp, eyes closed to mimic sleeping.
It took minutes for his mind to clear enough to realize he was chained to a chair, and if they were smart enough they had likely attached it to the floor. Zaheer knew it would be easiest to restrain an airbender by preventing any movement at all and wondered if that was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life. Certainly, the last Avatar’s son had a hand in this, knowing what he himself was capable of.
He thought of the fact that he would be the first airbender imprisoned in centuries. How there was no precedent for his skill set to be imprisoned. Zaheer had read a history book on the Fire Nation once, and the author had included morbid details of how airbenders had been imprisoned before being killed. His old cell had been bad enough, even able to escape from it as often as he could with his mind, but any of those techniques would make it significantly more intolerable. He didn’t put it past the White Lotus to use centuries old techniques to torture what they thought they could get from him. Ghazan and Ming-Hua’s prisons were straight from the Hundred Year War, when the Southern Water Tribe’s bending population had been decimated and the Earth Kingdom enslaved.
Zaheer waited to admit being awake until the last dregs of whatever they had given him wore off. He had a headache, likely from dehydration, and his neck hurt, but beyond that they hadn’t taken the opportunity to harm him. He stretched his fingers, trying to restore feeling in them despite the tight restraints around his wrists. Opening his eyes, he was forced to squint until he adjusted to the light. It was just as damnably bright as it had been in his previous cell. An empty chair sat across the room, which was otherwise bare.
His mouth felt dry. He tried to see if he could bend anything while restrained, but with the twitching of a finger all he could manage was a pathetic puff of air that he wasn’t certain if it was his manipulation or the air circulating on its own.
A click from behind, and Zaheer fought the urge to turn his head. He didn’t want to appear to care. Caring made things worse. He knew the teachings to follow to let go of the things that kept him bound to this earth. He would follow them to the letter, now that there was nothing left.
Boots hit the ground sharply, echoing in the small space. Zaheer looked forward with what he hoped was a properly bored expression. A middle aged man walked into view. He looked familiar in the way that all White Lotus members looked the same, unblemished but for wrinkles in the same outfit as all of his brethren.
The flick of a wrist, and the metal gag that was pressed to his mouth peeled away, leaving nothing but an imprint and pinched skin. Zaheer said nothing. He would offer no information. Even in prison, it was possible for him to conduct business for the Red Lotus and provide advice for any of his peers who sought it. To not be there in person was more of an inconvenience than anything else. Other members could form grassroots efforts to help those who were not free of tyranny, big and small. He wasn’t needed for that.
“Zaheer, you have been found guilty of multiple accounts of kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, attempted murder, treason, assassination, battery, assault, violating your original prison sentence, and torture. Your original sentence has not changed and you will be sentenced to solitary life in prison without parole.” This was nothing new. He expected nothing less of an organization that promoted the status quo above all else.
“You will no longer be held in your previous prison. A new prison has been constructed, and with advice from Master Tenzin, has been approved to hold you despite your new abilities.” Zaheer was mildly surprised they weren’t going to reformat his old prison. He supposed the new one could be worse than a dark, damp rock. It wouldn’t matter. He had no intentions of staying in it for longer than it took to drink and nourish his body before sending his mind elsewhere.
“Leniency and privileges may be awarded if you cooperate with us regarding the future plans of the Red Lotus or provide information regarding your plans with Avatar Korra.” This was a speech he had heard before, and even at his most miserable he had never considered giving into their demands. It wouldn’t matter. The physical conditions of his cell would be an afterthought as he left it day in and day out.
The man in front of Zaheer waited for a response.
“I have no interest in cooperating with the White Lotus.” They knew this would be his response. It had been his response for thirteen years. Of course nothing would change for the fourteenth to umpteenth years. The White Lotus endorsed the oppression of the common man by always backing those in power, subverting their own mottos. He would take no part in that.
The man in front of Zaheer looked disgusted with him, and he couldn’t bring himself to care if he wanted to. His organization was corrupt at its core. What did it matter what his opinion on Zaheer’s stubbornness was?
He strode out of the room in the door that was behind Zaheer. He did not turn his head to watch. Zaheer’s fingers felt numb from being in such an awkward position for so long, and he tried to adjust so more blood flow could fill them. He licked his lips now that he had the opportunity, a tad bit grateful he had not gotten regagged. That was always the worst part, not being able to get enough air through his nose and unable to say anything.
He blew a pointed stream of air out of his mouth, and a sharp gust buffeted the chair in front of him. No, it was nice not to be utterly defenseless either.
There was silence for what had to be hours, and Zaheer let his thoughts wander. He resisted the urge to leave his body behind, knowing this wasn’t his final destination and resenting the idea of not at least knowing he was drugged.
He occasionally squirmed, trying to help his appendages not rot off, but part of him knew it was futile. His ass was sore from the hard metal of the chair. Waiting was the worst part the first time around too.
The door opened once more and this time Zaheer turned, blowing a gust of wind at the White Lotus member who had come to inject him with something. It was barely enough, Zaheer certainly hadn’t practiced the technique before his confinement, and the guard was simply thrown off balance before sweeping his hand. The metal strip covered his mouth like before and Zaheer turned away.
He had never really liked needles, and if they were going to inject him with something, he’d prefer not to see it.
A pinch on his upper arm, then the guard (healer?) left. Zaheer’s eyelids grew heavy, and he entered the realm of unconsciousness.
——
He felt even more weighed down the second time he woke, his chest encountering resistance when he tried to inhale air. Zaheer was uncertain how long it had been since his capture and their group’s failure. It was impossible to tell how long he had spent unconscious, and even if the two stints he had spent awake amounted to only a few hours, that still left so much time unaccounted for.
He felt ill, but the severe nausea from before didn’t return, and he assumed they had changed whatever they injected him with. He took stock of the metal he felt on his skin, and was relieved that there was nothing on his face. His ankles and wrists stayed manacled, the cold, heavy material making his joints hurt.
He laid there for thirty minutes, willing away the unease in his stomach before pushing himself upright. His hands were bound in front of him, and a thick chain connected them to the similar restraints on his ankles. A thick metal band wrapped around his waist, this had to be why he felt more heavy. Heavy duty chains, the type Zaheer would have anticipated seeing on a freighter, connected his waist to either side of the circular platform he was on. Significant slack would allow for movement from side to side and he wouldn’t be restricted to barely enough standing room.
It took more effort than he anticipated to cross his legs, the chain just long enough for a comfortable meditation pose. When no one entered, he began to float, finding the chains to be less of a hindrance than he thought. From his new vantage point, Zaheer looked around the cell. Crystals for light peppered the stone walls and a few plumbing fixtures appeared on the side wall, but other than that and the platform, it was bare. Pressing his hands together, he prepared himself to empty his mind again, like he had attempted before. This was almost certainly his final prison, after what was probably a transportation room and an interrogation room, and if they followed his other cell’s procedure, he might be sent to the edge of his range.
Machinery whirred, distracting him from his goal. He opened his eyes and waited for the sentries and whoever else had been designated to threaten him to arrive. A comically large door opened and this time a grey haired woman walked in, flanked by four other White Lotus guards. Zaheer didn’t acknowledge their entrance.
This time he was prepared for the shackles to drag him to the ground, and he was happy he had not chosen to fly very high off the ground, despite the slack in the chains. It was like they were mocking him, giving him all this space and being forbidden to use it. The position he had fallen into was sloppy and uncomfortable. When the guard let up on his manacles, Zaheer rearranged himself into something resembling kneeling, but more comfortable, but stayed on the ground. He felt too old to be thrown on the stone floor so casually.
“This will be your cell for the indefinite future.” Her clear voice echoed on the stone walls, “You are forbidden to fly or otherwise airbend until a behavioral assessment has been done in a year. Should you disobey this or any other rules, punishments will be given, including shrinking the area in which you are currently allowed to roam. We will not stop your meditation.”
Part of him was relieved. The first time he was imprisoned, he had woken from a visit to the spirit world with water being dumped on his head and forced to stand attached to the wall for hours. Their efforts soon ceased when it became clear that he would not stop, and they were apparently forbidden from actually harming him. Part of him resented that he would not be able to airbend, but he had spent most of his life tethered to the ground. Most of him was apathetic.
She continued, “Meals will be provided twice a day. There will be bathing materials brought to your cell once a week. A latrine is in the corner along with a faucet to wash your hands. When we enter your cell, you will be restrained as you are currently. If there are no issues, alternate arrangements may be considered. Do you have any questions?” All of the things she listed were what he had expected, and he had none about his prison cell.
“Did you bury them?” Zaheer surprised himself with the question. It had been burning in the back of his mind since his capture. All of his friends were presumably gone, she was gone. Had they left them all for scavengers to find? He had refused to think about it when their task seemed so achievable, and now may have been his last chance to find out. At their confused looks, he swallowed the lump that grew at the thought of her and elaborated, “The rest of us. They are dead, I assume. Did you bury them?”
Recognition dawned on her face. “The cave collapsed on the lavabender and waterbender. The reports state that he did it himself. No attempts were made to retrieve their bodies. Scouts in the areas did not see anything for over a week, and they were presumed dead.”
Zaheer would not have wished that fate on either of them, but something drastic must have occurred for Ghazan to attempt such a thing. Perhaps something had befallen Ming-Hua to make him consider collapsing the cave. He silently agreed with his captors that it was unlikely either of them had escaped. Ghazan was nothing if not skilled at mass destruction, and if he had intended to destroy the cave and anything, or anyone, in it, he had done so. He waited for the fate he cared about more than the others, as angry as the other two would have been to hear it.
“As for the combustion bender, she died in an explosion gone wrong. Those on the mountain attempted to administer aid after you disappeared with Avatar Korra, but there was nothing to be done. Chief Beifong’s report stated that she was buried on-site in an unmarked grave. Do you have any additional questions?” She finished dispassionately.
Finding it difficult to intake air, he wanted her to leave. He shook his head, trying to stop the shuddering noises that wanted to escape. He would not disgrace her by reacting like that in front of an audience. He could honor her in that way, at least.
“Your first meal will be delivered in the morning. The water from the faucet is potable.” Considering the briefing satisfactory, the five of them walked back to the oversized door, which shut behind them with a resounding click.
He stopped trying so hard. His hitched breaths echoed off the stone, and he tried to wrench control back with deep quivering inhales. She had not deserved her fate, and there was nothing he could do to change it then or to change it now.
Zaheer wiped his face, trying to clear his mind. His fingers came back dry, and part of him was angry he couldn’t have the one expression of grief that seemed so universal. A smaller part of him wanted to maintain the uncaring facade he had kept for thirteen years.
Being forbidden to fly was not going to be a problem. Learning of her fate, that she had been left in an unmarked grave on an otherwise nondescript mountain top, had freed the anguish that he had resolutely locked away for what had to be weeks at this point. He felt hollow, yet heavier than he ever had before, and was glad he was not given any food to make himself sick. Flight seemed laughably out of reach at present.
She would be in the spirit world, somewhere, and perhaps she would visit the grove. Zaheer consoled himself that the three of them would be as inseparable there as they were in their youth.
She would be happy, he knew, to have her friends by her side. He would wait to join them until he outlived his usefulness towards their organization.
He settled in on the ground, adjusting until he was more comfortable. Another quick glance at the rest of the room did not reveal a pillow or mat to sleep on and Zaheer didn’t waste his breath hoping one would be provided. He would get acquainted with the floor while he grieved the loss of his family.
He was glad they had all been spared this fate of imprisonment. He wouldn’t wish it on any of them.