Spring Rain
Title: Spring Rain
Rating: PG
Characters: Song, minor Earth Kingdom OCs Pairings: Some Zuko/Song
Word Count: ~4,700, complete
Summary: While out on a house call, Song meets refugees in need of help.
Notes: Written for story_lottery, prompt 'creek.'
Spring Rain
This was the longest distance Song had ridden the new ostrich horse. It was ten miles one way to the tea grower Dae Ho's house and the young mare had made the journey out and halfway back smoothly. Mi was a gift from the tavern owner Young Nam to show his gratitude for Song and her mother's work in saving both his wife and his son during a dangerous childbirth. The ostrich horse was gentle, calm, and sure-footed, not bothered by the heavy spring rain that puddled on the path. Gift or not, Song's mother would not have kept the animal if she were bad-tempered. The woman grew up with a bad-tempered ostrich horse that bit her so hard she needed ten stitches on her left arm.
Song had gone to the house on an emergency call just before the rain started. Dae Ho was an old man and, his family said, had never been healthy even when he was young. They were all shocked he had lived so long and Song had the impression not all of them were pleased. But she was there to examine the patient and prescribe treatment, not involve herself in the affairs of a family she barely knew. Dae Ho's oldest son insisted she stay the night, rather than return through the deluge in the dark.
It was mid-day now, but the sky was as dark as twilight. The main road through the valley was a brown ribbon of mud. The creek that ran beside the road for several miles was swollen to twice its normal height. When Song neared the roiling creek, she guided her ostrich horse up to the old trail on the tree-lined ridge above the road, on the opposite side from the creek. The path was narrow and rough, not much used since the wide, smooth road was built. It wasn't far from the road, but was elevated enough to be out of reach of the rising water. She rode much more slowly than usual, slogging through the mud. She was thoroughly soaked, but her broad-brimmed hat kept the rain off her face and her treated leather saddlebag kept her stock of medical supplies dry. At least the warmth of spring was in the air. She didn't mind the rain so much because she knew it would bring life to the gorgeous flowers and the farmer's crops in the valley.
She came to a curve in the trail that took her out of sight of the road below for a little distance. The budding trees closed around her, branches dotted with pink and white flowers and nascent green leaves. She closed her eyes and inhaled, the mixed sweet-pungent aromas of the flowers contrasting with the clean scent of the rain. She only had her eyes closed for a moment, but Mi stumbled. Song stayed upright in the saddle and the ostrich horse recovered quickly. Looking at the ground, Song spotted a downed tree limb on the path. As she steered Mi around it, she reflected that the new ostrich horse was good-tempered, but still inexperienced. She couldn't afford to let her attention lapse again, especially not in bad weather.
She missed old Hi, the ostrich horse they'd had since they moved to the village. Hi was always a strong runner, able to gallop for long distances, and when the weather was good and the road clear Song would ride hard, feeling the rush of wind in her face and speed in her blood. She did not regret not reporting that she had seen Lee and Mushi steal Hi, but she did hope they treated the old mare well. She thought Mushi was a good man, if scatter-brained, and she thought Lee was proud and angry but not cruel. They didn't seem to be the kind of people who would abuse an animal. Still, she wished they had not done it. If they had asked, she and her mother could have helped them find transportation of some kind. Through the hospital, her mother knew almost everyone in the village and the surrounding countryside, and she had convinced people to show charity towards travelers and refugees before. But Song could not hate the two men. She was once a refugee herself--she still felt like a refugee sometimes, even after five years in her new home, when she thought too long on her old life. She knew the pain and desperation of having no home and no hope, and Lee at least had no hope, she knew. She had seen desperate people do worse things than steal.
The villagers suspected the two strangers were thieves and the constable organized a search party, but failed to find them. It had been weeks since they left, but Song thought often of the two of them, especially Lee. He was certainly a good-looking boy, but that wasn't why he lingered in her private thoughts. Dae Ho's youngest son was good-looking, and about her age, and while she admired him she did not dwell on him. She had met people unwilling to accept help and consolation among those she treated before and had gradually learned not to see it as a reflection on her ability as a healer. But it was difficult to have someone with suffering so similar to her own push her away.
She knew he had scars from his experiences that no one could see--she had them too. They could have helped each other, if he had been willing. The villagers were good people and had welcomed her and her mother into their community. But there were many things she could not talk about with any of them. The conversation would lead to them feeling sadness on her behalf, or guilt at living in a peaceful place, or pity for her suffering. She talked to her mother, sometimes, but talking too much about her old wounds came too close to re-opening her mother's. She wanted to talk to someone who would understand, who wouldn't make her feel abnormal while trying to make her feel better, and who was far enough from her own pain not to be hurt by it. She could share her dark memories with him, but she could also share her hope. He had lost so much, but as long as he was still alive there would be things he could gain as well. A new home, new people to love, never replaced the old, but could be a new source of love and life. If he was unwilling to open his heart ever again, he wouldn't recapture what he had lost, but he would ensure he had nothing at all. She hoped that, since he had refused her offer of friendship, he found someone else on his journey whose friendship he would accept.
As the trail rounded back toward the road, she heard voices, muffled by the sheets of rain. Looking down the embankment, she saw a group of people with a small wagon pulled by an ostrich horse stopped on the road. She halted and studied the people, not recognizing any of them. Refugees, she thought--they looked more tired and disheveled than most ordinary travelers. She counted five: two women, an elderly man with a cane, and two boys about ten and six years old. Looking closer, she saw there were six--one of the women had a swaddled baby tied to her back. The boys were closest, standing near the bottom of the ridge, the younger boy digging in the wet soil with a stick. The adults stood by the wagon, the women holding up one side of the tarp covering the wagon's contents while the man rummaged underneath with one arm.
Song frowned. There were more and more displaced people traveling through the valley these days, an ominous sign. When she got home, she would check the emergency bags that she and her mother had made up some time ago to make sure none of the dried food had spoiled. She hoped they would never have to flee the Fire Nation again, but if they did this time they would have more than the clothes on their backs to take with them.
She dismounted and tied Mi to a tree, intending to go down and offer whatever help she could. As she began to carefully descend the ridge, she heard a new, loud, unsettling sound over the drumming rain. She turned to look up the road in the direction from which she came. Fear swelled in her chest, her breathing quickening. A wall of water wide enough to submerge the road and half as tall as an ostrich horse was roaring down the creek bed.
She ran to the people in the road, waving her arms and screaming for them to get up the embankment because a flood was coming. For a moment, the strangers stared at her like she was crazy. Then the older boy realized what she was shouting. He grabbed the younger boy by the hand and started running toward Song.
The boys reached higher ground, but the rest were too far away. The three adults seized hold of the side of the wagon as the waist high water rushed in. The old man and the younger woman managed to help the woman with the baby scramble up onto the top of the wagon. The two of them clung to the side, pinned by the swift current. The man's cane rushed downstream, lost. The ostrich horse screamed and thrashed, spraying water, but was trapped with the wagon. The baby wailed and the stranded people screamed and shouted. The older boy darted back to the water, but Song caught and held him.
He yelled, "They're going to be swept away!"
"You'll be swept away if you go out there."
He stopped trying to pull away and looked up at her, crying. "What do we do?"
Song quickly studied the scene, evaluating her options. There weren't any trees on the other side of the flood close enough for her to reach with a thrown rope. She looked at the wagon. Whatever was under that tarp must be heavy because the wagon hadn't budged in the onslaught of water. On the square wagon bed was a metal frame for setting up a cover. This frame was broken, the metal that was supposed to hoop over the top of the bed missing, leaving a series of heavy, straight rods sticking up on the sides. She marked the closest sturdy tree to the water's edge and estimated the distance between the wagon and the tree. Her rope should be just long enough.
She turned the boy to face her and put her hands on his shoulders. She said, in the calm, authoritative tone she used for panicked patients, "This is what we're going to do. I have a rope in my bag. I'm going to attach one end to the wagon and the other to one of these trees, so I can cross the water and help everybody out."
"Can you get the rope over there?"
She smiled tightly. "I can." Her grandfather kept llama goats and had taught her how to rope animals when she was even younger than this boy. After wrangling spitting, kicking llama goat kids, roping inanimate objects was easy.
The boy followed her up the ridge to her ostrich horse, pulling the younger boy by the arm. While she retrieved and checked the rope, she said, "My name's Song. What's yours?"
"Daw," he answered. "This is my brother, Niran."
"Are you with your family?"
"My aunt Isra--she's got the baby, and our neighbor Mali and her grandfather, Som."
She had another idea while standing by Mi. She removed the ostrich horse's reins and stuffed them in her pocket. She said, "Daw, you did a good job getting yourself and your brother out of there." She looked him in the eye again. "Now, I need you to stay here and watch him while I go across, ok?"
"I want to help."
"You are helping," she said. She thought fast, wanting something simple for the boy to do to keep him out of trouble. She motioned to her saddlebag. "In here, there's a brown pouch with red ginseng in it. You know what ginseng looks like?"
"It's the root that has legs like a person."
"Exactly. I want you to cut off pieces to give to everyone when they get here, ok? It'll keep them from getting sick from being in the water. And get the blanket off the ostrich horse so we can use it to wrap up anyone who's really cold."
Daw nodded vigorously and set to digging through her bag, keeping his brother close by him. With the boys busy, Song hurried to the water's edge. She quickly found the best spot to throw the rope and tied her lasso. She called to the people around the wagon, "Stay calm! I'm going to throw this rope to you and come across and help you through the water! Wait for me!"
The old man called back, "Please hurry!"
She aimed, circled the loop above her head several times to build speed, and released the rope. The lasso shot across the flooded creek and hooked one of the metal rods. She tugged on the rope to make sure it was fixed. Then she pulled the other end to the tree she'd picked and tied it. She glanced up and saw both boys, arms deep in the saddlebag, fishing for the ginseng. Returning to the water's edge, she took the reins out of her pocket and looped one end around the rope, the other around her waist, and tied them together. She tested the knot. With this, if she lost her grip on the rope, she wouldn't be swept away.
She lined herself up to get the best hold on the rope she could. Then she yelled, "Hold on! I'm coming!" and waded into the torrent.
The flood was even more dangerous than it looked. The water was cold, much colder than the rain in the wet spring air, and Song shivered from the first shock on her skin. The current was so fast she almost fell over on the first step away from the embankment. It felt like a wave of wrestlers trying to tackle her. She sank into the water up to her hips. The rope and the reins, which her mother had carefully selected for strength and durability, seemed thin and fragile next to the power of the moving water. It took her a few moments to orient herself properly, and when she started moving she felt she was creeping slower than a snail sloth. She didn't know how much time she had. There could be another surge moving downstream. Neither of the people hanging on to the wagon looked like they were strong enough to keep at it for long. At least the kids were safe. Isra, Mali, Som--she had never heard names like that before and had no idea where these people were from. But she knew their names, so she had to save them.
She pulled herself through the rush of water on the rope, her heart pounding, her throat dry. When she finally reached the wagon, lungs and legs already burning, she hung onto it herself. The old man jerked his head toward the top of the wagon, indicating she should take the mother and infant first. Isra was frightened and didn't want to come down. Her friends coaxed her, but she shook her head, crying.
A pair of children's voices called from the shore, "Come on, Auntie! Come on! We're waiting for you!" Song glanced over and saw the two boys jumping up and down on the embankment, waving. "You'll be all right!"
Trusting the reins knotted around her waist, Song let go of the wagon and reached her arms up to the woman, calling her name. Isra looked at her nephews on the ridge, then at Song, and hesitantly started to maneuver herself off of her perch. The man moved to help, but Song told him to keep his grip with both hands on the wagon. Carefully, and maddeningly slowly, Song eased the woman into the water. The woman had kept her child securely strapped to her back and that made it easier for Song to work. She barely noticed the baby's wailing over the thundering water.
Isra wobbled and cried out when the shock of the swirling water hit her, but Song held her firmly. The two of them haltingly started across the flood, Song keenly aware of the shifting position of the infant with every move. The boys hollered fresh encouragement, their words evolving into a clapping chant. Song closed in on the ridge, half carrying Isra, who was dangerously out of breath. Daw firmly ordered his brother to stay back and stood at the edge of the water, reaching his arms out to his aunt. He couldn't touch her, but the sight of his welcoming arms spurred Isra on through the final steps.
The two women finally stepped up onto the rain soaked grass of the ridge. Isra collapsed just out of the water. Both her nephews surrounded her in hugs. Daw pulled a piece of ginseng out of the pouch for her, while Niran held the ostrich horse blanket up to drape over her. Song checked the rope again and adjusted the reins around her waist, catching her own breath. She wanted to sit on the embankment and rest, but she didn't have more than a few moments to let herself recover.
She took hold of the rope and waded out into the water again. She couldn't tell if the current was faster or if she was just tired. She decided not to worry about it and just kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other on the ground, one hand over the other on the rope. Large tree limbs floated by on the water's surface and she had to stop briefly to let them pass.
When she reached the wagon again, the man told her to take Mali. He looked so tired that Song wanted to argue, but he also looked so resolute that she realized she would just be wasting time. The young woman was not much older than she was and seemed stronger and not as afraid as Isra. Of course Mali did not have an infant to worry about. The two of them managed a smoother walk and a faster pace back to high ground. Daw and Niran were waiting for their neighbor like they'd waited for their aunt, with open arms and red ginseng. Isra had moved further up the ridge, where she sat soothing her baby, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
The second trip had been easier, but it was still exhausting. Song crouched on the ground, every muscle in her body aching now. Daw gave her a piece of red ginseng and held out her water canteen. She hadn't told him to take that too, but it was a good idea. She could feel new power flowing in her with the food and drink. After a minute she stood up, checked her ropes once more, and set out for the final trip.
Even with the boost of the ginseng, Song was simply running out of energy. Despite her exertion, her arms and legs were rapidly moving from cold toward numb and the pressure of the water pushed against her harder and harder. She focused her attention on the elderly man, Som, still clinging to the side of the battered wagon. He looked like his last reserves of strength were being quickly washed away by the torrent. She thought only of reaching him, as though once she got to the wagon she could climb up on top and take a nap.
She reached the wagon and took hold of the last evacuee. Som limped and, having lost his cane, had to put more weight on her than she wanted. She kept repeating to herself that this was the last crossing--once she was done she really could lie down and not move for a long time. Som jerked from side to side as he walked, his center of gravity listing uncomfortably away from the guide rope. She knew she should have taken him across earlier. Her breath came hard through her mouth and she realized suddenly that she had started grunting with effort. She was so wet from the rain and floodwater that she couldn't feel her own sweat, but she could smell it.
This time there were four people shouting encouragement on the embankment. Som wheezed noisily in her ear. When they were at last approaching the ridge, the man slipped. He fell heavily against Song while she was in mid-step. She stumbled and pitched forward, only instead of falling down, her legs floated up into the water. Som's hands fell from the rope and he started to slide into the current, water rushing into the space where he had pressed against Song for support. For an instant, she thought they would both be swept up in the swirling flood and drowned. But the rope around her waist checked her motion. She drove her feet hard toward the ground, connecting to the road underneath the churning water. She pushed herself upright and grabbed Som's arms just before they were out of reach, holding him in place while he struggled to get his legs underneath him. He righted himself and quickly half-swam, half-limped close enough for her to grasp him under his arms. Her hold on him secured, he grabbed the rope firmly.
It wasn't until they started moving forward again that she noticed the people on the bank making a lot more noise than before. The boys and Isra were screaming in panic. Mali had taken a few steps out into the water, hanging on the rope. Song tried to shout at her to go back, but she couldn't get the breath. Som yelled at his granddaughter for her and the young woman carefully retreated.
In another few moments, they were within reach of the people on the ridge. Mali grabbed her grandfather and helped him onto high ground, while Isra and Daw clasped Song's arms. She sprawled on the ground, breathing hard. As the adrenaline faded, Song started shivering and felt nauseated. Isra placed the blanket over her and she just lay still for several minutes.
Song felt like she was about to fall asleep, but sat up when she heard new voices nearby. Two men she recognized came toward the group, elderly earth benders who lived in the village, Shin and Jae. They maintained the valley's roads, worked for some of the farmers with larger fields, and did other odd earth bending jobs. They were busy men, since there were very few adult earth benders still living in the valley.
"Song!" Jae cried. "What happened? Are you all right?"
Before she could answer, everyone else except the still exhausted Som started talking. Jae held up a hand and called for quiet.
Shin said, "There's an ostrich horse caught out in the flood."
Song had been so intent on helping the people, she'd forgotten about their animal. The two men dropped into earth bending stances and, in the easy unison born of working together for years, raised the earth under the wagon and the ostrich horse. The beast screamed as the ground rumbled toward the ridge.
Jae offered Song a hand up. He said, "This is the worst rain we've had in decades. The Red River Dam sprung a leak and it's created a huge mess all through the valley." He shook his head, glancing at the strangers. "People in the village were told to stay off the roads today, but you all wouldn't have heard that."
Shin asked, "Are you ok, Song?"
"I'll be fine," she said, her breathing settling back to normal. "I'm just tired."
Jae addressed the refugees. "You need to stay on this trail. If you follow it for another five miles or so, you'll come to a village where you can stay a while and get yourselves together." He surveyed the wagon and the trail. "It'll be tight with your wagon and all this mud, but I reckon you can make it."
Mali helped Som up from the ground. He said, leaning on his granddaughter, "We would have died just now if this young lady hadn't come along. There are people in this world who wouldn't even have stopped, never mind risked themselves to help strangers. Thank you." He bowed awkwardly. "We are refugees fleeing the war. We have nothing to show our gratitude except blessings and prayers for your good fortune."
The boys hugged her tightly, echoing the man's thanks. The women, both crying now, smiled brightly at her. Song blushed. Not helping these people had never occurred to her. No matter what happened in her life, she never wanted to become the kind of person who could walk away from someone in need. Losing her compassion for, her connections to other people seemed like a kind of death to her.
Shin said, grinning, "You'll have to tell us what happened when we all get home. But now we've got to get out to the dam." He doffed his hat and rain that had collected in the brim splashed out. "This kind of weather, we need water benders."
Jae chuckled and the two men set off, rolling the earth underneath them at a fast clip. There was so much water on the ground that a wake rose up behind them as though they were traveling on a swift boat.
Song said to the refugees, "I'm going to the village down the road, so you can come with me."
She and Som sat down on the side of the trail to rest more while the others got the wagon and the ostrich horses ready to start moving again. After a little while, she said, "If you don't mind me asking, what do you have in the wagon?"
He sighed. "It's all we salvaged from Avatar Ratana's Temple in our town. I can show you." They stood up and walked to the wagon, Som leaning on Song. He lifted the tarp and Song saw the ornately carved lid of a large chest made from a gold toned wood. The design was of a woman dressed in flowing robes, her hair done up in a wide bun, standing with one hand facing palm out in a warning gesture, the other holding a white lotus flower. The white lotus was decorated with ivory, but it looked like the rest of the lid had been stripped of its ornament. Som said, "This box holds all the records from our town since it's founding six hundred years ago. When the Temple priests realized the Fire Nation would capture our town, they asked me to take the records so they wouldn't be destroyed." He touched the lid gently. "Some people would say I'm mad, but I had to save our history. I want our people to have these memories of their past to go back to after the Avatar defeats the Fire Nation." He looked at Song and smiled faintly. "I'm an old man and can't fight. I wanted to do what I could to help."
Mali announced that everything was ready to start moving. Song smiled. She was exhausted and sore, but she was pleased to have met these people. They had clearly traveled far together, protecting each other and the things they held dear. When she saw hope in others, it strengthened the hope in her own heart. She briefly thought of Lee once more, wondering whether he would find hope for himself.
She told Som, "My mother runs the hospital in the village. When we get there, we can make sure everyone's all right and get you another cane. And you can have lunch at our house, if you like."
--end
Rating: PG
Characters: Song, minor Earth Kingdom OCs Pairings: Some Zuko/Song
Word Count: ~4,700, complete
Summary: While out on a house call, Song meets refugees in need of help.
Notes: Written for story_lottery, prompt 'creek.'
Spring Rain
This was the longest distance Song had ridden the new ostrich horse. It was ten miles one way to the tea grower Dae Ho's house and the young mare had made the journey out and halfway back smoothly. Mi was a gift from the tavern owner Young Nam to show his gratitude for Song and her mother's work in saving both his wife and his son during a dangerous childbirth. The ostrich horse was gentle, calm, and sure-footed, not bothered by the heavy spring rain that puddled on the path. Gift or not, Song's mother would not have kept the animal if she were bad-tempered. The woman grew up with a bad-tempered ostrich horse that bit her so hard she needed ten stitches on her left arm.
Song had gone to the house on an emergency call just before the rain started. Dae Ho was an old man and, his family said, had never been healthy even when he was young. They were all shocked he had lived so long and Song had the impression not all of them were pleased. But she was there to examine the patient and prescribe treatment, not involve herself in the affairs of a family she barely knew. Dae Ho's oldest son insisted she stay the night, rather than return through the deluge in the dark.
It was mid-day now, but the sky was as dark as twilight. The main road through the valley was a brown ribbon of mud. The creek that ran beside the road for several miles was swollen to twice its normal height. When Song neared the roiling creek, she guided her ostrich horse up to the old trail on the tree-lined ridge above the road, on the opposite side from the creek. The path was narrow and rough, not much used since the wide, smooth road was built. It wasn't far from the road, but was elevated enough to be out of reach of the rising water. She rode much more slowly than usual, slogging through the mud. She was thoroughly soaked, but her broad-brimmed hat kept the rain off her face and her treated leather saddlebag kept her stock of medical supplies dry. At least the warmth of spring was in the air. She didn't mind the rain so much because she knew it would bring life to the gorgeous flowers and the farmer's crops in the valley.
She came to a curve in the trail that took her out of sight of the road below for a little distance. The budding trees closed around her, branches dotted with pink and white flowers and nascent green leaves. She closed her eyes and inhaled, the mixed sweet-pungent aromas of the flowers contrasting with the clean scent of the rain. She only had her eyes closed for a moment, but Mi stumbled. Song stayed upright in the saddle and the ostrich horse recovered quickly. Looking at the ground, Song spotted a downed tree limb on the path. As she steered Mi around it, she reflected that the new ostrich horse was good-tempered, but still inexperienced. She couldn't afford to let her attention lapse again, especially not in bad weather.
She missed old Hi, the ostrich horse they'd had since they moved to the village. Hi was always a strong runner, able to gallop for long distances, and when the weather was good and the road clear Song would ride hard, feeling the rush of wind in her face and speed in her blood. She did not regret not reporting that she had seen Lee and Mushi steal Hi, but she did hope they treated the old mare well. She thought Mushi was a good man, if scatter-brained, and she thought Lee was proud and angry but not cruel. They didn't seem to be the kind of people who would abuse an animal. Still, she wished they had not done it. If they had asked, she and her mother could have helped them find transportation of some kind. Through the hospital, her mother knew almost everyone in the village and the surrounding countryside, and she had convinced people to show charity towards travelers and refugees before. But Song could not hate the two men. She was once a refugee herself--she still felt like a refugee sometimes, even after five years in her new home, when she thought too long on her old life. She knew the pain and desperation of having no home and no hope, and Lee at least had no hope, she knew. She had seen desperate people do worse things than steal.
The villagers suspected the two strangers were thieves and the constable organized a search party, but failed to find them. It had been weeks since they left, but Song thought often of the two of them, especially Lee. He was certainly a good-looking boy, but that wasn't why he lingered in her private thoughts. Dae Ho's youngest son was good-looking, and about her age, and while she admired him she did not dwell on him. She had met people unwilling to accept help and consolation among those she treated before and had gradually learned not to see it as a reflection on her ability as a healer. But it was difficult to have someone with suffering so similar to her own push her away.
She knew he had scars from his experiences that no one could see--she had them too. They could have helped each other, if he had been willing. The villagers were good people and had welcomed her and her mother into their community. But there were many things she could not talk about with any of them. The conversation would lead to them feeling sadness on her behalf, or guilt at living in a peaceful place, or pity for her suffering. She talked to her mother, sometimes, but talking too much about her old wounds came too close to re-opening her mother's. She wanted to talk to someone who would understand, who wouldn't make her feel abnormal while trying to make her feel better, and who was far enough from her own pain not to be hurt by it. She could share her dark memories with him, but she could also share her hope. He had lost so much, but as long as he was still alive there would be things he could gain as well. A new home, new people to love, never replaced the old, but could be a new source of love and life. If he was unwilling to open his heart ever again, he wouldn't recapture what he had lost, but he would ensure he had nothing at all. She hoped that, since he had refused her offer of friendship, he found someone else on his journey whose friendship he would accept.
As the trail rounded back toward the road, she heard voices, muffled by the sheets of rain. Looking down the embankment, she saw a group of people with a small wagon pulled by an ostrich horse stopped on the road. She halted and studied the people, not recognizing any of them. Refugees, she thought--they looked more tired and disheveled than most ordinary travelers. She counted five: two women, an elderly man with a cane, and two boys about ten and six years old. Looking closer, she saw there were six--one of the women had a swaddled baby tied to her back. The boys were closest, standing near the bottom of the ridge, the younger boy digging in the wet soil with a stick. The adults stood by the wagon, the women holding up one side of the tarp covering the wagon's contents while the man rummaged underneath with one arm.
Song frowned. There were more and more displaced people traveling through the valley these days, an ominous sign. When she got home, she would check the emergency bags that she and her mother had made up some time ago to make sure none of the dried food had spoiled. She hoped they would never have to flee the Fire Nation again, but if they did this time they would have more than the clothes on their backs to take with them.
She dismounted and tied Mi to a tree, intending to go down and offer whatever help she could. As she began to carefully descend the ridge, she heard a new, loud, unsettling sound over the drumming rain. She turned to look up the road in the direction from which she came. Fear swelled in her chest, her breathing quickening. A wall of water wide enough to submerge the road and half as tall as an ostrich horse was roaring down the creek bed.
She ran to the people in the road, waving her arms and screaming for them to get up the embankment because a flood was coming. For a moment, the strangers stared at her like she was crazy. Then the older boy realized what she was shouting. He grabbed the younger boy by the hand and started running toward Song.
The boys reached higher ground, but the rest were too far away. The three adults seized hold of the side of the wagon as the waist high water rushed in. The old man and the younger woman managed to help the woman with the baby scramble up onto the top of the wagon. The two of them clung to the side, pinned by the swift current. The man's cane rushed downstream, lost. The ostrich horse screamed and thrashed, spraying water, but was trapped with the wagon. The baby wailed and the stranded people screamed and shouted. The older boy darted back to the water, but Song caught and held him.
He yelled, "They're going to be swept away!"
"You'll be swept away if you go out there."
He stopped trying to pull away and looked up at her, crying. "What do we do?"
Song quickly studied the scene, evaluating her options. There weren't any trees on the other side of the flood close enough for her to reach with a thrown rope. She looked at the wagon. Whatever was under that tarp must be heavy because the wagon hadn't budged in the onslaught of water. On the square wagon bed was a metal frame for setting up a cover. This frame was broken, the metal that was supposed to hoop over the top of the bed missing, leaving a series of heavy, straight rods sticking up on the sides. She marked the closest sturdy tree to the water's edge and estimated the distance between the wagon and the tree. Her rope should be just long enough.
She turned the boy to face her and put her hands on his shoulders. She said, in the calm, authoritative tone she used for panicked patients, "This is what we're going to do. I have a rope in my bag. I'm going to attach one end to the wagon and the other to one of these trees, so I can cross the water and help everybody out."
"Can you get the rope over there?"
She smiled tightly. "I can." Her grandfather kept llama goats and had taught her how to rope animals when she was even younger than this boy. After wrangling spitting, kicking llama goat kids, roping inanimate objects was easy.
The boy followed her up the ridge to her ostrich horse, pulling the younger boy by the arm. While she retrieved and checked the rope, she said, "My name's Song. What's yours?"
"Daw," he answered. "This is my brother, Niran."
"Are you with your family?"
"My aunt Isra--she's got the baby, and our neighbor Mali and her grandfather, Som."
She had another idea while standing by Mi. She removed the ostrich horse's reins and stuffed them in her pocket. She said, "Daw, you did a good job getting yourself and your brother out of there." She looked him in the eye again. "Now, I need you to stay here and watch him while I go across, ok?"
"I want to help."
"You are helping," she said. She thought fast, wanting something simple for the boy to do to keep him out of trouble. She motioned to her saddlebag. "In here, there's a brown pouch with red ginseng in it. You know what ginseng looks like?"
"It's the root that has legs like a person."
"Exactly. I want you to cut off pieces to give to everyone when they get here, ok? It'll keep them from getting sick from being in the water. And get the blanket off the ostrich horse so we can use it to wrap up anyone who's really cold."
Daw nodded vigorously and set to digging through her bag, keeping his brother close by him. With the boys busy, Song hurried to the water's edge. She quickly found the best spot to throw the rope and tied her lasso. She called to the people around the wagon, "Stay calm! I'm going to throw this rope to you and come across and help you through the water! Wait for me!"
The old man called back, "Please hurry!"
She aimed, circled the loop above her head several times to build speed, and released the rope. The lasso shot across the flooded creek and hooked one of the metal rods. She tugged on the rope to make sure it was fixed. Then she pulled the other end to the tree she'd picked and tied it. She glanced up and saw both boys, arms deep in the saddlebag, fishing for the ginseng. Returning to the water's edge, she took the reins out of her pocket and looped one end around the rope, the other around her waist, and tied them together. She tested the knot. With this, if she lost her grip on the rope, she wouldn't be swept away.
She lined herself up to get the best hold on the rope she could. Then she yelled, "Hold on! I'm coming!" and waded into the torrent.
The flood was even more dangerous than it looked. The water was cold, much colder than the rain in the wet spring air, and Song shivered from the first shock on her skin. The current was so fast she almost fell over on the first step away from the embankment. It felt like a wave of wrestlers trying to tackle her. She sank into the water up to her hips. The rope and the reins, which her mother had carefully selected for strength and durability, seemed thin and fragile next to the power of the moving water. It took her a few moments to orient herself properly, and when she started moving she felt she was creeping slower than a snail sloth. She didn't know how much time she had. There could be another surge moving downstream. Neither of the people hanging on to the wagon looked like they were strong enough to keep at it for long. At least the kids were safe. Isra, Mali, Som--she had never heard names like that before and had no idea where these people were from. But she knew their names, so she had to save them.
She pulled herself through the rush of water on the rope, her heart pounding, her throat dry. When she finally reached the wagon, lungs and legs already burning, she hung onto it herself. The old man jerked his head toward the top of the wagon, indicating she should take the mother and infant first. Isra was frightened and didn't want to come down. Her friends coaxed her, but she shook her head, crying.
A pair of children's voices called from the shore, "Come on, Auntie! Come on! We're waiting for you!" Song glanced over and saw the two boys jumping up and down on the embankment, waving. "You'll be all right!"
Trusting the reins knotted around her waist, Song let go of the wagon and reached her arms up to the woman, calling her name. Isra looked at her nephews on the ridge, then at Song, and hesitantly started to maneuver herself off of her perch. The man moved to help, but Song told him to keep his grip with both hands on the wagon. Carefully, and maddeningly slowly, Song eased the woman into the water. The woman had kept her child securely strapped to her back and that made it easier for Song to work. She barely noticed the baby's wailing over the thundering water.
Isra wobbled and cried out when the shock of the swirling water hit her, but Song held her firmly. The two of them haltingly started across the flood, Song keenly aware of the shifting position of the infant with every move. The boys hollered fresh encouragement, their words evolving into a clapping chant. Song closed in on the ridge, half carrying Isra, who was dangerously out of breath. Daw firmly ordered his brother to stay back and stood at the edge of the water, reaching his arms out to his aunt. He couldn't touch her, but the sight of his welcoming arms spurred Isra on through the final steps.
The two women finally stepped up onto the rain soaked grass of the ridge. Isra collapsed just out of the water. Both her nephews surrounded her in hugs. Daw pulled a piece of ginseng out of the pouch for her, while Niran held the ostrich horse blanket up to drape over her. Song checked the rope again and adjusted the reins around her waist, catching her own breath. She wanted to sit on the embankment and rest, but she didn't have more than a few moments to let herself recover.
She took hold of the rope and waded out into the water again. She couldn't tell if the current was faster or if she was just tired. She decided not to worry about it and just kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other on the ground, one hand over the other on the rope. Large tree limbs floated by on the water's surface and she had to stop briefly to let them pass.
When she reached the wagon again, the man told her to take Mali. He looked so tired that Song wanted to argue, but he also looked so resolute that she realized she would just be wasting time. The young woman was not much older than she was and seemed stronger and not as afraid as Isra. Of course Mali did not have an infant to worry about. The two of them managed a smoother walk and a faster pace back to high ground. Daw and Niran were waiting for their neighbor like they'd waited for their aunt, with open arms and red ginseng. Isra had moved further up the ridge, where she sat soothing her baby, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
The second trip had been easier, but it was still exhausting. Song crouched on the ground, every muscle in her body aching now. Daw gave her a piece of red ginseng and held out her water canteen. She hadn't told him to take that too, but it was a good idea. She could feel new power flowing in her with the food and drink. After a minute she stood up, checked her ropes once more, and set out for the final trip.
Even with the boost of the ginseng, Song was simply running out of energy. Despite her exertion, her arms and legs were rapidly moving from cold toward numb and the pressure of the water pushed against her harder and harder. She focused her attention on the elderly man, Som, still clinging to the side of the battered wagon. He looked like his last reserves of strength were being quickly washed away by the torrent. She thought only of reaching him, as though once she got to the wagon she could climb up on top and take a nap.
She reached the wagon and took hold of the last evacuee. Som limped and, having lost his cane, had to put more weight on her than she wanted. She kept repeating to herself that this was the last crossing--once she was done she really could lie down and not move for a long time. Som jerked from side to side as he walked, his center of gravity listing uncomfortably away from the guide rope. She knew she should have taken him across earlier. Her breath came hard through her mouth and she realized suddenly that she had started grunting with effort. She was so wet from the rain and floodwater that she couldn't feel her own sweat, but she could smell it.
This time there were four people shouting encouragement on the embankment. Som wheezed noisily in her ear. When they were at last approaching the ridge, the man slipped. He fell heavily against Song while she was in mid-step. She stumbled and pitched forward, only instead of falling down, her legs floated up into the water. Som's hands fell from the rope and he started to slide into the current, water rushing into the space where he had pressed against Song for support. For an instant, she thought they would both be swept up in the swirling flood and drowned. But the rope around her waist checked her motion. She drove her feet hard toward the ground, connecting to the road underneath the churning water. She pushed herself upright and grabbed Som's arms just before they were out of reach, holding him in place while he struggled to get his legs underneath him. He righted himself and quickly half-swam, half-limped close enough for her to grasp him under his arms. Her hold on him secured, he grabbed the rope firmly.
It wasn't until they started moving forward again that she noticed the people on the bank making a lot more noise than before. The boys and Isra were screaming in panic. Mali had taken a few steps out into the water, hanging on the rope. Song tried to shout at her to go back, but she couldn't get the breath. Som yelled at his granddaughter for her and the young woman carefully retreated.
In another few moments, they were within reach of the people on the ridge. Mali grabbed her grandfather and helped him onto high ground, while Isra and Daw clasped Song's arms. She sprawled on the ground, breathing hard. As the adrenaline faded, Song started shivering and felt nauseated. Isra placed the blanket over her and she just lay still for several minutes.
Song felt like she was about to fall asleep, but sat up when she heard new voices nearby. Two men she recognized came toward the group, elderly earth benders who lived in the village, Shin and Jae. They maintained the valley's roads, worked for some of the farmers with larger fields, and did other odd earth bending jobs. They were busy men, since there were very few adult earth benders still living in the valley.
"Song!" Jae cried. "What happened? Are you all right?"
Before she could answer, everyone else except the still exhausted Som started talking. Jae held up a hand and called for quiet.
Shin said, "There's an ostrich horse caught out in the flood."
Song had been so intent on helping the people, she'd forgotten about their animal. The two men dropped into earth bending stances and, in the easy unison born of working together for years, raised the earth under the wagon and the ostrich horse. The beast screamed as the ground rumbled toward the ridge.
Jae offered Song a hand up. He said, "This is the worst rain we've had in decades. The Red River Dam sprung a leak and it's created a huge mess all through the valley." He shook his head, glancing at the strangers. "People in the village were told to stay off the roads today, but you all wouldn't have heard that."
Shin asked, "Are you ok, Song?"
"I'll be fine," she said, her breathing settling back to normal. "I'm just tired."
Jae addressed the refugees. "You need to stay on this trail. If you follow it for another five miles or so, you'll come to a village where you can stay a while and get yourselves together." He surveyed the wagon and the trail. "It'll be tight with your wagon and all this mud, but I reckon you can make it."
Mali helped Som up from the ground. He said, leaning on his granddaughter, "We would have died just now if this young lady hadn't come along. There are people in this world who wouldn't even have stopped, never mind risked themselves to help strangers. Thank you." He bowed awkwardly. "We are refugees fleeing the war. We have nothing to show our gratitude except blessings and prayers for your good fortune."
The boys hugged her tightly, echoing the man's thanks. The women, both crying now, smiled brightly at her. Song blushed. Not helping these people had never occurred to her. No matter what happened in her life, she never wanted to become the kind of person who could walk away from someone in need. Losing her compassion for, her connections to other people seemed like a kind of death to her.
Shin said, grinning, "You'll have to tell us what happened when we all get home. But now we've got to get out to the dam." He doffed his hat and rain that had collected in the brim splashed out. "This kind of weather, we need water benders."
Jae chuckled and the two men set off, rolling the earth underneath them at a fast clip. There was so much water on the ground that a wake rose up behind them as though they were traveling on a swift boat.
Song said to the refugees, "I'm going to the village down the road, so you can come with me."
She and Som sat down on the side of the trail to rest more while the others got the wagon and the ostrich horses ready to start moving again. After a little while, she said, "If you don't mind me asking, what do you have in the wagon?"
He sighed. "It's all we salvaged from Avatar Ratana's Temple in our town. I can show you." They stood up and walked to the wagon, Som leaning on Song. He lifted the tarp and Song saw the ornately carved lid of a large chest made from a gold toned wood. The design was of a woman dressed in flowing robes, her hair done up in a wide bun, standing with one hand facing palm out in a warning gesture, the other holding a white lotus flower. The white lotus was decorated with ivory, but it looked like the rest of the lid had been stripped of its ornament. Som said, "This box holds all the records from our town since it's founding six hundred years ago. When the Temple priests realized the Fire Nation would capture our town, they asked me to take the records so they wouldn't be destroyed." He touched the lid gently. "Some people would say I'm mad, but I had to save our history. I want our people to have these memories of their past to go back to after the Avatar defeats the Fire Nation." He looked at Song and smiled faintly. "I'm an old man and can't fight. I wanted to do what I could to help."
Mali announced that everything was ready to start moving. Song smiled. She was exhausted and sore, but she was pleased to have met these people. They had clearly traveled far together, protecting each other and the things they held dear. When she saw hope in others, it strengthened the hope in her own heart. She briefly thought of Lee once more, wondering whether he would find hope for himself.
She told Som, "My mother runs the hospital in the village. When we get there, we can make sure everyone's all right and get you another cane. And you can have lunch at our house, if you like."
--end