Chapter Text
When I was a child, the moon visited me twice.
The first time barely counted at all; I was only a baby, and even now, can’t remember it. Then again, most would count it as mattering the most. Maybe it’s odd how little importance I attach to the event in my own mind, considering that the first time, and not the second, was the reason I wear these robes today. But the second comes to me with a brilliance in detail odd for memories, which are so famous for their dreamy dissonance, sharpened in a realism that only lifts for a brush of color to soften its edges, to paint it into almost a dream, to save me from having to dip into the unpleasant harshness of mortal reality when I visit that well-worn page in my book of memories.
It’s a stinging comfort to know that it was real.
It began like this: I had escaped again. It was nighttime, and the sky was flecked with stars like the spray of the ocean upon flat rocks. I was in my nightgown, little and hapless, tied with a ribbon around my waist, a pearl gray-blue that rivaled the color of my eyes. My mother had picked out that ribbon. I think she intended for me to wear it in my hair, but of course without her guidance my father had no idea how to do that, and had some ladies from the village tailor it around a nightgown instead.
I was five years old, and thought I ruled the world. This was before all the rules, clamping down on me like iron, before my world cracked and shifted around my sole iceberg, and I learned what a tragedy it was to be a princess without a mother to stand up for me.
The ice numbed my feet through my shoes, and the moon glimmered on the water-filmed ice pathways around the village. I had managed to make it uncaught to the edge of my village, to where the ships came and went in the harbor, a cut-out in the cliffs that raised all along in a circle almost full. I ran along the edge until the ships were a graveyard behind me and the cliff rose up in a sheet of ice so close beside me, across the gap that dipped beneath us, where chips of dark ice swirled in the current. Excitement thrummed in my veins.
Despite the clarity of the vision, I can never remember precisely why I was so excited. Perhaps it was simply to be away from my father’s rules, and those of the countless governesses and tutors he enlisted to care for me. Maybe I was going to meet someone, though I have no idea who that might be. Or maybe I knew, somehow, that the moon required my presence, and I couldn’t wait to give it to her.
The night was dark, but the city was illuminated, as always, seemingly from within. The moon gave us light and power, and we reflected that back to her in the very land we lived upon, the houses we dwelt within. My blood thrummed within me as my feet pattered on the walkway, the chill of the night air sharp in my throat, sending exhilaration whooshing through my body. There were houses and buildings around the side of the city, of course, but I ducked beneath windows and kept impressively quiet, self-aware to the degree that I knew I could not draw the attention I usually did. It felt free, in that synthetic way that childhood often presents tastes of freedom to us, and I remember distinctly wishing I could run forever, to run until the ocean met the sky, curl up among the stars, and fall asleep to the voice of the moon.
It was only a wish. But often, wishes have power, and the stars listen, even to our most secret thoughts. I should have known that, but I was only a girl, and I knew half of what I should, and heeded even less.
I stopped at a dip in the perimeter of the city, a pool where the water stilled and rested from its journey through the current. The pool space was cut round in the ice and set a little deep, a railing skirting it to keep anyone who ventured near from a nasty plunge. My hands, ungloved, clutched at the railing and disregarded the immediate bite of the metal on my skin as I peered over the edge.
The moon’s reflection rippled on the glass surface, stars winking around her. I sagged against the railing as I watched, leaning an unhealthy amount of weight onto the bars in that trustingly fallible way.
I was absorbed in that reflection when Tui came down, descending from the heavens, so distracted that I barely registered her part in that reflection until she was clearly visible, floating down towards me in those silvery robes and fond look on her face. I started and glanced up from the pool to meet her eyes.
They were pearl-gray, lacking any of the blue of mine, but her hair was a rippling replica of my own, like sheathes of ice and snow falling around her head. My breath caught, cold in my lungs, as she came closer and closer to me.
I had heard stories of the legendary Tui and La. I knew that their spirits were mortalized in the koi that swam after each other in the sacred pond that my father took me every year on my birthday, where he always looked so grave and proud. I was spirit-touched, he said. I was special.
When Tui came to hover before me, silver robes and hair glowing in the night against the backdrop of the pond, I finally felt as though that were true.
“Hello, child,” Tui said, lips curved in a smile that looked more human than goddess. “I forget how quickly mortals grow. By all rights, you should still fit in my arms, but I suppose that isn’t how it is meant to work.”
I stared up at her, tongue-tied, for all my excitement and hurry to get here. Tui’s lovely expression softened, before shifting into something more regretful, and without waiting for me to speak, she sighed, extending her arms to cup my cheeks in her palms. For a minute, I was scared she was going to pinch them like the old ladies at my father’s gatherings sometimes did, and I barely caught myself from moving away, reminding myself that this was the moon spirit, and it wouldn’t do to be rude. At least I had that much self-awareness.
Tui’s regret faded, and she giggled. “You’re a polite one. I wonder how long that will last.”
I frowned at this, still unable to speak, but brimming with questions. Finally, I swallowed the lump in my throat shoved there by the many etiquette tutors and let my curiosity take over.
“What are you doing here?”
Tui pulled back her hands and crossed her arms, looking at me fondly. “Precocious enough. That’s good, you’ll need that. Now, Yue. Do you remember how you know me? I suppose you know who I am.”
The way she said my name made my back straighten, and I looked at her solemnly, nodding. “You’re Tui. You saved my life when I was a baby.”
The moon spirit’s smile faded a little at my words, but she nodded. “Yes, so I did. Well, one day, you’re going to save everyone else, too. I came tonight because I wanted you to know that, even though that isn’t completely in line with the rules. But you wouldn’t know about that,” Tui broke off, looking as though she were gathering her thoughts. She hesitated for a moment. “I just want you to be as prepared as you can be.”
She sounded regretful, her voice tinged with something heavy. I tried to look supportive, nodding along, trying to look as though I understood. “Will I be a powerful bender?”
Tui laughed slightly, shaking her head. “No, Yue. But you will be powerful. In fact, you may be the only one with the power to do what I must one day ask of you. Just know that I believe in your strength, no matter what happens, alright? You are so much more than what they ask of you in this city. You will be great, and your love will be, too. Your strength will subdue a roaring fire, and save the wretched soul burning within it. Your destiny will lead you to places you dared not dream of venturing. Don’t doubt it for a moment.”
For years, whenever I recalled this memory, I wondered what she meant by ‘soul.’ Surely, she meant many souls, the lives of my entire city, perhaps. Or maybe it was some mystical spirit reference, referring to the collective soul of the world, or something like that. It was a puzzle piece that I was never satisfied with shoving where it was clearly meant to go, yet never truly fit.
“Will I go to the Earth Kingdom?” I asked, looking at her with wide eyes. “Or the Southern Water Tribe? Who will I save people from?”
Tui shook her head, suddenly impatient. “Never mind that. Just remember: you were created with a great capacity for heroics. You have every ability to protect those you love. You are a daughter of the moon, and your light sends mortal flames shrinking. Do you understand?”
I nodded more out of habit than anything else, as one is supposed to do when questioned by any adult, much less the Moon Spirit herself. Tui didn’t look entirely satisfied, but mirrored my nod, her eyes watching me with a depth that almost scared me. She leaned forward, lifting a hand to push a tendril of escaped hair back behind my ear. Once it was in place, she didn’t move back, but arrested my every attention with her presence. She hesitated, then spoke, in a weighted voice. “But, my dear,” she said, eyes seeming to soak in my face before meeting my gaze again. “You must be strong. Can you promise me you will be?”
She gave me another of her smiles, muted and almost melancholy in its meaning as she straightened, hand never leaving my cheek. Her skin was cool and felt like moonlight on mine, and I felt myself leaning into it, looking up at her with adoring eyes. “Yes,” I said, emphatically. “I think I can be.”
Her smile grew. “Good. I’ll leave it to you, then.”
It sounded like goodbye, and I straightened, frowning. “Are you leaving already?”
Tui laughed, expression growing in fondness. “Perceptive, too. Oh, they’ll just adore you, for all the headaches you’ll give them. Yes, dear, I have to go. I don’t have much time left at all. But you’ll be alright, won’t you?”
I wilted a little bit, regretting the absence of her hand the moment she pulled it away. But Tui tilted her head at me chidingly, and I remembered what she said about being strong. “Yes. I’ll be alright.”
“I know you will be.”
Still, it hurt in my chest to see her leave. She gave me a kiss that was gone as soon as it was there, soft on my forehead, and smoothed back my hair somewhat like a mother would have done, or at least how I imagined a mother might. She didn’t say goodbye, and neither did I.
I watched her leave in her silvery robes, watched as she faded into a moonbeam that lingered in my mind for years to come. I stayed leaning on that railing for hours, till my feet were purple with cold and my skin pale, lips blue, eyes still fixed wide and mesmerized at the sky, where that wonderful warmth had disappeared. When my father finally found me, he was more angry than I had ever seen him—it’s funny, now, how I can only remember his anger, and not how it manifested in his face and hands. It brought the chill back into me with a harshness that has never left since, and I could feel everything again, without that magical comfort to warm me. He pulled me back into the prison that kept me safe. That night, when I was wrapped in seal furs and tucked away in my bed, he came into my room and lingered in the doorway for a long while, just staring, as I pretended to sleep. When he finally walked over to smooth my hair back and lay a kiss on my forehead, his hand trembled so much, I can still feel it now.
When I was a child, I thought I made friends with the moon.
Little could I ever have guessed where that friendship would take me.