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Two Spirits, part one

Zhaoka felt a chill on the back of his neck, due to more than the winter cold that plagued him and knotted achingly in his joints.  He knew that feeling.  Someone was watching him.  He turned around in time to see a man standing in the ice archway a full twenty or so paces behind him.  Their gazes met and locked for the span of a few heartbeats, then the other man turned away, passing through the arch and disappearing from sight.

Zhaoka glanced at Horuk, but his friend didn't say anything, pausing mid-stride as if waiting for Zhaoka to continue walking with him, so he did.

"Who's that?" Zhaoka asked, his warm breath manifesting in the air as a pale cloud.

"Who is who?" Horuk asked, the tone of his deep voice even less forthcoming than usual.

"Didn't you see him?" Still walking, Zhaoka gestured back towards the arch. "He was standing there."

Horuk's reply was brief. "I saw him."

It was not full winter yet, but the days were fleeting.  Already the sky was purple with twilight.  Zhaoka and Horuk were on their way back to the forge after hours at the docks, haggling with Earth Kingdom traders, eying the new merchandise they were unloading, and for much of the time simply watching.  Winter was a lonely, hard few months, and as the days continued to grow shorter, fewer and fewer merchant vessels would sail into Water Tribe harbors.  Until then, everyone tried to find what entertainment they could, making memories to keep and cherish throughout the long, cold winter.

Zhaoka could tell when Horuk was feeling reticent, and he didn't press--yet.  "I've seen him before," he mentioned casually.  And he had, a few times, each time finding the appearances more intriguing.  The stranger was younger, but certainly old enough to be a full member of the tribe.  He was much like any other young man, and Zhaoka might not even have noticed him but for the way he watched.  The three or four times Zhaoka had spotted him, always within the walls of the city, the young man had been regarding him with a particularly fixed stare.  It was not that he had never been stared at before, but this was different: more focused and more prolonged.  If there was one thing Zhaoka knew, it was intent.

"Have you?" asked Horuk, as if he wasn't interested.

"He looks at me like he knows me," Zhaoka said slowly.

A frown wrinkled Horuk's brow, but it was momentary, and his face settled into its usual expression quickly enough, grave but unfrowning.  Horuk wasn't quick to smile, but Zhaoka had seen him do it once or twice.  "He doesn't know you," Horuk said.

Zhaoka had only had three years of life, more or less.  Three years since the day he had lost his memory.  During that time, no one had come up to him and claimed to have known him in earlier days.  No one had shared stories with him of the things he had done before he had forgotten who he was.  Yes, Horuk and Chief Arnook and the other men of the tribe had been generous, and he had been given a place at the forge, crafting weapons for the warriors--a task he enjoyed as well as excelled at.  Yet in some ways, that task was all he had.

Now, as had happened before, Horuk betrayed at least some passing knowledge of his old life, knowledge he was unwilling to share, for whatever reason. It made Zhaoka wonder. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I know him." Horuk shook his head. "Maybe he's got some idea about you, but it isn't because he knows you. He's an odd one."

"Who is he?" Zhaoka asked again.

Horuk let out a long, deep breath. "You don't give up. Well, it's a long walk back to the forge," he relented.  Nonetheless, it was a few minutes before he began to answer Zhaoka's question.  "That's Hahn," he said.  The compact, broad-shouldered man had shorter legs, and Zhaoka had no trouble keeping up with him even when he set a brisk pace.  "He fought in the war. He hasn't been the same since."

Zhaoka nodded, unsurprised.  Almost all the men of that age had fought in the war.  Many of them had been badly burned or permanently crippled.  However, the young man he had just seen had seemed hale enough, although furs and anoraks could cover extensive scarring.

"He'd been sent on a mission," Horuk continued, "out at sea, on one of the Fire Nation ships.  They say he died out there, but no one knows for certain.  He doesn't talk about it."

"Died?"  Zhaoka wasn't sure if he'd misheard or if Horuk was being poetic, although the latter seemed unlikely.

Horuk shrugged, and Zhaoka realized he had heard him correctly.  "That's what he said, when they first found him.  He said that he died, but that the Moon Spirit brought him back to life.  But as I said, he doesn't talk about it anymore.  In fact, he doesn't talk very much to anyone these days.  Just walks around.  Stares sometimes.  Has strange ideas."  Horuk shrugged again; Zhaoka knew from experience that he had little patience for ideas he considered strange.

"Why would the Moon Spirit bring someone back to life?"

Horuk glanced up at the sky, although the moon had not yet risen. "The Spirit has her reasons.  Sometimes we never learn what they are.  But at times of war there are always more miracles.  Returning the dead to us, I admit that's a rarity.  Perhaps it was because..." Horuk trailed off before repeating, "The Spirit has her reasons."

Zhaoka nodded, although he was not in the least satisfied with this explanation.  Horuk, like so many other tribesmen of his acquaintance, had a tendency to accept things as they were, never demanding more of the world.  It was a traditionalist attitude that frustrated Zhaoka.  It was too much like complacency.  There must have been more to it than the moon having "her reasons".

"It was unlucky, in a way. The Moon Spirit changes people," Horuk continued. "As the Moon herself goes through changes. He's an outsider now.  Fortunately, he was born to an influential family. They do what they can to make sure his needs are met."

"It sounds to me as if the war broke him, drove him mad. He couldn't stand the trial of combat. I doubt he truly died."

Horuk's laughter was a brief bark. "Yes, it's a fact you didn't know Hahn."  A memory coaxed his lips into a smile.  "It's bad luck to speak ill of a two-spirit, but that boy didn't know enough to feel fear.  He had all the sense of a walrus rat.  Brave enough, but no--that one was too dense to break."  Horuk's smile disappeared in a sigh.  "But that was in the past."

"Two-spirit?"  Zhaoka inquired.  Even after three years, he still had to ask these questions sometimes.  In some ways, dealing with his memory loss had been like growing up all over again, relearning everything a man needed to know, but in the space of three short years.

"There's another spirit inside him now, alongside his own.  That's what the stories say happens to such people."

Zhaoka frowned.  "Another spirit?"

"I don't know much about such things.  Usually it happens to shamans, in the old stories, but Hahn was no shaman, so we didn't know what to do with him."

"Does he live in the city?"  Zhaoka tried to keep his tone unconcerned.

Horuk knew better.  "Zhaoka, believe me, you want nothing to do with such nonsense.  But since it's no secret, he has his own home to the north, outside the city. "

"I've no intention of seeking him out," Zhaoka informed him.

Horuk shook his head.  "If you get lost, ask.  Everyone knows where the two-spirit lives."

Zhaoka laughed.  "I don't know why you say that, as I'm not going to see him."

"Of course you aren't," said Horuk amiably.  "Of course."

Ordinarily, he might have agreed with Horuk that this two-spirit business was something he wanted nothing to do with.  He might not have given it another thought, but for the young man's eyes.  Horuk's assurances aside, he was certain he saw recognition there, and no accompanying confusion or madness.  Nothing but clear, dark blue eyes.  Certain of something.  Zhaoka wanted to know what it was those eyes were so sure about.  And was it the spirit or the man who knew something--or both?

Description
Two Spirits, part one

Zhaoka felt a chill on the back of his neck, due to more than the winter cold that plagued him and knotted achingly in his joints.  He knew that feeling.  Someone was watching him.  He turned around in time to see a man standing in the ice archway a full twenty or so paces behind him.  Their gazes met and locked for the span of a few heartbeats, then the other man turned away, passing through the arch and disappearing from sight.

Zhaoka glanced at Horuk, but his friend didn't say anything, pausing mid-stride as if waiting for Zhaoka to continue walking with him, so he did.

"Who's that?" Zhaoka asked, his warm breath manifesting in the air as a pale cloud.

"Who is who?" Horuk asked, the tone of his deep voice even less forthcoming than usual.

"Didn't you see him?" Still walking, Zhaoka gestured back towards the arch. "He was standing there."

Horuk's reply was brief. "I saw him."

It was not full winter yet, but the days were fleeting.  Already the sky was purple with twilight.  Zhaoka and Horuk were on their way back to the forge after hours at the docks, haggling with Earth Kingdom traders, eying the new merchandise they were unloading, and for much of the time simply watching.  Winter was a lonely, hard few months, and as the days continued to grow shorter, fewer and fewer merchant vessels would sail into Water Tribe harbors.  Until then, everyone tried to find what entertainment they could, making memories to keep and cherish throughout the long, cold winter.

Zhaoka could tell when Horuk was feeling reticent, and he didn't press--yet.  "I've seen him before," he mentioned casually.  And he had, a few times, each time finding the appearances more intriguing.  The stranger was younger, but certainly old enough to be a full member of the tribe.  He was much like any other young man, and Zhaoka might not even have noticed him but for the way he watched.  The three or four times Zhaoka had spotted him, always within the walls of the city, the young man had been regarding him with a particularly fixed stare.  It was not that he had never been stared at before, but this was different: more focused and more prolonged.  If there was one thing Zhaoka knew, it was intent.

"Have you?" asked Horuk, as if he wasn't interested.

"He looks at me like he knows me," Zhaoka said slowly.

A frown wrinkled Horuk's brow, but it was momentary, and his face settled into its usual expression quickly enough, grave but unfrowning.  Horuk wasn't quick to smile, but Zhaoka had seen him do it once or twice.  "He doesn't know you," Horuk said.

Zhaoka had only had three years of life, more or less.  Three years since the day he had lost his memory.  During that time, no one had come up to him and claimed to have known him in earlier days.  No one had shared stories with him of the things he had done before he had forgotten who he was.  Yes, Horuk and Chief Arnook and the other men of the tribe had been generous, and he had been given a place at the forge, crafting weapons for the warriors--a task he enjoyed as well as excelled at.  Yet in some ways, that task was all he had.

Now, as had happened before, Horuk betrayed at least some passing knowledge of his old life, knowledge he was unwilling to share, for whatever reason. It made Zhaoka wonder. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I know him." Horuk shook his head. "Maybe he's got some idea about you, but it isn't because he knows you. He's an odd one."

"Who is he?" Zhaoka asked again.

Horuk let out a long, deep breath. "You don't give up. Well, it's a long walk back to the forge," he relented.  Nonetheless, it was a few minutes before he began to answer Zhaoka's question.  "That's Hahn," he said.  The compact, broad-shouldered man had shorter legs, and Zhaoka had no trouble keeping up with him even when he set a brisk pace.  "He fought in the war. He hasn't been the same since."

Zhaoka nodded, unsurprised.  Almost all the men of that age had fought in the war.  Many of them had been badly burned or permanently crippled.  However, the young man he had just seen had seemed hale enough, although furs and anoraks could cover extensive scarring.

"He'd been sent on a mission," Horuk continued, "out at sea, on one of the Fire Nation ships.  They say he died out there, but no one knows for certain.  He doesn't talk about it."

"Died?"  Zhaoka wasn't sure if he'd misheard or if Horuk was being poetic, although the latter seemed unlikely.

Horuk shrugged, and Zhaoka realized he had heard him correctly.  "That's what he said, when they first found him.  He said that he died, but that the Moon Spirit brought him back to life.  But as I said, he doesn't talk about it anymore.  In fact, he doesn't talk very much to anyone these days.  Just walks around.  Stares sometimes.  Has strange ideas."  Horuk shrugged again; Zhaoka knew from experience that he had little patience for ideas he considered strange.

"Why would the Moon Spirit bring someone back to life?"

Horuk glanced up at the sky, although the moon had not yet risen. "The Spirit has her reasons.  Sometimes we never learn what they are.  But at times of war there are always more miracles.  Returning the dead to us, I admit that's a rarity.  Perhaps it was because..." Horuk trailed off before repeating, "The Spirit has her reasons."

Zhaoka nodded, although he was not in the least satisfied with this explanation.  Horuk, like so many other tribesmen of his acquaintance, had a tendency to accept things as they were, never demanding more of the world.  It was a traditionalist attitude that frustrated Zhaoka.  It was too much like complacency.  There must have been more to it than the moon having "her reasons".

"It was unlucky, in a way. The Moon Spirit changes people," Horuk continued. "As the Moon herself goes through changes. He's an outsider now.  Fortunately, he was born to an influential family. They do what they can to make sure his needs are met."

"It sounds to me as if the war broke him, drove him mad. He couldn't stand the trial of combat. I doubt he truly died."

Horuk's laughter was a brief bark. "Yes, it's a fact you didn't know Hahn."  A memory coaxed his lips into a smile.  "It's bad luck to speak ill of a two-spirit, but that boy didn't know enough to feel fear.  He had all the sense of a walrus rat.  Brave enough, but no--that one was too dense to break."  Horuk's smile disappeared in a sigh.  "But that was in the past."

"Two-spirit?"  Zhaoka inquired.  Even after three years, he still had to ask these questions sometimes.  In some ways, dealing with his memory loss had been like growing up all over again, relearning everything a man needed to know, but in the space of three short years.

"There's another spirit inside him now, alongside his own.  That's what the stories say happens to such people."

Zhaoka frowned.  "Another spirit?"

"I don't know much about such things.  Usually it happens to shamans, in the old stories, but Hahn was no shaman, so we didn't know what to do with him."

"Does he live in the city?"  Zhaoka tried to keep his tone unconcerned.

Horuk knew better.  "Zhaoka, believe me, you want nothing to do with such nonsense.  But since it's no secret, he has his own home to the north, outside the city. "

"I've no intention of seeking him out," Zhaoka informed him.

Horuk shook his head.  "If you get lost, ask.  Everyone knows where the two-spirit lives."

Zhaoka laughed.  "I don't know why you say that, as I'm not going to see him."

"Of course you aren't," said Horuk amiably.  "Of course."

Ordinarily, he might have agreed with Horuk that this two-spirit business was something he wanted nothing to do with.  He might not have given it another thought, but for the young man's eyes.  Horuk's assurances aside, he was certain he saw recognition there, and no accompanying confusion or madness.  Nothing but clear, dark blue eyes.  Certain of something.  Zhaoka wanted to know what it was those eyes were so sure about.  And was it the spirit or the man who knew something--or both?