Chapter Text
“Opening, closing the Gate of Heaven,
can you be like a bird with her nestlings?
Piercing bright through the cosmos,
can you know by not knowing?”
“Techniques”, Tao te Ching , by Lao-Tzu. Translated by Ursula K. Le Guin
We knew lots of things back then. We had names for many different things, different winds, types of snow, mountains, clouds. The stars also had names, lots of stars and constellations had names […] We were taught those things when we were very young. We were taught to look at the sky and the land.”
Saqiyuq , interview with elder Apphia Agalakti Awa by Nancy Wachowich.
Prologue
Zuko was asleep on his back – asleep or unconscious, Sokka couldn’t tell without putting him down, but it wasn’t time to do that yet. He promised himself he wouldn’t stop unless he had to. With Zuko in the state he was in, every second mattered.
Sokka’s shoulders ached and his throat was dry with fear. He was holding the turtle-seal shell with the floating compass inside it in his hands, but it was hard to keep Zuko’s weight on his back and to hold it at the same time, so Sokka had to pause every dozen-or-so steps to hoist Zuko up again, carefully shifting the shell from one hand to another. He was worried that he was going to drop one of the two, but Zuko clinged on with remarkable strength, his hands laced tight against the beaded drawstrings of Sokka’s parka. His head rested on Sokka’s shoulder.
Sokka was a prince and a chieftain’s son. He’d never carried a baby in his parka’s back before, the way that women do when they want to keep their hands free for work, but he was beginning to gain some insight into how hard it was for them, day in and day out. “Hang in there,” he murmured, unsure if Zuko could even hear him at this point. “We’ll be out of here soon. Druk won’t be too far away. We’ll be back with Aang and Azula in no time at all.”
He had no idea if any of the three things he just said would turn out to be true, but saying it out loud made him feel better at least.
“Don’t think I’m not going to rub it in your face how I did all the work,” he continued. “This must be the third or fourth time I’ve saved your life now. Once we get out of here, you’lld have to spill whatever story is behind that scar on your face. It’s the least I deserve.”
Silence. The lack of a biting retort was the surest sign that Zuko was no longer conscious, which, now that Sokka thought about it, was a very bad sign.
“Stay with me, buddy,” he said, and took a breath. He tried to calm the panicked, animal throb of his worried heart. An inscription on a pearl-handled dagger came to him. “Never give up without a fight,” he murmured to Zuko. “So don’t you die on me now, alright? We can make it through this. We’ll make it through this together. But you have to hang on.”
Still no response.
Sokka glanced around, hoping for some sign of an exit. The plain around them was barren, as featureless and smooth as the curve of a sun-bleached bone. Besides the two of them, there was nothing alive in here, nothing at all. No movement either, other than the unnatural aurora undulating above their heads, flashing white and grey against a nothing-coloured sky.
It was – quite literally – otherworldly.
Sokka felt dizzy. There was a fullness and pressure in his inner ear he couldn’t shake, like his body couldn’t adapt its surroundings. And was Zuko getting heavier on his back? He shook his head, but it didn’t clear the exhaustion weighing down his bones.
“What should I do?” he asked out loud to the empty air. Bato had taught him to never push beyond what he knew was his limit; if this was real land, Sokka would stop. Build shelter. Start a fire. Stay warm for the night and then set off again by daylight.
But this wasn’t the normal world anymore. Underneath his feet, was he even treading real snow? Was anything he was seeing now real?
“Drop the boy."
Sokka stumbled.
The sibilant whispers continued. “Leave him. He’s weighing you down. We might still need you, Sokka, but the other human has served his purpose. Leave him here and I’ll guide you out.”
For a second, Sokka was tempted – he was so tired – and his shoulder ached; the sky felt like it was pressing down on him; he was so dizzy; he wanted to lie down and sleep, and sleep, and…
“Go away, Koh,” he said.
He thought he heard a sigh and the click of many legs, but when he looked around he saw nothing. He checked the needle floating in the turtle-seal shell again and adjusted his direction. A small part of him writhed in shameful regret: did he just lose his only chance of making it out alive?
It was too late now. Koh was gone, if he was ever here in the first place. There was nothing that Sokka could do, except to trudge on through the snow; through the emptiness of this unreal tundra; through this mysterious space between worlds.