Blood of the North (Avatar: TLA Fanfic)

Chapter 4b: Thieves Before Taku

Several yards into the forest I find a deer trail to follow. It snakes in the direction of Taku, where I am headed. If I get lost, I can follow this trail back to the beginning.

As the sun moves into position overhead, so that it drips down on me through thickly tangled branches, I feel as if I have made no headway, as if I have only just entered an endless labyrinth of trees. But when I turn around to look back the way I came I realize, with a pang of terror, that I cannot tell if I am on the path or not. I see no clear opening in sight and every direction looks the same. There is no sign of the valley I came from. Freezing myself, I try to remain calm and accept that if I keep going forward, I may be going in the right direction.

The baby coughs, a hoarse noise. It coughs again and begins a painful coughing fit. I dash into the forest, hoping the trees begin to thin, but I do not see so much as a crack of sunlight. The sun is setting and the whole forest will be invisible soon.

A crackle of leaves catches my attention. I know better than to let my guard down—the baby is coughing, so I've lost any stealth I might have had. There is no sound, the birds are not singing. I try to act natural, as if I have not noticed anything, but it is already too late—hairs stand up on the back of my neck and I know something is stalking me. My father often told us stories of his hunts, always reminding me that when he was in the wild he had to trust his instinct. Whatever animal has caught my scent, I must become an animal, too.

Slowly, I lower myself to the ground to place the hurting baby gently on the forest floor and move away from the bush that conceals her. I loosen my pack, ready to drop it and fight. I am exhausted, though. I doubt I can hold out for long. I listen now, for any sound, a breath, a rumbling growl, the tread of paws.

A figure leaps from the foliage and steel glistens in the dapple of sunlight. The figure lands next to me and I barely have time to dodge his darting jabs. With no room, I can't bend and my water spills on the forest floor. The fighter dances away, and I see the glint of eyes over a dark scarf. My vision blurs and doubles. The baby screams from her hiding place, but the cries are garbled in phlegm. I can only wonder if she is suffocating as I attempt to save us both. I close my hand on the hilt beneath my robe, the old man's knife. The fighter darts forward to sting.

One blade catches my arm and blood sleeves my shoulder. I lunge with my own knife, but the fighter blocks the attack with an arm covered in thick fabric. The last thing I see before my skull blares behind my ears are those eyes again, not a man's eyes—a kid like me. I fall to the ground, unable to get up from my hands and knees. My head throbs above my eyes from striking earth. The baby cries, chokes, gulps and cries again. My attacker claps his palms over my ears and I am overtaken by the painful reverberations.

#

I wake up, my head throbbing from all sides. A bird calls, ringing and shrill. A late day light colors the sky through the canopy. I cannot get up yet, all my muscles are like a pile of stones. Closing my eyes, I try to sleep, hoping the next time I awaken, the pain will have subsided. As I begin to slip away from this painful forest bed, I jolt awake. I sit up so fast my head spins, but I struggle to my feet. I stumble and bang my head against some hard tree knot. I don't cry out, thinking the bandit could still be nearby. My pack is gone, the knife and my waterskin, and even my outer robe. I swore, my joints loosening with the urge to throw myself on the forest floor and brace my fists against the soil. I stumble. I must find the baby. I frantically, blindly search, swiping through the undergrowth. I cannot see her anywhere. Nothing looks familiar, not a leaf. The bandit could have moved me eight miles or I could remain exactly where I fell—the twisted shadows had transformed the forest and it only grew more strange as the sun fell.

Nausea hits me in a heavy wash. I sway forward and backward, reaching out but finding nothing to steady myself. As my mind writhes, I stumble over a rock and land on the forest floor. The needles of the trees poke into my cheek as I fade.

#

I scream as I wake up again. The throbbing in my head is no longer so brutal, but I am drenched in sweat and swollen. I open my eyes, apprehensive of the pain of the sun on my eyes, but it is dark. I reach for my waterskin, the knife, but they are gone. A chill reminds me of the stolen robe.

The baby! I panic and dart around the clearing, as if hoping the baby has been hidden and silent all this time. Stumbling from the darkening copse, I find a clearing only a hair brighter than before. Among the clovers, I see a small, unmoving bundle. A wail escapes from my lips, lingering in the twilight.

I approach the bundle and find it is not the baby. It is a blanket filled with berries, a fuzzy fruit and a simple, dull-edged table knife. A tear runs down my face and I fall to my knees and clasp my hands to my head. Do I leave the forest or go after the baby? The baby that has caused so much trouble. I see the baby's mother, the hair falling over desperate eyes.

The answer comes suddenly. I know wholly and fully what to do now. I will save that baby if it is the last thing I do. I devour the fruit, thinking to save some too late. Camouflage, a spear, and blood. My means of attack. The dull knife at my side, I set off into the forest. The only thought running through my brain is that I will find the bandit and make him pay. I refuse to wonder why they might have taken the baby. Why would I be given a knife if these woods aren't dangerous? I have not run into any animal predators, so I can only think that humans are what is dangerous here. Shoving that thought away, I walk faster, yet more carefully. The throbs in my head are still there, but I try not to focus on them. I must be at the top of my game if I am to save this child and leave this cursed forest, and I am already at a severe low. Unless, it is already too late.

This disturbing thought is followed by the sound of something snapping shut. It comes from deeper in the forest, straight ahead. Not a twig. A not-too-distant memory comes to mind. The spring of a polar bear-dog trap.

I move slowly toward the sound and soon overhear the twitching, squeaking animal caught in the trap. A rabbit is caught in the wire of a spiked, basket-like trap, bones broken, nose twitching, and tongue out as if to taste the ripe fruit pierced on the lure.