by F. C. Yee
“Kyoshi’s got a point,” Kirima said. The wall creaked as she took her shoulder off it. “We have no choice but to take things one step at a time.”
“She didn’t have to be so mean,” Wong muttered.
After Kyoshi’s outburst, Rangi asked the others for a moment alone with her. They filed out like sullen children. The room transformed from too small to too big.
“Don’t yell at me,” Kyoshi said preemptively. “None of this Autumn Bloom nonsense was in the journal.”
“And yet here we are anyway,” Rangi said. She seemed at a loss for what to say. She pointed in different directions to emphasize rants she hadn’t made yet.
Eventually she settled for a question. “Do you know what it’s like, watching you sink deeper into this muck?”
“I’m doing what’s necessary,” Kyoshi said. “If you want me to make faster progress, then let’s go find an isolated spot and practice more firebending.”
“Kyoshi, you’re not listening to me.” Rangi instinctively lowered her voice to protect their secret. “You’re the Avatar.”
“I remember, Rangi.”
“Do you?” she said. “Do you really? Because the last time I checked, the Avatar is supposed to be shaping the world for the good of humans and spirits, not risking their neck to help a bunch of second-story thieves pay off their debts!”
She held back from punching the nearest wall. “Did you know that the Avatar is supposed to be able to commune with their past lives, gaining access to the wisdom of centuries?” she said. “With the right lessons, you could have been asking Yangchen herself for guidance right now. But no! You don’t have that option, because my guess is that spiritual teachers are a little hard to come by in our current social circle!”
Rangi waved her hand around at the room, at Hujiang, at the Taihua Mountains themselves. “To see you here? It kills me. The fact that you’re stuck here, where no one knows who you truly are, makes me die a little inside with each passing moment. You’re meant to have the best of everything and instead you have this.”
She rubbed at the creases in her forehead with her fingers. “A daofei town! A normal Avatar would have been responsible for wiping this encampment off the face of the earth!”
So she was upset about Kyoshi neglecting her duties. And nothing more. Rangi wanted a normal Avatar. Not whatever Kyoshi was.
She’s a true believer. Yun’s words came back like he was standing beside her, whispering in her ear. Rangi couldn’t handle any more disgrace to the office. Kyoshi was poor raw material for an Avatar to begin with, and her selfish choices had only defiled the position further.
“Rangi.” Kyoshi’s heart felt harder than it ever had, dull metal weighing her chest down. “The world waited years for an Avatar. It can wait a little longer. And so can you.”
She thought she heard a little puff of breath come from behind Rangi’s hands. But when the Firebender lowered her arms, she was as calm and stony as the mountain.
“You’re right,” Rangi said. “After all, I’m just your bodyguard. I have to do what you say.”
Nightfall did Hujiang a favor in appearance. Unlike honest folk who went to bed soon after the sun went down, the daofei settlement lit up with torchlight to continue business. The slope of the mountain spread out below the inn looked like it had attracted a cloud of fireflies.
A meal of rice gruel and dried sweet potato did little to help them relax. Before they left the inn, Lek tightened the thongs covering his sleeves with such ferocity that Kyoshi was afraid his hands would go purple.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m worried about Pengpeng, is all,” he said defiantly. “Don’t let it slip that we have her. Mok would probably kill us and try to tame her himself.”
It made more and more sense, the degree to which outlaws coveted a sky bison. Flight was normally a feat restricted to the pure of heart. As an Airbender willing to sully herself with dirty work, Kyoshi’s mother must have been in high demand.
The streets were emptier than during the day. The daofei had gathered inside drinkhouses, and drinkhouses seemed to comprise half the town. Kyoshi could hear laughter and arguments and poorly composed poetry spilling from the windows they passed. She imagined Lao Ge was in one of the taverns, swindling for booze. Or indulging in his other hobby.
They came to a house bigger than the others. A broad, high barn that shook with noise. The shouting inside rose and fell in waves, punctuated with cries of delight or disappointment. Another man wearing a peach flower in his hat greeted them at the door.
“Uncle Mok is waiting for you on the balcony,” he said as he bowed.
Going inside, they were immediately absorbed by a throng of spectators. The center of the floor held a large wooden platform covered with a tightly drawn layer of canvas held down with ropes, giving the structure the appearance of a great drum. Two men circled each other warily on top, stepping through stances, refusing to blink as sweat gathered on their faces.
“Lei tai,” Kirima said to Kyoshi. “Ever seen one before?”
She hadn’t. She knew of earthbending tournaments with a similar concept—knock the opponent off the platform and you win. But this stage was made of unbendable material, and the two men were fighting bare-knuckled and empty-handed. Throwing the opponent off would require closing the distance and getting to grips in ways benders normally disregarded.
Lek had mentioned a weapons portion of the evening. Now must have been the unarmed combat rounds, serving as a warm-up. The two men charged each other. Fists cracked against skulls. One of them got the better of the exchange and followed up with a devastating kick to the side of his opponent.
“Liver shot,” Kyoshi heard Rangi mutter. “It’s over.”
She’d seen the outcome before the loser did. He tried to resume his fighting stance but couldn’t raise his arms. In a slow, teetering arc that reminded Kyoshi of a cut tree, he fell to the surface of the platform, clutching his torso.
Kyoshi expected the standing man to peacock in victory, spend some time basking in the adulation of the crowd. Instead he pounced on his downed opponent, who was clearly unable to continue, and began punching him viciously in the head.
“Here’s a lesson for you square folk,” Wong said. “It’s over when the winner says it’s over.”
Kyoshi had to turn away. She heard dull, wet thuds interspersed with the cheers of the crowd and nearly threw up on her feet. She was listening to a man get beaten to death.
There was a round of boos, and she looked up. The man left standing had decided to stop the assault, though Kyoshi could tell the decision was less about mercy and more about saving energy. He went back to one corner of the platform where attendees had placed a stool for him to sit. He held out his hand, and a cup of tea appeared in it. Being the champion came with some perks.
Two volunteers carried off his vanquished opponent by the arms and legs. Only a cough of blood spray gave any indication the man was still alive.
Kyoshi wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. “Where’s Mok?” she said.
“There.” Kirima pointed to the second level. Kyoshi’s suspicions were correct; this place was a barn. The “balcony” was a converted hayloft. Mok sat on a giant, thronelike chair that had to have been lifted into place with pulleys. Beside him stood the strap-nosed man from the bazaar, the one who’d been recruiting outlaws with spiritual zeal.
The Flying Opera Company went up the old-fashioned way, and they had to do it one at a time. The three more experienced members went first. Kyoshi felt eyes on her as she climbed the long ladder, vulnerable with each bounce and sway of the wooden struts.
Mok had no guards with him, other than the street preacher. And the others had told her neither of them were benders. Either daofei were stingy when it came to personal protection, or they preferred to display strength this way. “This is my lieutenant, Brother Wai,” Mok said, gesturing to the wild-eyed man. “You will pay him the same respect
that you do me.”
Kyoshi bowed along with the others, but Wai was silent. He stared at the group with seething contempt, like he detected the taint of evil buried deep in their bones. She became conscious of her flayed leg that had scabbed over, of the waking nightmare she’d pushed to the back of her mind. But Wai paid her no special attention. He despised them all equally.
Mok, on the other hand, singled Kyoshi out. “New girl,” he said. “You seemed a little blood-shy just now. Not a trait I like in my subordinates.”
Wong and Kirima tensed up. They’d warned her about the need to keep a certain mask on, and she hadn’t taken them seriously enough. Kyoshi tried to think of something to say that would placate Mok.
“She’s tough when it counts, Uncle,” Lek interjected. “I personally saw Kyoshi wipe the floor with a whole squad of lawmen back in Chameleon Bay.”
Mok made a signal with his finger. In a motion so smooth that it looked rehearsed, Wai pulled out a knife, grabbed Lek by the hand, and slashed him across the palm. Lek stared disbelievingly at the fresh red wound for a moment.
“Funny,” Mok said. “I don’t think I was talking to you.”
A spatter of blood landed on the floor. Lek doubled over, clutching his hand to his stomach, and stifled a scream. Wong and Kirima’s faces were white with anger, but they maintained their positions, shoulders hunched in deference.
Kyoshi forced herself to look this time, to watch Lek suffer. Mok was testing her, she realized. Her weakness had gotten her companion hurt, and this was the price.
Her limbs went cold as a vision of the future swept her in its embrace. She was going to sort this Mok one day. Neatly on the shelf, right below Jianzhu. Him and Wai both. They’d have a place of honor in her heart.
But for now, the face she gave them was made of stone. She saw Lek straighten up and tug his sleeve over the wound, clenching his jaw and fist tight. He stared at the space between his shoes. Other than the bloodstain blooming at the end of his shirt, she would have been hard-pressed to tell that he was injured.
“Better this time,” Mok said to Kyoshi. “Unless for some reason you don’t like the boy.”
She made a noncommittal little shrug. “There’s not many people I hate, Uncle.” The truth made it easier to remain calm.
“A fast learner indeed!” Mok caught a glimpse of something interesting happening below. The crowd roared, half of them booing and the other half expressing wild approval for whatever it was. He grinned and turned his full attention back to the center of the barn. “Not as fast, though, as your Firebender friend.”
Kyoshi followed his gaze. It took all of her newfound willpower not to shriek in horror.
Rangi was standing on the fighting platform.
“The beautiful thing about lei tai is that anyone can issue a challenge,” Mok said. “Simply by doing what she’s doing.”
Kyoshi had to look at the empty ladder again to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that Rangi hadn’t followed right behind her as usual. To confirm that she could have gone so long without noticing her friend’s presence.
The champion, still sitting in the opposite corner, cocked his head in interest. Rangi met his gaze as she stripped off her bracers and shoulder pieces, throwing her heirloom armor to the ground like a fruit peel. Ignoring howls and whistles from the crowd, she disrobed until she was in the sleeveless white tunic she wore beneath her outer layers.
Rangi was above the average height for a girl. The muscles in her arms and back were well-formed and strong from years of training. But her opponent was taller and outweighed her by a third, if not more. She looked so tiny and vulnerable on the canvas, a small flower in the corner of a painting.
Kyoshi nearly jumped down from the hayloft to throw herself between the combatants. But Kirima and Wong gave her the same glance and imperceptible headshake from when Lek was cut. Don’t. You’ll make it worse.
The champion ran a hand down his braided queue and squinted at Rangi with beady eyes. He dabbed himself with a towel and flung it behind him. As he rose, his attendant plucked the stool off the platform. He’d rested enough. The man raised his chin and said a few words that Kyoshi couldn’t hear, but she guessed their meaning well enough.
No firebending.
Rangi nodded in agreement.
A lance went through Kyoshi’s heart as the two of them approached each other. The champion didn’t take a stance immediately. If he took the challenge of a young girl too seriously, he’d lose face.
Rangi let him know how wise that decision was by whirling a kick at the knee he was about to put his weight on. Only pure reflex saved him. He snatched his leg back before it snapped in half, and stumbled awkwardly around the platform, a drunk that had lost his footing. The crowd jeered.
“This girl,” Mok said with a tone of appreciation that sent fresh loathing down Kyoshi’s throat.
The champion righted himself and took up a deep stance. The disciplined movement in his lower body was at odds with the wrath coursing through his face.
As if to taunt him further, Rangi slid forward fearlessly until she was within his striking distance. Her expression was cool, impassive. It didn’t change when the man launched a flurry of blows. She read his limbs like the lines of a book, letting his momentum pass right by her as she made pivots so small and sharp that her feet squeaked against the canvas.
After he missed a straight punch that hung over her neck like a yoke, she bumped him in the armpit with her shoulder, timing it with his retraction. He went flying back, worse than before, his feet making a clownish attempt to support him. Kyoshi’s hope rose, forcing her to her tiptoes as he neared the edge. If he fell off the platform then this bad dream would end.
He managed to catch himself. Kyoshi heard a swear come from someone other than her. Rangi followed her opponent to the boundary but seemed unconcerned about pushing him over. She could have ended it with a nudge.
The man saw this and lost his composure. He lashed out with a wild punch devoid of technique. It was so telegraphed that Kyoshi could have ducked under it.
But in that instant, Rangi looked upward and locked eyes with Kyoshi. The blow struck her squarely in the face. She let it happen.
She tumbled across the platform and landed in the center, a lifeless heap. The weight difference had done its work. Kyoshi’s cry was drowned out by roar of the crowd.
The champion wiped his mouth as he sauntered over to Rangi’s body. The girl had humiliated him. He was going to take his time destroying her.
Kyoshi screamed to the rafters, invisible and unheard in the frenzy. Nothing mattered anymore but Rangi. She couldn’t lose the center of her being like this. She would have obliterated the world to undo what was happening.
Only Wong’s hands clamping down on Kyoshi’s shoulders held her in place as the man raised his foot high above Rangi’s skull. There was a blur of motion and the sound of muffled snapping.
Kyoshi’s mind caught up with her eyes. Her comprehension played out like a series of pictures, changed between blinks.
Rangi had spun out from under the man’s foot, rotating on her shoulders like a top, and wrapped her body around his standing leg. She’d made a subtle twist, and his limb shattered along every plane it could. The champion lay out on the canvas, writhing in pain, his leg reduced to an understuffed stocking attached to his body. Rangi stood over him, bleeding from the mouth. Other than the single punch she’d taken, she was fine. She hadn’t broken a sweat.
The spectators were silent. Her footsteps bounced off the canvas like drumbeats. She hopped lightly off the platform and gathered up her armor.
A single person clapping broke the pall. It was Mok, applauding furiously. It gave the crowd permission to react. They whooped and hollered for their new champion, surging toward her. A single glare made them hold off on slapping her back or lifting her onto their shoulders, but they got as close as they could, forming a little ring of appreciation around her.
Rangi made her way
over to the ladder and climbed up with one hand, her gear bundled under the other arm. Her head peeked up over the edge of the hayloft, and then the rest of her body. She tossed the armor into the corner and bowed.
No one responded. They all waited on her next move, Mok and Wai included.
Rangi shrugged at the unasked question. “It seemed like fun,” she said calmly.
Kyoshi knew that was complete and utter bull pig. There was no reason for her to have such a lapse in judgment, to commit such a mind-bogglingly stupid act. Kyoshi wanted to punch Rangi so hard that she’d land on her rear end back in Yokoya. She was going to throttle the Firebender until flame came out of her ears.
Mok slapped his thighs and burst into laughter.
“A future boss in the making!” he said. “Dine with me tonight. I’ll tell you the plans I have in store.”
“How could we refuse, Uncle?” Rangi said with the biggest, sweetest, falsest smile Kyoshi had ever seen.
Attendants carried chairs for everyone up the ladder with great difficulty, followed by a table, and then food and drink. Unlike the large manors of legitimate society, there was no servant class here. Junior toughs and swordsmen did the task, their weapons clanking in their scabbards as they juggled trays like rookie maids.
No one let on that they’d already eaten. The meal was an attempt to mimic a wealthy sage’s table, with more than one course. Shaped flour paste substituted for ingredients that would have been impossible to get in the mountains, and yellowing vegetables made up the rest. There was plenty of wine though.
Mok sat with his back facing the edge of the balcony. The fights no longer interested him. Judging by the clash of metal coming from below, the challenges had moved from unarmed combat into the weapons section. The occasional scream and gurgle made it difficult to concentrate.
“Have any of you heard of Te Sihung?” he asked, dropping the endless displays of puffery and dominance. As foolhardy as Rangi’s fight had been, there was no denying she’d changed the energy of the meeting.
