Chapter 9: The Fool and The Fog
Mathen57
Shotgun for a brain
- Location
- Jakarta, Indonesia
Chapter 9: The Fool and The Fog
The Hourai Elixir: the font of life, the eternal spring, a creation that defeated entropy itself. It afflicts the user with the curse of eternality and deprives them of the gift of sickness and death. With the soul, body, and mind made unassailable and perpetual, it is then curious that memories are left vulnerable to the caress of time, an odd flaw within a near-perfect creation. Perhaps it is due to its makers not taking into account human physiology, which hosts a million more imperfections than Lunarian ones. Or rather, it may be by design, a faint reminder of mortality through the birth and death of memories. To Mokou, it does not matter. Despite the desire to rid of her perpetuity, the distinctly mortal quality Mokou's memories possess within her immortal form is a curse.
The amount of information an immortal like her would retain will eventually exceed biological capacity. For the Elixir does not improve but preserves. The brain, however large, is not designed to store thirteen hundred years worth of sensory data. Thus, Mokou's memories fade in the foggy depths of her crowded mind, and so does her grip on herself. They are her anchor, and without it, she becomes less than human—an animal, enslaved by instinct, incapable of higher thought. Such an instance had occurred once, which lead to three hundred years of mindless carnage followed by another three hundred years spent catatonic. A nightmare that lasted more than half a millennia and the sins she committed during that time still stains her soul.
Ironically, it was Kaguya who saved her from going further down that path. The princess had reminded Mokou of a time before the Elixir, which centred her, and gave purpose to her then aimless rage. Though she is immensely grateful towards the Lunarian, their blood feud, however mellowed, continues. Because for Mokou, revenge sustains her sense of self. Because it makes her remember, which helps her preserve her identity when the Elixir could not. So her desire for retribution is fueled not by hate, not really, but by necessity.
And that is what it all comes down to, necessity. Everything Mokou does are but necessary reminders to stave off the encroaching mindlessness and prevent a repeat of the past. She eats, sleep, and talks because it is a human thing to do. She wears clothes and practices reading and writing so she can be a part of human society. She exacts revenge on Kaguya because it gives her purpose, which is a human thing to have. All these things remind her of what she was, a mortal human. The alternative is to forget, and to forget, is to be entombed in thoughtless, motionless eternity. But despite her efforts, Mokou finds herself slipping from time to time, which scares her.
The sun sets, the crowds disperse, and Mokou packs up her stall. A man, no--a kid rather, approaches her. On his back were two hooked blades and in his mouth was a single sprig of wheat. His shaggy hair framed his tanned face, which held a severe expression.
"Mokou, right?" he asked. The kid was rather tall, standing a head above Mokou.
"Who's asking?" Mokou continues to unpack her cart, placing down an uncooked piece of chicken in one of its compartments. The kid smiles and leans on the cart, holding an aura of self-importance, whether deserved or not.
"A freedom fighter. Well, right now, a concerned citizen, you can call me Jet." He points at himself, speaking with unabashed, boyish confidence, "I wanted to ask you about your co-workers, Mushi and Lee." Iroh and Zuko, he's on to them.
Mokou proceeds to count the money she earned. She has a feeling that Pao's cut is a tad too large, but it doesn't matter. Mokou already has all that she needs, and any coins she has are just collecting dust in her hovel, "What about them?"
"Have they done anything suspicious? Anything involving firebending?" Mokou raises an eyebrow, "Anything?"
"No," a good liar Mokou is not, but why lie when the truth is more convenient, as Kaguya once mentioned. The royal fugitives had not firebend a single time and were quite insistent for Mokou to do the same. Jet stares at the rather reticent woman before him, expecting her to continue.
"No?" he asked perplexed. Mokou nods and notes to herself to warn Iroh later and wonders how to get into the city's inner ring districts. "You mean you haven't seen anything remotely weird about them."
"Oh, they're weird people," Mokou admits, "but I haven't seen them firebend."
His eyes narrow, "you covering for them or something?"
"I'm just telling you what I saw; you should take it up to them if you've got a problem, not me."
Jet sighs, frustrated, "you worked with them for weeks in a kitchen, and you're saying that not one time they, I dunno, turned up the heat without any spark rocks, for example?"
With everything accounted for, Mokou prepares to get the cart moving. "You sound awfully sure that they're firebenders," she asked.
Jet gesticulates in anger, "Because I've seen the old man do it!" he takes a breath to calm down, "He heated his tea when no one was looking; I saw it."
Mokou suppresses a sigh; she wouldn't put it past Iroh to do that. "I don't know what to tell you then. You saw him firebend; I didn't. Whatever it is you wanted out of this," she shrugs, "you won't get it. Look, my shift's over, and I got something important at home. Can you hurry this up?"
Jet slumps, exasperated and defeated, "Yeah, I'll leave you alone, but you gotta understand that Mushi and Lee are not who you think they are."
At this point, Mokou would've just moved on, but curiosity compels her to inquire. The possibility that the kid could be with the Dai Li brings with it disturbing implications for Iroh and Zuko. "They seem nice when I worked with them," Mokou reconsiders the thought, " 'cept for Lee. But even if they're firebenders, so what? They're not hurting anyone."
Jet's face transforms into a rictus of rage, "What do you mean so what? We bring them to justice; kill them too if they don't cooperate, like any firebender scum." This was approaching dangerous territory. Asking any further would put some suspicion on her too, but she trudges on.
"Because they're firebenders?"
"Yes! Firebenders kill thousands every day, including my family. And I'll make every last one of them atone for it." Jet's eyes glinted balefully, though there was an undertone of suspicion and realisation.
Mokou winced internally; the kid was an idiot but in the worst way possible. He reminded her of herself. So Mokou pities him, for the path he's taken will end in tragedy, one that will leave him hollow. She should know. Which confirms what she had hoped: the kid was some lone misguided vigilante rather than a disciplined agent. Satisfied, Mokou starts moving her cart back to Pao's restaurant, "good luck with that," she tells him.
After she had returned the cart, she went straight to her hovel. As she stepped into the empty market street, her thoughts bring her to Iroh and Zuko. Already that damnable fog has set in after spending weeks apart. Mokou finds difficulty in recalling specific moments she spent with the pair, and it is only a matter of time before their faces recede to the corner of her mind. She resolves to spend some money on a pen and an empty book to bolster her memories against time's eroding force. It's quite a shame she didn't bring her old diary with her on that ill-fated trip to Mt.Fuji.
When Mokou arrives at the alleyway leading to her hovel, the moon had already risen. Pure white moonlight kissed the still forms of the people sleeping in the alleyway. The lucky ones were dressed with rags upon rags that covered them from neck to toe, acting like a blanket and a second layer over their clothes. While the unlucky ones were dressed in only rags. It had become a daily sight to Mokou, and she had thought she would become numb to it as the weeks past by. Yet strangely, the scene still resonated with her, for it was a visceral reminder of a time before she cracked. It brought back long-forgotten memories of starvation, dying week after week, cold, alone, and unseen. Perhaps that was why the sight felt like a stab to her heart because she understands; she empathises. Detached indifference gives way to an uncomfortable disquiet as Mokou reaches her hovel. She opens up a small, rickety drawer and picks up a few coins before going to Pao's restaurant.
The moon was at its zenith when she comes back to the alleyway with her cart. Most were asleep, but the few that were awake look at her curiously. Mokou sets up her stall, lights up the grill, and cooks the chicken. The smell permeated the air as the sweet sizzling sound perked many an ear. One of them rose and approached her; it was a man who may have been a farmer or a construction worker judging from his build.
She hands him a stick of yakitori, "Here," she said, "you don't need to pay."
The man's eyes dart up and down from Mokou to her hand as if confused. He takes it reluctantly and bites into it, "thank you," he spoke sincerely.
Mokou doesn't believe she deserves such gratitude; after all, she only did this to rid her growing frustration. Her action came from a selfish reason. Yet she cannot deny this warm feeling that gnaws at her confused heart, a joy she had forgotten --or perhaps, never understood. Mokou remembers being like the refugees before her, like wanderers without a home. Though, she had never been in a position to help them, which made this experience novel. New. Unique. It was an activity that transcended the warmth she felt cooking for paying customers.
Many more come to fill their empty bellies as a sort of joy permeates the air. For one night, a small part of Ba Sing Se's oft-forgotten slums come alive. A gathering forms around her stall. Re-energised, many begin to converse with one another, and which helped form a comfortable atmosphere. The refugees were a very diverse group, yet they were united through shared pain which acted as the source of their growing camaraderie. Many try to include Mokou into this nascent brotherhood, and she tries to respond in kind in her curt and clumsy way. Yet there was this chasm, large and absolute, between her and the mortals. She understood their pain, certainly, but didn't know what it meant.
There are, coded in all humans, primordial fears that stem from their mortality. A fear that no longer exists in Mokou thanks to that damnable Elixir. What many consider a danger to be avoided was a mere inconvenience to her. The mortals absolutely feared starvation because it leads to a slow hollow death. But to Mokou, who did not fear death? Starvation was a temporary pain while her body wastes away before coming back with a full stomach. In other words, though Mokou had suffered as they did, she didn't quite suffer as they did. So it was hard for her to relate to them sincerely and close the distance between mortal and immortal.
But despite that, Mokou is...satisfied seems to be the right word. The scene before her made her feel warm, happy. She wouldn't mind seeing this again. And so, a new joyful memory forms in the mind of the immortal. Whether it will fade into the fog or shine like a burning beacon, only time will tell.
But happy as it all may be, Mokou shouldn't let it distract her from her main goal. This joy was ultimately ephemeral and will not sustain her for an eternity. Because the danger of forgetting, of losing herself, was still everpresent. So she needs to contact the other Hourai Immortals and find a way back to Gensokyo.
So like all things, the gathering came to an end as Mokou moves her cart elsewhere and gets into her hovel. She wasted a lot of time today and would need to meditate a little longer this time to compensate. Mokou desires to try something new for this particular session, which was to reflect on past sins. Perhaps if she can come to terms with her actions and maybe find a proper means to atone, she could truly be at peace with herself. Unshackled, as Iroh would describe.
Mokou tries to piece back her scattered memories to immerse herself in the past. Like puzzle pieces, they slowly form an image from a time during that nightmare.
A town burns before her, and its residents make hopeless escapes from the omnipresent flames. The town's protectors, both natural and supernatural, make their bid to stop her. But it was futile, for she was a force of nature, fire incarnate, and her power was endless. One tries to talk her down, but words fail against an unthinking being. And so the fire spreads until the town was no more.
As Mokou remembers, she drowns herself in self-loathing.
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Jet was starting to piece everything together. The white-haired woman was a firebender, he was sure of it, and many of her actions begin to make sense when thought that way. He at first, given her the benefit of the doubt when he saw her grill's flame rise up as she rose her finger; because no firebender would be stupid enough to do that out in the open plaza of Ba Sing Se. But the guilty verdict was sentenced when the woman tried to cover Mushi and Lee's actions and defend them. That was all Jet needed to know that they were in cahoots. So he will expose her first when tomorrow comes.
