The Warrior's Gambit (Zutara)

XXIV

"Where are your spirits to save you now?" he sneered, spitting down on her. "Why would a Water Spirit save a Fire Nation town? It's the sort of people like you that sully our bloodlines."

Katara was yanked from that body. She was staring at the pair on the outside, an observer to this moment.

She started at the face of the man, this murder, fury lighting in her veins. Her gaze cast down to the woman, wearing a white dress that was torn and dirty. She saw the scar marks on her arms from where this man had wounded her.

She knew that this girl was dying.

As she traced up to her face, Katara could not breathe.

It was her face on the woman. Undeniably, it was her.

And though it went against any logical form, she could only murmur one quiet phrase, "That's me..."

She blinked and the shrine was back. The woman was gone. There was a smaller shrine in her place.

Not the one that was built today. It looked newer.

Katara touched her fingers to the newly painted wood and she was overcome by a thousand voices, all the villagers praying. Praying to her.

Praying to Katara.

But that wasn't...no, not to Katara...but also, simultaneously, to her.

Katara stumbled forward, the shrine now the current one. She touched the back of her head, the memory still fresh, and her head felt tender where she placed her fingers.

"I don't know what you mean," Katara said, tears burning on her eyes as she turned.

"Oh, but you do," the lady said gently, clasping her hands around Katara's. "You have returned to your village, even just for a time."

"But...I...I'm not... " Katara shook her head. "I'm just me, Katara."

But she at the same time was not. She knew, at her very core as it burned in protest, that she was the Painted Lady.

She shook hard. "I'm like Aang?" she questioned, her voice tiny and confused, "Or am I..."

"Your friend is a human with a spirit inside of him," The woman said, crouching down and petting Katara's hair. "You are completely human, make no mistake. Simply, a human that has lived thousands of lives, including one that was once a spirit. And though it's hard to hear, we often make the same circles, seek out the same things, live for the same reasons."

"I'm the Painted Lady," Katara echoed dizzily, "I was...I am..." She inhaled. "I was killed. I sacrificed myself for this town."

The goddess laughed, nodding, and her smile made Katara feel a little bit better. If even for a moment.

"What do I do now?" Katara asked. "If I'm...her...shouldn't I...but my tribe..." She felt torn in two. She was remembering living here now. She remembered how it was hundreds of years ago. She remembered her mother and father and a sister. She had a faint recollection of hundreds of lives in between, though none were as clear as that first one.

"You have done your part. Do not feel like you cannot live your life. It's what she wanted after all; to be human once again, live different lives. You have saved them. You have done your duty."

"Oh," Katara said, unable to say much else. "I was a goddess, but I wanted to be..."

"Human. Thus, you are, Katara."

"My name's not really Katara, then." She gave a dry laugh.

"But it is," the spirit said. "Mortals have a hard time understanding this, I do realize. You are Katara, just as you are also the Painted Lady. The essence of her, but not the literal spirit. Your souls are the same, but you are still you."