Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

Binds

They tied Sokka to the wagon like cargo that might grow legs and run.

The slaver used a length of coarse rope, looping it from Sokka's bound wrists to an iron ring on the side of a Komodo Rhino cart. The beast snorted and stamped, armor plates dull with dust. When the slaver flicked the reins, the wagon lurched forward and the rope went taut. Sokka had no choice but to walk.

Xanadu shrank behind them by inches, not miles.
The crimson fortress stayed visible for a long time, squatting on the coast with its war camp spread beneath it like a stain. Even after the road bent inland through dry hills and scrub, Sokka could still feel it at his back.

They were not traveling far.

They were circling the edges of Nomad country, moving from one holding point to the next.

That was worse, in its way. Close enough to matter. Too far to do anything.

He kept seeing the dock. Katara shouting his name. Toph lunging. Aang straining against chains he could have shattered if the city behind him hadn't been under the Iron Dragon's guns. Then the crowd closing, and the three of them disappearing toward the fortress stairs.

"They're alive," Sokka told himself, over and over, until it sounded less like hope and more like an order. "They're too valuable not to be."

The slaver did not talk much on the road. He hummed sometimes. He cursed the rhino when it slowed. He never once looked at Sokka as if he were a person.

They made camp at dusk in a shallow cut between two hills. The fortress was only a dark smear on the horizon now, but Sokka knew it had not gone anywhere.

The slaver built a fire with casual firebending and set meat to roast on a spit. Fat popped. The smell was unfair. Sokka's stomach twisted anyway.

He remained bound to the wagon, close enough to the fire to feel it, not close enough to reach it. The slaver sat on a crate, ate with both hands, and made a show of enjoying himself.

After a while, he flicked a tin cup toward Sokka. A scant portion of steamed rice spilled into the dirt by Sokka's knee.

"That's yours," the slaver said. "Don't choke."

Sokka stared at it. Then he ate, because pride was a luxury for people who were not tied to wagons.

"So," he said, after the third mouthful. "This a regular route for you, or am I just lucky?"

The slaver didn't look up. "Eat."

"I am eating. I'm also making conversation. It's a talent. Some people pay for it."

"Then those people are idiots."

Sokka nodded as if this were useful information.

"Fair. You Nomads don't seem big on small talk. Or cities. Or not selling people. Really a whole lifestyle."

The slaver's jaw flexed.

Sokka kept going. He always kept going. Talking was the one tool he still had, and if he stopped using it he would start thinking too clearly about the fortress and the cages and the look on Aang's face.

"I'm just saying, the old Fire Nation had standards. Terrible standards. Murderous, colonizing, 'we're better than you' standards. But even they didn't run dockside auctions. So this is new. Innovative, even. You should be proud. In a horrible way."

"Shut up."

"Can't. Bound to a wagon. My options are limited."

The slaver finally turned. Grease shone on his fingers. "You think you're clever."

"I think I'm still alive," Sokka said. "Clever's the backup plan."

That did it.

The slaver rose, rice forgotten, and crossed the short space between them. Fire bloomed in his palm, tight and ugly, close enough that Sokka felt the heat on his cheek.

"One more word," the slaver said.

Sokka, because he was Sokka, opened his mouth anyway.

He never got the word out.

An iron fan cracked across the back of the slaver's head with a sound like a struck pot. The man dropped hard, fire dying in his hand before it could land. He hit the dirt and did not get up.

Sokka twisted so fast the rope burned his wrists.
Suki stood behind the wagon, painted face catching the firelight, fan still open in her hand. Two more Kyoshi Warriors emerged from the dark beyond the hill, silent as if the night itself had trained them.

"Suki!" Sokka's voice broke on her name. "But King Xuo said—"

"I know what he said." Suki was already kneeling to cut the rope. "No Fire Nation help. No Avatar. The Earth Kingdom would handle the Nomads itself." The rope fell away. She looked at him, fierce and tired. "Then Republic City fell, and Zuko stopped waiting for permission. He sent us. I've been tracking you guys  for days."

Sokka rubbed his wrists, staring at her like she might vanish if he blinked. "Aang, Katara, and Toph are still in there. They're in the prison. Getting in is not going to be a polite knock."

Suki's eyes moved from him to the slaver's wagon, the Komodo Rhino, the crates, the chains, the whole ugly little caravan that had been meant to carry one more prize away from the coast.

A thin, dangerous thought settled on her face.

"I know," she said.

"But I may have a plan..."