Flame and sea

[moonshadows]

            Katara knelt on the edge of the cliff, facing the sea with her head bowed and her hair loose, whipping in the wind that drove sea spray into her face. From more than a few feet back, you’d never hear her quiet sobbing over the wailing wind. Some would say that it would take a stupid man to intrude on the grief of a powerful waterbender sitting by the raging sea, but…well…look at the other things I’ve done with my life. At least I knew the currents that ran through Katara, and had a good chance of being able to navigate them without her storm shredding me. She didn’t even look up as I knelt beside her, close enough to offer a comforting presence but still outside her personal space. Her hands were clenched on her knees, white from stress and cold. I reached into my stolen uniform, rummaging under the cloth until I found the locket I’d been carrying for three years. When the bulky gold oval  swung into view on its chain, the sight was at least unexpected enough to catch her attention.

            “I didn’t know you had a locket,” she said, sniffling. “I’ve never seen one like that before. Is it for your mother?”

            “In a way,” I answered, and opened it to show her the tiny golden figure inside it, laid on an equally tiny bier of incense and wood soaked in fragrant oils. “In the Fire Nation, we cremate our dead. The ones who can afford it are sealed in gilded coffins while their bodies are still burning – it’s supposed to preserve the flame of that person’s life. Effigies like this are made mostly for soldiers, so that if they’re not able to be cremated, the figurine can take the place of their body.” I ran one finger around the filigree edge that would melt easily, sealing the locket and preserving the fire of the one it was taking the place of. “I kept it with me in case I ever learned what happened to my mother.”

            Katara was silent, her face betraying none of the emotions I knew had to be roiling behind her eyes. With one finger I gently touched the figure, caressing the tiny golden chest with a feather-light touch. I spoke to it softly, just loud enough for Katara to hear, in Fire and in common, telling the figurine who it was taking the place of. Then I brought fire to my fingertip, lighting the incense and the fragrant oils in the wood, and snapped the lid down to capture the fire inside the locket. That same flaming finger ran around the edge sealed the locket shut, preserving the fire of Katara’s mother. The gold cooled quickly in the cold wind, and I held it out to Katara. She watched it swing back and forth on its chain for a long minute, then unclenched one cold, white hand and took the locket. She hefted it once, as though judging the worth of my offering, then looked me in the eyes and I could see the storm blow itself out.

            “In the Water Tribes,” she said calmly, “the dead are given back to the sea.”

            The locket glinted dully as it arced out from the cliff. I watched until it hit the turbulent surface and was swallowed without even a ripple to mark its passing.