Chapter Text
YEAR ONE:
One Ship For Another
Sharp like an edge of a samurai sword
The mental blade cut through flesh and bone
Though my mind's at peace, the world out of order
Missing the inner heat, life gets colder
Rami winced: a crinkling of bloodshot eyes, the recoiling of the body, the sharp sting of alcohol nipping at the bleeding gash on his arm. His arm didn’t move, despite the instinct to jerk it away; the strong, rough hand of Jugo didn’t let go of his elbow as he dipped a linen rag into strong alcohol before going back into the wound to clean it.
The Laughing Donkey’s kitchen was small, an afterthought— a typical feature of small ships. There was only one bench, which is where Rami was currently seated. There was only one cook, which was Jugo. There was only one long rectangle of a window serving as an exhaust, which is where a short girl with jade earrings was standing by, looking out and watching the waters.
Captain Hojin called her Shisa, and she didn’t really have a role in the ship. She didn’t look like a smuggler like the rest of them, and had arrived with Jugo, back in Pirate’s Pier. The captain didn’t talk to her much, but in Rami’s experience, people were better off not talking to the captain.
“Alright,” Jugo said softly, drawing Rami’s attention back to his big hands. “I’m going to use a bit of water to heal your wound. Is that alright with you?”
Rami stilled. The older man was the tallest man on the ship, with sharp blue eyes as icy as the Northern glaciers he hailed from. No one on the ship talked to him directly, terrified of him for some undisclosed reason.
Jugo sighed, and Rami wondered if the waterbender finally got tired of helping him. That wouldn’t be any stretch of the imagination. After all, Captain Hojin always made it very clear that Rami was useless, a waste of space, worse than the vermin that often crawled their way onto the ship—
“Jugo’s not going to hurt you, Rami.”
Shisa’s words cut through his fear using a gentleness that Rami wasn’t used to. He couldn’t help but snap his gaze over to her. Standing by the window, Shisa’s face was lit by the sunset, making her amber eyes glow orange. A single sharp tooth poked through her smile, soft but condescending all the same.
It almost made Rami bristle. Yes, he was just twelve, but Shisa barely even looked eighteen.
Shisa walked over to Rami, and rolled up her sleeve, revealing a long white scar. It was an ugly, messy one, too; it had raised skin, looking like something had torn into the flesh before ripping itself back out. Rami wondered if it still sometimes hurt, especially in thunderstorms. Scars sometimes hurt during storms, didn’t they?
“I got this on the evening I first met Jugo,” Shisa shared. “He patched me up with his funky little waterbending. He looks scary, but he couldn’t hurt a fruit fly.”
Rami inhaled slowly, glanced up at the waiting gaze of Jugo, and then nodded.
“Okay,” he exhaled. “Okay. I’m good. I’m okay.”
Jugo nodded, bent some water from out of a waterskin, and guided it to the gash on his arm. It felt cool on Rami’s skin, like taking a long sip of water. Rami had never been to the North or South Poles, never saw ice in his life— he wondered if it felt as refreshing as this, if the tribes could use regular ice to treat wounds and illnesses.
Jugo worked quickly. Questions danced on Rami’s tongue as he watched the glowing liquid dance across his skin, healing him. Where did the water come from? How did Jugo get them?
Every time Rami shifted his gaze to Jugo, the intense focus that the waterbender had on the task in front of him intimidated Rami. His curiosity died on his tongue.
It didn’t take long for Jugo to guide the glowing water back into the waterskin, signalling the end of the healing session. The wound was still there, but it was cleaner now— less painful. Jugo surveyed the open gash thoughtfully, before pulling out a strip of fresh white linen from a basket. Rami’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Um, Jugo, sir,” he stuttered, pulling his arm close to his chest. “I don’t think you should be using that on me.”
“And why not?”
“It’s clean,” Rami explained, wondering why he had to explain himself. “Clean linen shouldn’t be used for deckhands like me, Captain Hojin will get angry—”
“Hojin is never going to touch you ever again.” Shisa was still standing by the window, still smiling— but something about it looked closer to a sneer.
“But I work for him,” Rami protested. “My gran owed him money, and— well…”
Shisa snorted at that. “And how much did your gran owe him? One gold? Two?”
“Ten copper,” Rami mumbled. He wouldn’t ever be worth one gold coin. “This trip from Pirate’s Pier to Harbor Town is one copper worth of wages.”
Jugo glanced at Shisa, and she shook her head slowly. Jugo took a deep breath, as though to calm himself, before nodding back at Shisa. They seemed to communicate something by sight alone.
The whispers of the other deckhands snaked their way to Rami’s mind. Was it true that benders could speak in each other’s minds? Was it true that they could eat spirits? Was it true that Jugo could kill a man without moving a muscle, that Shisa once burned entire villages into the ground? Rami wasn’t sure, but the idea was terrifying.
What if Shisa and Jugo decided that Rami owed them from saving him from the caning that the captain had been giving him? And for the linen bandages?
“Hojin doesn’t need ten copper from a rugrat like you,” Shisa told him, tugging at the jade earring she was wearing. “He’s going to make enough money to buy Pirate’s Pier if he manages to sell fire khat in the Fire Nation.”
“Fire khat?” Rami looked between the two benders. Jugo was still seated on his own stool, looking more uncomfortable by the minute if his scrunched brows were anything to go by, while Shisa merely shrugged.
“It’s worse than regular khat,” Jugo started. “It’s what some medicine sellers call an ‘upper'.’ It makes a person incredibly energetic and focused, before leading to a crash where they have no energy at all. The more a person takes it, the more dependent they become for the most basic of tasks.”
“Medicine sellers,” chuckled Shisa. “Careful saying that in the Fire Nation, Jugo. It can mean something else here.”
The waterbender only rolled his eyes.
Rami felt adrift in the conversation, not really knowing what was going on.
“But that’s a good thing, right? The fire khat, I mean. If people just take it when they really need it…”
Because it did seem like a good idea to take something to give you energy every once in a while, Rami figured. Maybe if he had some fire khat this morning, he wouldn’t have accidentally used oil to mop the captain’s room, and then he wouldn’t have to be caned.
“It’s addictive,” Shisa said. “It’s a bad idea. And most importantly, the new Fire Lord added it to the list of banned drugs after he found out that a lot of the factory workers making the war ships and tanks were addicted to it. Which is why…”
“...Captain Hojin is planning to smuggle it into Harbor Town?”
“Yep,” Shisa said, her smile grim. “I’d imagine that there’s still a demand for fire khat, and if they can't get their hands on it legally, then I guess some people are willing to get it illegally.”
“But that’s what we do,” Rami pointed out. “We’re smugglers. It’s the job.”
“Hojin is a smuggler.” Shisa glanced out at the window again. “I’m not.”
Rami nodded, although he couldn’t understand what she was saying. Was she something else, then? A spy? An assassin?
The other members of the crew also gave her a wide berth, asked nothing of her, barely spoke to her at all— but while they recoiled from Jugo, they often deferred to Shisa with bated breath. No one would tell him why, though. As they’d always say: if you don’t already know, you don’t get to know.
“Well,” Rami started, gathering whatever was left of his courage, “what is it that you do?”
“Whatever the hell I want,” she replied casually. Her eyes, narrow like a hawk’s, continued studying the view beyond the window as though there was something in the sunset that caught her attention.
Jugo must have noticed her focus as well, because he glanced at the younger girl with a raised brow. Shisa looked back at them, as though feeling their curious stares. Her only reply was a lopsided smile.
“It looks like the new Fire Lord knows something about smuggling routes just as much as he knows about drugs,” Shisa said, tucking her hands into the long sleeves of her maroon yukata. “We’ve got a freighter coming straight at us.”
Jugo straightened in his seat, blue eyes sliding over to Shisa. She stood still despite the subtle rocking of the ship. Rami held his breath in the back of his throat, unsure of what the appropriate response was.
For some strange and undefined reason, the only thing that felt inevitable was the steady rocking of the ship floating on the sea; the rest of the world seemed to be up in the air. No one knew what ways the chips would fall.
Shisa brought another hand to her earrings, twirling and tugging at it. There was a faraway look to her eyes. Slowly, something in her posture shifted. Rami watched as she leaned against the wall, rolled a shoulder forwards and backwards, and scratched at her nose.
“Shisa…” Jugo sighed. “What are you planning to do?”
“Not sure yet,” she murmured. “Once the Fire Nation boards the ship for inspection, I’ll go out. When I’ve got them talking to me, take Rami and stay near any plank or railing that they’ll use to board. Take a bottle of that plum wine we got back in the Colonies. And when we leave… well, play it by ear, Jugo.”
“Are you going to hijack the freight ship?” The question felt stupid as soon as Rami said it, but when Shisa glanced down at him, she simply smiled. There was no mockery, no contempt. She only smiled, as though it was an idea that had crossed her mind.
“No, Rami,” Shisa told him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “that would be fun, but too much trouble.”
Somebody began ringing a bell, signalling that the Laughing Donkey’s watch had finally caught wind of the Fire Nation freight ship coming straight at them. Rami jumped up from his seat, but both Jugo and Shisa looked unphased.
“What are you going to do, then?” Rami asked, getting on his unsteady feet. “Are we going to sneak away on their ship?”
“I’m not sure,” Shisa said, her smile sharp and toothy. “But hey— as long as we make it out alive, that’s what matters, right?”
“Alive and safe,” Jugo added. “I don’t want you hurting yourself.”
Something in Shisa’s expression softened as she looked back at the waterbender. Jugo was still seated, and Shisa was standing— just then, Rami noticed that even while standing Shisa was barely any taller than a seated Jugo. It was strange to see the stark difference in height, Shisa’s red yukata, Jugo’s navy blue robes. His black hair was edged with gray at the temples, while Shisa sparkled with every precept of youth. Rami wondered how they met, and what they meant to each other.
His curiosity could not have come at a worse time, because fortune was asking for action, not questions; Shisa stalked to the door before cracking it open, peeking outside. Once she saw something that clearly pleased her, she tucked her hands into her sleeves, straightened her back, and walked out with a smile.
Rami looked at Jugo, who was himself stretching his legs to stand.
“What’s she going to do?” Rami asked. “Are you both taking me away?”
“If you don’t want to come with us, that’s fine,” Jugo said, reaching up to one of the high shelves and retrieving a porcelain jug of plum wine. “Shisa never plans for anything beyond the next few steps, and the life we lead is full of uncertainties. If you want to stay here, we’ll respect that.”
The stinging flesh on Rami’s arm— bandaged now, but tender all the same— made the decision easy.
“I’m coming with you,” the young boy said, voice shrill with panic. “Anywhere is better than here.”
Jugo smiled.
“Alright,” the older man said, gesturing to the door. “I think it’s time for us to get out.”
Rami followed him closely; everyone on the Laughing Donkey was gathered on deck, silent and still. The evening was coming; the sky was being covered by a final wash of orange, with the dark starry sky quick on its heels.
Jugo walked slowly behind the other members of the crew, and Rami stuck by his side. No one paid them any mind, too busy with the conversation happening at the center of the ship. Too short to see anything, Rami had to peek in between the pressed bodies of sailors and smugglers to see what was going on.
And he did see what was going on— flashes of it. More importantly, he heard what was going on.
Shisa was bowing to an old Fire Nation soldier; the captain, Rami supposed. The Fire Nation captain was an old man with straight posture and a long, pointed beard. His skin was tan and leathery from days under the sun, and his expression was severe. The captain surveyed the ship and its crew with obvious disdain; it was enough for Rami to step closer to Jugo. Rami recognized a head of spiky brown hair off to the side of the Fire Nation soldiers— it was Captain Hojin, who was eyeing Shisa as though she was the key to getting the crew out of this mess.
Jugo slowly made his way to the edge of the boat, near the soldiers that were flanking their captain. Rami nearly stumbled into him, but caught his balance quickly.
Shisa straightened from her bow, and glanced at their direction. When she saw Rami, she gave him a small smile. This seemed to go unnoticed by the Fire Nation captain, because his attention remained on her.
“I’m Commander Paek.” He looked around the Laughing Donkey in disdain, no doubt holding the patchwork sails in contempt. “It’s certainly a wise decision for you sad bunch to not try to outrun us. You’re all under arrest for smuggling in Fire Nation territory.”
“Good morning, Commander Paek.” Shisa dipped into another graceful bow, posture straight and correct, going the extra mile to bow a little bit more than was necessary. “I’m so sorry that you have to see this ship in such a sorry state— truth be told, we were caught by surprise by a storm. We lost much of our wares and our documents. We hope you understand.”
“Likely story,” the commander scoffed, eyeing the uncertain gazes of the rest of the crew. “If you’re truly a Fire Nation citizen, hand over your identification papers.”
Shisa reached into the folds of her yukata, pulling out the identification papers. Paek brought it close to his face, reading it carefully.
“Shisa of Mai’nka Island?” Commander Paek glanced up from her papers.
“Yes, sir,” Shisa nodded.
“What kind of man names his daughter guard lion-dog?” Paek handed her papers back to her.
“A true-blooded Mai’nka man,” Shisa chirped, unphased. “We carve lion-dogs in our temple grounds.”
“And I suppose that you’ve passed by the port of Mai’nka Island since entering Fire Nation naval territory?”
“Is there a dock now?” Shisa smiled up at the commander, one sharp tooth poking out. “The last time I checked, Mai’nka was a backwards little place with no opportunities for orphans like me to make a living for themselves.”
“Over the years of my service, I’ve had the misfortune of dealing with such blatant lies,” Paek said stiffly. “Of course, I had to check if you’re truly from Mai’nka, as you claim to be. When faced with lies, the truth easily reveals itself.”
Commander Paek spoke that last line bitterly, as though it was something that he often repeated to himself. He seemed, suddenly to Rami, to be the type of career military man that kept waiting around for a promotion, convinced that his track record was enough to commend him.
Jugo stopped, reaching the edge of the ship. Rami stayed closely beside him, leaning down a bit so he could continue watching the exchange from between the legs of the sailors in front of them.
“I assure you, I’m being truthful.”
Shisa straightened up slowly, making deliberate eye contact with the older man. Amber met amber, and she saw her own reflection in the commander’s widening gaze: a short girl, with short hair and an honest expression. “Upon the honor of my father, may Agni bless his soul, I promise you that I simply wish to cross the Mo Ce Sea peacefully.”
“It’s treasonous for Fire Nation citizens to cavort with Earth Kingdom smugglers,” Paek said stiffly. “You will be sentenced to twenty years at the Boiling Rock, if all that you say turns out to be a pretty farce.”
At this, Shisa took a step closer to him, dropping her smile.
“I am well aware of the penalty of smuggling,” Shisa said. “I live a vagabond life, that is true. I boarded this ship like how a turtle-duck walks into the kitchen just as the cook reaches for the knife. I hope you understand my meaning— and these men, well...”
Shisa tilted her head to the side. “One could call them many things. I would call them medicine sellers.”
Paek studied Shisa closely, trying to look for cracks in her expression or posture. He seemed to find none, because he nodded; it was a slow, methodical lowering of the chin.
“And you are not a medicine seller as well?” Paek glanced back at his men, but his question was still directed at Shisa.
Shisa shook her head. “I am many things, but a medicine seller I am not. I am merely a humble orphan who tried her luck in the Colonies and tried to board the cheapest ship just to go back home.”
“If your crew is truly lost, then we would have to tow this sorry excuse of a ship back to Harbor Town,” Paek told her.
“I would owe you much, Commander Paek,” Shisa bowed. “My father taught me to give back to those that offer me help, but I have nothing— except for a bottle of aged plum wine that my father gifted me before he passed. I travel with my friend, and I believe he has it with him.”
Paek nodded. “I would not mind receiving such a fine gift. Come.”
Paek made his way along the metal plank connecting two ships, gesturing for Shisa to follow him. Jugo slipped beside the smaller girl, still holding the jug of plum wine, and Rami scrambled to follow. The soldiers stayed aboard the Laughing Donkey.
Everybody’s breath seemed to vanish— Rami was confused. Was Shisa bribing the Fire Nation? Was everything alright now? Why was no one in the crew moving?
In fact, the crew was unnaturally still. Rami glanced up at their eyes, only to find them panicked, as though they too couldn’t understand why they were not moving. Rami looked at Jugo, who was moving just fine. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple, and his ice cold eyes were narrowed with a strange, primal focus. His steps were sure, but his grip on the porcelain jug grew tighter and tighter.
Rami saw a shark once as a small boy; it had been caught in the small port town he grew up in. The local fisherman had hauled its dead body out of the tiny ship. Rami would never forget its cold, lifeless eyes and its huge frame— enough to nearly topple the one-man ship.
Right now, Jugo looked a lot like that shark: a predator large enough to topple ships.
Was Jugo keeping everyone from moving? How was he doing that? Could waterbenders control the body of people?
Rami looked straight ahead as he continued to board the Fire Nation ship. He didn’t look down as walked over the metal plank.
The Fire Nation ship was larger than the Laughing Donkey and Rami felt like he was on top of the world. But he couldn’t quite process the feeling because as soon as Shisa boarded the freighter, she turned to look at Commander Paek. Something in her gaze was wild and wilful, and Rami for the first time felt scared of her.
“So,” Commander Paek said casually, “what drug do they have on board, and why did you bring a bloodbender onto my ship?”
“Fire khat,” Shisa replied, “and Jugo stays with me.”
Commander Paek caught the eye of one of the soldiers on the ship, and gave them a hand signal. Rami watched as, like clockwork, the Fire Nation soldiers moved as one to burn the ship down.
Captain Hojin sprung into action, but he was a non-bender that was outclassed by war-weary naval soldiers. Rami couldn’t move his eyes away from the scene of carnage— wood catching on fire, blood running down bodies, bodies singed and frying.
The world suddenly went dark, and the only evidence of the carnage happening below was the smell of fire and the sound of screams. Jugo was covering his eyes.
“Don’t look,” the waterbender said softly. “There’s no need for you to look.”
After the skirmish with Captain Hojin, the rest of the Fire Nation patrol crew settled back into normalcy quickly. Rami had been understandably shaken at the way things had gone. But that was life, Shisa told him. One must always be ready to face the whims of fate with a steady hand.
Commander Paek invited his three guests to have dinner with him in the mess hall. Jugo had tried to politely decline, citing the fact that he was a waterbender and would probably make the affair awkward for all involved. But the commander had merely rolled his eyes, saying that not even a lone bloodbender could take down an entire ship of trained firebenders. Shisa had laughed at the exchange, before promising the commander to have her young companion and her surly guardian in better spirits before dinner.
It was surprising for her to see how the standard fare for all the officers was quite generous. Everyone was eating quickly but happily, as though the short-lived altercation with the smugglers only served to increase their appetite at dinner.
Shisa watched as Rami ripped off a chunk from the stuffed turkey-rabbit that Commander Paek served to them. Beside her, Jugo was quietly enthusiastic about the food, asking the lieutenant beside him about the different spices used in the soups and dishes served. It made her feel a little bit left out— she had already finished her wonton noodle soup, and already didn’t have much of an appetite.
Jugo looked over at her, noting her untouched turkey-rabbit with drawn brows and a frown.
“You must eat your meat,” he chided. “Your muscles are weak enough as it is.”
Shisa sighed, tapping her chopsticks against her plate. “I’m working on it.”
From her other side, Commander Paek watched their exchange with a carefully neutral expression. Ever since she introduced Jugo and Rami to him, she could sense that he wanted to ask what her relationship to Jugo was— but he was apparently too polite to ask about it outright. Shisa shrugged; it wasn’t as if it was complicated. Jugo was a brother to her in every way that mattered.
“I hope the crew’s food is to your liking,” Paek said, settling for polite conversation about the meal. “I have tried the cuisine in the Colonies, and it is not quite the same.”
“It is to my liking,” Shisa said, shifting forward in her seat so she could talk face-to-face with the commander. “I just had— well, I was deathly sick as a child. It is now difficult for me to eat a lot in one sitting.”
Paek nodded. “A natural consequence of your past experiences, I assume?”
“Yes,” Shisa said, picking up a bit of rice with her chopsticks. “I traveled frequently with my father when he was still alive. He was too busy to care for a child. I was often sick.”
“And your mother?” Paek asked.
“She passed away in childbirth,” Shisa replied.
Paek hummed, taking a sip of green tea. He scanned around the mess hall, as though looking for something to say. Shisa nearly regretted her words; talking about her parents always made things awkward.
“One of my lieutenants was married,” Paek began. “He’s a widow now— his wife passed away in childbirth as well. She served in the military. He was a navy man, and she trained to be part of the aerial fleet.”
“Whatever happened to those dirigibles?” Shisa asked. “Now that the new Fire Lord decided to end the war, what are we even using those for?”
Commander Paek shook his head. “They’re just lying around in some junkyard, not being used. A waste of good iron, if you ask me.”
Shisa looked around the room, spotting the standard government mandated portrait of the Fire Lord hung over the large door that led to the mess hall. In his portrait, Fire Lord Zuko styled his hair into a severe top knot and he stared straight ahead. His scarred side was unflinchingly visible, a raw and ragged show of skin. Shisa wondered if the wound still bothered the Fire Lord.
“And the new Fire Lord,” she asked, “he can’t take care of that?”
“Fire Lord Zuko is busy dealing with more important things,” Paek said in a strong voice, with greater force and defensiveness than Shisa expected.
“Oh,” she said, leaning back. It was quite interesting that this is what it took to break Paek’s neutral expression. “I did not mean to offend— I’m so behind on the news, I really have no idea what’s going on in Caldera.”
Paek composed himself once more, as though folding into himself. “My apologies,” he offered, clipped. “It is just… We navy men bear the Fire Lord a debt of gratitude, you see. He increased our retirement benefits and gave us all a housing plan, if we choose to avail of it.”
“Yeah,” one of the officers sitting across from Shisa leaned forward, grinning. “I could retire tomorrow and still have farmland to pass on to my kids.”
“Oh?” Shisa nodded slowly. It seemed like the other officers shared Paek’s sentiments. “And the other parts of the army— like the infantry, they also get these benefits? Or do they get more?”
“Of course not,” Paek said gruffly, crossing his arms, “every soldier is entitled to a plot of land and retirement benefit, it’s only fair.”
“The way the food here tastes, it feels like the navy gets just a bit of preferential treatment.” Shisa smiled with her teeth, looking askance at the officers who were clearly enjoying their meal. The mention of the preferential treatment seemed to lighten the air, as though it was an inside joke that Shisa stumbled into.
But she didn’t stumble into it, not really. It didn’t take a genius to know of the rivalries between the different branches of the military— it would surely bleed into the human desire to be preferred by those that one prefers.
“Well,” cut in another officer, “the Fire Lord spent two years on a ship while he was chasing the Avatar. He’s a navy man through and through.”
Shisa leaned back— yes, she was right, wasn’t she? Even if the Fire Lord had once been a banished, disgraced prince, the right kind of incentive was enough for a man to forgive the past and reframe it in a way that was easier to acknowledge. ‘Chasing’ the Avatar was a telling choice of words; Shisa tucked it in the back of her mind, wondering if other Fire Nation citizens would use the same word to describe Fire Lord Zuko’s banishment.
She took a bite of the turkey-rabbit, ears wide open as the officers around her traded stories and anecdotes about their new Fire Lord. They were a chatty bunch, and before long Shisa learned that Fire Lord Zuko was quite popular with the military for the simple reason that many simple officers secretly dreamed of a life after the war.
Of course, the increase in basic pay, the added retirement bonus, and the housing plan did wonders to cement their regard for him. It was, Shisa reflected, quite a shrewd move; garnering the favor of his military would help ease the threats of a coup d’etat.
Idly, Shisa wondered if the Fire Lord was banished as a prince by Ozai because Ozai saw him as a threat to his position. After merely a year as the ruler of the Fire Nation, Fire Lord Zuko had already made tangible moves to secure his position— he must be one hell of a politician, Shisa mused.
Before it could get too dark, Shisa excused herself from the dinner table. Rami looked up at her, wondering if he should follow as well, but she merely shook her head— there was no need, the young boy was being regaled with tales of daring escapes from sea monsters. Despite the carnage he had witnessed earlier, he seemed to be quick in adapting to changing circumstances.
Jugo had raised a brow at her exit, which only earned him a raised brow in return. Shisa gave him no choice but to relent; she would go as she pleased, whenever she pleased, as was her custom. Shisa wanted to take some time to think, so she left the mess hall quietly.
Shisa was not familiar with the layout of this exact freight ship, but it was similar enough to others that she was able to find the deck quickly enough. She breathed in deeply, her lungs filling up with salt and wind. She breathed out, reaching to hold the railings that separated her from the depths of the sea.
The metal furnishings of the ship kept the noise at dinner inside. Out here under the stars and over the sea, it was quiet. The horizon was an endless canvas of pithy black, cloying and intangible at the same time. Shisa stared into an endless ocean, nothing really dancing around in her mind. It was a reprieve, a reminder that things could still be simple, one-dimensional. There was no complexity to the void that surrounded the ship, the void that stood before her beyond the railings that separated her from the sea.
The underside was sticky with dried salt, Shisa could lick it off if she wanted. She did that once, as a child, when her father was alive and gallivanting all over the world.
Now, that had been a time in her life where she didn’t have to ask any questions. Who is Shisa? What should she do? Where should she go? Those were impossible questions. She didn’t want to sit down and think about them, she just wanted to go out in the world and do whatever it is she felt like doing.
And would that be such a bad thing? Shisa knew that she was a better person than her father ever was, that she never minded helping people. She knew that, when push came to shove, she was happy to do the right thing even if it was the hard choice. Was it a bad thing to just do what she wanted to do, when all she ever wanted to do is the good thing?
She watched the black waves lap against the iron side of the ship, the salt spray splashing across her face every so often. It was a mindless, meditative sight. Shisa almost forgot herself if it weren’t for the sound of boots behind her.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” came Commander Paek’s voice from behind her, “how do you know old Fire Nation code?”
Shisa smiled to herself, not turning around just yet.
“Do you mean when I said, ‘a turtle duck in the kitchen when the cook just got a knife?’”
“Yes,” Paek said. “Not many people know that it’s standard code for a hostage situation, back when General Iroh was active.”
Shisa turned to face him. “My father was an aide-de-camp to the General,” she said. “Not quite a soldier, not quite a secretary— a relic from the time when he was simply the Crown Prince.”
“And your father,” Commander Paek said slowly, “died in the Siege of Ba Sing Se?”
Shisa nodded.
“That must be part of the story of how a young orphan somehow ended up traveling with a bloodbender,” Paek said casually. “I only tolerated his presence because he is clearly loyal to you.”
Shisa smiled, wondering what angle of the truth would serve her the most.
“Well,” she began, “originally, he worked for my father. After I caught that illness, my father tried to find someone that knew enough about medicine— actual medicine, by the way— that could take care of me while he was away. Jugo had been a wandering apothecarist at the time, and he wasn’t making a lot of money. Now, we get by with the herbal medicines that he makes.”
It was true, in its own way. Plausible, too. Many people displaced by the war often teamed up, despite belonging to rival countries. As a navy man Paek must have seen this often because he merely nodded.
Shisa searched his expression with a passing glance, trying to find any tell that showed that he doubted her— a twitch of a brow, a frown. She found nothing that spoke of his distrust, but she still couldn’t find it in her to relax.
“What do you plan to do now?”
Shisa bit her tongue, frustrated that her own questions found their way into Paek’s mouth. She settled instead for a dry smile and a shrug.
“Find a way to make money,” Shisa replied. “I can read and write, and I’m good with numbers. Someone must be looking for a secretary.”
“No one is hiring secretaries these days,” Paek said. “That’s a thing of the past.”
“I’ll join a merchant guild, then,” Shisa said, “or maybe apprentice myself to a tradesman.”
Paek only shook his head. “Merchant guilds are no better than syndicates these days,” the commander said. He joined her side at the railing, staring down into the waters. “And the tradesmen are suffering for it.”
“I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” Shisa said, purposefully trying to sound optimistic and dead wrong. Though old men like Paek didn’t like to share information, they enjoyed correcting young women.
“It’s very bad,” Paek said. “That's why I haven’t retired yet. An old dog like me, what do I do after? All I know is this life. Ships and navigation. And even if I can do something like fishing, everyone knows there’s no money in that.”
“No money in fishing?” Shisa frowned. “But most of our food is fish.”
“The fisherman sells it to the guild for one copper, and the guild sells it in the market for five.” Paek’s gaze didn’t leave the dark waves below him. Shisa wondered how often Paek found himself in that same position, looking down from his ship into the vast sea.
“And these fishermen, they don’t just sell the fish themselves?”
“How can they?” Paek asked in return. “They’re too busy being fishermen.”
Shisa nodded quietly to herself. Something in her mind sparked— an idea, a possibility. A plan formed itself, half-baked and shoddy, but it was a plan all the same. No one watching her could tell from her expression, though, because she simply joined Paek in his silence; but when he was looking down at the sea, Shisa was looking up at the stars that were slowly shining their light in the young night.
In the future, reporters will ask her what was coursing through her mind in this part of her life. And Shisa will tell the truth: she had just wanted to eat. She wanted to feed herself, and to feed Jugo, and to feed Rami, and to bring along whoever else she could with her.
It sounds simple in the way great things often are.
The next day, Commander Paek dropped a Fire Nation orphan, a Northern waterbender, and an Earth Kingdom deckhand on the half-finished pier of Harbor Town. He left soon after, feeling personally edified in his good deed in helping an orphan, while also feeling personal satisfaction in having apprehended drug smugglers after they resisted capture. Paek spared the trio no backwards glance.
Shisa didn’t look back either.
A brief glance over Harbor Town told her everything that she needed to know; it was small, dilapidated. Located at the west of the Fire Nation’s mainland and behind Royal Caldera City, Harbor Town seldom saw anything interesting. It was full of stands selling fruits, vegetables, and… fruits and vegetables.
It was quite strange, considering that it was a seaside town. The Fire Nation, with its volcanoes and the vast lakes that formed in the craters of dormant volcanoes, was not ideal for farming. Its greatest strength was in its waters— the unification of the Fire Islands came through seafaring expeditions, and with that, a fish-based diet. The Mo Ce Sea, which surrounded Harbor Town, was known for its marine life, especially winged eel and cucumber sponges.
So where was the fish?
“Out there in the sea,” replied Toyo, who was rinsing his nets in the shallows. Shisa had walked the length of shoreline, looking for a fisherman to talk to. Meanwhile, Jugo and Rami were in town looking for a place to stay for the night.
“It looks like there’s not much fish, though,” Shisa said. “I guess the Mo Ce Sea isn’t that productive at this time of year…”
Just like Paek, Toyo looked the kind of old man that enjoyed explaining things to small young girls: there was the meanness in his eye, but a straightness in the posture that spoke of moral superiority. They were both cut from the same cloth— probably the result of growing up in the same war-wrung generation.
“The Mo Ce Sea isn’t the problem,” Toyo huffed. “Mo Ce does quite fine by itself, if you ask me. The problem is that we’ve got a whole bunch of soldiers back here, and with the new mouths to feed, the guilds are asking for more than we can catch.”
“And you can’t just skip the guilds?” Shisa leaned down, picked up the other edge of the net, and started copying the way Toyo was washing it: rinse, rub, soak, repeat. “Why can’t you just sell directly in the markets?”
Toyo snorted. “I could, if I was just selling here in Harbor Town. But the big bucks are in the inner cities, and I don’t have the wheel and barrel to travel to the likes of Caldera. Not to mention the salt— I’d have to buy that to preserve the fish. Wait— here, let me show you how to wash the nets properly.”
Toyo wiped the sweat from his brow before leaning down, picking up the net. In the midday sun, his graying hair was sticking to the edges of his temples. Shisa wondered why he was still out in the hot sun working at his age; did he not have any children to take over the business?
“Here, look.” He lifted his end of the net and spread it wide. “You’ve got to be careful about sea weed, corals, and crabs getting stuck in here. I make it a point to check that the net is always pristine. A dirty net just gets worn through easily, and then you’d have to spend your downtime fixing it instead of getting a drink.”
Shisa nodded. “Okay, so I just… flick them back into the sea?”
“Yes,” Toyo nodded. “Pretty much.”
“Copy that, captain,” Shisa murmured, rolling up her sleeves. “Thanks for the tip.”
They continued the work in silence for a couple of hours. The net was larger than Shisa originally thought, and there were several times when a piece of long, spiky seaweed required her to borrow a small knife that Toyo kept on his person. She had avoided nicking herself, which was something she was grateful for. Her hands were starting to turn red and sore from the combination of menial labor and salt water— she didn’t want to add wounds to the mix.
Toyo had noticed the pruning and redness of her hands as well, but he only laughed at the sight of them. “You’re no seaside dweller, are you?” He asked.
“Not at all, captain,” Shisa said, shaking her head. “Just a kid from the Colonies, trying to see if my luck’s any better here.”
“And Commander Paek— he brought you in here himself from the Colonies?”
Shisa couldn’t help but laugh. Turns out the old man was also something of a fishwife himself.
“No, no— it’s actually quite a story,” Shisa shared, glancing up from her work to check on Toyo. His focus was still on the net. “My friends and I were looking for the cheapest ride to whatever port in the mainland we can find. And it so turns out that we got stuck on a ship smuggling fire khat. Bad luck all around. It’s a good thing that Commander Paek found us when he did. He asked for our papers, and then discovered the drugs.”
Toyo shook his head. “Fire khat,” he sighed. “Tried it once before— that was enough for me.”
Shisa stayed quiet, wondering what else Toyo would share. She was disappointed, though, because he didn’t follow that statement up with anything. They lapsed once more into a silent rhythm of work, a dance of salt water between fingers and a sharp eye for details.
“I wonder,” Shisa mused aloud, “if our ancestors were doing the exact same thing that we’re doing now.”
“Maybe,” Toyo replied. He smiled ruefully at the portion of the net he was cleaning. “My grandfather used to tell stories of how there would be legions of fishermen before the war that would come back with fish so large they could eat men— and the entire town would have parties and make all sorts of barbecue out of that fish. He was probably just making stories up. Most old men do that, you know.”
Shisa paused in her work to give him a small sad smile.
“But wouldn’t it be something, though?” She asked. “For fishing to not just be a humble profession, but something that we can take pride in?”
“Pride is for scholars and politicians and soldiers.” Toyo shook his head. “For working people like you and me, feeding ourselves and our families should be enough.”
Shisa looked down at the water, thinking as she worked. She had been standing in the waters of the shoreline the entire day, and even her feet were completely pruned. She was thirsty. She was hungry. If someone tapped her shoulder, Shisa would probably fall into the water.
This is what Toyo did everyday just to eat. This backbreaking work, this thankless job: it’s what helped him get by.
But Shisa felt that his statement was a bit wrong. Was having food on your plate what it meant to eat? No— she didn’t think so. Or at least, that was not eating in an existential way.
She picked up the net again, continued cleaning.
No, Shisa decided. Eating meant having people around the dining table, with good alcohol flowing and the promise of a sweet desert. Eating meant laughing and trading stories. Eating meant rubbing one’s belly in satisfaction. If life could be eaten, Shisa wanted to pick it up with her chapped, bleeding hands, bring it to her mouth, and bite down. She wanted to savor every last drop. She wanted to pass it on to the person beside her.
When the sun disappeared and the stars began sparkling, Jugo and Rami eventually found her by the shore. They tell her that they found a place to stay: a small hostel for travelers with decent food and good alcohol. Before leaving the shore, Shisa glances back at Toyo.
“What time do you usually start fishing?”
“Three hours before the sun rises,” Toyo replied.
“Can I meet you then?”
The old man stepped out of the water as well, something sly and knowing crossing his eyes. “Don’t expect me to be a patient boss,” Toyo warned. “I can only pay you in food.”
“That’s the best kind of payment,” Shisa said, nodding. “I won’t be expensive to feed, on most days I barely have an appetite anyways.”
Sometimes, a wayward smuggling ship finds its way to Harbor Town in the middle of the night. In their small wooden hut at the edge of town, Shisa would step over the sleeping form of Rami, walking over to Jugo. She’d nudged him with her foot until he’d wake.
“Again?” Jugo would ask. Despite his age, it didn’t take much for him to wake up and focus.
“Again,” Shisa would nod.
And then they would sneak out in the dark together, an echo of what they were in the Colonies, in the Earth Kingdom. They would do what they had both been trained to do— back in the days when, an ocean away, the Fire Lord was nothing more than a bloodthirsty warlord that seemed to be less of a man and more of an idea.
When the sun would come up, there would be no traces of smugglers, wayward ships— nothing. Shisa and Jugo never talked about it in front of Rami.
For the next few months, Jugo has set up a reputation for having a set of strong hands that can set broken bones and mix medicines, Rami picks up a job as a waiter at the hostel, and Shisa spends her days learning about different kinds of fish, the usual spots for fishing, and how to cleanly disembowel them.
Shisa learns the different merchants that pass by Harbor Town to pick up their orders of fish, the way they pack it in salt chests, and what the relative price of salt is. She learns how to use different kinds of net for different kinds of fish, how to haggle up her prices, and how to spot a merchant that will lowball Toyo. She learns how to eat fish raw, and how to eat it with soy sauce and chili paste.
When Jugo isn’t busy being the town’s resident herbalist, he visits the spot where Toyo and Shisa clean their nets and boat. He usually is silent, and despite Toyo’s age, the fisherman is surprisingly tolerant of the tall waterbender.
On one overcast day, Jugo is sitting by the sand, watching Shisa scrape off barnacles from Toyo’s fishing boat.
“You know,” Jugo says, breaking the silence, “back in the North, we would pack the fish in ice.”
Shisa glances at him. “That would be useful, until the ice melted.”
“If we had a box,” Jugo starts, “maybe out of metal? To keep the temperature inside cool.”
“Hm.” Shisa nodded absentmindedly. “That’s interesting.”
Toyo always lets Shisa rest on the seventh day of the week. Shisa always spends it with Jugo and Rami, and if they’re busy, she spends it in the hostel. There’s always a good game of cards to be had, there.
It’s not something that she’s proud of, but Shisa could never resist a good gamble. When the stakes are high and fate uncertain— well, it always gives a rush of blood to the head, doesn’t it? What a human thing it is to be so fickle and so eager to match odds with the universe. And Shisa was just a person. Gambling was something that she was often able to say no to.
But when she said yes, she shouted it.
Jugo always accompanied her when she sat to play guandan with whoever was passing through Harbor Town. She won some games, lost some games. It was the regular story of a no-name orphan with a demanding job that wanted to feel alive every so often. All of those games had been thrilling in the moment, and forgettable with the next sunrise— all of them, except for one.
They had been in Harbor Town for nine months. Everyone settled in nicely, except for Shisa. Every so often she would get an inexplicable itch in her hands. Jugo had inspected it, and said that it was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Perhaps it is a sign that you have money coming your way,” Toyo mentioned once. “That’s what my grandpa used to say.”
Shisa had laughed.
“Maybe it means that you have good luck,” Rami commented. “You’re attracting it through your hands!”
Again, Shisa had laughed.
“There’s a reason why those things are popular sayings,” Jugo had advised her. “The universe has a way of letting you know when it has something in store for you.”
Shisa had laughed, before nudging her gambling buddy in the hostel.
“If it’s got something in store for me— then let’s see if those old men over there are looking for a game of guandan.”
The pair of old men passing through were indeed more than happy to partake in a game of guandan. Shisa had pegged them as some doddering old fools that were looking to pass the time, but after a couple of rounds, she soon realized that they were sharper than they looked.
“Don’t look so shocked, girl,” one of them chuckled. “We were navy men long before you were born. Guandan is something we did to pass the time quickly. It’s okay to lose to a worthy opponent.”
Shisa nodded stiffly, eyes on her cards. Let’s see about that, she thought to herself. Let’s see about that.
Three games turned into six, and six into twelve. Soon all four of the guandan players nestled in that dark hostel stayed seated, nearly immobile, for the entire evening. Shisa and Jugo nearly spent the entire portion of the money they were willing to part with; the two retired navy men, overconfident, decided to bet on an old navy boat that they didn’t know what to do with.
Shisa played her cards; Jugo played his. And then, right before the sun decided to rise, Shisa of Mai’nka Island came into possession of an old Fire Nation freight ship. It was the start of something that, at the time, Shisa couldn’t even begin to imagine.
The two retired soldiers left Harbor Town with empty pockets, leaving their ship at the port. They were men with honor, they said, and men with honor knew that it was good to lose to a worthy opponent— and Shisa was a worthy opponent.
So she stood there, at Harbor Town’s wobbly and decaying port, as the owner of a sad looking freight ship.
“What are you going to do with it?” Rami asked. “Sell it?”
“No.” Shisa grinned. “We’re going to make it into the fastest and biggest fishing vessel in this side of the mainland.”
So that’s what they did.
With the extra winnings that they collected, they bought some parts and some hired help for the ship. Jugo was able to fashion a large box that would insulate ice— something that he called, in his usual unimaginative way, an ice box. Rami was always by her side, helping her by running errands that she was too busy to do. And Shisa herself was in the thick of the repairs: cutting metal sheaths, replacing parts, putting things back together.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” Toyo had asked her, once. He frequently visited, giving his own suggestions of what could be needed on a shipping vessel.
“I picked it up in the Colonies,” Shisa shared. “I also did a lot of odd jobs back there.”
Toyo had nodded thoughtfully, before going back to whatever upgrades Shisa was working on. It took them two months to fully complete repairs. She had the oil stains, cuts, and bruises to show for it, too.
And when she finally came back after her first voyage— with Jugo helping by using waterbending to locate good fishing spots, and Rami as the navigator, and Shisa working the deck and nets— she greeted the merchants with such a large catch of fish that they didn’t have enough salt chests to keep everything in.
So Shisa and Jugo carried their remaining catch into Harbor Town. The pair went through streets now familiar to them, eventually getting to a hut right by the edge of the sea, where a lone fisherman was cleaning his nets.
“Hey, captain!” Shisa called out to Toyo. “How do you feel about having enough fish for a week?”
And that is how she spent her first year at Harbor Town.