WITH AVATAR CO-CREATOR 
MICHAEL DANTE DIMARTINO 



1 


































PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and 
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, 
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business 
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 

Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from 
the Library of Congress. 

ISBN 978-1-4197-3504-2 

ISBN (B&N/Indigo edition) 978-1-4197-3991-0 

elSBN: 978-1-68335-533-5 

© 2019 Viacom International Inc. All Rights Reserved. Nickelodeon, Nickelodeon 
Avatar: The Last Airbender and all related titles, logos and characters are 
trademarks of Viacom International Inc. 

Cover illustrations by Jung Shan Chang 
Book design by Hana Anouk Nakamura 

Published in 2019 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. 
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FOREWORD 


Any prequel story presents a unique challenge, never mind 
one set in a fictional canonical universe like that of Avatar: 
The Last Airbender. A common pitfall of prequels? Since the 
reader already knows how things eventually turn out, they 
are one step ahead of the hero. Done well, however, a 
prequel can expand and deepen a beloved fantasy world by 
exploring its history and characters in new ways. This is the 
case with The Rise of Kyoshi. 

Readers familiar with the original Nickelodeon series 
might recall that Avatar Kyoshi was a legend, even among 
the impressive pantheon of Avatars. But how did she 
become a woman dedicated to fighting injustice throughout 
the world? And why was she so feared by her enemies? 
These were the questions left unexplored. In my first talks 
with F. C. Yee, we discussed a few possible plots but also 
asked ourselves: What kind of character is Kyoshi, what 
drives her, and what kind of events in her past could have 
caused her to develop into such a legendary figure? 

I didn't envy Yee the challenge of tackling these 
questions. I knew he'd have to play within the conventions 
of an already-established world while simultaneously 
marking it with his own creative stamp. And the Avatar 
universe has no shortage of "must-haves." First, you must 
have an Avatar—the reincarnated being who holds the 
ability to manipulate, or bend, all four elements, who has a 
connection to the mysterious Spirit World, and who deals 
with conflicts among the Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, Fire 
Nation, and Air Nomads. The Avatar can't do all this alone 
and thus must also have a core group of teachers and 
friends—a Team Avatar, as we like to call it. Political conflict 



is also a must: Whether it's a world war or a revolution, the 
Avatar inevitably ends up in the center of the fight before he 
or she is ready. And of course, there is never a shortage of 
epic bending battles. 

Though all Avatars share certain rites of passage—such 
as mastering all four elements—each one must have a 
unique journey and face different personal and political 
challenges on their way to becoming a fully realized Avatar. 
In The Rise of Kyoshi, we meet a young woman so unlike the 
legend she is to become that we wonder how she could 
possibly transform into such a remarkable figure. She's not a 
great Earthbender. People don't even believe she's the 
Avatar at the start of the book—a great conceit on Yee's 
behalf, and one that provides the crux of the conflict for the 
entire novel. 

Entrusting another writer with a world and characters 
that I helped create is always fraught with anxiety for me. In 
the wrong hands, it can be a disheartening experience. But 
when I read The Rise of Kyoshi for the first time, I was 
immediately drawn into the story and entranced by its 
intriguing new characters and backstory. I was eager to read 
on to find out how Kyoshi would overcome all the obstacles 
in her way (and Yee throws plenty of them in her path). 

Working on this project with everyone involved has been 
a pleasure, and I couldn't be more excited about this 
incarnation of the Avatar universe. 

Michael Dante DiMartino 



THE TEST 


Yokoya Port was a town easy to overlook. 

Situated on the edge of Whaletail Strait, it could have 
been a major restocking point for ships leaving one of the 
many harbors that supplied Omashu. But the strong, reliable 
prevailing winds made it too easy and cost-effective for 
southbound merchants to cruise right past it and reach 
Shimsom Big Island in a straight shot. 

Jianzhu wondered if the locals knew or cared that ships 
laden with riches sailed tantalizingly close by, while they 
were stuck elbows-deep in the cavity of another elephant 
koi. Only a quirk of fate and weather kept piles of gold, 
spices, precious books, and scrolls from landing on their 
doorstep. Instead their lot was fish guts. A wealth of maws 
and gills. 

The landward side was even less promising. The soil of 
the peninsula grew thin and rocky as it extended farther into 
the sea. It had disturbed Jianzhu to see crop fields so meager 
and balding as he'd rode through the countryside into town 
for the first time. The farmland lacked the wild, volcanic 
abundance of the Makapu Valley or the carefully ordered 
productivity of Ba Sing Se's Outer Ring, where growth bent 
to the exacting will of the king's planners. Here, a farmer 
would have to be grateful for whatever sustenance they 
could pull from the dirt. 

The settlement lay at the intersection of three different 
nations—Earth, Air, and Water. And yet, none had ever laid 
much of a claim to it. The conflicts of the outside world had 
little impact on daily life for the Yokoyans. 



To them, the ravages of the Yellow Neck uprising in the 
deep interior of the Earth Kingdom were a less interesting 
story than the wayward flying bison that had gotten loose 
from the Air Temple and knocked the thatching off a few 
roofs last week. Despite being seagoers, they probably 
couldn't name any of the dreaded pirate leaders carving up 
the eastern waters in open defiance of the Ba Sing Se navy. 

All in all, Yokoya Port might as well not have been on the 
map. Which meant—for Jianzhu and Kelsang's desperate, 
sacrilegious little experiment—it was perfect. 


Jianzhu trudged uphill in the wet, mucky snowfall, his neck 
prickling from the bundled straw cloak around his shoulders. 
He passed the wooden pillar that marked the spiritual center 
of this village without sparing it a glance. There was nothing 
on the sides or on top of it. It was just a bare log driven 
upright into the ground of a circular courtyard. It wasn't 
carved with any decorations, which seemed lazy for a town 
where nearly every adult had a working knowledge of 
carpentry. 

There, the post grudgingly said to any nearby spirits. 
Hope you're happy. 

Weathered houses lined the broad, eroded avenue, 
poking steeply into the air like spearpoints. His destination 
was the larger two-story meeting hall at the end. Kelsang 
had set up shop there yesterday, saying he needed as much 
floor space as possible for the test. He'd also claimed that 
the location enjoyed some auspicious wind currents, using 
the very solemn and holy method of licking his finger and 
holding it up in the air. 

Whatever helped. Jianzhu sent a quick prayer to the 
Guardian of the Divine Log as he pulled off his snow boots. 


laid them on the porch, and ducked through the door 
curtains. 

The interior of the hall was surprisingly large, with far 
corners draped in shadow and thick-planked walls cut from 
what must have been truly massive trees. The air smelled of 
resin. Ten very long, very faded yellow cloths stretched 
across the worn floorboards. A row of toys lay on each one, 
evenly spaced like a seedbed. 

A bison whistle, a wicker ball, a misshapen blob that 
might have been a stuffed turtle duck, a coiled whalebone 
spring, one of those flappy drums that made noise as you 
spun it back and forth between your palms. The toys looked 
as worn and beaten as the outside of this building. 

Kelsang knelt at the far end of the cloths. The Airbender 
monk was busy placing more knickknacks with a carefulness 
and precision that rivaled an acupuncturist setting their 
needles. As if it mattered whether the miniature boat sailed 
east or west. He stayed on his hands and knees, shuffling his 
great bulk sideways, his billowing orange robes and wiry 
black beard hanging so low they made another sweep over a 
floor that had already been scrubbed clean. 

“I didn't know there were so many toys," Jianzhu said to 
his old friend. He spotted a large white marble that looked 
too close to the edge of the fabric and, with a graceful 
extension of his wrist, levitated it with earthbending in front 
of Kelsang. It hovered like a fly, waiting for his attention. 

Kelsang didn't look up as he plucked the marble out of 
the air and put it right back where it had started. "There's 
thousands. I'd ask you to help, but you wouldn't do it right." 

Jianzhu's head hurt at the statement. At this point they 
were well past doing it right "How did you change Abbot 
Dorje's mind about giving you the relics?" he asked. 

"The same way you convinced Lu Beifong to let us 
administer the Air Nomad test in the Earth Cycle," Kelsang 
said calmly as he re-centered a wooden top. "I didn't." 



Like a certain friend of theirs from the Water Tribe always 
said, it was better to ask for forgiveness than wait for 
permission. And as far as Jianzhu was concerned, the time 
for waiting had long since passed. 

When Avatar Kuruk, the keeper of balance and peace in 
the world, the bridge between spirits and humans, passed 
away at the ripe old age of thirty-three— f/7/rfy-f/7ree.^ the 
only time Kuruk had ever been early for anything!—t 
became the duty of his friends, his teachers, and other 
prominent benders to find the new Avatar, reincarnated into 
the next nation of the elemental cycle. Earth, Fire, Air, 
Water, and then Earth again, an order as unchanging as the 
seasons. A process stretching back nearly a thousand 
generations before Kuruk, and one that would hopefully 
continue for a thousand more. 

Except this time, it wasn't working. 

It had been seven years since Kuruk's death. Seven years 
of fruitless searching. Jianzhu had pored over every 
available record from the Four Nations, going back hundreds 
of years, and the hunt for the Avatar had never faltered like 
this in documented history. 

No one knew why, though revered elders traded guesses 
behind closed doors. The world was impure and had been 
abandoned by the spirits. The Earth Kingdom lacked 
cohesion, or maybe it was the Water Tribes in the poles that 
needed to unify. The Airbenders had to come down from 
their mountains and get their hands dirty instead of 
preaching. The debate went on and on. 

Jianzhu cared less about apportioning blame and more 
about the fact that he and Kelsang had let down their friend 
again. The only serious decree of Kuruk's before he'd 
departed from the living was that his closest companions 
find the next Avatar and do right by them. And so far they'd 
failed. Spectacularly. 



Right now, there should have been a happy, burbling 
seven-year-old Earth Avatar in the care of their loving family, 
being watched over by a collection of the best, wisest 
benders of the world. A child in the midst of being prepared 
for the assumption of their duties at the age of sixteen. 
Instead there was only a gaping void that grew more 
dangerous by the day. 

Jianzhu and the other masters did their best to keep the 
missing Avatar a secret, but it was no use. The cruel, the 
power-hungry, the lawless—people who normally had the 
most to fear from the Avatar—were starting to feel the scales 
shifting in their favor. Like sand sharks responding to the 
slightest vibrations on pure instinct, they tested their limits. 
Probed new grounds. Time was running out. 

Kelsang finished setting up when the noon gongs struck. 
The sun was high enough to melt snow off the roof, and the 
dripping flow of water pattered on the ground like light rain. 
The silhouettes of villagers and their children queuing up for 
the test could be seen outside through the paper-screen 
windows. The air was full of excited chatter. 

No more waiting, Jianzhu thought. This happens now. 


Earth Avatars were traditionally identified by directional 
geomancy, a series of rituals designed to winnow through 
the largest and most populous of the Four Nations as 
efficiently as possible. Each time a special set of bone 
trigrams was cast and interpreted by the earthbending 
masters, half the Earth Kingdom was ruled out as the 
location of the newborn Avatar. Then from the remaining 
territory, another half, and then another half again. The 
possible locations kept shrinking until the searchers were 
brought to the doorstep of the Earth Avatar child. 


It was a quick way to cover ground and entirely fitting to 
the earthbending state of mind. A question of logistics, 
simple to the point of being brutal. And it normally worked 
on the first try. 

Jianzhu had been part of expeditions sent by the bones to 
barren fields, empty gem caverns below Ba Sing Se, a patch 
of the Si Wong Desert so dry that not even the Sandbenders 
bothered with it. Lu Beifong had read the trigrams. King 
Buro of Omashu gave it a shot, Neliao the Gardener took her 
turn. The masters worked their way down through the 
earthbending hierarchy until Jianzhu racked up his fair share 
of misses as well. His friendship with Kuruk bought him no 
special privileges when it came to the next Avatar. 

After the last attempt had placed him on an iceberg in 
the North Pole with only turtle seals as potential candidates, 
Jianzhu became open to radical suggestions. A drunken 
commiseration with Kelsang spawned a promising new idea. 
If the ways of the Earth Kingdom weren't working, why not 
try another nation's method? After all, wasn't the Avatar, the 
only bender of all four elements, an honorary citizen of the 
entire world? 

That was why the two of them were wiping their noses 
with tradition and trying the Air Nomad way of identifying 
the Avatar. Yokoya would be a practice run, a safe place far 
from the turmoil of land and sea where they could take notes 
and fix problems. If Yokoya went smoothly, they could 
convince their elders to expand the test farther throughout 
the Earth Kingdom. 

The Air Nomads' method was simple, in theory. Out of the 
many toys laid out, only four belonged to Avatars of eras 
gone by. Each seven-year-old child of the village would be 
brought in and presented with the dazzling array of 
playthings. The one who was drawn to the four special toys 
in a remembrance of their past lives was the Avatar reborn. 



A process as elegant and harmonious as the Airbenders 
themselves. 

In theory. 

In practice, it was chaos. Pure and unhinged. It was a 
disaster the likes of which the Four Nations had never 
witnessed. 

Jianzhu hadn't thought of what might happen after the 
children who failed the test were told to leave their 
selections behind and make room for the next candidate. 
The tears! The wailing, the screaming! Trying to get toys 
away from kids who had only moments before been 
promised they could have their pick? There was no force in 
existence stronger than a child's righteous fury at being 
robbed. 

The parents were worse. Maybe Air Nomad caretakers 
handled the rejection of their young ones with grace and 
humility, but families in the other nations weren't made up 
of monks and nuns. Especially in the Earth Kingdom, where 
all bets were off once it came to blood ties. Villagers whom 
he'd shared friendly greetings with in the days leading up to 
the test became snarling canyon crawlers once they'd been 
told that their precious little Jae or Mirai was not in fact the 
most important child in the world, as they'd secretly known 
all along. More than a few swore up and down that they'd 
seen their offspring play with invisible spirits or bend earth 
and air at the same time. 

Kelsang would push back gently. "Are you sure your child 
wasn't earthbending during a normal breeze? Are you sure 
the baby wasn't simply. . . playing?" 

Some couldn't take a hint. Especially the village captain. 
As soon as they'd passed over her daughter—Aoma, or 
something—she'd given them a look of utter contempt and 
demanded to see a higher-ranking master. 

Sorry, lady, Jianzhu thought after Kelsang spent nearly 
ten minutes talking her down. We can't all be special. 




“For the last time, I'm not negotiating a salary with you!" 
Jianzhu shouted in the face of a particularly blunt farmer. 
“Being the Avatar is not a paid position!" 

The stocky man shrugged. “Sounds like a waste of time 
then. I'll take my child and go." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jianzhu caught Kelsang 
frantically waving his hands, making a cut-off sign at the 
neck. The little girl had wandered over to the whirly flying 
toy that had once entertained an ancient Avatar and was 
staring at it intently. 

Huh. They weren't intending to get a genuine result 
today. But picking the first item correctly was already 
improbable. Too improbable to risk stopping now. 

“Okay," Jianzhu said. This would have to come out of his 
own pocket. “Fifty silvers a year if she's the Avatar." 

“Sixty-five silvers a year if she's the Avatar and ten if 
she's not." 

“WHY WOULD I PAY YOU IF SHE'S NOT THE AVATAR?" 
Jianzhu roared. 

Kelsang coughed and thumped loudly on the floor. The 
girl had picked up the whirligig and was eying the drum. Two 
out of four correct. Out of thousands. 

Holy Shu. 

“I mean, of course," Jianzhu said quickly. “Deal." 

They shook hands. It would be ironic, a prank worthy of 
Kuruk's sense of humor, to have his reincarnation be found 
as a result of a peasant's greed. And the very last child in 
line for testing, to boot. Jianzhu nearly chuckled. 

Now the girl had the drum in her arms as well. She 
walked over to a stuffed hog monkey. Kelsang was beside 
himself with excitement, his neck threatening to burst 
through the wooden beads wrapped around it. Jianzhu felt 


lightheaded. Hope bashed against his ribcage, begging to 
be let out after so many years trapped inside. 

The girl wound up her foot and stomped on the stuffed 
animal as hard as she could. 

“Die!” she screamed in her tiny little treble. She ground it 
under her heel, the stitches audibly ripping. 

The light went out of Kelsang's face. He looked like he'd 
witnessed a murder. 

“Ten silvers,” the farmer said. 

“Get out,” Jianzhu snapped. 

“Come on, Suzu,” the farmer called. “Let's get.” 

After wresting the other toys away from the Butcher of 
Hog Monkeys, he scooped the girl up and walked out the 
door, the whole escapade nothing but a business 
transaction. In doing so he nearly bowled over another child 
who'd been spying on the proceedings from the outside. 

“Hey!” Jianzhu said. “You forgot your other daughter!” 

“That one ain't mine,” the farmer said as he thumped 
down the steps into the street. “That one ain't anyone's.” 

An orphan then? Jianzhu hadn't spotted the 
unchaperoned girl around town in the days before, but 
maybe he'd glossed over her, thinking she was too old to be 
a candidate. She was much, much taller than any of the 
other children who'd been brought in by their parents. 

As Jianzhu walked over to examine what he'd missed, the 
girl quavered, threatening to flee, but her curiosity won over 
her fright. She remained where she was. 

Underfed, Jianzhu thought with a frown as he looked over 
the girl's hollow cheeks and cracked lips. And definitely an 
orphan. He'd seen hundreds of children like her in the inner 
provinces where outlaw daofei ran unchecked, their parents 
slain by whatever bandit group was ascendant in the 
territory. She must have wandered far into the relatively 
peaceable area of Yokoya. 



Upon hearing about the Avatar test, the families of the 
village had dressed their eligible children in their finest 
garments as if it were a festival day. But this child was 
wearing a threadbare coat with her elbows poking through 
the holes in the sleeves. Her oversized feet threatened to 
burst the straps of her too-small sandals. None of the local 
farmers were feeding or clothing her. 

Kelsang, who despite his fearsome appearance was 
always better with children, joined them and stooped down. 
With a smile he transformed from an intimidating orange 
mountain into a giant-sized version of the stuffed toys 
behind him. 

“Why, hello there," he said, putting an extra layer of 
friendliness into his booming rumble. “What's your name?" 

The girl took a long, guarded moment, sizing them up. 

“Kyoshi," she whispered. Her eyebrows knotted as if 
revealing her name was a painful concession. 

Kelsang took in her tattered state and avoided the 
subject of her parents for now. “Kyoshi, would you like a 
toy?" 

“Are you sure she isn't too old?" Jianzhu said. “She's 
bigger than some of the teenagers." 

“Hush, you," Kelsang said. He made a sweeping gesture 
at the hall festooned with relics, for Kyoshi's benefit. 

The unveiling of so many playthings at once had an 
entrancing effect on most of the children. But Kyoshi didn't 
gasp, or smile, or move a muscle. Instead she maintained 
eye contact with Kelsang until he blinked. 

As quick as a whip, she scampered by him, snagged an 
object off the floor, and ran back to where she was standing 
on the porch. She gauged Kelsang and Jianzhu for their 
response as intently as they watched her. 

Kelsang glanced at Jianzhu and tilted his head at the clay 
turtle Kyoshi clutched to her chest. One of the four true 



relics. Not a single candidate had come anywhere near it 
today. 

They should have been as excited for her as they'd been 
for evil little Suzu, but Jianzhu's heart was clouded with 
doubt. It was hard to believe they'd be so lucky after that 
previous head-fake. 

"Good choice," Kelsang said. "But I've got a surprise for 
you. You can have three more! Four whole toys, to yourself! 
Wouldn't you like that?" 

Jianzhu sensed a shift in the girl's stance, a tremor in her 
foundation that was obvious through the wooden 
floorboards. 

Yes, she would like three more toys very much. What 
child wouldn't? But in her mind, the promise of more was 
dangerous. A lie designed to hurt her. If she loosened her 
grip on the single prize she held right now, she would end 
up with nothing. Punished for believing in the kindness of 
this stranger. 

Kyoshi shook her head. Her knuckles whitened around 
the clay turtle. 

"It's okay," Kelsang said. "You don't have to put that 
down. That's the whole point; you can choose different . . . 
Hey!" 

The girl took a step back, and then another, and then, 
before they could react, she was sprinting down the hill with 
the one-of-a-kind, centuries-old Avatar relic in her hands. 
Halfway along the street, she took a sharp turn like an 
experienced fugitive throwing off a pursuer and disappeared 
in the space between two houses. 


Jianzhu closed his eyelids against the sun. The light came 
through them in scarlet blots. He could feel his own pulse. 
His mind was somewhere else right now. 


Instead of Yokoya, he stood in the center of an unnamed 
village deep in the interior of the Earth Kingdom, newly 
“liberated” by Xu Ping An and the Yellow Necks. In this 
waking dream, the stench of rotting flesh soaked through his 
clothes and the cries of survivors haunted the wind. Next to 
him, an official messenger who'd been carried there by 
palanquin read from a scroll, spending minute after minute 
listing the Earth King's honorifics only to end by telling 
Jianzhu that reinforcements from His Majesty's army would 
not be coming to help. 

He tried to shake free of the memory, but the past had 
set its jagged hooks into him. Now he sat at a negotiating 
table made of pure ice, and on the other side was Tulok, lord 
of the Fifth Nation pirates. The elderly corsair laughed his 
consumptive laugh at the notion he might honor his 
grandfather's promise to leave the southern coastlines of the 
continent in peace. His convulsions spattered blood and 
phlegm over the accords drafted by Avatar Yangchen in her 
own holy hand, while his daughter-lieutenant watched by 
his side, her soulless gaze boring into Jianzhu like he was so 
much prey. 

In these times, and in many others, he should have been 
at the right hand of the Avatar. The ultimate authority who 
could bend the world to their will. Instead he was alone. 
Facing down great beasts of land and sea, their jaws closing 
in, encasing the kingdom in darkness. 


Kelsang yanked him back into the present with a bruising 
slap on the back. 

“Come on,” he said. “With the way you look, people 
would think you just lost your nation's most important 
cultural artifact.” 


The Airbender's good humor and ability to take setbacks 
in stride was normally a great comfort to Jianzhu, but right 
now he wanted to punch his friend in his stupid bearded 
face. He composed his own features. 

“We need to go after her," he said. 

Kelsang pursed his lips. “Eh, it would feel bad to take the 
relic away from a child who has so little. She can hang on to 
it. I'll go back to the temple and face Dorje's wrath alone. 
There's no need for you to implicate yourself." 

Jianzhu didn't know what counted for wrath among 
Airbenders, but that wasn't the issue here. “You'd ruin the 
Air Nomad test to make a child happy?" he said 
incredulously. 

“It'll find its way back to where it belongs." Kelsang 
looked around and paused. 

Then his smile faded, as if this little blot of a town were a 
harsh dose of reality that was only now taking effect. 

“Eventually." He sighed. “Maybe." 



NINE YEARS LATER 


To Kyoshi, it was very clear—this was a hostage situation. 

Silence was the key to making it through to the other 
side. Waiting with complete and total passivity. Neutral jing. 

Kyoshi walked calmly down the path through the fallow 
field, ignoring the covergrass that leaned over and tickled 
her ankles, the sweat beading on her forehead that stung 
her eyes. She kept quiet and pretended that the three 
people who'd fallen in beside her like muggers in an alley 
weren't a threat. 

“So like I was telling the others, my mom and dad think 
we'll have to dredge the peakside canals earlier this year," 
Aoma said, drawing out the mom and dad intentionally, 
dangling what Kyoshi lacked in front of her. She crooked her 
hands into the Crowding Bridge position while slamming her 
feet into the ground with solid whumps. “One of the terraces 
collapsed in the last storm." 

Above them, floating high out of reach, was the last, 
precious jar of pickled spicy kelp that the entire village 
would see this year. The one that Kyoshi had been charged 
with delivering to Jianzhu's mansion. The one that Aoma had 
earthbent out of Kyoshi's hands and was now promising to 
drop at any second. The large clay vessel bobbed up and 
down, sloshing the brine against the waxed paper seal. 

Kyoshi had to stifle a yelp every time the jar lurched 
against the limits of Aoma's control. No noise. Wait it out. 
Don't give them anything to iatch on to. Taiking wiii oniy 
make it worse. 



“She doesn't care," Suzu said. “Precious servant girl 
doesn't give a lick about farming matters. She's got her 
cushy job in the fancy house. She's too good to get her 
hands dirty." 

“Won't step in a boat, neither," Jae said. In lieu of 
elaborating further, he spat on the ground, nearly missing 
Kyoshi's heels. 

Aoma never needed a reason to torment Kyoshi, but as for 
the others, genuine resentment worked just fine. It was true 
that Kyoshi spent her days under the roof of a powerful sage 
instead of breaking her nails against fieldstones. She'd 
certainly never risked the choppy waters of the Strait in 
pursuit of a catch. 

But what Jae and Suzu conveniently neglected was that 
every plot of arable land near the village and every 
seaworthy boat down at the docks belonged to a family. 
Mothers and fathers, as Aoma was so fond of saying, passed 
along their trade to daughters and sons in an unbroken line, 
which meant there was no room for an outsider to inherit 
any means to survive. If it hadn't been for Kelsang and 
Jianzhu, Kyoshi would have starved in the streets, right in 
front of everyone's noses. 

Hypocrites. 

Kyoshi pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth 
as hard as she could. Today was not going to be the day. 
Someday, maybe, but not today. 

“Lay off her," Aoma said, shifting her stance into Dividing 
Bridge. “I hear that being a serving girl is hard work. That's 
why we're helping with the deliveries. Isn't that right 
Kyoshi?" 

For emphasis, she threaded the jar through a narrow gap 
in the branches of an overhanging tree. A reminder of who 
was in control here. 

Kyoshi shuddered as the vessel dove toward the ground 
like a hawk before swooping back up to safety. Just a little 



farther, she thought as the path took a sharp turn around 
the hillside. A few more silent, wordless steps until— 

There. They'd arrived at last. The Avatar's estate, in all its 
glory. 


The mansion that Master Jianzhu built to house the savior of 
the world was designed in the image of a miniature city. A 
high wall ran in a perfect square around the grounds, with a 
division in the middle to separate the austere training 
grounds from the vibrant living quarters. Each section had 
its own imposing, south-facing gatehouse that was larger 
than the Yokoya meeting hall. The massive iron-studded 
doors of the residential gate were flung open, offering a 
small windowed glimpse of the elaborate topiary inside. A 
herd of placid goat dogs grazed over the lawn, cropping the 
grass to an even length. 

Foreign elements had been carefully integrated into the 
design of the complex, which meant that gilded dragons 
chased carved polar orcas around the edges of the walls. 
The placement of the Earth Kingdom-style roof tiles cleverly 
matched Air Nomad numerology principles. Authentic dyes 
and paints had been imported from around the world, 
ensuring that the colors of all four nations were on full, 
equitable display. 

When Jianzhu had bought the land, he'd explained to the 
village elders that Yokoya was an ideal spot to settle down 
and educate the Avatar, a quiet, safe place far away from 
the outlaw-ravaged lands deeper in the Earth Kingdom and 
close enough to both the Southern Air Temple and Southern 
Water Tribe. The villagers had been happy enough to take 
his gold back then. But after the manor went up, they 
grumbled that it was an eyesore, an alien creature that had 
sprouted overnight from the native soil. 


To Kyoshi it was the most beautiful sight she could ever 
imagine. It was a home. 

Behind her, Suzu sniffed in disdain. “I don't know what 
our parents were thinking, selling these fields to a 
Ganjinese." 

Kyoshi's lips went tight. Master Jianzhu was indeed from 
the Gan Jin tribe up in the north, but it was the way Suzu 
had said it. 

“Maybe they knew the land was as worthless and 
unproductive as their children," Kyoshi muttered under her 
breath. 

The others stopped walking and stared at her. 

Whoops. She'd said that a bit too loud, hadn't she? 

Jae and Suzu balled their fists. It dawned on them, what 
they could do while Aoma had Kyoshi helpless. It had been 
years since any of the village kids could get within arm's 
reach of her, but today was a special occasion, wasn't it? 
Maybe a few bruises, in remembrance of old times. 

Kyoshi steeled herself for the first blow, rising on her toes 
in the hope that she could at least keep her face out of the 
fray, so Auntie Mui wouldn't notice. A few punches and kicks 
and they'd leave her in peace. Really, it was her own fault 
for letting her mask slip. 

"What do you think you're doing?" a familiar voice 
snarled. 

Kyoshi grimaced and opened her eyes. 

Peace was no longer an option. Because now Rangi was 
here. 


Rangi must have seen them from afar and stalked across the 
entire great lawn unnoticed. Or lain in ambush for them all 
night. Or dropped out of a tree like a webbed leopard. Kyoshi 


wouldn't have put any of those feats past the military- 
trained Firebender. 

Jae and Suzu backed away, trying to swallow their hostile 
intent like children stuffing stolen candy into their mouths. It 
occurred to Kyoshi that this might have been the first time 
they'd ever seen a member of the Fire Nation up close, let 
alone one as intimidating as Rangi. In her formfitting armor 
the color of onyx and dried blood, she could have been a 
vengeful spirit come to cleanse a battlefield of the living. 

Aoma, rather impressively, held her ground. "The Avatar's 
bodyguard," she said with a faint smile. "I thought you 
weren't supposed to leave his side. Aren't you slacking off?" 

She glanced to the left and right. "Or is he here 
somewhere?" 

Rangi looked at Aoma like she was a wad of foulness the 
Firebender had stepped in during the walk over. 

"You're not authorized to be on these grounds," she said 
in her charred rasp. She pointed upward at the jar of kelp. 
"Nor to lay your hands on the Avatar's property. Or accost 
his household staff, for that matter." 

Kyoshi noticed she personally landed a distant third in 
that list of considerations. 

Aoma tried to play it cool. "This container is enormous," 
she said, shrugging to emphasize her still-ongoing feat of 
elemental control. "It would take two grown men to lift it 
without earthbending. Kyoshi asked us to help her bring it 
inside the house. Right?" 

She gave Kyoshi a radiant smile. One that said Tell on me 
and I'll km you. Kyoshi had seen that expression before 
countless times when they were younger, whenever a 
hapless adult blundered into the two of them "playing" 
around town, Kyoshi badly scraped up and Aoma with a rock 
in her hand. 

But today she was off her game. Her normally flawless 
acting had a plaintive, genuine tone to it. Kyoshi suddenly 



understood what was going on. 

Aoma really did want to help her with her delivery. She 
wanted to be invited inside the mansion and to see the 
Avatar up close, like Kyoshi got to every day. She was 
Jealous. 

A feeling akin to pity settled in Kyoshi's throat. It wasn't 
strong enough to hold Rangi back from doing her thing, 
though. 

The Firebender stepped forward. Her fine jawline 
hardened, and her dark bronze eyes danced with 
aggression. The air around her body rippled like a living 
mirage, making the strands of jet-black hair that escaped 
her topknot float upward in the heat. 

"Put the jar down, walk away, and don't come back," she 
said. "Unless you want to know what the ashes of your 
eyebrows smell like." 

Aoma's expression crumbled. She'd blundered into a 
predator with much larger fangs. And unlike the adults of 
the village, no amount of charm or misdirection would work 
on Rangi. 

But that didn't mean a parting shot was out of the 
question. 

"Sure," she said. "Thought you'd never ask." With a fling 
of her hands, the jar rocketed straight up into the air, past 
the treetops. 

"You'd better find someone who's authorized to catch 
that." She bolted down the path with Suzu and Jae close 
behind. 

"You little—" Rangi made to go after them, fist reflexively 
cocked to serve a helping of flaming pain, but she checked 
herself. Fiery vengeance would have to wait. 

She shook her hand out and peered up at the rapidly 
shrinking jar. Aoma had thrown it really, rea//y hard. No one 
could claim the girl wasn't talented. 



Rangi elbowed Kyoshi sharply in the side. "Catch it," she 
said. "Use earthbending and catch it." 

"I—I can't," Kyoshi said, quavering with dismay. Her poor 
doomed charge reached the apex of its flight. Auntie Mui 
was going to be furious. A disaster of this magnitude might 
get back to Master Jianzhu. Her pay would get cut. Or she'd 
be fired outright. 

Rangi hadn't given up on her. "What do you mean you 
can't? The staff ledgers have you listed as an Earthbender! 
Catch it!" 

"It's not that simple!" Yes, Kyoshi was technically a 
bender, but Rangi didn't know about her little problem. 

"Do the thing with your hands like she did!" Rangi formed 
the dual claws of Crowding Bridge as if the only missing 
component were a crude visual reminder by a bender who 
wielded a different element entirely. 

"Look out!" Kyoshi screamed. She threw herself over 
Rangi, shielding the smaller girl with her body from the 
plummeting missile. They fell to the ground, entwined. 

No impact came. No deadly shards of ceramic, or 
explosion of pickling liquid. 

"Get off of me, you oaf," Rangi muttered. She hammered 
her fists against Kyoshi's protective embrace, a bird beating 
its wings against a cage. Kyoshi got to her knees and saw 
that her face and ears were nearly as red as her armor. 

She helped Rangi to her feet. The jar floated next to 
them, waist-high above the ground. Under Aoma's control it 
had wavered and trembled, following her natural patterns of 
breathing and involuntary motions. But now it was 
completely still in the air, as if it had been placed on a 
sturdy iron pedestal. 

The pebbles in the dusty path trembled. They began to 
move and bounce in front of Kyoshi's feet, directed by 
unseen power from below like they'd been scattered across 
the surface of a beating drum. They marched in seemingly 



random directions, little drunken soldiers, until they came to 
rest in a formation that spelled a message. 

You're welcome. 

Kyoshi's head jerked up and she squinted at the distant 
mansion. There was only one person she knew who could 
have managed this feat. The pebbles began their dance 
again, settling into words much faster this time. 

This is Yun, by the way You know, Avatar Yun. 

As if it could have been anyone else. Kyoshi couldn't spot 
where Yun was watching them, but she could imagine the 
playful, teasing smirk on his handsome face as he performed 
yet another astounding act of bending like it was no big 
deal, charming the rocks into complete submission. 

She'd never heard of anyone using earth to communicate 
legibly at a distance. Yun was lucky he wasn't an Air Nomad, 
or else the stunt would have gotten him tattooed in 
celebration for inventing a new technique. 

What are my three favorite ladles doing today? 

Kyoshi giggled. Okay, so not perfectly legible. 

Sounds like fun. Wish i could join you. 

“He knows we can't reply, right?" Rangi said. 

Dumplings, please. Any kind but leek. 

“Enough!" Rangi shouted. “We're distracting him from his 
training! And you're late for work!" She swept away the 
pebbles with her foot, less concerned with blazing new trails 
in the world of earthbending and more with maintaining the 
daily schedule. 

Kyoshi plucked the jar off the invisible platform and 
followed Rangi back to the mansion, stepping slowly 
through the grass so as not to outpace her. If household 
duties were all that mattered to the Firebender, then that 
would be the end of it, and nothing more would need to be 
said. Instead she could feel Rangi's silence compacting into 
a denser form inside her slender frame. 



They were halfway to the gate once it became too much 
to bear. 

“It's pathetic!" Rangi said without turning around. The 
only way she could manage her disgust with Kyoshi was by 
not looking at her. “The way they step on you. You serve the 
Avatar! Have some dignity!" 

Kyoshi smiled. “I was trying to de-escalate the situation," 
she murmured. 

“You were going to let them hit you! I saw it! And don't 
you dare try and claim you were doing neutral jing or 
whatever earthbending hooey!" 

Right on cue, Rangi had transformed from professional 
Guardian of the Avatar, ready to scorch the bones of 
interlopers without flinching, into the teenaged girl no older 
than Kyoshi who easily lost her temper at her friends and 
was kind of a raging mother hen to boot. 

“And speaking of your earthbending! You were shown up 
by a peasant! How have you not mastered the basics by 
now? I've seen children in Yu Dao bend rocks bigger than 
that jar!" 

She and Rangi were friends, despite what it looked like. 
Back when the mansion was under construction—while 
Kyoshi was learning her duties inside the skeleton of the 
unfinished house—it had taken her weeks to figure out that 
the imperious girl who acted like she was still in the junior 
corps of the Fire Army only yelled at the people she let 
inside her shell. Everyone else was scum who didn't warrant 
the effort. 

“. . . So the most efficient course of action would be to 
surprise the leader—Aoma, was it?—alone somewhere and 
then destroy her so messily that it sends a message to the 
others not to bother you anymore. Are you listening to me?" 

Kyoshi had missed the greater part of the battle plan. 
She'd been distracted by the collar of Rangi's armor, which 
had been mussed in the fall and needed to be straightened 



so it covered the delicate skin of her nape once more. But 
her answer was the same regardless. 

“Why resort to violence?" she said. She gently nudged 
the Firebender in the small of the back with the jar. “I have 
strong heroes like you to protect me." 

Rangi made a noise like she wanted to vomit. 



THE BOY FROM MAKAPU 


Yun couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was possible 
to read their body language at this distance. Judging from 
the way she gestured wildly in the air, Rangi was ticked off 
at Kyoshi. Again. 

He smiled. The two of them were adorable together. He 
could have watched them all day, but alas. He rolled over 
onto his back and slid down the roof of the outer wall, using 
the edge of the gutter to arrest his fall. He let the impact 
turn his motion into a vault, front-flipped into the air, and 
landed on the balls of his feet in the marble courtyard. 

Eye-to-eye with Hei-Ran. 

Shoot. 

"Impressive," the former headmistress of the Royal Fire 
Academy for Girls said, her arms crossed behind her back. 
"When the spirits ask for a circus clown to intervene on their 
behalf. I'll know our time together has paid off." 

Yun scrunched his face. His personal firebending tutor 
had a knack for finding his moments of pride and then 
crushing them. 

"I finished my hot squat sets early," he said. "Five 
hundred reps. Perfect form, the whole way." 

"And yet you chose to spend your spare time lounging on 
the roof instead of moving on to your next exercise or 
meditating until I returned. No wonder you can't generate 
flame yet. You can train your body as much as you wish, but 
your mind remains weak." 



He noticed Hei-Ran never tore into him like this while her 
daughter was around. It was as if she didn't want to diminish 
the Avatar's stature in Rangi's worshipful eyes. His image 
had to be carefully groomed and maintained, like the 
miniature trees that dotted the garden. The spirits forbid he 
appear human for a moment. 

Yun dropped into the Fire Fist stance. He paused for 
corrections though it was unnecessary. Not even Hei-Ran 
could fault his body placement, his spinal posture, his 
breath control. The only thing missing was the flame. 

She frowned at him, interpreting his perfection as an act 
of defiance, but gave him the signal to begin anyway. As he 
punched at the air, she walked slowly around him in a circle. 
Fire Fist sessions were also opportunities for lectures. 

“What you do when no one is guiding you determines 
who you are," Hei-Ran said. The motto was probably 
engraved over a door somewhere in the Fire Academy. “The 
results of your training are far less important than your 
attitude toward training." 

Yun didn't think she truly believed that. Not for a second. 
She was simply picking on the parts of him that she couldn't 
examine and adjust for immediate improvement. If he 
couldn't firebend yet under her care, then his flaw resided 
deeper than in any of her previous students. 

His punches became crisper, to the point where the 
sleeves of his cotton training uniform snapped like a whip 
with each motion. He was a pair of images in a scroll, two 
points in time repeating over and over again. Left fist. Right 
fist. 

“Your situation isn't unique," Hei-Ran went on. “History is 
full of Avatars like you who tried to coast on their talents. 
You're not the only one who wanted to take it easy." 

Yun slipped. An event rare enough to notice. 

His motion took him too far outside his center of gravity, 
and he stumbled to his knees. Sweat stung his eyes, ran into 



the corner of his mouth. 

Take it easy? Take it easy? 

Was she ignoring the fact that he spent sleepless nights 
poring over scholarly analyses of Yangchen's political 
decisions? That he'd exhaustively memorized the names of 
every Earth Kingdom noble, Fire Nation commander, and 
Water Tribe chieftain among the living and going back three 
generations among the dead? The forgotten texts he'd used 
to map the ancient sacred sites of the Air Nomads to such a 
degree that Kelsang was surprised about a few of them? 

That's who he was when no one was looking. Someone 
who dedicated his whole being to his Avatarhood. Yun 
wanted to make up for the lost time he'd squandered by 
being discovered so late. He wanted to express gratitude to 
Jianzhu and the entire world for giving him the greatest gift 
in existence. Taking it easy was the last thing on his mind. 

She knows that, he thought. Hei-Ran was purposely 
goading him by calling him lazy. But an uncontrollable fury 
rose in his stomach anyway. 

Yun's fingers plowed into the smooth surface of the 
marble, crushing the stone into his fist as effortlessly as if it 
were chalk. He would never lash out against a teacher. The 
only way he could put up resistance against Hei-Ran was to 
disappoint her. To uphold her accusation that he was a 
wayward child. 

His next punch produced a swirling dragon's belch of 
“flame" worthy of the Fire Lord, each spout and flicker 
rendered lovingly, mockingly in white stone dust. He let it 
rage and dance like a real fire reacting to the eddies of the 
breeze, and then let the cloud of particles fall to the ground. 

To cap it off, make the performance complete, he added 
the smirk that everyone always said reminded them of 
Kuruk's. A clown needed his makeup, after all. 

Hei-Ran stiffened. She looked like she was about to slap 
him across the face. The blast went nowhere near her, but it 



didn't exactly fly away fronn her either. 

“In the old days, masters used to maim their students for 
insubordination," she said hoarsely. 

Yun restrained himself from flinching. “What wonderful 
modern times we live in." 

A single clap pierced the air. They both looked over to see 
Jianzhu, watching from the sidelines. 

Yun gritted his teeth hard enough to make them squeak. 
Normally he could sense his mentor's footfalls through the 
ground and get his act together, but today . . . today was all 
kinds of off-balance. 

Jianzhu waved Yun over like he hadn't just caught the 
Avatar and his firebending master at each other's throats. 
“Come," he said to his ward. “Let's take a break." 


The training grounds had alcoves in the walls for stashing 
weapons, water jars, and hollow discs made of pressed clay 
powder that would explode harmlessly on impact. Enough 
supplies to train an army of benders. Jianzhu and Yun took 
their tea in the largest of these storage areas, surrounded by 
straw target-practice dummies. 

The floor was thick with dust. While Yun poured, jianzhu 
plucked a twig that had snagged on a burlap sack and used 
it as a stylus, drawing a simplified version of a Pai Sho board 
on the ground between them. 

Yun was confused. The two of them had played the game 
incessantly while first getting to know each other. But Pai 
Sho had been forbidden to him for a long time now. It was a 
distraction from mastering the elements. 

jianzhu contemplated the empty grid, his long face 
flickering in recollection of past sequences, lines of shining 
brilliance and outrageous risks unfolding in the tiles. The 


markers of age radiated outward from his eyes. The troubles 
that gave him severe crow's feet and white temples had yet 
to reach the smooth flat line of his mouth. 

“I have some news," he said. "Our emissaries tell us that 
Tagaka has agreed to sign a new version of her great¬ 
grandfather's treaty." 

Yun perked up. His master had been trying to pursue a 
diplomatic solution with the queen of the seaborne daofei 
for years. "What changed, Sifu?" 

Jianzhu gestured at him. "You. She learned we finally 
found the Avatar and that he was one of the strongest 
benders of this generation." 

Yun knew that was true. For earth, at least. It might have 
been arrogant of him to think so, but it was hard to argue 
with the evidence left across the ground. 

"The Fifth Nation fleet will cease raiding the coastlines 
along the Xishaan Mountains," Jianzhu said. "They've 
promised not to raise a sail under her colors within sight of 
the Eastern Air Temple." 

"In exchange for what?" 

"For official access to the timber on Yesso Island, though 
they've been unofficially logging there for the better part of 
a decade. The other sages are calling it a total diplomatic 
victory. So much gained, for so little." 

The leaves of Yun's tea lost their grip on the surface of 
the liquid. Water was the last element he'd need to master. 
He'd always suspected he'd have a better time of it than fire. 

"Except it's not a victory, is it?" he said, rolling the cup 
between his fingers. "She's promising to halt her operations 
in one sector, but a fleet of marauders isn't going to lay 
down their arms and pick up the plow overnight. They'll 
cause trouble in the other oceans, maybe go as far north as 
Chameleon Bay or the Fire Nation home islands. It's just 
pushing the violence from one corner of the world to the 
other." 



“What would you do then?" Jianzhu said. “Reject Tagaka's 
offer?" 

Yun took a turn staring at the blank gameboard, 
especially at the sections where players usually laid their 
boat tiles. He shuddered at the images that came rushing 
into his head. 

Contrary to what many of the locals thought, Jianzhu did 
not keep him locked up in the estate like a moon flower that 
would wither in too much sunlight. In between training, they 
regularly took trips around the world with Kelsang on his 
flying bison, Pengpeng, to meet important people from 
around the Four Nations. The goal was to make sure Yun had 
a cosmopolitan upbringing since the ideal Avatar was also a 
diplomat, never showing bias to one people or the other. He 
learned a lot by their side, exploring great cities and talking 
with their leaders. Sometimes he had fun. 

The last outing was not one of those times. 

When Jianzhu told him they were obligated to survey the 
extent of the damage inflicted by the largest coordinated 
pirate raid on the southeast coast of the Earth Kingdom 
mainlands in over a century, Yun had steeled himself for 
blood. Corpses amid smoldering ruins. A scene of total 
devastation. 

But as they flew low over the shores on Pengpeng's back, 
scanning the seaside villages for survivors, he was surprised 
to see the driftwood houses and straw huts intact. Nearly 
pristine. No sign of the inhabitants anywhere. 

They had to touch down and investigate a few structures 
before things fell into place. Inside the homes, they'd found 
spears left on racks. Tables set with cooked food that hadn't 
rotted yet. Fishing nets in the midst of being repaired. There 
had been no massacre. 

By complete surprise, the villagers had been taken. Like 
they were livestock. Animals stolen from a herd. 



Nothing else had been touched by Tagaka's corsairs, 
except for a common thread of items that Yun noticed at the 
last minute. They'd stolen the bells. The drums and the 
gongs. The watchtowers of any village lucky enough to have 
one were picked clean. 

Cast bronze was extremely valuable and nigh 
irreplaceable in that part of the country, Yun realized. So 
were the right quality hides for drumskins. The pirates had 
made it so that the village warning systems couldn't be 
reused when they returned. 

Nearly a thousand people were unaccounted for. 
Conducting a raid on this scale with such precision was not 
only a crime but a message. Tagaka was more dangerous 
than her father, her grandfather, and every other crude, 
bloody-minded pirate that ran the Eastern Sea. 

Yun had spent the better part of that night screaming and 
raging at Jianzhu after his mentor calmly explained that the 
Earth King was likely not going to do anything to protect his 
subjects, not ones of so little marginal value. That they were 
largely on their own to deal with the problem. 

The emptiness of the Pai Sho board taunted Yun as loudly 
as the missing, unrung bells. A/of if they returned, butNher. 

He put his tea down and leaned back on his hands. "We 
should take her offer and pretend we're glad to do it. It's our 
only chance of rescuing the surviving captives. It'll buy time 
for the coastal areas to build up defenses. And if Tagaka is 
bold enough to sail northwest, there's a chance she'll grow 
overconfident and pick a fight with the Fire Navy. That's an 
opponent ruthless enough to destroy her completely." 

His proposal spilled out of his lips naturally, despite the 
unease it created in his core. The idea of manipulating the 
nations he was supposed to keep balance over was 
frightening, solely because of how easy and effective it 
would be. He waited for a rebuke. 



Instead he caught Jianzhu smiling at him openly. A rare 
occurrence. 

“See?” Jianzhu said, gesturing at the game board out of 
habit. "This is why you are destined to be a great Avatar. You 
have the insight to think ahead, to see where people are 
weak and strong. You know which threads of the future to 
pull. There's not going to be a solution to the Fifth Nation 
through powerful bending. But there will be a strategy, a 
line of play that minimizes the suffering they can inflict. And 
you've spotted it. 

“You're everything Kuruk was not,” Jianzhu continued. 
“And I couldn't be prouder.” 

That was meant to be a genuine compliment. Kuruk had 
been a genius of the highest caliber when it came to Pai 
Sho. Bending too. But according to Jianzhu, who'd known 
him best, the Water Avatar had been unable to translate his 
personal talents into effective leadership on the world stage. 
He'd squandered his time, pursuing pleasures around the 
Four Nations, and died early. 

So I guess that means I'll be unhappy and live forever, 
Yun thought. Wonderful. 

He looked across the courtyard where Hei-Ran had taken 
a post, waiting for them to finish. The woman was a statue. 
Every piece of grief he got from her was made worse by the 
fact that she resembled her daughter Rangi so closely, with 
the same porcelain-doll face, pitch-black hair, and eyes 
tending toward darker bronze than the usual Fire Nation 
gold. Having a beautiful, adoring bodyguard close to his own 
age like Rangi was ruined when her spitting image beat the 
snot out of him on a regular basis. 

“Hei-Ran thinks I'm a little too much like Kuruk,” Yun said. 

“You have to be more understanding with her,” Jianzhu 
said. “She resigned her commission in the Fire Army to teach 
Kuruk, and then she left the Royal Academy to teach you. 
She's sacrificed more than any of us for the Avatar.” 



Hearing that he'd ruined two different promising careers 
for the same woman didn't make him feel any better. "That's 
more reason for her to hate my guts." 

Jianzhu got up and motioned for Yun to do the same. "No, 
her problem is that she loves you," he said. 

"If that's true then she has a funny way of showing it." 

Jianzhu shrugged. "Fire Nation mothers. She loves you 
almost as much as I do. Too much, perhaps." 

Yun followed his mentor toward the center of the training 
floor. The transition from cool shade back to the outdoor 
heat was a harsh swipe. 

"You must know that you have the love of many people," 
Jianzhu said. "Kelsang, the visiting sages, nearly everyone 
who's ever met you. It's my belief that the earth itself loves 
you. You feel connected to it at all times, like it's speaking to 
you. Am I right?" 

He was, though Yun didn't know where he was going with 
this. Feeling connected to the earth was the first, most basic 
requirement for earthbending. Hei-Ran joined them in the 
court. 

"On the other hand, firebending is unique among the four 
bending styles in that it typically does not draw from a mass 
of elements separate from one's own body," Jianzhu said. 
"You don't form a bond with the element in your 
surroundings; instead you generate it from within. Am I 
explaining that correctly. Headmistress?" 

Hei-Ran nodded, equally confused as to why they were 
discussing the obvious. 

"Take off your shoes," Jianzhu said to Yun. 

"Huh?" Like many Earthbenders, Yun never wore shoes if 
he could help it, but for firebending training they'd forced 
him into a pair of grippy slippers. 

"Tagaka's conditions are that any new treaties must be 
signed on grounds of her choosing," Jianzhu said. "I know I 
said that diplomacy was more important than bending for 



this mission, but it would be much more ideal if you had 
some mastery overfire. In case the pirates need a little show 
of force. Take off your shoes.” 

The sun beat down on Yun's head. The buzz of insects 
grew louder in his ears, like an alarm. He'd never disobeyed 
Jianzhu before, so he yanked off the slippers, rolled down his 
socks, and threw them to the side. 

"I don't understand,” he said. "What's happening here?” 

Jianzhu surveyed the featureless training floor. "Like I 
said, the earth itself loves you, and you love it. That love, 
that bond, could be what's holding you back, blocking off 
the different states of mind necessary to master the different 
elements. We should try severing that link so that you have 
nothing to rely on but your inner fire. No outside help.” 

For the first time in his life, Yun saw Hei-Ran hesitate. 
"Jianzhu,” she said, "are you sure that's a good idea?” 

"It's an idea,” Jianzhu said. "Whether it's good or not 
depends on the result.” 

An icy knot formed in Yun's stomach as his mind made 
the connection. "You're going to have her burn my feet?” 

Jianzhu shook his head. "Nothing so crude.” 

He put his hand out to the side, palm down, and then 
drew it upward. Around them, the marble floor sprouted little 
inch-high pyramids, each ending in a sharp point. The 
grounds were uniformly blanketed in them from wall to wall. 
It was as if someone had hammered nails into each space of 
a Pai Sho board and then flipped it over, spikes up. 

"Now, let's see you run through the first Sun Gathering 
form,” Jianzhu said. The garden of caltrops surrounded them 
in a tight ring. "Get out there, right in the middle of it, and 
show us your stuff.” 

Yun blinked back tears. He looked at Hei-Ran pleadingly. 
She shook her head and turned away. "You can't be serious,” 
he said. 



Jianzhu was as calm as a drifting cloud. “You may begin 
when ready, Avatar." 



HONEST WORK 


Stepping through the gate of the mansion was like entering 
a portal to the Spirit World. Or so Kyoshi imagined, from 
hearing Kelsang's stories. It was a complete transition from 
one set of rules to another, from a dull, mindless place where 
the only currencies you could spend were sweat and time, 
sowing your seeds and baiting your hooks in the hope of 
staving off hunger for another season, to a mystical universe 
where rituals and negotiations could make you supreme in a 
single day. 

Their passage was marked by the cool blip of shade 
underneath the rammed-earth wall. Rangi nodded at the two 
watchmen, grizzled veterans of the Earth King's army who 
stiffened their necks and bowed back to her in deference. 
Lured by better pay into Jianzhu's service, they'd kept their 
dished, wide-brimmed helmets but painted them over with 
the sage's personal shades of green. Kyoshi always 
wondered whether that was against the law or not. 

Inside, the vast garden hummed with conversation. Sages 
and dignitaries from far-off lands constantly flowed in and 
out of the estate, and many of them enjoyed conducting 
their business among the flowers and sweet-smelling fruit 
trees. An overdressed merchant from Omashu haggled with 
a Fire Nation procurement officer over cabbage futures, 
ignoring the cherry blossom petals falling into their tea. Two 
elegant Northern Water Tribe women, arm in arm, 
meditatively walked a maze pattern raked into a field of 
pure-white sand. In the corner, a morose young man with 



carefully disheveled hair bit the end of his brush, struggling 
with a poem. 

Any of them could have been—and probably were— 
benders of the highest order. It always gave Kyoshi a thrill to 
see so many masters of the elements gathered in one place. 
When the estate was full of visitors, like today, the air felt 
alive with power. Sometimes literally so when Kelsang was 
around and in a playful mood. 

Auntie Mui, head of the kitchen staff, appeared from one 
of the side hallways and bounced over to them, looking like 
a plum rolling down a bumpy hill. She used her momentum 
to deliver a hard swat to the small of Kyoshi's back. Kyoshi 
yelped and gripped the jar tighter. 

“Don't carry food around where the guests can see it!" 
Auntie Mui hissed. “Use the service entrance!" 

She hustled Kyoshi down the steps of a tunnel, oblivious 
to the hard bump Kyoshi's forehead took against the top 
support beam. They shuffled down the corridor that still 
smelled of sawdust and wet loam through the plaster. It was 
more obvious down here how new and hastily constructed 
the complex really was. 

The roughness of the hallway was another of the many 
little details that poked holes in the common illusion those 
under Jianzhu's roof tried to uphold, from his most exalted 
guest down to his lowliest employee. The Avatar's presence 
was an uncomfortably recent blessing. Everyone was going 
through the motions at an accelerated pace. 

“You were out in the sun too much, weren't you?" Auntie 
Mui said. “Your freckles got darker again. Why don't you ever 
wear that concealer I gave you? It has real crushed nacre in 
it." 

Kyoshi's skull throbbed. “What, and look like a bloodless 
ghost?" 

“Better than looking like someone sprinkled starpoppy 
seeds over your cheeks!" 



About the only things Kyoshi hated more than gunk on 
her skin were the warped, infuriating values that older folks 
like Auntie Mui held around complexion. It was yet another 
contradiction of the village, that you should make an honest 
living toiling under the sun but never in the slightest look 
like it. In the game of rural Yokoyan beauty standards, Kyoshi 
had lost that particular round. Among others. 

They climbed another set of stairs, Kyoshi remembering 
to duck this time, and passed through a hall for drying and 
splitting the immense amount of firewood needed to fuel the 
stoves. Auntie Mui tsk'ed at the splitting maul that had been 
buried in the chopping block by the last person to use it 
instead of being hung up properly on the wall, but she 
wasn't strong enough to pull it out, and Kyoshi's hands were 
full. 

They entered the steamy, cavernous kitchen. The clash of 
metal pans and roaring flames could have been mistaken for 
a siege operation. Kyoshi set the pickling jar down on the 
nearest clear table and took a needed stretch, her arms 
wobbling with unfamiliar freedom. The jar had been 
attached to her for so long it felt like saying goodbye to a 
needy child. 

“Don't forget, you have gift duties tonight." 

She was startled to hear Rangi's voice. She didn't think 
the Firebender would have followed her this deep into the 
bowels of the house. 

Rangi glanced around. “Don't waste too much time here. 
You're not a scullery maid." 

The nearby kitchen staff, some of whom were scullery 
maids, looked at them and scowled. Kyoshi winced. The 
villagers thought she was stuck up for living in the mansion; 
the other servants thought she was stuck up for her 
closeness to Yun; and Rangi, with her elite attitude, only 
made it worse. 



There was no pleasing anyone, she thought as Rangi 
departed for the barracks. 

Kyoshi spotted an odd figure among the legions of white- 
clad cooks pounding away at their stations. An Airbender, 
with his orange robes rolled up to his blocky shoulders. His 
massive paws were covered in flour, and he'd tucked his 
forest of a beard into his tunic to keep it from shedding. It 
was like the kitchen had been invaded by a mountain ogre. 

Kelsang should have been aboveground, watching the 
Avatar. Or at least greeting a visiting sage. Not cutting out 
dumpling wrappers among the cooks. 

He looked up and grinned when he saw Kyoshi. “I've been 
banished," he said, preempting her question. “Jianzhu thinks 
my presence is causing Yun to prematurely dream about 
airbending, so we're trying to keep him focused on one 
element at a time. I needed to feel useful, so here I am." 

Kyoshi sidled her way over to him through the crowded 
space and gave the monk a kiss on the cheek. “Let me 
help." She washed her hands in a nearby sink, grabbed a 
ball of dough to knead, and fell into work beside him. 

For the past decade, Kelsang had essentially raised her. 
He'd used what leeway he had with the Southern Air Temple 
to reside in Yokoya as much as he could, in order to look 
after Kyoshi. When he had to leave, he foisted her upon 
different families, begged alms to keep her fed. After Jianzhu 
brought the Avatar to Yokoya for safekeeping, Kelsang 
twisted his old friend's arm to hire Kyoshi on. 

He'd done all this, saved the life of a child stranger, for no 
reason other than that she needed someone. In a part of the 
Earth Kingdom where love was reserved solely for blood 
relations, the monk from a foreign land was the dearest 
person in the world to Kyoshi. 

Which was why she knew his good cheer right now was 
completely fake. 



Rumors flew around the house that the once-legendary 
friendship between Avatar Kuruk's companions had 
deteriorated. Especially so between Jianzhu and Kelsang. In 
the years since Kuruk's death, if the gossip was to be 
believed, Jianzhu had amassed wealth and influence 
unbecoming of a sage who was supposed to be dedicated 
solely to guiding Kuruk's reincarnation. Bending masters 
came to the house to pay obeisance to him, not the Avatar, 
and decrees that were normally made by the Earth Kings 
instead bore Jianzhu's seal. Kelsang disapproved of such 
power-hungry actions and was at risk of being completely 
shunted to the side. 

Kyoshi didn't have context around the politics, but she 
did worry about the growing rift between the two master 
benders. It couldn't be good for the Avatar. Yun adored 
Kelsang almost as much as she did, but ultimately was loyal 
to the earth sage who'd found him. 

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn't notice the little 
puff of flour fly up from the table and hit her in the forehead. 
White dust clouded her vision. She squinted at Kelsang, who 
wasn't trying to hide the second shot that spun around 
above his palm, chambered in a pocket-sized whirlwind he'd 
summoned. 

“It wasn't me," he said. “It was a different Airbender." 

Kyoshi snickered and grabbed the flour bead out of the 
air. It burst between her fingers. “Quit it before Auntie Mui 
throws us out of here." 

“Then quit looking troubled on my behalf," he said, 
having read her mind. “It's not so bad if I take a break from 
Avatar business. I'll get to spend more time with you. We 
should go on a vacation, the two of us, perhaps to see the 
Air Nomad sacred sites." 

She would have liked that very much. Chances to share 
Kelsang's company had gotten rarer as the Avatar and his 
teachers sank deeper into the mesh of world affairs. But as 



lowly as her own job was in comparison, she still had the 
same responsibility to show up every day. 

“I can't,” Kyoshi said. "I have work.” There'd be time 
enough in the future for traveling with Kelsang. 

He rolled his eyes. "Bah. I've never seen someone so 
averse to fun since old Abbot 'No-Fruit Pies' Dorje.” He 
flicked another blob of flour at her, and she failed to flinch 
out of the way. 

"I know how to have fun!” Kyoshi whispered indignantly 
as she wiped her nose with the back of her wrist. 

From the head of the cutting board tables. Auntie Mui 
gave a tongue-curled whistle, interrupting their debate. 
"Poetry time!” she said. 

Everyone groaned. She was always trying to enforce high 
culture on her workers, or at least her idea of it. "Lee!” she 
said, singling out an unfortunate wok handler. "You start us 
off.” 

The poor line cook stumbled as he tried to compose on 
the spot while keeping count of his syllables. "Uh . . . the- 
weath-er-is-nice / sun-shin-ing-down-from-the-sky / birds- 
are-sing-ing . . . good?" 

Auntie Mui made a face like she'd swigged pure lemon 
juice. "That was awful! Where's your sense of balance? 
Symmetry? Contrast?” 

Lee threw his hands in the air. He was paid to fry things, 
not perform in the Upper Ring of Ba Sing Se. 

"Can't someone give us a decent verse?” Auntie Mui 
complained. There were no volunteers. 

"I've got cheeks like ripe round fruit," Kelsang suddenly 
pitched forth. "They shake like boughs in the storm // blush 
bright red when i see a bed / and leap at the sound of the 
horn" 

The room exploded in laughter. He'd picked a well-known 
shanty popular with sailors and field hands, where you 
improvised raunchy words from the perspective of your 



object of unrequited affection. It was a game for others to 
guess who you were singing about, and the simple rhythm 
made manual labor more pleasant. 

“Brother Kelsang!" Auntie Mui said, scandalized. “Set an 
example!" 

He had. The entire staff was already chopping, kneading, 
and scrubbing to the raucous tune. It was okay to misbehave 
if a monk did it first. 

"I've got a nose like a dove-tailed deer /1 run like a leaf 
on the wind," Lee sang, evidently better at this than haiku. 
"My arms are slight and my waist is tight / and / don't have 
a thought for my kin" 

“Mirai!" a dishwasher yelled out. “He's got it bad for the 
greengrocer's daughter!" The staff whooped over Lee's 
protests, thinking it a good match. Sometimes it didn't 
matter to the audience if they guessed right or not. 

“Kyoshi next!" someone said. “She's never here, so let's 
make the most of it!" 

Kyoshi was caught off guard. Normally she wasn't 
included in household antics. She caught Kelsang's eye and 
saw the challenge twinkling there. Fun, eh? Prove it. 

Before she could stop herself, the rhythm launched her 
into song. 

"i've got two knives that are cast in bronze / they pierce 
a a the way to the soul / they draw you in with the promise of 
sin / like the moth to the flame to the coal.'' 

The kitchen howled. Auntie Mui clucked in disapproval. 
“Keep going, you naughty girl!" Lee shouted, glad that the 
attention was off him. 

She'd even managed to throw off Kelsang, who looked at 
her curiously, as if he had a spark of recognition for whom 
she was describing. Kyoshi knew that wasn't possible when 
she was simply tossing out the first words that came to her 
head. She thumped a length of dough onto the table in front 
of her, creating her own percussion. 



"I've got hair like the starless night / it sticks to my lips 
when i smile / I'll wind it with yours and we'll drift off course 
/ in a ship touching hearts all the while." 

Somehow the improvisation was easy, though she'd 
never considered herself a poet. Or a bawdy mind, for that 
matter. It was as if another person, someone much more at 
ease with their own desires, was feeding her the right lines 
to express herself. And to her surprise, she liked how the 
inelegant lines made her feel. Truthful and silly and raw. 

"For the way I walk is a lantern lit / that leads you into 
the night / I'll hold you dose and love you the most / until 
our end is in sight." 

Kyoshi didn't have time to ponder the darker turn her 
verse took before a sudden pain shot through her wrist. 

Kelsang had grabbed her arm and was staring at her, 
eyes wild and white. His grip squeezed tighter and tighter, 
crushing her flesh, his nails drawing blood from both her 
skin and his. 

“You're hurting me!" she cried out. 

The room was silent. Disbelieving. Kelsang let go, and she 
caught herself on the edge of the table. A map of purple was 
stamped on her wrist. 

“Kyoshi," Kelsang said, his voice constricted and airless. 
“Kyoshi, where did you learn THAT SONG?” 



REVELATIONS 


After Kelsang took her aside into an empty study and spent 
half an hour tearfully apologizing for hurting her, he told her 
why he'd lost control. 

"Oh," Kyoshi said in response to the worst news she'd 
ever heard in her life. 

She ran her fingers through her hair and threw her head 
back. The library where they were hiding was taller than it 
was long, a mineshaft cramped with scrolls, yanked off the 
shelves and put back without care. Beams of sunlight 
revealed how much dust was floating around the room. She 
needed to clean this place up. 

"You're mistaken," she said to Kelsang. "Yun is the Avatar. 
Jianzhu identified him nearly two years ago. Everyone knows 
this." 

Kelsang didn't look any happier than she did. "You don't 
understand. After Kuruk died, the Earthen traditions around 
locating the Avatar fell apart. Imagine if the seasons 
suddenly refused to turn. It was chaos. After so many 
failures, the sages, Earthbenders especially, felt abandoned 
by the spirits and their ancestors alike." 

Kyoshi leaned back against a ladder and gripped the 
rungs tightly. 

"There was talk of Kuruk being the last of the cycle, that 
the world was destined for an age of strife, to be torn apart 
by outlaws and warlords. Until Jianzhu labeled Yun as the 
next Avatar. But the way it happened had no precedent. Tell 



me this—with the two of you as close as you are, has Yun 
ever once told you the details?” 

She shook her head. It was strange, now that Kelsang 
mentioned it. 

"That's because Jianzhu probably forbade him. The full 
story would cast the shadow of illegitimacy on him.” The 
monk rubbed his eyes; it was abhorrently dusty in here. "We 
were in Makapu, surveying the volcano. We'd honestly given 
up on finding the Avatar, like so many others. On the last 
day of our trip, we noticed a crowd growing in a corner of the 
town square. 

"They were gathered around a child with a Pai Sho board. 
Yun. He was hustling tourists like us, and he'd made quite a 
bit of money at it too. To give his opponents confidence, he 
was running the blind bag gambit. It's when your opponent 
plays normally, picking their tiles, but you dump yours into a 
sack and mix them up randomly. Whatever you draw each 
turn is what you have to play. An insurmountable 
disadvantage.” 

Kyoshi could see it too easily. Yun's silver tongue coaxing 
money out of people's wallets. A stream of banter and 
flashing smiles. He could probably bankrupt someone and 
still leave them happy to have met him. 

"What most people don't know, and what Yun didn't 
know, was that the blind bag is supposed to be a scam,” 
Kelsang said. "You're meant to rig the tiles or the bag itself 
so you have a way to find the exact combinations you need. 
But Yun wasn't cheating. He was actually drawing randomly 
and winning.” 

"We might have passed it off as a kid enjoying a string of 
luck, but Jianzhu noticed he was drawing and playing 
Kuruk's favorite strategies, turn by turn, down to the exact 
placement of the exact tile. Game after game he was doing 
this. He displayed tricks and traps that Kuruk explicitly kept 
secret from anyone but us.” 



“It sounds like Kuruk took Pai Sho pretty seriously," 
Kyoshi said. 

Kelsang snorted and then sneezed, sending a little 
tornado spiraling toward the skylight. “It was one of the few 
things he did. And he was unequivocally one of the greatest 
players in history. Depending on what rules you're using, 
you have as many as sixty tiles. There are over two hundred 
spots on the board where you can put them. To randomly 
draw and then brilliantly execute a precise line of play that 
only Kuruk was mad enough to win with in the annals of the 
game—the odds of it are unfathomable." 

Kyoshi didn't have a taste for Pai Sho, but she knew that 
masters often talked about play styles being as 
individualistic and recognizable as a signature. An identity 
contained within the board. 

“After what Jianzhu went through with Xu Ping An and the 
Yellow Necks, it was as if a mountain range had been lifted 
off his shoulders," Kelsang said. “Any doubts he might have 
had completely vanished when we saw Yun earthbend. 
Granted, the kid can move rocks like no one else. If we 
identified the Avatar solely through a precision-bending 
contest, he'd be Kuruk's reincarnation hands down." 

Kyoshi thought back to this morning and Yun's incredible 
manipulation of the earth. In her mind only the Avatar could 
have done that. 

“I don't get it," she said. “All of this is proof. Yun is the 
Avatar. Why would you tell me that I'm—that I'm—why 
would you do that to me!?" 

Her anguish was absorbed, without an echo, by the 
masses of faded, crumbling paper that surrounded them. 

“Can we get out of here?" Kelsang said, his eyes red. 


They walked in silence down the corridors of the mansion. 
Kelsang's presence justified taking the shortest route, where 
the visiting dignitaries might see them. They passed works 
of calligraphy mounted on the walls that were more precious 
than bricks of gold. Vases of translucent delicacy held the 
day's flowers cut from the garden. 

Kyoshi felt like a thief as they passed the casually 
displayed treasures, no better than an intruder who might 
slip past the guards and stuff each priceless item into a 
gunnysack. Even the servants' dormitory, plain and poorly 
lit, seemed to whisper ingrate at her from its dark corners. 
Not all of the staff were able to live on-site. And she knew 
that a bed lifted off the floor and a wooden door that shut 
tight were better than what many other servants around the 
Earth Kingdom got. 

She and Kelsang squeezed inside her room. It was 
cramped, the two of them being the same height, but as 
sizable people they had practice at minimizing themselves. 
Her quarters were small but still technically more space than 
she needed. Besides a few knickknacks from her street life, 
her only two possessions upon moving into Jianzhu's house 
were a heavy locked trunk that she'd stowed in the corner, 
and on top, the leather-bound journal that explained what 
was in it. Her inheritance from the days before Yokoya. 

"You still have those," Kelsang said. "I know how valuable 
they are to you. I remember tracking you down to the little 
nest you made around the trunk underneath the 
blacksmith's house. You hugged the book so tight to your 
chest and wouldn't let me read it. You looked ready to 
defend it to the death." 

Her feelings about the items were more complicated than 
he understood. Kyoshi had never opened the lock, having 
thrown the key into the ocean one day in a fit of spite. And 
she'd nearly burned the journal several times over. 



Down the hall someone was moving about, making the 
pine floorboards squeak, so they waited until the footsteps 
disappeared. Kelsang sat on the bed, bowing the planks in 
the middle. Kyoshi leaned against her door and braced her 
feet like an attacking army was trying to beat it down. 

“So you think I'm the Avatar because of a stupid song I 
made up?" she said. Somewhere between the study and her 
room she'd found enough backbone to say it out loud. 

“I think you might be the Avatar because you pulled from 
thin air the exact lines of a poem Kuruk wrote a long time 
ago," Kelsang said. 

A poem. A poem wasn't proof. Not like the cold hard 
impossibility of what Yun did. 

Kelsang could tell she needed a better explanation. 
“What I'm about to tell you, you should keep to yourself," he 
said. 

“I'm listening." 

“It was about twenty years ago. Kuruk's companions were 
still very close, but without any real challenges, we drifted 
toward our separate lives. Jianzhu started working on his 
family's holdings. Hei-Ran started teaching at the Royal Fire 
Academy and married Rangi's father, Junsik, in the same 
year. It was the happiest I'd ever seen her. As for me, that 
was when Abbot Dorje was alive and I was still in his good 
graces, so I was being groomed to take over the Southern Air 
Temple." 

Assigning a past to the venerable benders was a strange 
mix of satisfying and unnervingly voyeuristic. She was 
spying on things she shouldn't be privy to. “What was Kuruk 
doing?" 

“Being Kuruk. Traveling the world. Breaking hearts and 
taking names. But one day he showed up on my doorstep 
out of the blue, trembling like a schoolboy. He wanted me to 
read over a declaration of eternal love he'd composed in a 
poem." 



Kelsang inhaled sharply through his nose. Kyoshi kept her 
room dust-free and spotless. “This happened two months 
after Hei-Ran's wedding and three months before Jianzhu's 
father got sick," he said. “He used a more formal meter than 
a sailor's ditty, and he didn't sing it, but its contents were 
exactly what you produced in the spur of the moment." 

That only weakened the argument. “You seem to 
remember this in overly specific detail," Kyoshi said. 

The monk furrowed his brow. “That's because he was 
going to give the poem to Hei-Ran." 

Oh no. She'd heard stories of the Water Avatar's lack of 
propriety, but that was going several levels too far. “What 
happened next?" 

“I . . . meddled," Kelsang said. Kyoshi couldn't tell if he 
was regretful or proud of his decision. “I berated Kuruk for 
his stupidity and selfishness, for trying to ruin his friend's 
happy relationship, and made him destroy the confession 
while I watched. To this day I don't know if I did the right 
thing. Hei-Ran always did love Kuruk with some piece of her 
heart. Maybe everything would have turned out better if 
they had run off with each other." 

Kyoshi quickly did the math in her head—and, yes, if that 
had happened, Rangi wouldn't have been born. “You did the 
right thing," she said, with more ferocity than she intended 
to show. 

“I'll never find out. Not long after, Kuruk met Ummi. That 
tragedy unfolded so fast that my memory of it starts to blur." 

She didn't know who Ummi was, and she had no 
intention of asking. Matters were complicated enough. And 
Kuruk . . . Kyoshi was no advanced student of Avatar lore, 
but she was developing a pretty dim view of the man. 

“I wish I could be more certain," Kelsang said. “But if 
there's anything the last two decades have taught me, it's 
that life does not work out in certain, guaranteed ways. I'm 
not supposed to talk about this, but Yun is having problems 



firebending. I fear Jianzhu is becoming . . . more extreme. 
He's staked so much on creating his ideal replacement for 
Kuruk that anytime he faces a setback, his response is to dig 
in and push harder." 

Kyoshi was more shaken by the revelation that Yun 
couldn't firebend than anything else she'd heard so far. The 
image he projected was of a boy who could do the 
impossible. Yes, Yun was her friend, but she still had the 
same faith in the Avatar as anyone else. Mastering fire 
should have been easy for someone as clever and talented 
as he was. 

Kelsang seemed to pick up on her fear. "Kyoshi, Yun still 
has the strongest case for being the Avatar. That hasn't 
changed." He worried the end of his beard. "But if the 
criteria we've lowered ourselves to are 'improbable things 
that Kuruk once did,' then we have to consider you as well." 

The monk ruminated for a moment, fitting pieces 
together in his head. "To be honest though, I don't know if 
I'm entirely upset by this new complication. You have Avatar¬ 
worthy merits that you won't acknowledge." 

Kyoshi scoffed. "Such as?" 

He thought it over more before deciding on one. "Selfless 
humility." 

"That's not true! I'm not any more—" She caught Kelsang 
about to laugh at her and scowled. 

He got up, and her bed boards groaned with relief. "I'm 
sorry," he said. "I might have been able to answer this 
question years ago, had I the chance to meet your parents 
like I did with the other village children. More information 
could have made the difference." 

Kyoshi scrunched her face and kicked her heel back 
against the trunk, releasing the sudden burst of anger that 
ran through her. The wooden side made a drumlike thud. 
"I'm sure they would have loved having a child as valuable 
as the Avatar," she snapped. "A once-in-a-generation prize." 



Kelsang smiled at her gently. 'They would have been 
proud of their daughter no matter what,” he said. ”1 know I 
am." 

Normally Kyoshi would have felt comforted by the 
acknowledgment that she'd become as much of a fixture in 
Kelsang's life as he had in hers. But if he walked out her door 
and told Jianzhu what happened, it could tear apart the little 
corner of the world the two of them had marked off for 
themselves. Didn't Kelsang see that? Wasn't he worried? 

"Can we keep this a secret?” Kyoshi said. "Just for a while, 
until I can get my bearings? I don't want to be rash. Maybe 
you'll remember Kuruk's poem differently in the morning. Or 
Yun will firebend.” Anything. 

Kelsang didn't answer. He'd been suddenly transfixed by 
her tiny shelf. 

It held a gold-dyed tassel, a few beads, a coin she'd 
pilfered from a shrine donation box and felt too guilty to 
spend and too afraid to return. The clay turtle she couldn't 
remember exactly how she'd gotten, other than that it was a 
present from him. He stared at the junk for a long time. 

"Please,” Kyoshi said. 

Kelsang looked back at her and sighed. "For a little while, 
perhaps,” he said. "But eventually we have to tell Jianzhu 
and the others. Whatever the truth is, we must find it 
together.” 


After he left, Kyoshi didn't sit down. She thought best on her 
feet, motionless. Her wooden cell of a room was good 
enough for that. 

This was a nightmare. While she wasn't an important 
political dignitary, she wasn't an idiot either. She knew what 
kind of bedlam lay behind the precarious balance Jianzhu 


and Yun had set up, the mountain they'd suspended in the 
air. 

From around corners she'd spied on the bouts of ecstatic 
sobbing, the sense of utter relief that many of the visiting 
sages went through when they first laid eyes on Yun. After 
more than a decade of doubt, he was a solid body, a sharp 
mind, a belatedly fulfilled promise. The inheritor of blessed 
Yangchen's legacy. Avatar Yun was a beacon of light who 
gave people confidence the world could be saved. 

“Avatar Kyoshi" would simply be dirt kicked over the fire. 

Her eyes landed on the journal lying on the trunk. Her 
pulse quickened again. Would they have left her behind if 
they knew there was a chance, no matter how slim, that she 
held some worth? 

A knock came from outside. Gifting duty. She'd forgotten. 

She shoved the entire conversation with Kelsang to the 
back of her mind as she opened the door. She knew from 
experience there was no trouble so great that she couldn't 
pack it away. Kelsang wasn't certain, therefore she didn't 
need to worry. What she needed to worry about was Rangi 
having her hide for— 

“Hey," Yun said. “I was looking for you." 



PROMISES 


“You know, this is much harder when you're around," Kyoshi 
said to the Avatar. 

She and Yun sat on the floor in one of the innumerable 
receiving rooms. The freestanding screen paintings had 
been folded up and pushed to the walls, and the potted 
plants had been set outside to make room for the giant piles 
of gifts that guests had brought for the Avatar. 

Yun lay on his back, taking up valuable free space. He 
lazily waved a custom-forged, filigreed jian blade around in 
the air, stirring an imaginary upside-down pot with it. 

"I have no idea how to use this," he said. "I hate swords." 

"A boy who doesn't like swords?" Kyoshi said with a mock 
gasp. "Put it in the armory pile, and we'll get Rangi to teach 
you at some point." 

There were a lot of guesses around the village about 
what, exactly, Kyoshi did in the mansion. Given her 
orphaned, unwanted status, the farmers' children assumed 
she handled the dirtiest, most impure jobs, dealing with 
refuse and carcasses and the like. The truth was somewhat 
different. 

What she really did, as her primary role, was pick up after 
Yun. Tidy his messes. The Avatar was such a slob that he 
needed a full-time servant following in his wake, or else the 
chaos would overwhelm the entire complex. Soon after 
taking her on, the senior staff discovered Kyoshi's strong, 
compulsive need to put things back in their rightful place. 



minimize clutter, and maintain order. So they put her on 
Avatar-containment duty. 

This time, the pile they sat hip-deep in was not Yun's 
fault. Wealthy visitors were constantly showering him with 
gifts in the hope of currying favor, or simply because they 
loved him. As big as the house was, there wasn't enough 
room to give each item a display place of honor. On a regular 
basis Kyoshi had to sort and pack away the heirlooms and 
antiques and works of art that only seemed to get more 
lavish and numerous over time. 

"Oh, look," she said, holding up a lacquered circle set in a 
crisscross pattern with luminous gems. "Another Pai Sho 
board." 

Yun glanced over. "That one's pretty." 

"This is, without exaggeration, the forty-fourth board you 
own now. You're not keeping it." 

"Ugh, ruthless." 

She ignored him. He might be the Avatar, but when it 
came to her officially assigned duties, she reigned above 
him. 

And Kyoshi needed this right now. She needed this 
normalcy to bury what Kelsang had told her. Despite her 
best efforts, it kept rising from below, the notion that she 
was betraying Yun and swallowing up what belonged to him. 

As he lounged on his elbows, Kyoshi noticed Yun wasn't 
wearing his embroidered indoor slippers. "Are those new 
boots?" she said, pointing at his feet. The leather they were 
crafted from was a beautiful, soft gray tone with fur trim like 
powdery morning snow. Probably baby turtle-seal hide, she 
thought with revulsion. 

Yun tensed up. "I found them in the pile earlier." 

"They don't fit you. Give them over." 

"I'd rather not." He scooched backward but was hedged 
in by more boxes. 



She crawled over to peer at the boots from a closer angle. 
“What did you—did you stuff the extra space with 
bandages? They're ridiculously too big for you! Take them 
off!" She got to her knees and grabbed his foot with both 
hands. 

"Kyoshi, please!" 

She paused and looked up at his face. It was filled with 
pure dread. And he rarely ever raised his voice at her. 

It was the second time today a person important to her 
had acted strangely. She forced herself to acknowledge the 
two incidents weren't related. So he'd suddenly developed 
an intense taste for footwear. She'd make a note of it. 

Yun sat up and put his hands on Kyoshi's shoulders, fixing 
her with his jade-green eyes. She'd long since become 
inured to his flirty smiles whenever he wanted a rise out of 
her, his puppy-dog pout when he wanted a favor, but his 
expression of earnest desire was a weapon he didn't pull out 
often. The way his troubled thoughts softened the sharp 
edges of his face was heart piercing. 

“Spill it," she said. “What's bothering you?" 

“I want you to come on a journey with me," he said 
quietly. “I need you by my side." 

Kyoshi nearly choked on her surprise. He was offering a 
taste of the world that only an exalted few got to sample. To 
be a companion of the Avatar, even for a moment, was an 
honor beyond reckoning. 

Flying into the sunset, huddled close to Yun, the wind in 
their hair—if Aoma and the other villagers were jealous of 
her before, they'd go foaming-mad with envy now. “What 
kind of trip is this?" she said, unconsciously lowering herself 
to his volume. “Where is this taking place?" 

“The Eastern Sea, near the South Pole," he said. “I'm 
signing a new treaty with Tagaka." 

Well, so much for fantasy. Kyoshi knocked Yun's hands off 
her shoulders and sat back on her knees properly. The 



motion felt like it helped drain the heat out of her face. 

'The Fifth Nation?" she said. "You're going to sit at a table 
with the Fifth Nation? And you want me to come with you?" 
What was she going to do surrounded by a band of 
bloodthirsty pirates that was bigger than most Earth 
Kingdom provincial militias? Sweep up their. . . cutlasses? 

"I know how much you hate outlaws," Yun said. "I thought 
you might appreciate seeing a victory over them up close. 
It's only political, but still." 

Kyoshi puffed her cheeks in frustration. "Yun, I am 
basically your nanny," she said. "You need Rangi for this 
mission. Better yet, you need the Fire Lord's entire personal 
legion." 

"Rangi's coming. But I want you as well. You won't be 
there to fight if things go wrong." He stared at his own feet. 
"You'll just stand around and watch me as things go right." 

"For the love o^—whyl" 

"Perspective," he said. "I need your perspective." 

He pulled out a Pai Sho tile he'd nicked from the set she'd 
put away and squinted at it like a jeweler in the light. 

"Is it sad that I want a regular person there?" he said. 
"Someone who'll be scared and impressed and overwhelmed 
just like me, and not another professional Avatar monitor? 
That afterward I want you to tell me I'm as good as Yangchen 
or Salai, regardless of whether or not that's true?" 

He laughed bitterly. "I know it sounds stupid. But I think I 
need the presence of someone who cares about me first and 
history second. I want you to be proud of me, Yun, not 
satisfied with the performance of the Avatar." 

Kyoshi didn't know what to do. This idea sounded mind- 
numbingly dangerous. She wasn't equipped to follow the 
Avatar into politics or battle, not like the great companions 
of past generations. 

Her stomach wound into a knot as she thought of the 
secret between her and Kelsang. They wouldn't get the time 



they needed to figure that matter out. The world demanded 
an Avatar or else. 

“It'll be safer than it sounds," Yun said. “Oddly enough, 
most c/ao/e/gangs hold quite a bit of respect for the Avatar. 
Either they're superstitious about the Avatar's spiritual 
powers or intimidated by someone who can drop all four 
elements on their heads at once." 

He tried to sound lighthearted, but he looked more and 
more pained the longer she kept him waiting in silence. 

Then again, was it so dire of a choice? Jianzhu would 
never risk Yun's life. And she had a hard time believing Yun 
would risk hers. Really, the situation wasn't as grand or 
complicated as she made it out to be. Avatar business and 
the fate of the Earth Kingdom was for other people and other 
times. Right now, Kyoshi's friend was depending on her. 
She'd be there for him. 

“I'll come," she said. “Someone has to clean up whatever 
mess you make." 

Yun shuddered with relief. He caught her fingers and 
brought them gently to his cheek, nuzzling into them as if 
they were ice for a fever. “Thank you," he said. 

Kyoshi flushed all the way down to her toes. She 
reminded herself that his casual tendency to be close to her, 
to share touches, was just part of his personality. She'd 
caught glimpses and heard stories from the staff that 
confirmed it. One time he'd kissed the hand of the princess 
of Omashu for a second longer than normal and scored an 
entire new trade agreement as a result. 

It had taken her a very, very long time after starting at 
the house to convince herself she was not in love with Yun. 
Moments like this threatened to undo all of her hard work. 
She let herself plunge under the surface and enjoy being 
washed over by the simple contact. 

Yun reluctantly put her hand down. “Three . . ." he said, 
cocking his ear at the ceramic-tiled floor with a smile. “Two 



. . . One . . 


Rangi slid the door open with a sharp click. 

“Avatar.” She bowed deeply and solemnly to Yun. Then 
she turned to Kyoshi. “You've barely made any progress! 
Look at this mess!” 

“We were waiting for you,” Yun said. “We decided to burn 
everything. You can start with those hideous silk robes in the 
corner. As your Avatar, I command you to light 'em up. Right 
now.” 

Rangi rolled her eyes. “Yes, and set the entire mansion on 
fire.” She always tried as hard as she could to remain 
dignified in front of Yun, but she cracked on occasion. And it 
was usually during the times when the three of them, the 
youngest people in the complex, were alone together. 

“Exactly,” Yun said cheerily. “Burn it all to the ground. 
Reduce it back to nature. We'll achieve pure states of mind.” 

“You would start whining the moment you had to bathe 
with cold water,” Kyoshi said to him. 

“There's a solution for that,” Yun said. “Everyone would 
go to the river, strip down naked, grab the nearest 
Firebender, an6—pthah'' 

A decorative pillow hit him in the face. Kyoshi's eyes went 
wide in disbelief. 

Rangi looked utterly horrified at what she'd done. She'd 
attacked the Avatar. She stared at her hands like they were 
covered in blood. A traitor's eternal punishment awaited her 
in the afterlife. 

Yun burst out into laughter. 

Kyoshi followed, her sides shaking until they hurt. Rangi 
tried not to succumb, clamping her hand over her mouth, 
but despite her best efforts, little giggles and snorts leaked 
through her fingers. An older member of the staff walked 
past, frowning at the trio through the open door. Which set 
them off further. 



Kyoshi looked at Yun and Rangi's beautiful, unguarded 
faces, freed from the weight of their duties if only for a 
moment. Her friends. She thought of how unlikely it was that 
she'd found them. 

This. This is what I need to protect. 

Yun defended the world, and Rangi defended him, but as 
far as Kyoshi was concerned, her own sacred ground was 
marked by the limits where her friends stood. This is what I 
need to keep safe above ail else. 

The sudden clarity of her realization caused her mirth to 
evaporate. She maintained a rictus grin so the others 
wouldn't notice her change in mood. Her fist tightened 
around nothing. 

And the spirits help anyone who would take this from me. 



THE ICEBERG 


Kyoshi's nightmare smelled like wet bison. 

It was raining, and bales of cargo wrapped in burlap 
splashed in the mud around her as if they'd fallen from great 
heights, part of the storm. It no longer mattered what was in 
them. 

A flash of lightning revealed hooded figures looming over 
her. Their faces were obscured by masks of running water. 

I hate you, Kyoshi screamed. I'll hate you until I die. I'll 
never forgive you. 

Two hands clasped each other. A transaction was struck, 
one that would be violated the instant it became an 
inconvenience to uphold. Something wet and lifeless hit her 
in the shins, papers sealed in oilcloth. 

"Kyoshi!" 

She woke up with a start and nearly pitched over the side 
of Pengpeng's saddle. She caught herself on the rail, the 
sanded edge pressing into her gut, and stared at the roiling 
blue beneath them. It was a long way down to the ocean. 

It wasn't rain on her face but sweat. She saw a droplet fall 
off her chin and plummet into nothingness before someone 
grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her back. She fell 
on top of Yun and Rangi both, squashing the wind out of 
them. 

"Don't scare us like that!" Yun shouted in her ear. 

"What happened?" Kelsang said, trying to shift around in 
the driver's seat without disturbing the reins. His legs 



straddled Pengpeng's gigantic neck, making it difficult for 
him to see behind himself. 

“Nothing, Master Kelsang," Rangi grumbled. “Kyoshi had 
a bad dream is all.” 

Kelsang looked skeptical but kept flying straight ahead. 
“Well okay then, but be careful, and no roughhousing. We 
don't want anyone getting hurt before we get there. Jianzhu 
would have my head on a platter." 

He gave Kyoshi an extra glance of worry. He'd been 
caught off guard by Yun's sudden mission, and her agreeing 
to tag along had amplified the strain. This treaty signing was 
too important to cast doubt on Yun's Avatarhood now. Until it 
was over, Kelsang would have to help her shoulder the 
burden of their secret, their lie by omission. 

Below them on the water's surface, trailing only slightly 
behind, was the ship bearing Yun's earthbending master, as 
well as Hei-Ran and the small contingent of armed guards. 
Aided by the occasional boost of wind that Kelsang 
generated with a whirl of his arms, the grand junk kept pace 
with Pengpeng, its battened sails billowing and full. 
Kelsang's bison was dry and well-groomed for the occasion, 
her white fur as fluffy as a cloud underneath her fancier 
saddle, but the stiff salt breeze still carried a hint of beastly 
odor. 

That must have been what I smelled In my dream. It had 
been a very long time since Kelsang had taken her for a ride, 
and the unfamiliar environment rattled her sleeping mind. 
The titanic, six-legged animal stretched its jaws wide and 
yawned as if to agree with her. 

And speaking of dressing up, Jianzhu had given Kyoshi an 
outfit so far beyond her station that she'd almost broken out 
in hives when she saw it. She'd thought the pale green silk 
blouse and leggings would have been enough finery, but 
then the wardrobe attendants brought in two different 
pleated skirts, a shoulder-length wraparound jacket, and a 



wide sash with such exquisite stitching that it should have 
been mounted on a wall rather than tied around her waist. 

The other servants had to help her into the clothing. She 
didn't miss the looks they shared behind her back. That 
Kyoshi had abused the master's favoritism—again. 

But once the pieces were assembled, they melded to her 
body like she'd been born to wear them. Each layer slid over 
the next with ease, granting her full mobility. She didn't ask 
anyone where the clothes that fit her so well came from, not 
wanting to hear a snippy answer like Oh, Jianzhu ripped 
them off the corpse of some fallen giant he defeated. 

And the serious nature of the task ahead made itself clear 
as she finished dressing. The inside of the jacket was lined 
with finely woven chainmail. Not thick enough to stop a 
spearpoint with a person's entire weight behind it, but 
strong enough to absorb a dart or the slash of a hidden 
knife. The weight of the metal links on her shoulders said to 
expect trouble. 

“Why are the four of us up here and not down there?" 
Kyoshi said, pointing at the boat, where more preparations 
were undoubtedly being made. 

“I insisted," Yun said. “Sifu wasn't happy about it, but I 
told him I needed time by myself." 

“To go over the plan?" 

Yun looked off into the distance. “Sure." 

He'd been acting strange recently. But then again, he was 
a new Avatar about to enact a decree in one of the most 
hostile settings imaginable. Yun might have had all the 
talent and the best teachers in the world, but he was still 
diving into the abyss headlong. 

“Your master has good reason for his reluctance," Kelsang 
said to him. “At one point it was somewhat of a tradition for 
the Avatar to travel extensively with his or her friends, 
without the supervision of elders. But Hei-Ran, Jianzhu, and I 
. . . the three of us weren't the positive influences on Kuruk 



that we were supposed to be. Jianzhu views that period of 
our youth as a great personal failing of his.” 

"Sounds like a failing of Kuruk's instead,” Kyoshi 
muttered. 

"Don't criticize Yun's past life,” Rangi said, whacking her 
shoulder with a mittened hand. "The Avatars tread paths of 
great destiny. Every action they take is meaningful.” 

They meaningfully passed another three dull, meaningful 
hours in southward flight. It got colder, much colder. They 
pulled on parkas and bundled themselves in quilts as they 
swooped over otter penguins wriggling atop ever-growing 
chunks of floating ice. The cry of antarctic birds could be 
heard on the wind. 

"We're here,” Kelsang said. He was the only one who 
hadn't put on extra layers; it was theorized around the 
mansion that Airbenders were simply immune to the 
weather. "Hold on for the descent.” 

Their target was an iceberg almost as big as Yokoya itself. 
The blue crag rose into the air as high as the hills of their 
earthbound village. A small flat shelf ringed the formation, 
presumably giving them a place to set up camp. Most of the 
far side was obscured by the peak, but as they flew lower 
Kyoshi caught a glimpse of felt tents dotting the opposite 
shoreline. The Fifth Nation delegation. 

"I don't see their fleet,” Rangi said. 

"Part of the terms were that the negotiating grounds be 
even,” Yun said. "For her that meant no warships. For us that 
meant no ground.” 

The compromise didn't feel even. The vast iceberg was 
one of many, drifting in an ocean cold enough to kill in 
minutes. A dusting of fresh snow gave every surface flat 
enough to stand on a coat of alien whiteness. 

Kyoshi knew that though the Southern Water Tribe had 
long since disowned Tagaka's entire family tree, she still 



came from a line of Waterbenders. If there was ever a 
location to challenge an Earth Avatar, it was here. 

Kelsang landed Pengpeng on the frozen beach and 
hopped down first. Then he helped the others off the huge 
bison, generating a small bubble of air to cushion their fall. 
The little gesture stirred unease in Kyoshi's heart, the playful 
bounce like cracking jokes before a funeral. 

They watched Jianzhu's ship come in. It was too large and 
deep-keeled to run aground, and there wasn't a natural 
harbor formation in the ice, so the crew dropped anchor and 
lowered themselves into longboats, making the final sliver of 
the journey in the smaller craft. One of them reached the 
shore much faster than the others. 

Jianzhu stepped out of the lead boat, surveying the 
landing site while straightening his furs, his eyes narrowed 
and nostrils flared as if any potential treachery might have a 
giveaway smell to it. Hei-Ran followed, treating the water 
carefully, as she was decked out in her full panoply of battle 
armor. The third person on the longboat was less familiar to 
Kyoshi. 

“Sifu Amak," Yun said, bowing to the man. 

Master Amak was a strange, shadowy presence around 
the compound. Ostensibly, he was a Waterbender from the 
north who was patiently waiting his turn to teach the Avatar. 
But questions about his past produced inconsistent answers. 
There was gossip around the staff that the lanky, grim-faced 
Water Tribesman had spent the last ten years far from his 
home, in the employ of a lesser prince in Ba Sing Se who'd 
suddenly gone from eleventh in the line of succession to the 
fourth. Amak's silent nature and the web of scars running 
around his arms and neck seemed like a warning not to 
inquire further. 

And yet the Avatar had regular training sessions with 
him, though Yun had told Kyoshi outright that he couldn't 
waterbend yet and wasn't expected to. He would emerge 



from the practice grounds, bloodied and mussed but with his 
smile blazing from new knowledge. 

“He's my favorite teacher other than Sifu," Yun had said 
once. “He's the only one who cares more about function than 
form." 

There must have been strategy at work with Amak's 
attendance. Instead of the blue tunic he wore around the 
complex, they'd dressed him in a set of wide-sleeved robes, 
dark green in Earth Kingdom style, and a conical hat that 
shaded his face. His proud wolftail haircut had been shaved 
off, and he'd taken out his bone piercings. 

Amak took out a small medicine vial with a nozzle built 
into the top. He tilted his head back and let the liquid 
contents drip directly into his eyes. “Concentrated 
spidersnake extract," Yun whispered to Kyoshi. “It's a secret 
formula and hideously expensive." 

Amak caught Kyoshi staring at him and spoke to her for 
the first time ever. 

“Other than Tagaka herself, there are to be no 
Waterbenders from either side at this negotiation," he said 
in a voice so high-pitched and musical it nearly startled her 
out of her boots. “So . . ." 

He pressed a gloved finger to his lips and winked at her. 
The iris of his open eye shifted from pale blue to a halfway 
green the color of warmer coastal waters. 

Kyoshi tried to shake the fuzz out of her head. She didn't 
belong here, so far from the earth, with dangerous people 
who wore disguises like spirits and treated life-and-death 
situations as games to be won. Crossing into the world of the 
Avatar had been exciting back when she took her first steps 
inside the mansion. Now the slightest wrong footing could 
destroy the fates of hundreds, maybe thousands. After Yun 
told her last night about the mass kidnappings along the 
coast, she hadn't been able to sleep. 



More boats full of armed men landed ashore. They lined 
up to the left and right, spears at the ready, the tassels of 
their helmets waving in the frigid breeze. The intent must 
have been to look strong and organized in front of the pirate 
queen. 

“She approaches," Kelsang said. 

Tagaka chose a relatively undramatic entrance, 
appearing on the edge of the iceberg as a faraway dot 
flanked by two others. She plodded along a path that ran 
around the icy slope like a mountain pass. She seemed to be 
in no hurry. 

"I guess everyone dying of old age would count as 
achieving peace," Yun muttered. 

They had enough time to relax and then straighten back 
up once Tagaka reached them. Kyoshi stilled her face as 
much as possible and laid the corner of her eyes upon the 
Bloody Flail of the Eastern Sea. 

Contrary to her reputation, the leader of the Fifth Nation 
was a decidedly unremarkable middle-aged woman. 
Underneath her plain hide clothing she had a laborer's build, 
and her hair loops played up her partial Water Tribe 
ancestry. Kyoshi looked for eyes burning with hatred or a 
cruel sneer that promised unbound tortures, but Tagaka 
could have easily passed for one of the disinterested 
southern traders who occasionally visited Yokoya to unload 
fur scraps. 

Except for her sword. Kyoshi had heard rumors about the 
green-enameled jian strapped to Tagaka's waist in a 
scabbard plated with burial-quality jade. The sword had 
once belonged to the admiral of Ba Sing Se, a position that 
was now unfilled and defunct because of her. After her 
legendary duel with the last man to hold the job, she'd kept 
the blade. It was less certain what she'd done with the body. 

Tagaka glanced at the twenty soldiers standing behind 
them and then spent much longer squinting at Kyoshi, up 



and down. Each pass of her gaze was like a spray of cold 
water icing over Kyoshi's bodily functions. 

“I didn't realize we were supposed to be bringing so 
much muscle," Tagaka said to Jianzhu. She looked behind 
her at the pair of bodyguards carrying only bone clubs and 
then again at Kyoshi. "That girl is a walking crow's nest." 

Kyoshi could sense Jianzhu's displeasure at the fact she'd 
drawn attention. She knew he and Yun had fought over her 
presence. She wanted to shrink into nothingness, hide from 
their adversary's gaze, but that would only make it worse. 
Instead she tried to borrow the face Rangi normally used on 
the villagers. Cold, inscrutable disdain. 

Her attempt at looking tough was met with mixed 
reactions. One of Tagaka's escorts, a man with a stick-thin 
mustache in the Earth Kingdom style, frowned at her and 
shifted his feet. But the pirate queen herself remained 
unmoved. 

"Where are my manners," she said, giving Yun a 
perfunctory bow. "It's my honor to greet the Avatar in the 
flesh." 

"Tagaka, Marquess of the Eastern Sea," Yun said, using 
her self-styled title, "congratulations on your victory over 
the remnants of the Fade-Red Devils." 

She raised an eyebrow. "You knew of that business?" 

"Yachey Hong and his crew were a bunch of sadistic 
murderers," Yun said smoothly. "They had neither your 
wisdom nor your . . . ambition. You did the world a great 
service by wiping them out." 

"Ha!" She clapped once. "This one studies like Yangchen 
and flatters like Kuruk. I look forward to our battle of wits 
tomorrow. Shall we head to my camp? You must be hungry 
and tired." 

Tomorrow? Kyoshi thought. They weren't going to wrap 
this up quickly and leave? They were going to sleep here, 
vulnerable throughout the night? 



Apparently, that had been the plan all along. “Your 
hospitality is much appreciated," Jianzhu said. “Come, 
everybody." 


It was a very, very awkward dinner. 

Tagaka had set up a luxurious camp, the centerpiece a 
yurt as big as a house. The interior was lined with hung rugs 
and tapestries of mismatching colors that both kept the cold 
out and served as markers of how many tradeships she'd 
plundered. Stone lamps filled with melted fat provided an 
abundance of light. 

Low tables and seat cushions were arranged in the 
manner of a grand feast. Yun held the place of honor, with 
Tagaka across from him. She didn't mind the rest of their 
table being filled out by the Avatar's inner circle. Jianzhu's 
uniformed guardsmen rotated in and out, trading sneers 
with the pirate queen's motley assortment of corsairs. 

The Fifth Nation described themselves as an egalitarian 
outfit that disregarded the boundaries between the 
elements. According to the propaganda they sometimes left 
behind after a raid, no nation was superior, and under the 
rule of their enlightened captain, any adventurer or bender 
could join them in harmony, regardless of origin. 

In reality, the most successful pirate fleet in the world 
was going to be nearly all sailors from the Water Tribes. And 
the food reflected that. To Kyoshi, most of the meal tasted 
like blood, the mineral saltiness too much for her. She did 
what she could to be polite, and watched Yun eat in perfect 
alignment with Water Tribe custom. 

As Yun downed another tray of raw blubber with gusto, 
Tagaka cheering him on, Kyoshi wanted to whisper in Rangi's 
ear and ask if they should be afraid of poison. Or the 
prospect of the dinner party stabbing them in the back with 


their meat skewers. Anything that reflected the hostilities 
that must have been bubbling under the surface. Why were 
they being so friendly? 

It became too much once they began setting up Pai Sho 
boards for members of Tagaka's crew who fancied 
themselves a match for the young Avatar's famous skills. 
Kyoshi nudged Rangi in the side and tilted her chin at the 
merriment, widening her eyes for emphasis. 

Rangi knew exactly what she was asking. While 
everyone's attention focused on Yun playing three 
opponents at once, she pointed with her toe at two men and 
two women who had silently entered the tent after the party 
had finished eating, to clean up the plates. 

They were Earth Kingdom citizens. Instead of the pirates' 
mismatched riot of pilfered clothing, they wore plain 
peasant's garb. And though they weren't chained or 
restrained, they carried out their duties in a hunched and 
clumsy fashion. Like people fearing for their lives. 

The stolen villagers. Yun and Rangi had undoubtedly 
spotted them earlier. Kyoshi cursed herself for treating them 
as invisible when she knew what it was like to move 
unnoticed among the people she served. The entire time, 
Yun had been putting on a false smile while Tagaka paraded 
her true spoils of war in front of him. 

Rangi found her trembling hand and gave it a quick 
squeeze, sending a pulse of reassuring warmth over her 
skin. Stay strong. 

They watched Yun demolish his opponents in three 
different ways, simultaneously. The first he blitzed down, the 
second he'd forced into a no-win situation, and the third 
he'd lured into a trap so diabolical that the hapless pirate 
thought he was winning the whole time until the last five 
moves. 

The audience roared when Yun finished his last victim off. 
Coins clinked as wagers traded hands, and the challengers 



received slaps and jeers from their comrades. 

Tagaka laughed and threw back another shot of strong 
wine. “Tell me, Avatar. Are you enjoying yourself?” 

“I've been to many places around the world,” Yun said. 
'And your hospitality has been unmatched.” 

"I'm so glad,” she said, reaching for more drink. ”1 was 
convinced you were planning to kill me before the night was 
through.” 

The atmosphere of the gathering went from full speed to 
a dead stop. Tagaka's men seemed as surprised as Jianzhu's. 
The mass stillness that ran through the party nearly created 
its own sound. The tensing of neck muscles. Hairs raising on 
end. 

Kyoshi tried to glance at Master Amak without making it 
obvious. The hardened Waterbender was sitting away from 
the main group, peering soberly at Tagaka over the edge of 
his unused wine cup. The floor was covered in skins and 
rugs, but underneath was a whole island of weaponry at his 
disposal. Instead of freezing up like everyone else, Kyoshi 
could see his shoulders relaxing, loosening, readying for a 
sudden surge of violence. 

She thought Jianzhu might say something, take over for 
Yun now that the theatrics were off course, but he did 
nothing. Jianzhu calmly watched Yun stack the Pai Sho tiles 
between his fingers, as if the only thing he cared about was 
making sure his student displayed good manners by 
cleaning up after a finished game. 

"Mistress Tagaka,” Yun said. "If this is about the size of my 
contingent, I assure you I meant no harm or insult. The 
soldiers who came with me are merely an honor guard. I 
didn't want to bring them, but they were so excited about 
the chance to witness you make history with the Avatar.” 

"I'm not concerned about a bunch of flunkies with spears, 
boy,” Tagaka said. Her voice had turned lower. The time for 
flattery was over. "I'm talking about those three.” 



She pointed, her fingers forming a trident. Not at Amak or 
any of the armored Earth Kingdom soldiers, but at Jianzhu, 
Hei-Ran, and Kelsang. 

“I'm afraid I don't understand,'' Yun said. “Surely you 
know of my bending masters. The famed companions of 
Kuruk." 

“Yes, I know of them. And I know what it means when the 
Gravedigger of Zhulu Pass darkens my tent in person." 

Now Yun was confused for real. His easy smile faded, and 
his head tilted toward his shoulder. Kyoshi had heard of 
various battles and locations associated with Jianzhu's 
name, and Zhulu Pass was one of many, not a standout in a 
long list. He was a great hero of the Earth Kingdom after all, 
one of its leading sages. 

“Are you referring to the story of how my esteemed 
mentor piously interred the bodies of villagers he found cut 
down by rebels, giving them their final rest and dignity?" 
Yun said. The game tiles clacked together in his palm. 

Tagaka shook her head. “I'm referring to five thousand 
Yellow Necks, buried alive, the rest terrorized into 
submission. The entire uprising crushed by one man. Your 
'esteemed mentor.'" 

She turned to Jianzhu. “I'm curious. Do their spirits haunt 
you when you sleep? Or did you plant them deep enough 
that the earth muffles their screams?" 

There was a hollow thunk as one of the game pieces 
slipped out of Yun's grasp and bounced off the board. He'd 
never heard of this. Kyoshi had never heard of this. 

Now that he was being addressed directly, Jianzhu 
deemed it proper to speak up. “Respectfully, I fear that 
rumors from the Earth Kingdom interior tend to grow wilder 
the closer they get to the South Pole. Many tales of my past 
exploits are pure exaggerations by now." 

"Respectfully, I gained my position through knowing facts 
beyond what you think a typical blue-eyed southern rustic 



should know,” Tagaka snapped. "For example, I know who 
holds the Royal Academy record for the most 'accidental' 
kills during Agni Kais, Madam Headmistress.” 

If Hei-Ran was offended by the accusation, she didn't 
show it. Instead Rangi looked like she was going to leap on 
Tagaka and cook the woman's head off her shoulders. Kyoshi 
instinctively reached out to her and got her hand swatted 
away for the trouble. 

"And Master Kelsang,” Tagaka said. "Listen, young Avatar. 
Have you ever wondered why my fleets stay cooped up in 
the Eastern Sea, where the pickings are slim, engaged in 
costly battles for territory with other crews? It's solely 
because of that man right there.” 

Of the three masters, only Kelsang looked afraid of what 
Tagaka might reveal. Afraid and ashamed. Kyoshi already 
wanted to defend him from whatever charges the pirate 
might levy. Kelsang was hers more than anyone else's. 

"My father used to call him the Living Typhoon,” Tagaka 
said. "We criminal types have a fondness for theatrical 
nicknames, but in this case, the billing was correct. Grandad 
once took the family and a splinter fleet westward, around 
the southern tip of the Earth Kingdom. The threat they 
presented must have been great indeed, because Master 
Kelsang, then a young man in the height of his power, rode 
out on his bison and summoned a storm to turn them back. 

"Sounds like a perfect solution to a naval threat without 
any bloodshed, eh?” she said. "But have any of you pulled a 
shivered timber the size of a jian from your thigh? Or been 
thrown into the sea and then tried to keep your head above 
a thirty-foot wave?” 

Tagaka drank in the Airbender's discomfort and smiled. "1 
should thank you. Master Kelsang. 1 lost several uncles on 
that expedition. You saved me from a gruesome succession 
battle. But the fear of a repeat performance kept the Fifth 
Nation and other crews bottled up in the Eastern Sea, my 



father's entire generation terrified of a single Air Nomad. 
They thought Kelsang was watching them from the peaks of 
the Southern Air Temple. Patrolling the skies above their 
heads." 

Kyoshi looked at Kelsang, who was hunched in agony. 
Were you? she thought. Is that where you went between 
stays in Yokoya? You were hunting pirates? 

"A lesson from your airbending master," Tagaka said to 
Yun. "The most effective threat is only performed once. So 
you can imagine my distress when I saw you bring this . . . 
this collection of butchers to our peace treaty signing. I 
thought for certain it meant violence was in our future." 

Yun hummed, pretending to be lost in thought. The Pai 
Sho tile that he'd fumbled was now flipping over his 
knuckles, back and forth across his hand. He was in control 
again. 

"Mistress Tagaka," he said. "You have nothing to fear from 
my masters. And if we're giving credence to gruesome 
reputations, I believe I would have equal cause for concern." 

"Yes," Tagaka said, staring him down, her fingers lying on 
the hilt of her sword. "You absolutely do." 

The mission hinged there, on the eye contact between 
Yun and the undisputed lord of the Eastern Sea. Tagaka 
might have been looking at the Avatar, but Kyoshi could 
only see her friend, young and vulnerable and literally out of 
his element. 

Whatever Tagaka was searching for inside Yun's head, she 
found it. She backed off and smiled. 

"You know, it's bad luck to undertake an important 
ceremony with blood on your spirit," she said. "I purified 
myself of my past crimes with sweat and ice before you 
arrived, but with the stain of so much death still hanging 
over your side, I suddenly feel the need to do it again before 
tomorrow morning. You may stay here as long as you'd like." 



Tagaka snapped her fingers, and her men filed out of the 
tent, as unquestioningly as if she'd bent them away. The 
Earth Kingdom captives went last, ducking through the exit 
flaps without so much as a glance behind them. The act 
seemed like a planned insult by Tagaka, designed to say 
they're more afraid of me than they're hopeful of you. 

Jianzhu swung his hands together. “You did well for—" 

“Is it true?" Yun snapped. 

Kyoshi had never heard Yun interrupt his master before, 
and from the twinge in his brow, neither had Jianzhu. The 
earth sage sighed in a manner that warned the others not to 
speak. This matter was between him and his disciple. “Is 
what true?" 

“Five thousand? You buried five thousand people alive?" 

“That's an overstatement made by a criminal." 

“Then what's the truth?" Yun said. “It was only five 
hundred? One hundred? What's the number that makes it 
justified?" 

Jianzhu laughed silently, a halting shift of his chest. “The 
truth? The truth is that the Yellow Necks were scum of the 
lowest order who thought they could plunder, murder, and 
destroy with impunity. They saw nothing, no future beyond 
the points of their swords. They believed they could hurt 
people with no repercussions." 

He slammed his finger down onto the center of the Pai 
Sho board. 

“I visited consequences upon them," Jianzhu said. 
“Because that's what justice is. Nothing but the proper 
consequences. I made it clear that whatever horrors they 
inflicted would come back to haunt them, no more, no less. 
And guess what? It worked. The remnants of the daofei that 
escaped me dispersed into the countryside because at last 
they knew there would be consequences if they continued 
down their outlaw path." 



Jianzhu glanced at the exit, in the direction Tagaka had 
gone. “Perhaps the reason you've never heard about this 
from decent citizens of the Earth Kingdom is because they 
see it the same way I do. A criminal like her watches justice 
being done and bewails the lack of forgiveness, 
conveniently forgetting about what they did in the first 
place to deserve punishment." 

Yun looked like he had trouble breathing. Kyoshi wanted 
to go to his side, but Jianzhu's spell had frozen the air inside 
the tent, immobilizing her. 

"Yun," Kelsang said. "You don't understand the times 
back then. We did what we had to do, to save lives and 
maintain balance. We had to act without an Avatar." 

Yun steadied himself. "How fortunate for you all," he said, 
his voice a hollow deadpan. "Now you can shift the burden 
of ending so many lives onto me. I'll try to follow the 
examples my teachers have set." 

"Enough!" Jianzhu roared. "You've allowed yourself to be 
rattled by the baseless accusations of a pirate! The rest of 
you get out. I need to speak to the Avatar, alone." 

Rangi stormed out the fastest. Hei-Ran watched her go. 
Maybe it was because they used the same tight-lipped 
expression to hide their emotions, but Kyoshi could tell she 
wanted to chase her daughter. Instead Hei-Ran walked stiffly 
out the opposite side of the tent. 

When Kyoshi looked back, Kelsang had vanished. Only 
the trailing swish of an orange hem under a curtain betrayed 
which way he'd gone. She gave a quick bow to Jianzhu and 
Yun, avoiding eye contact, and ran after the Airbender. 

She found Kelsang a dozen paces away, alone, sitting on 
a stool that had presumably been abandoned by one of 
Tagaka's guards. The legs had sunk deep into the snow 
under his weight. He shivered, but not from the cold. 

"You know, after Kuruk died, I thought my failure to set 
him on the right path was my last and greatest mistake," he 



said quietly to the icy ground in front of his toes. “It turned 
out I wasn't finished disgracing myself." 

Kyoshi knew, in an academic sense, that Air Nomads held 
all life sacred. They were utmost pacifists who considered no 
one their enemy, no criminal beyond forgiveness and 
redemption. But surely exceptional circumstances allowed 
for those convictions to be put on hold. Surely Kelsang could 
be forgiven for saving entire towns along the coasts of the 
western seas. 

The strain in his voice said otherwise. 

“I never told you how far I fell within the Southern Air 
Temple as a result of that day." Kelsang tried to force a smile 
through his pain, but it slipped out of his control, turning 
into a fractured, tearful mess. “I violated my beliefs as an 
Airbender. I let my teachers down. I let my entire people 
down." 

Kyoshi was suddenly furious on his behalf, though she 
didn't know at whom. At the whole world, perhaps, for 
allowing its darkness to infect such a good man and make 
him hate himself. She threw her arms around Kelsang and 
hugged him as tightly as she could. 

“You've never let me down," she said in a gruff bark. “Do 
you hear me? Never." 

Kelsang put up with her attempt to crush his shoulder 
blades through the force of sheer affection and rocked 
slightly in her embrace, patting at her clasped hands. Kyoshi 
only let go when the sound of a plate shattering pierced the 
stillness of the night. 

Their gazes snapped toward the crash. It had come from 
the tent. Yun and Jianzhu were still inside. 

Kelsang stood up, his own troubles forgotten. He looked 
worried. “Best if you head back to camp," he said to Kyoshi. 
The muffled sound of arguing grew louder through the felt 
walls. 

“Are they all right?" 



“I'll check. But please, go. Now." Kelsang hurried to the 
tent and ducked through the curtain. She could hear the 
connnnotion stop as soon as he re-entered, but the silence 
was more ominous than the noise. 

Kyoshi paused there, wondering what to do, before 
deciding she'd better obey Kelsang. She didn't want to 
overhear Yun and Jianzhu have it out. 


As she fled, the moonlight cast long, flickering shadows, 
making Kyoshi feel like a puppeteer on a blank white stage. 
Her hurried exit took her too far in the wrong direction, and 
she found herself among the outskirts of the pirate camp, 
near the ice cliff. 

She slammed against the frozen wall, trying to flatten 
herself out of sight. Tagaka's crew was in the midst of 
retiring for the night, kicking snow over dying campfires and 
fastening their tents closed from the inside. They had 
guardsmen posted at regular intervals looking in different 
directions. Kyoshi had no idea how she'd come so close 
without being noticed. 

She edged as quietly as she could back the way she 
came, around the corner, and bumped into the missing 
sentry. He was one of the two pirates who'd accompanied 
Tagaka to greet them. The man with the mustache. He 
peered up at her face like he was trying to get the best view 
of her nostrils. 

“Say," he said, a rank cloud of alcohol fumes wafting out 
of his mouth. “Do I know you?" 

She shook her head and made to keep going, but he 
stuck his arm out, blocking her path as he leaned against 
the ice. 

“It's just that you look very familiar," he said with a leer. 


Kyoshi shuddered. There was always a certain kind of 
man who thought her particular dimensions made her a 
public good, an oddity they were free to gawk at, prod, or 
worse. Often they assumed she should be grateful for the 
attention. That they were special and powerful for giving it 
to her. 

“I used to be a landlubber,” the man said, launching into 
a bout of drunken self-absorption. "Did business with a 
group called the Flying . . . Something Society. The Flying 
Something or others. The leader was a woman who looked a 
lot like you. Pretty face, just like yours. Legs . . . nearly as 
long. She could have been your sister. You ever been to 
Chameleon Bay, sweet thing? Stay under Madam Qiji's 
roof?” 

The man pulled the cork from a gourd and took a few 
more swigs of wine. "I had it bad for that girl,” he said, 
wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "She had the most 
fascinating serpent tattoos going around her arms, but she 
never let me see how far they went. What about you, honey 
tree? Got any ink on your body that you want to show 
meeeaggh!” 

Kyoshi picked him up by the neck with one hand and 
slammed him into the cliffside. 

His feet dangled off the ground. She squeezed until she 
saw his eyes bulge in different directions. 

"You are mistaken,” she said without raising her voice. 
"Do you hear me? You are mistaken, and you have never 
seen me, or anyone else who looks like me before. Tell me 
so.” 

She let him have enough air to speak. "You crazy piece of 
—I'll kill—aaagh!” 

Kyoshi pressed him harder into the wall. The ice cracked 
behind his skull. "That's not what I asked you.” 

Her fingers stifled his cry, preventing him from alerting 
the others. "I made a mistake!” he gasped. "I was wrong!” 



She dropped him on the ground. The back of his coat 
snagged and tore on the ice. He keeled over to his side, 
trying to force air back into his lungs. 

Kyoshi watched him writhe at her feet. After thinking it 
over, she yanked the gourd full of wine off his neck, 
snapping the string, and poured the contents out until it was 
empty. The liquid splashed the man's face, and he flinched. 

“I'm holding on to this in case you change your mind yet 
again," she said, waggling the empty container. “I've heard 
about Tagaka's disciplinary methods, and I don't think she'd 
approve of drinking on guard duty." 

The man groaned and covered his head with his arms. 


Kyoshi collapsed facedown outside her tent. Her forehead 
lay on the ice. It felt good, cooling. The encounter had 
sapped her of energy, left her unable to take the last few 
steps to her bunk. So close, and yet so far. 

She didn't know what had come over her. What she'd 
done was so stupid it boggled the mind. If word got back to 
Jianzhu somehow . . . 

A bright light appeared over her head. She twisted her 
neck upward to see Rangi holding up a self-generated torch. 
A small flame danced above her long fingers. 

Rangi looked down at her and then at the liquor gourd 
still in her hand. She sniffed the night air. “Kyoshi, have you 
been drinking?" 

It seemed easier to lie. “Yes?" 

With great difficulty, Rangi dragged her inside by the 
arms. It was warmer in the tent, the difference between a 
winter's night and an afternoon in spring. Kyoshi could feel 
the stiffness leaving her limbs, her head losing the 
ponderous echo it seemed to have before. 


Rangi yanked pieces of the battle outfit off her like she 
was stripping down a broken wagon. “You can't sleep in that 
getup. Especially not the armor." 

She'd taken her own gear off and was only wearing a thin 
cotton shift that exposed her arms and legs. Her streamlined 
figure belied the solidness of her muscles. Kyoshi caught 
herself gawking, having never seen her friend out of uniform 
before. It was hard for her to comprehend that the spiky bits 
weren't a natural part of Rangi's body. 

“Shouldn't you be sleeping with Yun?" Kyoshi said. 

Rangi's head turned so fast she almost snapped her own 
neck. “You know what I mean," Kyoshi said. 

The redness faded from Rangi's ears as quickly as it 
came. “The Avatar and Master Jianzhu are reviewing 
strategy. Master Amak only ever sleeps in ten-minute 
intervals throughout the day, so he and the most 
experienced guardsmen will keep watch. The order is that 
everyone else should be well-rested for tomorrow." 

They settled beneath their furs. Kyoshi already knew that 
she wouldn't be able to sleep as she'd been told. Her former 
life on the street in conjunction with her privileged place in 
the mansion these days meant that, improbably, she'd never 
had a roommate before. She was acutely aware of Rangi's 
little movements right next to her, the air rising in and out of 
the Firebender's chest. 

“I don't think they did anything wrong," Kyoshi said as 
she stared at the underside of their tent. 

Rangi didn't respond. 

“I heard from Auntie Mui about what Xu and the Yellow 
Necks did to unarmed men, women, and children. If half of 
that is true, then Jianzhu went too easy on them. They 
deserved worse." 

The moonlight came through the seams of the tent, 
making stars out of stitch holes. 



She should have stopped there, but Kyoshi's certainty 
buoyed her along past the point where it was safe to 
venture. “And accidents are accidents,” she said. “I'm sure 
your mother never meant to harm anyone.” 

Two strong hands grabbed the lapels of her robe. Rangi 
yanked her over onto her side so that they were facing each 
other. 

"Kyoshi,” she said hoarsely, her eyes flaring with pain. 
"One of those opponents was her cousin. A rival candidate 
for headmistress.” 

Rangi gave her a hard, jostling shake. "Not a pirate, or an 
outlaw,” she said. “Her cousin. The school cleared her honor, 
but the rumors followed me at school for years. People 
whispering around corners that my mother was—was an 
assassin.” 

She spit the word out like it was the most vile curse 
imaginable. Given Rangi's profession as a bodyguard, it 
likely was. She buried her face into Kyoshi's chest, gripping 
her tightly, as if to scrub the memory away. 

Kyoshi wanted to punch herself for being so careless. She 
cautiously draped an arm over Rangi's shoulder. The 
Firebender nestled under it and relaxed, though she still 
made a series of sharp little inhalations through her nose. 
Kyoshi didn't know if that was her way of crying or calming 
herself with a breathing exercise. 

Rangi shifted, pressing closer to Kyoshi's body, rubbing 
the soft bouquet of her hair against Kyoshi's lips. The 
startling contact felt like a transgression, the mistake of a 
girl exhausted and drowsy. The more noble Fire Nation 
families, like the one Rangi descended from, would never let 
just anyone touch their hair like this. 

The faint, flowery scent that filled Kyoshi's lungs made 
her head swim and her pulse quicken. Kyoshi kept still like it 
was her life's calling, unwilling to make any motion that 
might disturb her friend's fitful slumber. 



Eventually Rang! fell into a deep sleep, radiating warnnth 
like a little glowing coal in the hearth. Kyoshi realized that 
connforting her throughout the night was both an honor and 
a torture she wouldn't have traded for anything in the world. 

Kyoshi closed her eyes. She did her best to ignore the 
pain of her arm losing circulation and her heart falling into a 
pile of ribbons. 


They survived the night. There had been no sneak attack, no 
sudden chaos outside the tent, as she'd feared. 

Kyoshi couldn't have slept more than an hour or two, but 
she'd never felt more alert and on edge in her life. When 
they breakfasted in their own camp at the base of the 
iceberg, she declined the overbrewed tea. Her teeth were 
already knocking together as it was. 

She looked for signs of trouble between Yun and Jianzhu, 
Rangi and Hei-Ran, but couldn't find any. She never 
understood how they managed to wound each other and 
then forgive each other so quickly. Wrongs meant 
something, even if they were inflicted by your family. 
Especially if it was family. 

Kelsang stayed close by her during the preparations. But 
his presence only created more turbulence in her heart. Any 
minute now they were going to walk up that hill and watch 
Yun sign a treaty backed by the power vested in the Avatar. 

It's not me, Kyoshi thought to herself. Kelsang admitted 
there was hardly a chance. A chance is not the same thing 
as the truth. 

Jianzhu signaled it was time to go and spoke a few words, 
but Kyoshi didn't hear them. 

He's jumping to conclusions because Jianzhu sidelined 
him. He wants to be a bigger part of the Avatar's life. Any 
Avatar's life. And I'm the closest thing to a daughter he has. 


She had to admit the line of reasoning was a little self- 
important of her. But much less so than, say, being the 
Avatar. It made sense. Kelsang was human, prone to 
mistakes. The thought comforted her all the way to the top 
of the iceberg. 

The peak came to a natural plateau large enough to hold 
the key members of both delegations. For Yun's side, that 
meant Jianzhu, Hei-Ran, Kelsang, Rangi, Amak, and—despite 
the foolishness it implied—Kyoshi. Tagaka again deigned to 
come with only a pair of escorts. The mustached man was 
not part of her guard this time, thankfully. But one of the 
Earth Kingdom hostages, a young woman who had the 
sunburned mien of a fishwife, accompanied the pirates. She 
silently carried a baggage pack on her shoulders and stared 
at the ground like her past and future were written on it. 

The two sides faced each other over the flat surface. They 
were high enough up to overlook the smaller icebergs that 
drifted near their frozen mountain. 

“I figured we'd use the traditional setting for such 
matters," Tagaka said. "So please bear with me for a 
moment." 

The pirate queen wedged her feet in the snow and took a 
shouting breath. Her arms moved fluidly in the form of 
waterbending, but nothing happened. 

"Hold on," she said. 

She tried again, waving her limbs with more speed and 
more strain. A circle rose haltingly out of the ice, the size of 
a table. It was very slow going. 

Kyoshi thought she heard a scoff come from Master Amak, 
but it could have been the creak of two smaller ice lumps 
sprouting on opposite sides of the table. Tagaka struggled 
mightily until they were tall enough to sit on. 

"You'll have to forgive me," she said, out of breath. "I'm 
not exactly the bender my father and grandfather were." 



The Earth Kingdom woman opened her pack and quickly 
laid out a cloth over the table and cushions on the seats. 
With quick, delicate motions, she set up a slab inkstone, two 
brushes, and a tiny pitcher of water. 

Kyoshi's gut roiled as she watched the woman 
meticulously grind an inkstick against the stone. She was 
using the Pianhai method, a ceremonial calligraphy setup 
that took a great deal of formal training and commoners 
normally never learned. Kyoshi only knew what it was from 
her proximity to Yun. Did Tagaka beat the process into her? 
she thought. Or did she steai her away from a iiterature 
schooi in one of the iarger cities? 

Once she had made enough ink, the woman stepped 
back without a word. Tagaka and Yun sat down, each 
spreading a scroll across the ice table that contained the 
written terms that had been agreed upon so far. They spent 
an exhaustive amount of time checking that the copies 
matched, that phrasing was polite enough. Both Yun and the 
pirate queen had an eye for small details, and neither of 
them wanted to lose the first battle. 

“I object to your description of yourself as the Waterborne 
Guardian of the South Pole,” Yun said during one of the more 
heated exchanges. 

"Why?” Tagaka said. "It's true. My warships are a buffer. 
I'm the only force keeping a hostile navy from sailing up to 
the shores of the Southern Water Tribe.” 

"The Southern Water Tribe hates you,” Yun said, rather 
bluntly. 

"Yes, well, politics are complicated,” Tagaka said. "I'll edit 
that to 'Self-Appointed Guardian of the South Pole.' I haven't 
abandoned my people, even if they've turned their backs on 
me.” 

And on it went. After Tagaka's guards had begun to yawn 
openly, they leaned back from the scrolls. "Everything 
seems to be in order,” Yun said. "If you don't mind. I'd like to 



proceed straightaway to the next stage. Verbal 
amendments.” 

Tagaka smirked. ”Ooh, the real fun stuff.” 

”On the matter of the hostages from the southern coast of 
Zeizhou Province as can be reasonably defined through 
proximity to Tu Zin, taken from their homes sometime 
between the vernal equinox and the summer solstice . . .” 
Yun said. He paused. 

Kyoshi knew this was going to be hard on him. Rangi had 
explained the basics of how people were typically ransomed. 
At best Yun could free half of the captives by sacrificing the 
rest, letting Tagaka save face and retain leverage. He had to 
think of their lives in clinical terms. A higher percentage was 
better. His only goal. He would be a savior to some and 
doom the rest. 

”1 want them back,” Yun said. 'All of them.” 

"Avatar!” Jianzhu snapped. The Earthbender was furious. 
This was obviously not what they'd talked about beforehand. 

Yun raised his hand, showing the back of it to his master. 
Kyoshi could have sworn Yun was enjoying himself right now. 

”1 want every single man, woman, and child back,” Yun 
said. "If you've sold them to other pirate crews, I want your 
dedicated assistance in finding them. If any have died under 
your care, I want their remains so their families can give 
them a proper burial. We can talk about the compensation 
you'll pay later.” 

The masters, save for Kelsang, looked displeased. To 
them, these were the actions of a petulant child who didn't 
understand how the world worked. 

But Kyoshi had never loved her Avatar more. This was 
what Yun had wanted her to see when he'd begged her to 
come along. Her friend, standing up for what was right. Her 
heart was ready to burst. 

Tagaka leaned back on her ice stool. "Sure.” 



Yun blinked, his moment of glory and defiance yanked 
out from under him prematurely. “You agree?" 

"I agree," Tagaka said. "You can have all of the captives 
back. They're free. Every single one." 

A sob rang out in the air. It was the Earth Kingdom 
woman. Her stoic resolve broke, and she collapsed to her 
hands and knees, weeping loudly and openly. Neither 
Tagaka nor her men reprimanded her. 

Yun didn't look at the woman, out of fear he might ruin 
her salvation with the wrong move. He waited for Tagaka to 
make a demand in return. He wasn't going to raise the price 
on her behalf. 

"The captives are useless to me anyway," she said. She 
stared out to sea at the smaller icebergs surrounding them. 
Despite her earlier patience, she sounded incredibly bored 
all of a sudden. "Out of a thousand people or more, not one 
was a passable carpenter. I should have known better. I 
needed to go after people who live among tall trees, not 
driftwood." 

Yun frowned. "You want . . . carpenters?" he said 
cautiously. 

She glanced at him, as if she were surprised he was still 
there. "Boy, let me teach you a little fact about the pirate 
trade. Our power is measured in ships. We need timber and 
craftsmen who know how to work it. Building a proper navy 
is a generational effort. My peaceable cousins in the South 
Pole have a few heirloom sailing cutters but otherwise have 
to make do with seal-skin canoes. They'll never create a 
large, long-range war fleet because they simply don't have 
the trees." 

Tagaka turned and loomed over the table. "So, yes," she 
said, fixing him with her gaze. "I want carpenters and trees 
and a port of my own to dock in so I can increase the size of 
my forces. And I know just where to get those things." 



“Yokoya!" Yun shouted, a realization and an alert to the 
others, in a single word. 

Tagaka raised her hand and nnade the slightest chopping 
motion with her fingers. Kyoshi heard a wet crunch and a 
gurgle of surprise. She looked around for the source of the 
strange noise. 

It was Master Amak. He was bent backward over a 
stalagmite of ice, the bloody tip sprouting from his chest like 
a hideous stalk of grain. He stared at it, astonished, and 
slumped to the side. 

“Come now," Tagaka said. “You think I can't recognize 
kinfolk under a disguise?" 


The moments seemed to slowly stack up on each other like a 
tower of raw stones, each event in sequence piling higher 
and higher with no mortar to hold them together. A structure 
that was unstable, dreadful, headed toward a total and 
imminent collapse. 

The sudden movement of Tagaka's two escorts drew 
everyone's attention. But the two men only grabbed the 
Earth Kingdom woman by the arms and jumped back down 
the slope the way they'd come, dodging the blast of fire that 
Rangi managed to get off. They were the distraction. 

Pairs of hands burst from the surface of the ice, clutching 
at the ankles of everyone on Yun's side. Waterbenders had 
been lying in wait below them the whole time. Rangi, 
Jianzhu, and Hei-Ran were dragged under the ice like they'd 
fallen through the crust of a frozen lake during the spring 
melt. 

Kyoshi's arms shot out, and she managed to arrest herself 
chest-high on the surface. Her would-be captor hadn't made 
her tunnel large enough. Kelsang leaped into the air, 
avoiding the clutches of his underground assailant with an 


Airbender's reflexes, and deployed the wings of his glider- 
staff. 

Tagaka drew her jian and swung it on the downstroke at 
Yun's neck. But the Avatar didn't flinch. Almost too fast for 
Kyoshi to see, he slammed his fist into the only source of 
earth near them, the stone inkslab. It shattered into 
fragments and reformed as a glove around his hand. He 
caught Tagaka's blade as it made contact with his skin. 

Kyoshi stamped down hard with her boot and felt a 
sickening crunch. Her foot stuck there as the bender whose 
face she'd broken refroze the water, imprisoning her lower 
half. Above the ice, Kyoshi had the perfect view of the Avatar 
and the pirate queen locked together in mortal knot. 

They both looked happy that the charade was over. A 
trickle of Yun's blood dripped off the edge of the blade. 

“Another thing you should know,'' Tagaka said as she 
traded grins with Yun, their muscles trembling with exertion. 
“I'm really not the Waterbender my father was." 

With her free hand she made a series of motions so fluid 
and complex that Kyoshi thought her fingers had telescoped 
to twice their length. A series of earsplitting cracks echoed 
around them. 

There was a roar of ice and snow rushing into the sea. The 
smaller icebergs split and calved, revealing massive hollow 
spaces inside. As the chunks of ice drifted apart at Tagaka's 
command, the prows of Fifth Nation warships began to poke 
out, like the beaks of monstrous birds hatching from their 
eggshells. 

Yun lost his balance at the sight and fell to the ground 
onto his back. Tagaka quickly blanketed him in ice, taking 
care to cover his stone-gloved hand. “What is this?" he 
yelled up at her. 

She wiped his blood off her sword with the crook of her 
elbow and resheathed it. “A backup plan? A head start on 
our way to Yokoya? A chance to show off? I've been 



pretending to be a weak bender for so long, I couldn't resist 
being a little overdramatic." 

Waterbenders aboard the ships were already stilling the 
waves caused by the ice avalanches and driving their 
vessels forward. Other crew members scrambled among the 
masts like insects, unfurling sails. They were pointed 
westward, toward home, where they would drive into fresh 
territories of the Earth Kingdom like a knife into an 
unprotected belly. 

“Stop the ships!" Yun screamed into the sky. “Not me! The 
ships!" That was all he could get out before Tagaka covered 
his head completely in ice. 

Kyoshi didn't know whom he was talking to at first, 
thought that in his desperation he was pleading with a 
spirit. But a low rush of air reminded her that someone was 
still free. Kelsang pulled up on his glider and beelined 
toward the flagship. 

“Not today, monk," Tagaka said. She lashed out with her 
arms, and a spray of icicles no bigger than sewing needles 
shot toward Kelsang. 

It was a fiendishly brilliant attack. The Airbender could 
have easily dodged larger missiles, but Tagaka's projectiles 
were an enveloping storm. The delicate wings of his glider 
disintegrated, and he plunged toward the sea. 

There was no time to panic for Kelsang. Tagaka levitated 
the chunk of ice Yun was buried in, threw it over the side of 
the iceberg toward her camp, and leaped down after him. 

Kyoshi grit her teeth and pushed on the ice as hard as 
she could. Her shoulders strained against her robes, both 
threatening to tear. The ice gripping her legs cracked and 
gave way, but not before shredding the parts of her skin not 
covered by her skirts. She lifted herself free and stumbled 
after Tagaka. 

She was lucky Yun's prison had carved out a smooth path. 
Without it, she would have undoubtedly bashed her skull in. 



tumbling over the rough protrusions of ice. Kyoshi managed 
to slide down to the pirate camp, her wounds leaving a 
bloody trail on the slope behind her. 

Tagaka's men were busy loading their camp and 
themselves into longboats. An elegant cutter, one of the 
Water Tribe heirlooms she'd mentioned, waited for them off 
the coast of the iceberg. Only a few of the other pirates 
noticed Kyoshi. They started to pick up weapons, but Tagaka 
waved them off. Packing up was more of a priority than 
dealing with her. 

"Give him back," Kyoshi gasped. 

Tagaka put a boot on the ice encasing Yun and leaned on 
her knee. "The colossus speaks," she said, smiling. 

"Give him back. Now.” She meant to sound angry and 
desperate, but instead she came across as pitiful and 
hopeless as she felt inside. She wasn't sure if Yun could 
breathe in there. 

"Eh," Tagaka said. "I saw what I needed to see in the 
boy's eyes. He's worth more as a hostage than an Avatar, 
trust me." She shoved Yun off to the side with her foot, and 
the bile surged in Kyoshi's throat at the disrespectful 
gesture. 

"But you, on the other hand," Tagaka said. "You're a 
puzzle. I know you're not a fighter right now, that much is 
obvious. But I like your potential. I can't decide whether I 
should kill you now, to be safe, or take you with me." 

She took a step closer. "Kyoshi, was it? How would you 
like a taste of true freedom? To go where you want and take 
what you're owed? Trust me, it's a better life than whatever 
dirt-scratch existence you have on land." 

Kyoshi knew her answer. It was the same one she would 
have given as a starving seven-year-old child. 

"I would never become a daofei” Kyoshi said, trying as 
hard as possible to turn the word into a curse. "Pretending to 



be a leader and an important person when you're nothing 
but a murderous slaver. You're the lowest form of life I know." 

Tagaka frowned and drew her sword. The metal hissed 
against the scabbard. She wanted Kyoshi to feel cold death 
sliding between her ribs, instead of being snuffed out 
quickly by water. 

Kyoshi stood her ground. "Give me the Avatar," she 
repeated. "Or I will put you down like the beast you are." 

Tagaka spread her arms wide, telling her to look around 
them at the field of ice they were standing on. "With what, 
little girl from the Earth Kingdom?" she asked. "With what?" 

It was a good question. One that Kyoshi knew she 
couldn't have answered herself. But she was suddenly 
gripped with the overwhelming sensation that right now, in 
her time of desperate need, her voice wouldn't be alone. 

Her hands felt guided. She didn't fully understand, nor 
was she completely in control. But she trusted. 

Kyoshi braced her stomach, filled her lungs, and slammed 
her feet into the Crowding Bridge stance. Echoes of power 
rippled from her movement, hundredfold iterations of herself 
stamping on the ice. She was somehow both leading and 
being led by an army of benders. 

A column of gray-stone seafloor exploded up from the 
surface of the ocean. It caught the hull of Tagaka's cutter 
and listed the ship to the side, tearing wooden planks off the 
frame as easily as paper off a kite. 

A wave of displaced water swept over the iceberg, 
knocking pirates off their feet and smashing crates to 
splinters. Out of self-preservation, Tagaka reflexively raised a 
waist-high wall of ice, damming and diverting the surge. But 
the barrier protected Kyoshi as well, giving her time to 
attack again. She leaped straight into the air and landed 
with her fists on the ice. 

Farther out, the sea boiled. Screams came from the lead 
warships as more crags of basalt rose in their path. The 



bowsprits of the vessels that couldn't turn in time snapped 
like twigs. The groan of timber shattering against rock filled 
the air, as hideous as a chorus of wounded animals. 

Kyoshi dropped to her knees, panting and heaving. She'd 
meant to keep going, to bring the earth close enough to 
defend herself, but the effort had immediately sapped her to 
the point where she could barely raise her head. 

Tagaka turned around. Her face, so controlled over the 
past two days, spasmed in every direction. 

“What in the name of the spirits?" she whispered as she 
flipped her jian over for a downward stab. The speed at 
which Tagaka moved to kill her made it clear that she'd be 
fine living without an answer. 

“Kyoshi! Stay low!" 

Kyoshi instinctively obeyed Rangi's voice and flattened 
herself out. She heard and felt the scorch of a fire blast 
travel over her, knocking Tagaka away. 

With a mighty roar, Pengpeng strafed the iceberg, Rangi 
and Hei-Ran blasting flame from the bison's left and right, 
scattering the pirates as they attempted to regroup. Jianzhu 
handled Pengpeng's reins with the skill of an Air Nomad, 
spinning her around for perfectly aimed tail shots of wind 
that drove away clouds of arrows and thrown spears. Kyoshi 
had no idea how they'd escaped the ice, but if any three 
people had the power and resourcefulness to pull it off, it 
was them. 

The fight wasn't over. Some of Tagaka's fleet had made it 
past Kyoshi's obstacles. And from the nearby sinking ships, a 
few Waterbenders declined to panic like their fellows. They 
dove into the water instead, generating high-speed waves 
that carried them toward Tagaka. Her elite guard, coming to 
rescue her. 

Rangi and Hei-Ran jumped down and barraged the pirate 
queen with flame that she was forced to block with sheets of 
water. Rangi's face was covered in blood and her mother had 



only one good arm, but they fought in perfect coordination, 
leaving Tagaka no gaps to mount an offense. 

“We'll handle the Waterbenders!" Hei-Ran shouted over 
her shoulder. “Stop the ships!" 

Jianzhu took a look at the stone monoliths that Kyoshi 
had raised from the seafloor, and then at her. In the heat of 
battle, he chose to pause. He stared hard at Kyoshi, almost 
as if he were doing sums in his head. 

“Jianzhu!" Hei-Ran screamed. 

He snapped out of his haze and took Pengpeng back up. 
They flew toward the nearest formation of stone. Without 
warning, Jianzhu let go of the reins and jumped off the bison 
in midair. 

Kyoshi thought he'd gone mad. He proved her wrong. 

She'd never seen Jianzhu earthbend before, had only 
heard Yun and the staff describe his personal style as 
“different." Unusual. More like a lion dance at the New Year, 
Auntie Mui once said, fanning herself, with a dreamy smile 
on her face. Stable below and wild on top. 

He hadn't been able to earthbend on the iceberg, but 
now Kyoshi had provided him with all of his element that he 
needed. As Jianzhu fell, flat panes of stone peeled off the 
crag and flew up to meet him. They arranged themselves 
into a manic, architectural construction with broad daylight 
showing through the triangular gaps, a steep ramp that he 
landed on without losing his momentum. 

He sprinted toward the escaping ships, in a direction he 
had no room to go. But as he ran, his arms coiled and 
whipped around him like they had minds of their own. He 
flicked his fists using minute twists of his waist, and 
countless sheets of rock fastened themselves into a bridge 
under his feet. Jianzhu never broke stride as he traveled on 
thin air, suspended by his on-the-fly earthworks. 

Fire blasts and waterspouts shot up from the benders 
manning the ships. Jianzhu nimbly leaped and slid over 



them. The ones aimed at the stone itself did surprisingly 
little damage, as the structure was composed of chaotic, 
redundant braces. 

He raced ahead of the lead ship, crossing its path with his 
bridge. Right as Kyoshi thought he'd extended too far, that 
he'd run out of stone and thinned his support beyond what 
it could hold, he leaped to safety, landing on top of a nearby 
ice floe. 

The precarious, unnatural assembly began to crumble 
without Jianzhu's bending to keep it up. First the individual 
pieces began to flake off. Chunks of falling rock bombarded 
the lead ship from high above, sending the crew members 
diving for cover as the wooden deck punctured like leather 
before an awl. 

But their suffering had only begun. The base of the 
bridge simply let itself go, bringing the entire line of stone 
down across the prow. The ship's aft was levered out of the 
waterline, exposing the rudder and barnacled keel. 

The rest of the squadron didn't have time to turn. One 
follower angled away from the disaster. It managed to avoid 
crashing its hull, but the change of direction caused the 
vessel to tilt sharply to the side. The tip of its rigging caught 
on the wreckage, and then the ship was beheaded of its 
masts and sails, the wooden pillars snapped off, a child's toy 
breaking at its weakest points. 

The last remaining warship bringing up the rear might 
have made it out, assuming some dazzling feat of heroic 
seamanship. Instead it wisely decided to drop anchor and 
call it quits. If Tagaka's power was in her fleet, then the 
Avatar's companions had destroyed it. Now they just had to 
live long enough to claim their victory. 

"You did good, kid," said a man with a husky voice and an 
accent like Master Amak's. "They'll be telling stories about 
this for a long time." 



Kyoshi spun around, afraid a pirate had gotten the drop 
on her, but there was no one there. The motion made her 
dizzy. Too dizzy. She sank to her knees, a drawn-out, lengthy 
process, and slumped onto the ice. 



THE FRACTURE 


It was warm. So warm that when Kyoshi woke up in the 
mansion's infirmary, she thought it would be Rangi sitting in 
the chair by the bed. She hoped it was. 

Instead it was Jianzhu. 

Kyoshi clutched her blankets tighter and then realized 
she was being silly. Jianzhu was her boss and her benefactor. 
He'd given Kelsang the money to take care of her. And while 
she'd never crossed the courteous distance that lay between 
them, there was no reason to feel uncomfortable around the 
earth sage. 

That was what she told herself. 

Her throat burned with thirst. Jianzhu had a gourd of 
water at the ready, anticipating her need, and handed it 
over. She tried to gulp it as decorously as she could but 
spilled some on her sheets, causing him to chuckle. 

“I always had the hunch you were hiding something from 
me," he said. 

She nearly choked. 

"I remember the day you and Kelsang told me about your 
problem with earthbending," Jianzhu said with a smile that 
stayed firmly on the lower half of his face. "You said that you 
couldn't manipulate small things. That you could only move 
good-sized boulders of a regular shape. Like a person whose 
fingers were too thick and clumsy to pick up a grain of 
sand." 

That was true. Most schools of earthbending didn't know 
how to deal with a weakness like Kyoshi's. Students started 



out bending the smallest pebbles, and as their strength and 
technique grew, they moved to bigger and heavier chunks 
of earth. 

Despite Kelsang's protests, Kyoshi had long since decided 
that she wouldn't bother formally training in bending. It 
hadn't seemed like a problem worth solving at the time. 
Earthbending was mostly useless indoors, especially so 
without precision. 

"You didn't tell me the reverse applied," Jianzhu said. 
"That you could move mountains. And you were separated 
from the ocean bed by two hundred paces. Not even I can 
summon earth from across that distance. Or across water." 

The empty gourd trembled as she put it on the bedside 
table. "I swear I didn't know," Kyoshi said. "I didn't think I 
could do what I did, but Yun was in danger and I stopped 
thinking and I—where is Yun? Is he okay? Where's Kelsang?" 

"You don't need to worry about them." He slumped 
forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees, his fingers 
knotted together. His clothes draped from his joints in a way 
that made him look thin and weary. He stared at the floor in 
silence for an uncomfortably long time. 

"The Earth Kingdom," Jianzhu said. "It's kind of a mess, 
don't you think?" 

Kyoshi was more surprised by his tone than his random 
change of subject. He'd never relaxed this much around her 
before. She didn't imagine he spoke this informally with Yun. 

"I mean, look at us," he said. "We have more than one 
king. Northern and southern dialects are so different they're 
starting to become separate languages. Villagers in Yokoya 
wear as much blue as green, and the Si Wong people barely 
share any customs with the rest of the continent." 

Kyoshi had heard Kelsang express admiration for the 
diversity of the Earth Kingdom on several occasions. But 
perhaps he was speaking from the perspective of a visitor. 



Jianzhu made the Earth Kingdom sound like different pieces 
of flesh stitched together to close a wound. 

“Did you know that the word for daofei doesn't really 
exist in the other nations?" he said. “Across the seas, they're 
just called criminals. They have petty goals, never reaching 
far beyond personal enrichment. 

“But here in the Earth Kingdom, daofei find a level of 
success that goes to their heads and makes them believe 
they're a society apart, entitled to their own codes and 
traditions. They can gain control over territory and get a 
taste of what it's like to rule. Some of them turn into spiritual 
fanatics, believing that their looting and pillaging is in 
service of a higher cause." 

Jianzhu sighed. “It's all because Ba Sing Se is not a truly 
effective authority," he said. “The Earth King's power waxes 
and wanes. It never reaches completely across the land as it 
should. Do you know what's holding the Earth Kingdom 
together right now, in its stead?" 

She knew the answer but shook her head anyway. 

“Me." He didn't sound proud to say it. “I am what's 
keeping this giant, ramshackle nation of ours from 
crumbling into dust. Because we've been without an Avatar 
for so long, the duty has fallen on me. And because I have 
no claim on leadership from noble blood, I have to do it 
solely by creating ties of personal loyalty." 

He glanced up at her with sadness in his eyes. “Every 
local governor and magistrate from here to the Northern Air 
Temple owes me. I give them grain in times of famine; I help 
them gather the taxes that pay the police salaries. I help 
them deal with rebels. 

“My reach has to extend beyond the Earth Kingdom as 
well," Jianzhu said. “I know every bender who might 
accurately call themselves a teacher of the elements in each 
of the Four Nations, and who their most promising pupils 
are. I've funded bending schools, organized tournaments. 



and settled disputes between styles before they ended in 
blood. Any master in the world would answer my summons.” 

She didn't doubt it. He wasn't a man given to boasting. 
More than once around the house she'd heard the 
expression that Jianzhu's word, his friendship, was worth 
more than Beifong gold. 

Another person might have swelled with happiness while 
looking back over the power they wielded. Jianzhu simply 
sounded tired. "You wouldn't know any of this,” he said. 
"Other than the disaster on the iceberg, you've never really 
been outside the shelter of Yokoya.” 

Kyoshi swallowed the urge to tell him that wasn't true, 
that she still remembered the brief glimpses she'd seen of 
the greater world, long ago. But that would have meant 
talking about her parents. Opening a different box of vipers 
altogether. Just the notion of exposing that part of her to 
Jianzhu caused her pulse to quicken. 

He picked up on her distress and narrowed his eyes. "So 
you see, Kyoshi,” he said. "Without personal loyalty, it all 
falls apart!” 

He made a sudden bending motion toward the ceiling as 
if to bring it crashing down onto their heads. Kyoshi flinched 
before remembering the room was made of wood. A trickle of 
dust leaked through the roof beams and lay suspended in 
the air, a cloud above them. 

"Given what I've told you,” he said. "Is there anything 
you want to tell me? About what you did on the ice?” 

Was there anything she wanted to tell the man who had 
taken her in off the street? That there was a chance he'd 
made a blunder that could destroy everything he'd worked 
for, and that her very existence might spell untold chaos for 
their nation? 

No. She and Kelsang had to wait it out. Find evidence that 
she wasn't the Avatar, give Yun the time he needed to prove 
himself conclusively. 



“I'm sorry," she said. “I truly wasn't aware of my own 
limits. I just panicked and lashed out as hard as I could. 
Rangi told me she often firebends stronger when she's 
angry; maybe it was like that." 

Jianzhu smiled again, the expression calcifying on his 
face. He clapped his hands to his knees and pushed himself 
up to standing. 

“You know," he said. “I've fought daofei Wke Tagaka across 
the length and breadth of this continent for so long that the 
one thing I've learned is that they're not the true problem. 
They're a symptom of what happens when people think they 
WITH AVATAR CO-CREATOR 
MICHAEL DANTE DIMARTINO 



1 


































PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and 
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, 
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business 
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 

Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from 
the Library of Congress. 

ISBN 978-1-4197-3504-2 

ISBN (B&N/Indigo edition) 978-1-4197-3991-0 

elSBN: 978-1-68335-533-5 

© 2019 Viacom International Inc. All Rights Reserved. Nickelodeon, Nickelodeon 
Avatar: The Last Airbender and all related titles, logos and characters are 
trademarks of Viacom International Inc. 

Cover illustrations by Jung Shan Chang 
Book design by Hana Anouk Nakamura 

Published in 2019 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. 
No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or 
transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, 
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the 
publisher. 

Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for 
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Amulet Books® is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc. 

ABRAMS The Art of Books 

195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007 

abramsbooks.com 


FOREWORD 


Any prequel story presents a unique challenge, never mind 
one set in a fictional canonical universe like that of Avatar: 
The Last Airbender. A common pitfall of prequels? Since the 
reader already knows how things eventually turn out, they 
are one step ahead of the hero. Done well, however, a 
prequel can expand and deepen a beloved fantasy world by 
exploring its history and characters in new ways. This is the 
case with The Rise of Kyoshi. 

Readers familiar with the original Nickelodeon series 
might recall that Avatar Kyoshi was a legend, even among 
the impressive pantheon of Avatars. But how did she 
become a woman dedicated to fighting injustice throughout 
the world? And why was she so feared by her enemies? 
These were the questions left unexplored. In my first talks 
with F. C. Yee, we discussed a few possible plots but also 
asked ourselves: What kind of character is Kyoshi, what 
drives her, and what kind of events in her past could have 
caused her to develop into such a legendary figure? 

I didn't envy Yee the challenge of tackling these 
questions. I knew he'd have to play within the conventions 
of an already-established world while simultaneously 
marking it with his own creative stamp. And the Avatar 
universe has no shortage of "must-haves." First, you must 
have an Avatar—the reincarnated being who holds the 
ability to manipulate, or bend, all four elements, who has a 
connection to the mysterious Spirit World, and who deals 
with conflicts among the Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, Fire 
Nation, and Air Nomads. The Avatar can't do all this alone 
and thus must also have a core group of teachers and 
friends—a Team Avatar, as we like to call it. Political conflict 



is also a must: Whether it's a world war or a revolution, the 
Avatar inevitably ends up in the center of the fight before he 
or she is ready. And of course, there is never a shortage of 
epic bending battles. 

Though all Avatars share certain rites of passage—such 
as mastering all four elements—each one must have a 
unique journey and face different personal and political 
challenges on their way to becoming a fully realized Avatar. 
In The Rise of Kyoshi, we meet a young woman so unlike the 
legend she is to become that we wonder how she could 
possibly transform into such a remarkable figure. She's not a 
great Earthbender. People don't even believe she's the 
Avatar at the start of the book—a great conceit on Yee's 
behalf, and one that provides the crux of the conflict for the 
entire novel. 

Entrusting another writer with a world and characters 
that I helped create is always fraught with anxiety for me. In 
the wrong hands, it can be a disheartening experience. But 
when I read The Rise of Kyoshi for the first time, I was 
immediately drawn into the story and entranced by its 
intriguing new characters and backstory. I was eager to read 
on to find out how Kyoshi would overcome all the obstacles 
in her way (and Yee throws plenty of them in her path). 

Working on this project with everyone involved has been 
a pleasure, and I couldn't be more excited about this 
incarnation of the Avatar universe. 

Michael Dante DiMartino 



THE TEST 


Yokoya Port was a town easy to overlook. 

Situated on the edge of Whaletail Strait, it could have 
been a major restocking point for ships leaving one of the 
many harbors that supplied Omashu. But the strong, reliable 
prevailing winds made it too easy and cost-effective for 
southbound merchants to cruise right past it and reach 
Shimsom Big Island in a straight shot. 

Jianzhu wondered if the locals knew or cared that ships 
laden with riches sailed tantalizingly close by, while they 
were stuck elbows-deep in the cavity of another elephant 
koi. Only a quirk of fate and weather kept piles of gold, 
spices, precious books, and scrolls from landing on their 
doorstep. Instead their lot was fish guts. A wealth of maws 
and gills. 

The landward side was even less promising. The soil of 
the peninsula grew thin and rocky as it extended farther into 
the sea. It had disturbed Jianzhu to see crop fields so meager 
and balding as he'd rode through the countryside into town 
for the first time. The farmland lacked the wild, volcanic 
abundance of the Makapu Valley or the carefully ordered 
productivity of Ba Sing Se's Outer Ring, where growth bent 
to the exacting will of the king's planners. Here, a farmer 
would have to be grateful for whatever sustenance they 
could pull from the dirt. 

The settlement lay at the intersection of three different 
nations—Earth, Air, and Water. And yet, none had ever laid 
much of a claim to it. The conflicts of the outside world had 
little impact on daily life for the Yokoyans. 



To them, the ravages of the Yellow Neck uprising in the 
deep interior of the Earth Kingdom were a less interesting 
story than the wayward flying bison that had gotten loose 
from the Air Temple and knocked the thatching off a few 
roofs last week. Despite being seagoers, they probably 
couldn't name any of the dreaded pirate leaders carving up 
the eastern waters in open defiance of the Ba Sing Se navy. 

All in all, Yokoya Port might as well not have been on the 
map. Which meant—for Jianzhu and Kelsang's desperate, 
sacrilegious little experiment—it was perfect. 


Jianzhu trudged uphill in the wet, mucky snowfall, his neck 
prickling from the bundled straw cloak around his shoulders. 
He passed the wooden pillar that marked the spiritual center 
of this village without sparing it a glance. There was nothing 
on the sides or on top of it. It was just a bare log driven 
upright into the ground of a circular courtyard. It wasn't 
carved with any decorations, which seemed lazy for a town 
where nearly every adult had a working knowledge of 
carpentry. 

There, the post grudgingly said to any nearby spirits. 
Hope you're happy. 

Weathered houses lined the broad, eroded avenue, 
poking steeply into the air like spearpoints. His destination 
was the larger two-story meeting hall at the end. Kelsang 
had set up shop there yesterday, saying he needed as much 
floor space as possible for the test. He'd also claimed that 
the location enjoyed some auspicious wind currents, using 
the very solemn and holy method of licking his finger and 
holding it up in the air. 

Whatever helped. Jianzhu sent a quick prayer to the 
Guardian of the Divine Log as he pulled off his snow boots. 


laid them on the porch, and ducked through the door 
curtains. 

The interior of the hall was surprisingly large, with far 
corners draped in shadow and thick-planked walls cut from 
what must have been truly massive trees. The air smelled of 
resin. Ten very long, very faded yellow cloths stretched 
across the worn floorboards. A row of toys lay on each one, 
evenly spaced like a seedbed. 

A bison whistle, a wicker ball, a misshapen blob that 
might have been a stuffed turtle duck, a coiled whalebone 
spring, one of those flappy drums that made noise as you 
spun it back and forth between your palms. The toys looked 
as worn and beaten as the outside of this building. 

Kelsang knelt at the far end of the cloths. The Airbender 
monk was busy placing more knickknacks with a carefulness 
and precision that rivaled an acupuncturist setting their 
needles. As if it mattered whether the miniature boat sailed 
east or west. He stayed on his hands and knees, shuffling his 
great bulk sideways, his billowing orange robes and wiry 
black beard hanging so low they made another sweep over a 
floor that had already been scrubbed clean. 

“I didn't know there were so many toys," Jianzhu said to 
his old friend. He spotted a large white marble that looked 
too close to the edge of the fabric and, with a graceful 
extension of his wrist, levitated it with earthbending in front 
of Kelsang. It hovered like a fly, waiting for his attention. 

Kelsang didn't look up as he plucked the marble out of 
the air and put it right back where it had started. "There's 
thousands. I'd ask you to help, but you wouldn't do it right." 

Jianzhu's head hurt at the statement. At this point they 
were well past doing it right "How did you change Abbot 
Dorje's mind about giving you the relics?" he asked. 

"The same way you convinced Lu Beifong to let us 
administer the Air Nomad test in the Earth Cycle," Kelsang 
said calmly as he re-centered a wooden top. "I didn't." 



Like a certain friend of theirs from the Water Tribe always 
said, it was better to ask for forgiveness than wait for 
permission. And as far as Jianzhu was concerned, the time 
for waiting had long since passed. 

When Avatar Kuruk, the keeper of balance and peace in 
the world, the bridge between spirits and humans, passed 
away at the ripe old age of thirty-three— f/7/rfy-f/7ree.^ the 
only time Kuruk had ever been early for anything!—t 
became the duty of his friends, his teachers, and other 
prominent benders to find the new Avatar, reincarnated into 
the next nation of the elemental cycle. Earth, Fire, Air, 
Water, and then Earth again, an order as unchanging as the 
seasons. A process stretching back nearly a thousand 
generations before Kuruk, and one that would hopefully 
continue for a thousand more. 

Except this time, it wasn't working. 

It had been seven years since Kuruk's death. Seven years 
of fruitless searching. Jianzhu had pored over every 
available record from the Four Nations, going back hundreds 
of years, and the hunt for the Avatar had never faltered like 
this in documented history. 

No one knew why, though revered elders traded guesses 
behind closed doors. The world was impure and had been 
abandoned by the spirits. The Earth Kingdom lacked 
cohesion, or maybe it was the Water Tribes in the poles that 
needed to unify. The Airbenders had to come down from 
their mountains and get their hands dirty instead of 
preaching. The debate went on and on. 

Jianzhu cared less about apportioning blame and more 
about the fact that he and Kelsang had let down their friend 
again. The only serious decree of Kuruk's before he'd 
departed from the living was that his closest companions 
find the next Avatar and do right by them. And so far they'd 
failed. Spectacularly. 



Right now, there should have been a happy, burbling 
seven-year-old Earth Avatar in the care of their loving family, 
being watched over by a collection of the best, wisest 
benders of the world. A child in the midst of being prepared 
for the assumption of their duties at the age of sixteen. 
Instead there was only a gaping void that grew more 
dangerous by the day. 

Jianzhu and the other masters did their best to keep the 
missing Avatar a secret, but it was no use. The cruel, the 
power-hungry, the lawless—people who normally had the 
most to fear from the Avatar—were starting to feel the scales 
shifting in their favor. Like sand sharks responding to the 
slightest vibrations on pure instinct, they tested their limits. 
Probed new grounds. Time was running out. 

Kelsang finished setting up when the noon gongs struck. 
The sun was high enough to melt snow off the roof, and the 
dripping flow of water pattered on the ground like light rain. 
The silhouettes of villagers and their children queuing up for 
the test could be seen outside through the paper-screen 
windows. The air was full of excited chatter. 

No more waiting, Jianzhu thought. This happens now. 


Earth Avatars were traditionally identified by directional 
geomancy, a series of rituals designed to winnow through 
the largest and most populous of the Four Nations as 
efficiently as possible. Each time a special set of bone 
trigrams was cast and interpreted by the earthbending 
masters, half the Earth Kingdom was ruled out as the 
location of the newborn Avatar. Then from the remaining 
territory, another half, and then another half again. The 
possible locations kept shrinking until the searchers were 
brought to the doorstep of the Earth Avatar child. 


It was a quick way to cover ground and entirely fitting to 
the earthbending state of mind. A question of logistics, 
simple to the point of being brutal. And it normally worked 
on the first try. 

Jianzhu had been part of expeditions sent by the bones to 
barren fields, empty gem caverns below Ba Sing Se, a patch 
of the Si Wong Desert so dry that not even the Sandbenders 
bothered with it. Lu Beifong had read the trigrams. King 
Buro of Omashu gave it a shot, Neliao the Gardener took her 
turn. The masters worked their way down through the 
earthbending hierarchy until Jianzhu racked up his fair share 
of misses as well. His friendship with Kuruk bought him no 
special privileges when it came to the next Avatar. 

After the last attempt had placed him on an iceberg in 
the North Pole with only turtle seals as potential candidates, 
Jianzhu became open to radical suggestions. A drunken 
commiseration with Kelsang spawned a promising new idea. 
If the ways of the Earth Kingdom weren't working, why not 
try another nation's method? After all, wasn't the Avatar, the 
only bender of all four elements, an honorary citizen of the 
entire world? 

That was why the two of them were wiping their noses 
with tradition and trying the Air Nomad way of identifying 
the Avatar. Yokoya would be a practice run, a safe place far 
from the turmoil of land and sea where they could take notes 
and fix problems. If Yokoya went smoothly, they could 
convince their elders to expand the test farther throughout 
the Earth Kingdom. 

The Air Nomads' method was simple, in theory. Out of the 
many toys laid out, only four belonged to Avatars of eras 
gone by. Each seven-year-old child of the village would be 
brought in and presented with the dazzling array of 
playthings. The one who was drawn to the four special toys 
in a remembrance of their past lives was the Avatar reborn. 



A process as elegant and harmonious as the Airbenders 
themselves. 

In theory. 

In practice, it was chaos. Pure and unhinged. It was a 
disaster the likes of which the Four Nations had never 
witnessed. 

Jianzhu hadn't thought of what might happen after the 
children who failed the test were told to leave their 
selections behind and make room for the next candidate. 
The tears! The wailing, the screaming! Trying to get toys 
away from kids who had only moments before been 
promised they could have their pick? There was no force in 
existence stronger than a child's righteous fury at being 
robbed. 

The parents were worse. Maybe Air Nomad caretakers 
handled the rejection of their young ones with grace and 
humility, but families in the other nations weren't made up 
of monks and nuns. Especially in the Earth Kingdom, where 
all bets were off once it came to blood ties. Villagers whom 
he'd shared friendly greetings with in the days leading up to 
the test became snarling canyon crawlers once they'd been 
told that their precious little Jae or Mirai was not in fact the 
most important child in the world, as they'd secretly known 
all along. More than a few swore up and down that they'd 
seen their offspring play with invisible spirits or bend earth 
and air at the same time. 

Kelsang would push back gently. "Are you sure your child 
wasn't earthbending during a normal breeze? Are you sure 
the baby wasn't simply. . . playing?" 

Some couldn't take a hint. Especially the village captain. 
As soon as they'd passed over her daughter—Aoma, or 
something—she'd given them a look of utter contempt and 
demanded to see a higher-ranking master. 

Sorry, lady, Jianzhu thought after Kelsang spent nearly 
ten minutes talking her down. We can't all be special. 




“For the last time, I'm not negotiating a salary with you!" 
Jianzhu shouted in the face of a particularly blunt farmer. 
“Being the Avatar is not a paid position!" 

The stocky man shrugged. “Sounds like a waste of time 
then. I'll take my child and go." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jianzhu caught Kelsang 
frantically waving his hands, making a cut-off sign at the 
neck. The little girl had wandered over to the whirly flying 
toy that had once entertained an ancient Avatar and was 
staring at it intently. 

Huh. They weren't intending to get a genuine result 
today. But picking the first item correctly was already 
improbable. Too improbable to risk stopping now. 

“Okay," Jianzhu said. This would have to come out of his 
own pocket. “Fifty silvers a year if she's the Avatar." 

“Sixty-five silvers a year if she's the Avatar and ten if 
she's not." 

“WHY WOULD I PAY YOU IF SHE'S NOT THE AVATAR?" 
Jianzhu roared. 

Kelsang coughed and thumped loudly on the floor. The 
girl had picked up the whirligig and was eying the drum. Two 
out of four correct. Out of thousands. 

Holy Shu. 

“I mean, of course," Jianzhu said quickly. “Deal." 

They shook hands. It would be ironic, a prank worthy of 
Kuruk's sense of humor, to have his reincarnation be found 
as a result of a peasant's greed. And the very last child in 
line for testing, to boot. Jianzhu nearly chuckled. 

Now the girl had the drum in her arms as well. She 
walked over to a stuffed hog monkey. Kelsang was beside 
himself with excitement, his neck threatening to burst 
through the wooden beads wrapped around it. Jianzhu felt 


lightheaded. Hope bashed against his ribcage, begging to 
be let out after so many years trapped inside. 

The girl wound up her foot and stomped on the stuffed 
animal as hard as she could. 

“Die!” she screamed in her tiny little treble. She ground it 
under her heel, the stitches audibly ripping. 

The light went out of Kelsang's face. He looked like he'd 
witnessed a murder. 

“Ten silvers,” the farmer said. 

“Get out,” Jianzhu snapped. 

“Come on, Suzu,” the farmer called. “Let's get.” 

After wresting the other toys away from the Butcher of 
Hog Monkeys, he scooped the girl up and walked out the 
door, the whole escapade nothing but a business 
transaction. In doing so he nearly bowled over another child 
who'd been spying on the proceedings from the outside. 

“Hey!” Jianzhu said. “You forgot your other daughter!” 

“That one ain't mine,” the farmer said as he thumped 
down the steps into the street. “That one ain't anyone's.” 

An orphan then? Jianzhu hadn't spotted the 
unchaperoned girl around town in the days before, but 
maybe he'd glossed over her, thinking she was too old to be 
a candidate. She was much, much taller than any of the 
other children who'd been brought in by their parents. 

As Jianzhu walked over to examine what he'd missed, the 
girl quavered, threatening to flee, but her curiosity won over 
her fright. She remained where she was. 

Underfed, Jianzhu thought with a frown as he looked over 
the girl's hollow cheeks and cracked lips. And definitely an 
orphan. He'd seen hundreds of children like her in the inner 
provinces where outlaw daofei ran unchecked, their parents 
slain by whatever bandit group was ascendant in the 
territory. She must have wandered far into the relatively 
peaceable area of Yokoya. 



Upon hearing about the Avatar test, the families of the 
village had dressed their eligible children in their finest 
garments as if it were a festival day. But this child was 
wearing a threadbare coat with her elbows poking through 
the holes in the sleeves. Her oversized feet threatened to 
burst the straps of her too-small sandals. None of the local 
farmers were feeding or clothing her. 

Kelsang, who despite his fearsome appearance was 
always better with children, joined them and stooped down. 
With a smile he transformed from an intimidating orange 
mountain into a giant-sized version of the stuffed toys 
behind him. 

“Why, hello there," he said, putting an extra layer of 
friendliness into his booming rumble. “What's your name?" 

The girl took a long, guarded moment, sizing them up. 

“Kyoshi," she whispered. Her eyebrows knotted as if 
revealing her name was a painful concession. 

Kelsang took in her tattered state and avoided the 
subject of her parents for now. “Kyoshi, would you like a 
toy?" 

“Are you sure she isn't too old?" Jianzhu said. “She's 
bigger than some of the teenagers." 

“Hush, you," Kelsang said. He made a sweeping gesture 
at the hall festooned with relics, for Kyoshi's benefit. 

The unveiling of so many playthings at once had an 
entrancing effect on most of the children. But Kyoshi didn't 
gasp, or smile, or move a muscle. Instead she maintained 
eye contact with Kelsang until he blinked. 

As quick as a whip, she scampered by him, snagged an 
object off the floor, and ran back to where she was standing 
on the porch. She gauged Kelsang and Jianzhu for their 
response as intently as they watched her. 

Kelsang glanced at Jianzhu and tilted his head at the clay 
turtle Kyoshi clutched to her chest. One of the four true 



relics. Not a single candidate had come anywhere near it 
today. 

They should have been as excited for her as they'd been 
for evil little Suzu, but Jianzhu's heart was clouded with 
doubt. It was hard to believe they'd be so lucky after that 
previous head-fake. 

"Good choice," Kelsang said. "But I've got a surprise for 
you. You can have three more! Four whole toys, to yourself! 
Wouldn't you like that?" 

Jianzhu sensed a shift in the girl's stance, a tremor in her 
foundation that was obvious through the wooden 
floorboards. 

Yes, she would like three more toys very much. What 
child wouldn't? But in her mind, the promise of more was 
dangerous. A lie designed to hurt her. If she loosened her 
grip on the single prize she held right now, she would end 
up with nothing. Punished for believing in the kindness of 
this stranger. 

Kyoshi shook her head. Her knuckles whitened around 
the clay turtle. 

"It's okay," Kelsang said. "You don't have to put that 
down. That's the whole point; you can choose different . . . 
Hey!" 

The girl took a step back, and then another, and then, 
before they could react, she was sprinting down the hill with 
the one-of-a-kind, centuries-old Avatar relic in her hands. 
Halfway along the street, she took a sharp turn like an 
experienced fugitive throwing off a pursuer and disappeared 
in the space between two houses. 


Jianzhu closed his eyelids against the sun. The light came 
through them in scarlet blots. He could feel his own pulse. 
His mind was somewhere else right now. 


Instead of Yokoya, he stood in the center of an unnamed 
village deep in the interior of the Earth Kingdom, newly 
“liberated” by Xu Ping An and the Yellow Necks. In this 
waking dream, the stench of rotting flesh soaked through his 
clothes and the cries of survivors haunted the wind. Next to 
him, an official messenger who'd been carried there by 
palanquin read from a scroll, spending minute after minute 
listing the Earth King's honorifics only to end by telling 
Jianzhu that reinforcements from His Majesty's army would 
not be coming to help. 

He tried to shake free of the memory, but the past had 
set its jagged hooks into him. Now he sat at a negotiating 
table made of pure ice, and on the other side was Tulok, lord 
of the Fifth Nation pirates. The elderly corsair laughed his 
consumptive laugh at the notion he might honor his 
grandfather's promise to leave the southern coastlines of the 
continent in peace. His convulsions spattered blood and 
phlegm over the accords drafted by Avatar Yangchen in her 
own holy hand, while his daughter-lieutenant watched by 
his side, her soulless gaze boring into Jianzhu like he was so 
much prey. 

In these times, and in many others, he should have been 
at the right hand of the Avatar. The ultimate authority who 
could bend the world to their will. Instead he was alone. 
Facing down great beasts of land and sea, their jaws closing 
in, encasing the kingdom in darkness. 


Kelsang yanked him back into the present with a bruising 
slap on the back. 

“Come on,” he said. “With the way you look, people 
would think you just lost your nation's most important 
cultural artifact.” 


The Airbender's good humor and ability to take setbacks 
in stride was normally a great comfort to Jianzhu, but right 
now he wanted to punch his friend in his stupid bearded 
face. He composed his own features. 

“We need to go after her," he said. 

Kelsang pursed his lips. “Eh, it would feel bad to take the 
relic away from a child who has so little. She can hang on to 
it. I'll go back to the temple and face Dorje's wrath alone. 
There's no need for you to implicate yourself." 

Jianzhu didn't know what counted for wrath among 
Airbenders, but that wasn't the issue here. “You'd ruin the 
Air Nomad test to make a child happy?" he said 
incredulously. 

“It'll find its way back to where it belongs." Kelsang 
looked around and paused. 

Then his smile faded, as if this little blot of a town were a 
harsh dose of reality that was only now taking effect. 

“Eventually." He sighed. “Maybe." 



NINE YEARS LATER 


To Kyoshi, it was very clear—this was a hostage situation. 

Silence was the key to making it through to the other 
side. Waiting with complete and total passivity. Neutral jing. 

Kyoshi walked calmly down the path through the fallow 
field, ignoring the covergrass that leaned over and tickled 
her ankles, the sweat beading on her forehead that stung 
her eyes. She kept quiet and pretended that the three 
people who'd fallen in beside her like muggers in an alley 
weren't a threat. 

“So like I was telling the others, my mom and dad think 
we'll have to dredge the peakside canals earlier this year," 
Aoma said, drawing out the mom and dad intentionally, 
dangling what Kyoshi lacked in front of her. She crooked her 
hands into the Crowding Bridge position while slamming her 
feet into the ground with solid whumps. “One of the terraces 
collapsed in the last storm." 

Above them, floating high out of reach, was the last, 
precious jar of pickled spicy kelp that the entire village 
would see this year. The one that Kyoshi had been charged 
with delivering to Jianzhu's mansion. The one that Aoma had 
earthbent out of Kyoshi's hands and was now promising to 
drop at any second. The large clay vessel bobbed up and 
down, sloshing the brine against the waxed paper seal. 

Kyoshi had to stifle a yelp every time the jar lurched 
against the limits of Aoma's control. No noise. Wait it out. 
Don't give them anything to iatch on to. Taiking wiii oniy 
make it worse. 



“She doesn't care," Suzu said. “Precious servant girl 
doesn't give a lick about farming matters. She's got her 
cushy job in the fancy house. She's too good to get her 
hands dirty." 

“Won't step in a boat, neither," Jae said. In lieu of 
elaborating further, he spat on the ground, nearly missing 
Kyoshi's heels. 

Aoma never needed a reason to torment Kyoshi, but as for 
the others, genuine resentment worked just fine. It was true 
that Kyoshi spent her days under the roof of a powerful sage 
instead of breaking her nails against fieldstones. She'd 
certainly never risked the choppy waters of the Strait in 
pursuit of a catch. 

But what Jae and Suzu conveniently neglected was that 
every plot of arable land near the village and every 
seaworthy boat down at the docks belonged to a family. 
Mothers and fathers, as Aoma was so fond of saying, passed 
along their trade to daughters and sons in an unbroken line, 
which meant there was no room for an outsider to inherit 
any means to survive. If it hadn't been for Kelsang and 
Jianzhu, Kyoshi would have starved in the streets, right in 
front of everyone's noses. 

Hypocrites. 

Kyoshi pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth 
as hard as she could. Today was not going to be the day. 
Someday, maybe, but not today. 

“Lay off her," Aoma said, shifting her stance into Dividing 
Bridge. “I hear that being a serving girl is hard work. That's 
why we're helping with the deliveries. Isn't that right 
Kyoshi?" 

For emphasis, she threaded the jar through a narrow gap 
in the branches of an overhanging tree. A reminder of who 
was in control here. 

Kyoshi shuddered as the vessel dove toward the ground 
like a hawk before swooping back up to safety. Just a little 



farther, she thought as the path took a sharp turn around 
the hillside. A few more silent, wordless steps until— 

There. They'd arrived at last. The Avatar's estate, in all its 
glory. 


The mansion that Master Jianzhu built to house the savior of 
the world was designed in the image of a miniature city. A 
high wall ran in a perfect square around the grounds, with a 
division in the middle to separate the austere training 
grounds from the vibrant living quarters. Each section had 
its own imposing, south-facing gatehouse that was larger 
than the Yokoya meeting hall. The massive iron-studded 
doors of the residential gate were flung open, offering a 
small windowed glimpse of the elaborate topiary inside. A 
herd of placid goat dogs grazed over the lawn, cropping the 
grass to an even length. 

Foreign elements had been carefully integrated into the 
design of the complex, which meant that gilded dragons 
chased carved polar orcas around the edges of the walls. 
The placement of the Earth Kingdom-style roof tiles cleverly 
matched Air Nomad numerology principles. Authentic dyes 
and paints had been imported from around the world, 
ensuring that the colors of all four nations were on full, 
equitable display. 

When Jianzhu had bought the land, he'd explained to the 
village elders that Yokoya was an ideal spot to settle down 
and educate the Avatar, a quiet, safe place far away from 
the outlaw-ravaged lands deeper in the Earth Kingdom and 
close enough to both the Southern Air Temple and Southern 
Water Tribe. The villagers had been happy enough to take 
his gold back then. But after the manor went up, they 
grumbled that it was an eyesore, an alien creature that had 
sprouted overnight from the native soil. 


To Kyoshi it was the most beautiful sight she could ever 
imagine. It was a home. 

Behind her, Suzu sniffed in disdain. “I don't know what 
our parents were thinking, selling these fields to a 
Ganjinese." 

Kyoshi's lips went tight. Master Jianzhu was indeed from 
the Gan Jin tribe up in the north, but it was the way Suzu 
had said it. 

“Maybe they knew the land was as worthless and 
unproductive as their children," Kyoshi muttered under her 
breath. 

The others stopped walking and stared at her. 

Whoops. She'd said that a bit too loud, hadn't she? 

Jae and Suzu balled their fists. It dawned on them, what 
they could do while Aoma had Kyoshi helpless. It had been 
years since any of the village kids could get within arm's 
reach of her, but today was a special occasion, wasn't it? 
Maybe a few bruises, in remembrance of old times. 

Kyoshi steeled herself for the first blow, rising on her toes 
in the hope that she could at least keep her face out of the 
fray, so Auntie Mui wouldn't notice. A few punches and kicks 
and they'd leave her in peace. Really, it was her own fault 
for letting her mask slip. 

"What do you think you're doing?" a familiar voice 
snarled. 

Kyoshi grimaced and opened her eyes. 

Peace was no longer an option. Because now Rangi was 
here. 


Rangi must have seen them from afar and stalked across the 
entire great lawn unnoticed. Or lain in ambush for them all 
night. Or dropped out of a tree like a webbed leopard. Kyoshi 


wouldn't have put any of those feats past the military- 
trained Firebender. 

Jae and Suzu backed away, trying to swallow their hostile 
intent like children stuffing stolen candy into their mouths. It 
occurred to Kyoshi that this might have been the first time 
they'd ever seen a member of the Fire Nation up close, let 
alone one as intimidating as Rangi. In her formfitting armor 
the color of onyx and dried blood, she could have been a 
vengeful spirit come to cleanse a battlefield of the living. 

Aoma, rather impressively, held her ground. "The Avatar's 
bodyguard," she said with a faint smile. "I thought you 
weren't supposed to leave his side. Aren't you slacking off?" 

She glanced to the left and right. "Or is he here 
somewhere?" 

Rangi looked at Aoma like she was a wad of foulness the 
Firebender had stepped in during the walk over. 

"You're not authorized to be on these grounds," she said 
in her charred rasp. She pointed upward at the jar of kelp. 
"Nor to lay your hands on the Avatar's property. Or accost 
his household staff, for that matter." 

Kyoshi noticed she personally landed a distant third in 
that list of considerations. 

Aoma tried to play it cool. "This container is enormous," 
she said, shrugging to emphasize her still-ongoing feat of 
elemental control. "It would take two grown men to lift it 
without earthbending. Kyoshi asked us to help her bring it 
inside the house. Right?" 

She gave Kyoshi a radiant smile. One that said Tell on me 
and I'll km you. Kyoshi had seen that expression before 
countless times when they were younger, whenever a 
hapless adult blundered into the two of them "playing" 
around town, Kyoshi badly scraped up and Aoma with a rock 
in her hand. 

But today she was off her game. Her normally flawless 
acting had a plaintive, genuine tone to it. Kyoshi suddenly 



understood what was going on. 

Aoma really did want to help her with her delivery. She 
wanted to be invited inside the mansion and to see the 
Avatar up close, like Kyoshi got to every day. She was 
Jealous. 

A feeling akin to pity settled in Kyoshi's throat. It wasn't 
strong enough to hold Rangi back from doing her thing, 
though. 

The Firebender stepped forward. Her fine jawline 
hardened, and her dark bronze eyes danced with 
aggression. The air around her body rippled like a living 
mirage, making the strands of jet-black hair that escaped 
her topknot float upward in the heat. 

"Put the jar down, walk away, and don't come back," she 
said. "Unless you want to know what the ashes of your 
eyebrows smell like." 

Aoma's expression crumbled. She'd blundered into a 
predator with much larger fangs. And unlike the adults of 
the village, no amount of charm or misdirection would work 
on Rangi. 

But that didn't mean a parting shot was out of the 
question. 

"Sure," she said. "Thought you'd never ask." With a fling 
of her hands, the jar rocketed straight up into the air, past 
the treetops. 

"You'd better find someone who's authorized to catch 
that." She bolted down the path with Suzu and Jae close 
behind. 

"You little—" Rangi made to go after them, fist reflexively 
cocked to serve a helping of flaming pain, but she checked 
herself. Fiery vengeance would have to wait. 

She shook her hand out and peered up at the rapidly 
shrinking jar. Aoma had thrown it really, rea//y hard. No one 
could claim the girl wasn't talented. 



Rangi elbowed Kyoshi sharply in the side. "Catch it," she 
said. "Use earthbending and catch it." 

"I—I can't," Kyoshi said, quavering with dismay. Her poor 
doomed charge reached the apex of its flight. Auntie Mui 
was going to be furious. A disaster of this magnitude might 
get back to Master Jianzhu. Her pay would get cut. Or she'd 
be fired outright. 

Rangi hadn't given up on her. "What do you mean you 
can't? The staff ledgers have you listed as an Earthbender! 
Catch it!" 

"It's not that simple!" Yes, Kyoshi was technically a 
bender, but Rangi didn't know about her little problem. 

"Do the thing with your hands like she did!" Rangi formed 
the dual claws of Crowding Bridge as if the only missing 
component were a crude visual reminder by a bender who 
wielded a different element entirely. 

"Look out!" Kyoshi screamed. She threw herself over 
Rangi, shielding the smaller girl with her body from the 
plummeting missile. They fell to the ground, entwined. 

No impact came. No deadly shards of ceramic, or 
explosion of pickling liquid. 

"Get off of me, you oaf," Rangi muttered. She hammered 
her fists against Kyoshi's protective embrace, a bird beating 
its wings against a cage. Kyoshi got to her knees and saw 
that her face and ears were nearly as red as her armor. 

She helped Rangi to her feet. The jar floated next to 
them, waist-high above the ground. Under Aoma's control it 
had wavered and trembled, following her natural patterns of 
breathing and involuntary motions. But now it was 
completely still in the air, as if it had been placed on a 
sturdy iron pedestal. 

The pebbles in the dusty path trembled. They began to 
move and bounce in front of Kyoshi's feet, directed by 
unseen power from below like they'd been scattered across 
the surface of a beating drum. They marched in seemingly 



random directions, little drunken soldiers, until they came to 
rest in a formation that spelled a message. 

You're welcome. 

Kyoshi's head jerked up and she squinted at the distant 
mansion. There was only one person she knew who could 
have managed this feat. The pebbles began their dance 
again, settling into words much faster this time. 

This is Yun, by the way You know, Avatar Yun. 

As if it could have been anyone else. Kyoshi couldn't spot 
where Yun was watching them, but she could imagine the 
playful, teasing smirk on his handsome face as he performed 
yet another astounding act of bending like it was no big 
deal, charming the rocks into complete submission. 

She'd never heard of anyone using earth to communicate 
legibly at a distance. Yun was lucky he wasn't an Air Nomad, 
or else the stunt would have gotten him tattooed in 
celebration for inventing a new technique. 

What are my three favorite ladles doing today? 

Kyoshi giggled. Okay, so not perfectly legible. 

Sounds like fun. Wish i could join you. 

“He knows we can't reply, right?" Rangi said. 

Dumplings, please. Any kind but leek. 

“Enough!" Rangi shouted. “We're distracting him from his 
training! And you're late for work!" She swept away the 
pebbles with her foot, less concerned with blazing new trails 
in the world of earthbending and more with maintaining the 
daily schedule. 

Kyoshi plucked the jar off the invisible platform and 
followed Rangi back to the mansion, stepping slowly 
through the grass so as not to outpace her. If household 
duties were all that mattered to the Firebender, then that 
would be the end of it, and nothing more would need to be 
said. Instead she could feel Rangi's silence compacting into 
a denser form inside her slender frame. 



They were halfway to the gate once it became too much 
to bear. 

“It's pathetic!" Rangi said without turning around. The 
only way she could manage her disgust with Kyoshi was by 
not looking at her. “The way they step on you. You serve the 
Avatar! Have some dignity!" 

Kyoshi smiled. “I was trying to de-escalate the situation," 
she murmured. 

“You were going to let them hit you! I saw it! And don't 
you dare try and claim you were doing neutral jing or 
whatever earthbending hooey!" 

Right on cue, Rangi had transformed from professional 
Guardian of the Avatar, ready to scorch the bones of 
interlopers without flinching, into the teenaged girl no older 
than Kyoshi who easily lost her temper at her friends and 
was kind of a raging mother hen to boot. 

“And speaking of your earthbending! You were shown up 
by a peasant! How have you not mastered the basics by 
now? I've seen children in Yu Dao bend rocks bigger than 
that jar!" 

She and Rangi were friends, despite what it looked like. 
Back when the mansion was under construction—while 
Kyoshi was learning her duties inside the skeleton of the 
unfinished house—it had taken her weeks to figure out that 
the imperious girl who acted like she was still in the junior 
corps of the Fire Army only yelled at the people she let 
inside her shell. Everyone else was scum who didn't warrant 
the effort. 

“. . . So the most efficient course of action would be to 
surprise the leader—Aoma, was it?—alone somewhere and 
then destroy her so messily that it sends a message to the 
others not to bother you anymore. Are you listening to me?" 

Kyoshi had missed the greater part of the battle plan. 
She'd been distracted by the collar of Rangi's armor, which 
had been mussed in the fall and needed to be straightened 



so it covered the delicate skin of her nape once more. But 
her answer was the same regardless. 

“Why resort to violence?" she said. She gently nudged 
the Firebender in the small of the back with the jar. “I have 
strong heroes like you to protect me." 

Rangi made a noise like she wanted to vomit. 



THE BOY FROM MAKAPU 


Yun couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was possible 
to read their body language at this distance. Judging from 
the way she gestured wildly in the air, Rangi was ticked off 
at Kyoshi. Again. 

He smiled. The two of them were adorable together. He 
could have watched them all day, but alas. He rolled over 
onto his back and slid down the roof of the outer wall, using 
the edge of the gutter to arrest his fall. He let the impact 
turn his motion into a vault, front-flipped into the air, and 
landed on the balls of his feet in the marble courtyard. 

Eye-to-eye with Hei-Ran. 

Shoot. 

"Impressive," the former headmistress of the Royal Fire 
Academy for Girls said, her arms crossed behind her back. 
"When the spirits ask for a circus clown to intervene on their 
behalf. I'll know our time together has paid off." 

Yun scrunched his face. His personal firebending tutor 
had a knack for finding his moments of pride and then 
crushing them. 

"I finished my hot squat sets early," he said. "Five 
hundred reps. Perfect form, the whole way." 

"And yet you chose to spend your spare time lounging on 
the roof instead of moving on to your next exercise or 
meditating until I returned. No wonder you can't generate 
flame yet. You can train your body as much as you wish, but 
your mind remains weak." 



He noticed Hei-Ran never tore into him like this while her 
daughter was around. It was as if she didn't want to diminish 
the Avatar's stature in Rangi's worshipful eyes. His image 
had to be carefully groomed and maintained, like the 
miniature trees that dotted the garden. The spirits forbid he 
appear human for a moment. 

Yun dropped into the Fire Fist stance. He paused for 
corrections though it was unnecessary. Not even Hei-Ran 
could fault his body placement, his spinal posture, his 
breath control. The only thing missing was the flame. 

She frowned at him, interpreting his perfection as an act 
of defiance, but gave him the signal to begin anyway. As he 
punched at the air, she walked slowly around him in a circle. 
Fire Fist sessions were also opportunities for lectures. 

“What you do when no one is guiding you determines 
who you are," Hei-Ran said. The motto was probably 
engraved over a door somewhere in the Fire Academy. “The 
results of your training are far less important than your 
attitude toward training." 

Yun didn't think she truly believed that. Not for a second. 
She was simply picking on the parts of him that she couldn't 
examine and adjust for immediate improvement. If he 
couldn't firebend yet under her care, then his flaw resided 
deeper than in any of her previous students. 

His punches became crisper, to the point where the 
sleeves of his cotton training uniform snapped like a whip 
with each motion. He was a pair of images in a scroll, two 
points in time repeating over and over again. Left fist. Right 
fist. 

“Your situation isn't unique," Hei-Ran went on. “History is 
full of Avatars like you who tried to coast on their talents. 
You're not the only one who wanted to take it easy." 

Yun slipped. An event rare enough to notice. 

His motion took him too far outside his center of gravity, 
and he stumbled to his knees. Sweat stung his eyes, ran into 



the corner of his mouth. 

Take it easy? Take it easy? 

Was she ignoring the fact that he spent sleepless nights 
poring over scholarly analyses of Yangchen's political 
decisions? That he'd exhaustively memorized the names of 
every Earth Kingdom noble, Fire Nation commander, and 
Water Tribe chieftain among the living and going back three 
generations among the dead? The forgotten texts he'd used 
to map the ancient sacred sites of the Air Nomads to such a 
degree that Kelsang was surprised about a few of them? 

That's who he was when no one was looking. Someone 
who dedicated his whole being to his Avatarhood. Yun 
wanted to make up for the lost time he'd squandered by 
being discovered so late. He wanted to express gratitude to 
Jianzhu and the entire world for giving him the greatest gift 
in existence. Taking it easy was the last thing on his mind. 

She knows that, he thought. Hei-Ran was purposely 
goading him by calling him lazy. But an uncontrollable fury 
rose in his stomach anyway. 

Yun's fingers plowed into the smooth surface of the 
marble, crushing the stone into his fist as effortlessly as if it 
were chalk. He would never lash out against a teacher. The 
only way he could put up resistance against Hei-Ran was to 
disappoint her. To uphold her accusation that he was a 
wayward child. 

His next punch produced a swirling dragon's belch of 
“flame" worthy of the Fire Lord, each spout and flicker 
rendered lovingly, mockingly in white stone dust. He let it 
rage and dance like a real fire reacting to the eddies of the 
breeze, and then let the cloud of particles fall to the ground. 

To cap it off, make the performance complete, he added 
the smirk that everyone always said reminded them of 
Kuruk's. A clown needed his makeup, after all. 

Hei-Ran stiffened. She looked like she was about to slap 
him across the face. The blast went nowhere near her, but it 



didn't exactly fly away fronn her either. 

“In the old days, masters used to maim their students for 
insubordination," she said hoarsely. 

Yun restrained himself from flinching. “What wonderful 
modern times we live in." 

A single clap pierced the air. They both looked over to see 
Jianzhu, watching from the sidelines. 

Yun gritted his teeth hard enough to make them squeak. 
Normally he could sense his mentor's footfalls through the 
ground and get his act together, but today . . . today was all 
kinds of off-balance. 

Jianzhu waved Yun over like he hadn't just caught the 
Avatar and his firebending master at each other's throats. 
“Come," he said to his ward. “Let's take a break." 


The training grounds had alcoves in the walls for stashing 
weapons, water jars, and hollow discs made of pressed clay 
powder that would explode harmlessly on impact. Enough 
supplies to train an army of benders. Jianzhu and Yun took 
their tea in the largest of these storage areas, surrounded by 
straw target-practice dummies. 

The floor was thick with dust. While Yun poured, jianzhu 
plucked a twig that had snagged on a burlap sack and used 
it as a stylus, drawing a simplified version of a Pai Sho board 
on the ground between them. 

Yun was confused. The two of them had played the game 
incessantly while first getting to know each other. But Pai 
Sho had been forbidden to him for a long time now. It was a 
distraction from mastering the elements. 

jianzhu contemplated the empty grid, his long face 
flickering in recollection of past sequences, lines of shining 
brilliance and outrageous risks unfolding in the tiles. The 


markers of age radiated outward from his eyes. The troubles 
that gave him severe crow's feet and white temples had yet 
to reach the smooth flat line of his mouth. 

“I have some news," he said. "Our emissaries tell us that 
Tagaka has agreed to sign a new version of her great¬ 
grandfather's treaty." 

Yun perked up. His master had been trying to pursue a 
diplomatic solution with the queen of the seaborne daofei 
for years. "What changed, Sifu?" 

Jianzhu gestured at him. "You. She learned we finally 
found the Avatar and that he was one of the strongest 
benders of this generation." 

Yun knew that was true. For earth, at least. It might have 
been arrogant of him to think so, but it was hard to argue 
with the evidence left across the ground. 

"The Fifth Nation fleet will cease raiding the coastlines 
along the Xishaan Mountains," Jianzhu said. "They've 
promised not to raise a sail under her colors within sight of 
the Eastern Air Temple." 

"In exchange for what?" 

"For official access to the timber on Yesso Island, though 
they've been unofficially logging there for the better part of 
a decade. The other sages are calling it a total diplomatic 
victory. So much gained, for so little." 

The leaves of Yun's tea lost their grip on the surface of 
the liquid. Water was the last element he'd need to master. 
He'd always suspected he'd have a better time of it than fire. 

"Except it's not a victory, is it?" he said, rolling the cup 
between his fingers. "She's promising to halt her operations 
in one sector, but a fleet of marauders isn't going to lay 
down their arms and pick up the plow overnight. They'll 
cause trouble in the other oceans, maybe go as far north as 
Chameleon Bay or the Fire Nation home islands. It's just 
pushing the violence from one corner of the world to the 
other." 



“What would you do then?" Jianzhu said. “Reject Tagaka's 
offer?" 

Yun took a turn staring at the blank gameboard, 
especially at the sections where players usually laid their 
boat tiles. He shuddered at the images that came rushing 
into his head. 

Contrary to what many of the locals thought, Jianzhu did 
not keep him locked up in the estate like a moon flower that 
would wither in too much sunlight. In between training, they 
regularly took trips around the world with Kelsang on his 
flying bison, Pengpeng, to meet important people from 
around the Four Nations. The goal was to make sure Yun had 
a cosmopolitan upbringing since the ideal Avatar was also a 
diplomat, never showing bias to one people or the other. He 
learned a lot by their side, exploring great cities and talking 
with their leaders. Sometimes he had fun. 

The last outing was not one of those times. 

When Jianzhu told him they were obligated to survey the 
extent of the damage inflicted by the largest coordinated 
pirate raid on the southeast coast of the Earth Kingdom 
mainlands in over a century, Yun had steeled himself for 
blood. Corpses amid smoldering ruins. A scene of total 
devastation. 

But as they flew low over the shores on Pengpeng's back, 
scanning the seaside villages for survivors, he was surprised 
to see the driftwood houses and straw huts intact. Nearly 
pristine. No sign of the inhabitants anywhere. 

They had to touch down and investigate a few structures 
before things fell into place. Inside the homes, they'd found 
spears left on racks. Tables set with cooked food that hadn't 
rotted yet. Fishing nets in the midst of being repaired. There 
had been no massacre. 

By complete surprise, the villagers had been taken. Like 
they were livestock. Animals stolen from a herd. 



Nothing else had been touched by Tagaka's corsairs, 
except for a common thread of items that Yun noticed at the 
last minute. They'd stolen the bells. The drums and the 
gongs. The watchtowers of any village lucky enough to have 
one were picked clean. 

Cast bronze was extremely valuable and nigh 
irreplaceable in that part of the country, Yun realized. So 
were the right quality hides for drumskins. The pirates had 
made it so that the village warning systems couldn't be 
reused when they returned. 

Nearly a thousand people were unaccounted for. 
Conducting a raid on this scale with such precision was not 
only a crime but a message. Tagaka was more dangerous 
than her father, her grandfather, and every other crude, 
bloody-minded pirate that ran the Eastern Sea. 

Yun had spent the better part of that night screaming and 
raging at Jianzhu after his mentor calmly explained that the 
Earth King was likely not going to do anything to protect his 
subjects, not ones of so little marginal value. That they were 
largely on their own to deal with the problem. 

The emptiness of the Pai Sho board taunted Yun as loudly 
as the missing, unrung bells. A/of if they returned, butNher. 

He put his tea down and leaned back on his hands. "We 
should take her offer and pretend we're glad to do it. It's our 
only chance of rescuing the surviving captives. It'll buy time 
for the coastal areas to build up defenses. And if Tagaka is 
bold enough to sail northwest, there's a chance she'll grow 
overconfident and pick a fight with the Fire Navy. That's an 
opponent ruthless enough to destroy her completely." 

His proposal spilled out of his lips naturally, despite the 
unease it created in his core. The idea of manipulating the 
nations he was supposed to keep balance over was 
frightening, solely because of how easy and effective it 
would be. He waited for a rebuke. 



Instead he caught Jianzhu smiling at him openly. A rare 
occurrence. 

“See?” Jianzhu said, gesturing at the game board out of 
habit. "This is why you are destined to be a great Avatar. You 
have the insight to think ahead, to see where people are 
weak and strong. You know which threads of the future to 
pull. There's not going to be a solution to the Fifth Nation 
through powerful bending. But there will be a strategy, a 
line of play that minimizes the suffering they can inflict. And 
you've spotted it. 

“You're everything Kuruk was not,” Jianzhu continued. 
“And I couldn't be prouder.” 

That was meant to be a genuine compliment. Kuruk had 
been a genius of the highest caliber when it came to Pai 
Sho. Bending too. But according to Jianzhu, who'd known 
him best, the Water Avatar had been unable to translate his 
personal talents into effective leadership on the world stage. 
He'd squandered his time, pursuing pleasures around the 
Four Nations, and died early. 

So I guess that means I'll be unhappy and live forever, 
Yun thought. Wonderful. 

He looked across the courtyard where Hei-Ran had taken 
a post, waiting for them to finish. The woman was a statue. 
Every piece of grief he got from her was made worse by the 
fact that she resembled her daughter Rangi so closely, with 
the same porcelain-doll face, pitch-black hair, and eyes 
tending toward darker bronze than the usual Fire Nation 
gold. Having a beautiful, adoring bodyguard close to his own 
age like Rangi was ruined when her spitting image beat the 
snot out of him on a regular basis. 

“Hei-Ran thinks I'm a little too much like Kuruk,” Yun said. 

“You have to be more understanding with her,” Jianzhu 
said. “She resigned her commission in the Fire Army to teach 
Kuruk, and then she left the Royal Academy to teach you. 
She's sacrificed more than any of us for the Avatar.” 



Hearing that he'd ruined two different promising careers 
for the same woman didn't make him feel any better. "That's 
more reason for her to hate my guts." 

Jianzhu got up and motioned for Yun to do the same. "No, 
her problem is that she loves you," he said. 

"If that's true then she has a funny way of showing it." 

Jianzhu shrugged. "Fire Nation mothers. She loves you 
almost as much as I do. Too much, perhaps." 

Yun followed his mentor toward the center of the training 
floor. The transition from cool shade back to the outdoor 
heat was a harsh swipe. 

"You must know that you have the love of many people," 
Jianzhu said. "Kelsang, the visiting sages, nearly everyone 
who's ever met you. It's my belief that the earth itself loves 
you. You feel connected to it at all times, like it's speaking to 
you. Am I right?" 

He was, though Yun didn't know where he was going with 
this. Feeling connected to the earth was the first, most basic 
requirement for earthbending. Hei-Ran joined them in the 
court. 

"On the other hand, firebending is unique among the four 
bending styles in that it typically does not draw from a mass 
of elements separate from one's own body," Jianzhu said. 
"You don't form a bond with the element in your 
surroundings; instead you generate it from within. Am I 
explaining that correctly. Headmistress?" 

Hei-Ran nodded, equally confused as to why they were 
discussing the obvious. 

"Take off your shoes," Jianzhu said to Yun. 

"Huh?" Like many Earthbenders, Yun never wore shoes if 
he could help it, but for firebending training they'd forced 
him into a pair of grippy slippers. 

"Tagaka's conditions are that any new treaties must be 
signed on grounds of her choosing," Jianzhu said. "I know I 
said that diplomacy was more important than bending for 



this mission, but it would be much more ideal if you had 
some mastery overfire. In case the pirates need a little show 
of force. Take off your shoes.” 

The sun beat down on Yun's head. The buzz of insects 
grew louder in his ears, like an alarm. He'd never disobeyed 
Jianzhu before, so he yanked off the slippers, rolled down his 
socks, and threw them to the side. 

"I don't understand,” he said. "What's happening here?” 

Jianzhu surveyed the featureless training floor. "Like I 
said, the earth itself loves you, and you love it. That love, 
that bond, could be what's holding you back, blocking off 
the different states of mind necessary to master the different 
elements. We should try severing that link so that you have 
nothing to rely on but your inner fire. No outside help.” 

For the first time in his life, Yun saw Hei-Ran hesitate. 
"Jianzhu,” she said, "are you sure that's a good idea?” 

"It's an idea,” Jianzhu said. "Whether it's good or not 
depends on the result.” 

An icy knot formed in Yun's stomach as his mind made 
the connection. "You're going to have her burn my feet?” 

Jianzhu shook his head. "Nothing so crude.” 

He put his hand out to the side, palm down, and then 
drew it upward. Around them, the marble floor sprouted little 
inch-high pyramids, each ending in a sharp point. The 
grounds were uniformly blanketed in them from wall to wall. 
It was as if someone had hammered nails into each space of 
a Pai Sho board and then flipped it over, spikes up. 

"Now, let's see you run through the first Sun Gathering 
form,” Jianzhu said. The garden of caltrops surrounded them 
in a tight ring. "Get out there, right in the middle of it, and 
show us your stuff.” 

Yun blinked back tears. He looked at Hei-Ran pleadingly. 
She shook her head and turned away. "You can't be serious,” 
he said. 



Jianzhu was as calm as a drifting cloud. “You may begin 
when ready, Avatar." 



HONEST WORK 


Stepping through the gate of the mansion was like entering 
a portal to the Spirit World. Or so Kyoshi imagined, from 
hearing Kelsang's stories. It was a complete transition from 
one set of rules to another, from a dull, mindless place where 
the only currencies you could spend were sweat and time, 
sowing your seeds and baiting your hooks in the hope of 
staving off hunger for another season, to a mystical universe 
where rituals and negotiations could make you supreme in a 
single day. 

Their passage was marked by the cool blip of shade 
underneath the rammed-earth wall. Rangi nodded at the two 
watchmen, grizzled veterans of the Earth King's army who 
stiffened their necks and bowed back to her in deference. 
Lured by better pay into Jianzhu's service, they'd kept their 
dished, wide-brimmed helmets but painted them over with 
the sage's personal shades of green. Kyoshi always 
wondered whether that was against the law or not. 

Inside, the vast garden hummed with conversation. Sages 
and dignitaries from far-off lands constantly flowed in and 
out of the estate, and many of them enjoyed conducting 
their business among the flowers and sweet-smelling fruit 
trees. An overdressed merchant from Omashu haggled with 
a Fire Nation procurement officer over cabbage futures, 
ignoring the cherry blossom petals falling into their tea. Two 
elegant Northern Water Tribe women, arm in arm, 
meditatively walked a maze pattern raked into a field of 
pure-white sand. In the corner, a morose young man with 



carefully disheveled hair bit the end of his brush, struggling 
with a poem. 

Any of them could have been—and probably were— 
benders of the highest order. It always gave Kyoshi a thrill to 
see so many masters of the elements gathered in one place. 
When the estate was full of visitors, like today, the air felt 
alive with power. Sometimes literally so when Kelsang was 
around and in a playful mood. 

Auntie Mui, head of the kitchen staff, appeared from one 
of the side hallways and bounced over to them, looking like 
a plum rolling down a bumpy hill. She used her momentum 
to deliver a hard swat to the small of Kyoshi's back. Kyoshi 
yelped and gripped the jar tighter. 

“Don't carry food around where the guests can see it!" 
Auntie Mui hissed. “Use the service entrance!" 

She hustled Kyoshi down the steps of a tunnel, oblivious 
to the hard bump Kyoshi's forehead took against the top 
support beam. They shuffled down the corridor that still 
smelled of sawdust and wet loam through the plaster. It was 
more obvious down here how new and hastily constructed 
the complex really was. 

The roughness of the hallway was another of the many 
little details that poked holes in the common illusion those 
under Jianzhu's roof tried to uphold, from his most exalted 
guest down to his lowliest employee. The Avatar's presence 
was an uncomfortably recent blessing. Everyone was going 
through the motions at an accelerated pace. 

“You were out in the sun too much, weren't you?" Auntie 
Mui said. “Your freckles got darker again. Why don't you ever 
wear that concealer I gave you? It has real crushed nacre in 
it." 

Kyoshi's skull throbbed. “What, and look like a bloodless 
ghost?" 

“Better than looking like someone sprinkled starpoppy 
seeds over your cheeks!" 



About the only things Kyoshi hated more than gunk on 
her skin were the warped, infuriating values that older folks 
like Auntie Mui held around complexion. It was yet another 
contradiction of the village, that you should make an honest 
living toiling under the sun but never in the slightest look 
like it. In the game of rural Yokoyan beauty standards, Kyoshi 
had lost that particular round. Among others. 

They climbed another set of stairs, Kyoshi remembering 
to duck this time, and passed through a hall for drying and 
splitting the immense amount of firewood needed to fuel the 
stoves. Auntie Mui tsk'ed at the splitting maul that had been 
buried in the chopping block by the last person to use it 
instead of being hung up properly on the wall, but she 
wasn't strong enough to pull it out, and Kyoshi's hands were 
full. 

They entered the steamy, cavernous kitchen. The clash of 
metal pans and roaring flames could have been mistaken for 
a siege operation. Kyoshi set the pickling jar down on the 
nearest clear table and took a needed stretch, her arms 
wobbling with unfamiliar freedom. The jar had been 
attached to her for so long it felt like saying goodbye to a 
needy child. 

“Don't forget, you have gift duties tonight." 

She was startled to hear Rangi's voice. She didn't think 
the Firebender would have followed her this deep into the 
bowels of the house. 

Rangi glanced around. “Don't waste too much time here. 
You're not a scullery maid." 

The nearby kitchen staff, some of whom were scullery 
maids, looked at them and scowled. Kyoshi winced. The 
villagers thought she was stuck up for living in the mansion; 
the other servants thought she was stuck up for her 
closeness to Yun; and Rangi, with her elite attitude, only 
made it worse. 



There was no pleasing anyone, she thought as Rangi 
departed for the barracks. 

Kyoshi spotted an odd figure among the legions of white- 
clad cooks pounding away at their stations. An Airbender, 
with his orange robes rolled up to his blocky shoulders. His 
massive paws were covered in flour, and he'd tucked his 
forest of a beard into his tunic to keep it from shedding. It 
was like the kitchen had been invaded by a mountain ogre. 

Kelsang should have been aboveground, watching the 
Avatar. Or at least greeting a visiting sage. Not cutting out 
dumpling wrappers among the cooks. 

He looked up and grinned when he saw Kyoshi. “I've been 
banished," he said, preempting her question. “Jianzhu thinks 
my presence is causing Yun to prematurely dream about 
airbending, so we're trying to keep him focused on one 
element at a time. I needed to feel useful, so here I am." 

Kyoshi sidled her way over to him through the crowded 
space and gave the monk a kiss on the cheek. “Let me 
help." She washed her hands in a nearby sink, grabbed a 
ball of dough to knead, and fell into work beside him. 

For the past decade, Kelsang had essentially raised her. 
He'd used what leeway he had with the Southern Air Temple 
to reside in Yokoya as much as he could, in order to look 
after Kyoshi. When he had to leave, he foisted her upon 
different families, begged alms to keep her fed. After Jianzhu 
brought the Avatar to Yokoya for safekeeping, Kelsang 
twisted his old friend's arm to hire Kyoshi on. 

He'd done all this, saved the life of a child stranger, for no 
reason other than that she needed someone. In a part of the 
Earth Kingdom where love was reserved solely for blood 
relations, the monk from a foreign land was the dearest 
person in the world to Kyoshi. 

Which was why she knew his good cheer right now was 
completely fake. 



Rumors flew around the house that the once-legendary 
friendship between Avatar Kuruk's companions had 
deteriorated. Especially so between Jianzhu and Kelsang. In 
the years since Kuruk's death, if the gossip was to be 
believed, Jianzhu had amassed wealth and influence 
unbecoming of a sage who was supposed to be dedicated 
solely to guiding Kuruk's reincarnation. Bending masters 
came to the house to pay obeisance to him, not the Avatar, 
and decrees that were normally made by the Earth Kings 
instead bore Jianzhu's seal. Kelsang disapproved of such 
power-hungry actions and was at risk of being completely 
shunted to the side. 

Kyoshi didn't have context around the politics, but she 
did worry about the growing rift between the two master 
benders. It couldn't be good for the Avatar. Yun adored 
Kelsang almost as much as she did, but ultimately was loyal 
to the earth sage who'd found him. 

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn't notice the little 
puff of flour fly up from the table and hit her in the forehead. 
White dust clouded her vision. She squinted at Kelsang, who 
wasn't trying to hide the second shot that spun around 
above his palm, chambered in a pocket-sized whirlwind he'd 
summoned. 

“It wasn't me," he said. “It was a different Airbender." 

Kyoshi snickered and grabbed the flour bead out of the 
air. It burst between her fingers. “Quit it before Auntie Mui 
throws us out of here." 

“Then quit looking troubled on my behalf," he said, 
having read her mind. “It's not so bad if I take a break from 
Avatar business. I'll get to spend more time with you. We 
should go on a vacation, the two of us, perhaps to see the 
Air Nomad sacred sites." 

She would have liked that very much. Chances to share 
Kelsang's company had gotten rarer as the Avatar and his 
teachers sank deeper into the mesh of world affairs. But as 



lowly as her own job was in comparison, she still had the 
same responsibility to show up every day. 

“I can't,” Kyoshi said. "I have work.” There'd be time 
enough in the future for traveling with Kelsang. 

He rolled his eyes. "Bah. I've never seen someone so 
averse to fun since old Abbot 'No-Fruit Pies' Dorje.” He 
flicked another blob of flour at her, and she failed to flinch 
out of the way. 

"I know how to have fun!” Kyoshi whispered indignantly 
as she wiped her nose with the back of her wrist. 

From the head of the cutting board tables. Auntie Mui 
gave a tongue-curled whistle, interrupting their debate. 
"Poetry time!” she said. 

Everyone groaned. She was always trying to enforce high 
culture on her workers, or at least her idea of it. "Lee!” she 
said, singling out an unfortunate wok handler. "You start us 
off.” 

The poor line cook stumbled as he tried to compose on 
the spot while keeping count of his syllables. "Uh . . . the- 
weath-er-is-nice / sun-shin-ing-down-from-the-sky / birds- 
are-sing-ing . . . good?" 

Auntie Mui made a face like she'd swigged pure lemon 
juice. "That was awful! Where's your sense of balance? 
Symmetry? Contrast?” 

Lee threw his hands in the air. He was paid to fry things, 
not perform in the Upper Ring of Ba Sing Se. 

"Can't someone give us a decent verse?” Auntie Mui 
complained. There were no volunteers. 

"I've got cheeks like ripe round fruit," Kelsang suddenly 
pitched forth. "They shake like boughs in the storm // blush 
bright red when i see a bed / and leap at the sound of the 
horn" 

The room exploded in laughter. He'd picked a well-known 
shanty popular with sailors and field hands, where you 
improvised raunchy words from the perspective of your 



object of unrequited affection. It was a game for others to 
guess who you were singing about, and the simple rhythm 
made manual labor more pleasant. 

“Brother Kelsang!" Auntie Mui said, scandalized. “Set an 
example!" 

He had. The entire staff was already chopping, kneading, 
and scrubbing to the raucous tune. It was okay to misbehave 
if a monk did it first. 

"I've got a nose like a dove-tailed deer /1 run like a leaf 
on the wind," Lee sang, evidently better at this than haiku. 
"My arms are slight and my waist is tight / and / don't have 
a thought for my kin" 

“Mirai!" a dishwasher yelled out. “He's got it bad for the 
greengrocer's daughter!" The staff whooped over Lee's 
protests, thinking it a good match. Sometimes it didn't 
matter to the audience if they guessed right or not. 

“Kyoshi next!" someone said. “She's never here, so let's 
make the most of it!" 

Kyoshi was caught off guard. Normally she wasn't 
included in household antics. She caught Kelsang's eye and 
saw the challenge twinkling there. Fun, eh? Prove it. 

Before she could stop herself, the rhythm launched her 
into song. 

"i've got two knives that are cast in bronze / they pierce 
a a the way to the soul / they draw you in with the promise of 
sin / like the moth to the flame to the coal.'' 

The kitchen howled. Auntie Mui clucked in disapproval. 
“Keep going, you naughty girl!" Lee shouted, glad that the 
attention was off him. 

She'd even managed to throw off Kelsang, who looked at 
her curiously, as if he had a spark of recognition for whom 
she was describing. Kyoshi knew that wasn't possible when 
she was simply tossing out the first words that came to her 
head. She thumped a length of dough onto the table in front 
of her, creating her own percussion. 



"I've got hair like the starless night / it sticks to my lips 
when i smile / I'll wind it with yours and we'll drift off course 
/ in a ship touching hearts all the while." 

Somehow the improvisation was easy, though she'd 
never considered herself a poet. Or a bawdy mind, for that 
matter. It was as if another person, someone much more at 
ease with their own desires, was feeding her the right lines 
to express herself. And to her surprise, she liked how the 
inelegant lines made her feel. Truthful and silly and raw. 

"For the way I walk is a lantern lit / that leads you into 
the night / I'll hold you dose and love you the most / until 
our end is in sight." 

Kyoshi didn't have time to ponder the darker turn her 
verse took before a sudden pain shot through her wrist. 

Kelsang had grabbed her arm and was staring at her, 
eyes wild and white. His grip squeezed tighter and tighter, 
crushing her flesh, his nails drawing blood from both her 
skin and his. 

“You're hurting me!" she cried out. 

The room was silent. Disbelieving. Kelsang let go, and she 
caught herself on the edge of the table. A map of purple was 
stamped on her wrist. 

“Kyoshi," Kelsang said, his voice constricted and airless. 
“Kyoshi, where did you learn THAT SONG?” 



REVELATIONS 


After Kelsang took her aside into an empty study and spent 
half an hour tearfully apologizing for hurting her, he told her 
why he'd lost control. 

"Oh," Kyoshi said in response to the worst news she'd 
ever heard in her life. 

She ran her fingers through her hair and threw her head 
back. The library where they were hiding was taller than it 
was long, a mineshaft cramped with scrolls, yanked off the 
shelves and put back without care. Beams of sunlight 
revealed how much dust was floating around the room. She 
needed to clean this place up. 

"You're mistaken," she said to Kelsang. "Yun is the Avatar. 
Jianzhu identified him nearly two years ago. Everyone knows 
this." 

Kelsang didn't look any happier than she did. "You don't 
understand. After Kuruk died, the Earthen traditions around 
locating the Avatar fell apart. Imagine if the seasons 
suddenly refused to turn. It was chaos. After so many 
failures, the sages, Earthbenders especially, felt abandoned 
by the spirits and their ancestors alike." 

Kyoshi leaned back against a ladder and gripped the 
rungs tightly. 

"There was talk of Kuruk being the last of the cycle, that 
the world was destined for an age of strife, to be torn apart 
by outlaws and warlords. Until Jianzhu labeled Yun as the 
next Avatar. But the way it happened had no precedent. Tell 



me this—with the two of you as close as you are, has Yun 
ever once told you the details?” 

She shook her head. It was strange, now that Kelsang 
mentioned it. 

"That's because Jianzhu probably forbade him. The full 
story would cast the shadow of illegitimacy on him.” The 
monk rubbed his eyes; it was abhorrently dusty in here. "We 
were in Makapu, surveying the volcano. We'd honestly given 
up on finding the Avatar, like so many others. On the last 
day of our trip, we noticed a crowd growing in a corner of the 
town square. 

"They were gathered around a child with a Pai Sho board. 
Yun. He was hustling tourists like us, and he'd made quite a 
bit of money at it too. To give his opponents confidence, he 
was running the blind bag gambit. It's when your opponent 
plays normally, picking their tiles, but you dump yours into a 
sack and mix them up randomly. Whatever you draw each 
turn is what you have to play. An insurmountable 
disadvantage.” 

Kyoshi could see it too easily. Yun's silver tongue coaxing 
money out of people's wallets. A stream of banter and 
flashing smiles. He could probably bankrupt someone and 
still leave them happy to have met him. 

"What most people don't know, and what Yun didn't 
know, was that the blind bag is supposed to be a scam,” 
Kelsang said. "You're meant to rig the tiles or the bag itself 
so you have a way to find the exact combinations you need. 
But Yun wasn't cheating. He was actually drawing randomly 
and winning.” 

"We might have passed it off as a kid enjoying a string of 
luck, but Jianzhu noticed he was drawing and playing 
Kuruk's favorite strategies, turn by turn, down to the exact 
placement of the exact tile. Game after game he was doing 
this. He displayed tricks and traps that Kuruk explicitly kept 
secret from anyone but us.” 



“It sounds like Kuruk took Pai Sho pretty seriously," 
Kyoshi said. 

Kelsang snorted and then sneezed, sending a little 
tornado spiraling toward the skylight. “It was one of the few 
things he did. And he was unequivocally one of the greatest 
players in history. Depending on what rules you're using, 
you have as many as sixty tiles. There are over two hundred 
spots on the board where you can put them. To randomly 
draw and then brilliantly execute a precise line of play that 
only Kuruk was mad enough to win with in the annals of the 
game—the odds of it are unfathomable." 

Kyoshi didn't have a taste for Pai Sho, but she knew that 
masters often talked about play styles being as 
individualistic and recognizable as a signature. An identity 
contained within the board. 

“After what Jianzhu went through with Xu Ping An and the 
Yellow Necks, it was as if a mountain range had been lifted 
off his shoulders," Kelsang said. “Any doubts he might have 
had completely vanished when we saw Yun earthbend. 
Granted, the kid can move rocks like no one else. If we 
identified the Avatar solely through a precision-bending 
contest, he'd be Kuruk's reincarnation hands down." 

Kyoshi thought back to this morning and Yun's incredible 
manipulation of the earth. In her mind only the Avatar could 
have done that. 

“I don't get it," she said. “All of this is proof. Yun is the 
Avatar. Why would you tell me that I'm—that I'm—why 
would you do that to me!?" 

Her anguish was absorbed, without an echo, by the 
masses of faded, crumbling paper that surrounded them. 

“Can we get out of here?" Kelsang said, his eyes red. 


They walked in silence down the corridors of the mansion. 
Kelsang's presence justified taking the shortest route, where 
the visiting dignitaries might see them. They passed works 
of calligraphy mounted on the walls that were more precious 
than bricks of gold. Vases of translucent delicacy held the 
day's flowers cut from the garden. 

Kyoshi felt like a thief as they passed the casually 
displayed treasures, no better than an intruder who might 
slip past the guards and stuff each priceless item into a 
gunnysack. Even the servants' dormitory, plain and poorly 
lit, seemed to whisper ingrate at her from its dark corners. 
Not all of the staff were able to live on-site. And she knew 
that a bed lifted off the floor and a wooden door that shut 
tight were better than what many other servants around the 
Earth Kingdom got. 

She and Kelsang squeezed inside her room. It was 
cramped, the two of them being the same height, but as 
sizable people they had practice at minimizing themselves. 
Her quarters were small but still technically more space than 
she needed. Besides a few knickknacks from her street life, 
her only two possessions upon moving into Jianzhu's house 
were a heavy locked trunk that she'd stowed in the corner, 
and on top, the leather-bound journal that explained what 
was in it. Her inheritance from the days before Yokoya. 

"You still have those," Kelsang said. "I know how valuable 
they are to you. I remember tracking you down to the little 
nest you made around the trunk underneath the 
blacksmith's house. You hugged the book so tight to your 
chest and wouldn't let me read it. You looked ready to 
defend it to the death." 

Her feelings about the items were more complicated than 
he understood. Kyoshi had never opened the lock, having 
thrown the key into the ocean one day in a fit of spite. And 
she'd nearly burned the journal several times over. 



Down the hall someone was moving about, making the 
pine floorboards squeak, so they waited until the footsteps 
disappeared. Kelsang sat on the bed, bowing the planks in 
the middle. Kyoshi leaned against her door and braced her 
feet like an attacking army was trying to beat it down. 

“So you think I'm the Avatar because of a stupid song I 
made up?" she said. Somewhere between the study and her 
room she'd found enough backbone to say it out loud. 

“I think you might be the Avatar because you pulled from 
thin air the exact lines of a poem Kuruk wrote a long time 
ago," Kelsang said. 

A poem. A poem wasn't proof. Not like the cold hard 
impossibility of what Yun did. 

Kelsang could tell she needed a better explanation. 
“What I'm about to tell you, you should keep to yourself," he 
said. 

“I'm listening." 

“It was about twenty years ago. Kuruk's companions were 
still very close, but without any real challenges, we drifted 
toward our separate lives. Jianzhu started working on his 
family's holdings. Hei-Ran started teaching at the Royal Fire 
Academy and married Rangi's father, Junsik, in the same 
year. It was the happiest I'd ever seen her. As for me, that 
was when Abbot Dorje was alive and I was still in his good 
graces, so I was being groomed to take over the Southern Air 
Temple." 

Assigning a past to the venerable benders was a strange 
mix of satisfying and unnervingly voyeuristic. She was 
spying on things she shouldn't be privy to. “What was Kuruk 
doing?" 

“Being Kuruk. Traveling the world. Breaking hearts and 
taking names. But one day he showed up on my doorstep 
out of the blue, trembling like a schoolboy. He wanted me to 
read over a declaration of eternal love he'd composed in a 
poem." 



Kelsang inhaled sharply through his nose. Kyoshi kept her 
room dust-free and spotless. “This happened two months 
after Hei-Ran's wedding and three months before Jianzhu's 
father got sick," he said. “He used a more formal meter than 
a sailor's ditty, and he didn't sing it, but its contents were 
exactly what you produced in the spur of the moment." 

That only weakened the argument. “You seem to 
remember this in overly specific detail," Kyoshi said. 

The monk furrowed his brow. “That's because he was 
going to give the poem to Hei-Ran." 

Oh no. She'd heard stories of the Water Avatar's lack of 
propriety, but that was going several levels too far. “What 
happened next?" 

“I . . . meddled," Kelsang said. Kyoshi couldn't tell if he 
was regretful or proud of his decision. “I berated Kuruk for 
his stupidity and selfishness, for trying to ruin his friend's 
happy relationship, and made him destroy the confession 
while I watched. To this day I don't know if I did the right 
thing. Hei-Ran always did love Kuruk with some piece of her 
heart. Maybe everything would have turned out better if 
they had run off with each other." 

Kyoshi quickly did the math in her head—and, yes, if that 
had happened, Rangi wouldn't have been born. “You did the 
right thing," she said, with more ferocity than she intended 
to show. 

“I'll never find out. Not long after, Kuruk met Ummi. That 
tragedy unfolded so fast that my memory of it starts to blur." 

She didn't know who Ummi was, and she had no 
intention of asking. Matters were complicated enough. And 
Kuruk . . . Kyoshi was no advanced student of Avatar lore, 
but she was developing a pretty dim view of the man. 

“I wish I could be more certain," Kelsang said. “But if 
there's anything the last two decades have taught me, it's 
that life does not work out in certain, guaranteed ways. I'm 
not supposed to talk about this, but Yun is having problems 



firebending. I fear Jianzhu is becoming . . . more extreme. 
He's staked so much on creating his ideal replacement for 
Kuruk that anytime he faces a setback, his response is to dig 
in and push harder." 

Kyoshi was more shaken by the revelation that Yun 
couldn't firebend than anything else she'd heard so far. The 
image he projected was of a boy who could do the 
impossible. Yes, Yun was her friend, but she still had the 
same faith in the Avatar as anyone else. Mastering fire 
should have been easy for someone as clever and talented 
as he was. 

Kelsang seemed to pick up on her fear. "Kyoshi, Yun still 
has the strongest case for being the Avatar. That hasn't 
changed." He worried the end of his beard. "But if the 
criteria we've lowered ourselves to are 'improbable things 
that Kuruk once did,' then we have to consider you as well." 

The monk ruminated for a moment, fitting pieces 
together in his head. "To be honest though, I don't know if 
I'm entirely upset by this new complication. You have Avatar¬ 
worthy merits that you won't acknowledge." 

Kyoshi scoffed. "Such as?" 

He thought it over more before deciding on one. "Selfless 
humility." 

"That's not true! I'm not any more—" She caught Kelsang 
about to laugh at her and scowled. 

He got up, and her bed boards groaned with relief. "I'm 
sorry," he said. "I might have been able to answer this 
question years ago, had I the chance to meet your parents 
like I did with the other village children. More information 
could have made the difference." 

Kyoshi scrunched her face and kicked her heel back 
against the trunk, releasing the sudden burst of anger that 
ran through her. The wooden side made a drumlike thud. 
"I'm sure they would have loved having a child as valuable 
as the Avatar," she snapped. "A once-in-a-generation prize." 



Kelsang smiled at her gently. 'They would have been 
proud of their daughter no matter what,” he said. ”1 know I 
am." 

Normally Kyoshi would have felt comforted by the 
acknowledgment that she'd become as much of a fixture in 
Kelsang's life as he had in hers. But if he walked out her door 
and told Jianzhu what happened, it could tear apart the little 
corner of the world the two of them had marked off for 
themselves. Didn't Kelsang see that? Wasn't he worried? 

"Can we keep this a secret?” Kyoshi said. "Just for a while, 
until I can get my bearings? I don't want to be rash. Maybe 
you'll remember Kuruk's poem differently in the morning. Or 
Yun will firebend.” Anything. 

Kelsang didn't answer. He'd been suddenly transfixed by 
her tiny shelf. 

It held a gold-dyed tassel, a few beads, a coin she'd 
pilfered from a shrine donation box and felt too guilty to 
spend and too afraid to return. The clay turtle she couldn't 
remember exactly how she'd gotten, other than that it was a 
present from him. He stared at the junk for a long time. 

"Please,” Kyoshi said. 

Kelsang looked back at her and sighed. "For a little while, 
perhaps,” he said. "But eventually we have to tell Jianzhu 
and the others. Whatever the truth is, we must find it 
together.” 


After he left, Kyoshi didn't sit down. She thought best on her 
feet, motionless. Her wooden cell of a room was good 
enough for that. 

This was a nightmare. While she wasn't an important 
political dignitary, she wasn't an idiot either. She knew what 
kind of bedlam lay behind the precarious balance Jianzhu 


and Yun had set up, the mountain they'd suspended in the 
air. 

From around corners she'd spied on the bouts of ecstatic 
sobbing, the sense of utter relief that many of the visiting 
sages went through when they first laid eyes on Yun. After 
more than a decade of doubt, he was a solid body, a sharp 
mind, a belatedly fulfilled promise. The inheritor of blessed 
Yangchen's legacy. Avatar Yun was a beacon of light who 
gave people confidence the world could be saved. 

“Avatar Kyoshi" would simply be dirt kicked over the fire. 

Her eyes landed on the journal lying on the trunk. Her 
pulse quickened again. Would they have left her behind if 
they knew there was a chance, no matter how slim, that she 
held some worth? 

A knock came from outside. Gifting duty. She'd forgotten. 

She shoved the entire conversation with Kelsang to the 
back of her mind as she opened the door. She knew from 
experience there was no trouble so great that she couldn't 
pack it away. Kelsang wasn't certain, therefore she didn't 
need to worry. What she needed to worry about was Rangi 
having her hide for— 

“Hey," Yun said. “I was looking for you." 



PROMISES 


“You know, this is much harder when you're around," Kyoshi 
said to the Avatar. 

She and Yun sat on the floor in one of the innumerable 
receiving rooms. The freestanding screen paintings had 
been folded up and pushed to the walls, and the potted 
plants had been set outside to make room for the giant piles 
of gifts that guests had brought for the Avatar. 

Yun lay on his back, taking up valuable free space. He 
lazily waved a custom-forged, filigreed jian blade around in 
the air, stirring an imaginary upside-down pot with it. 

"I have no idea how to use this," he said. "I hate swords." 

"A boy who doesn't like swords?" Kyoshi said with a mock 
gasp. "Put it in the armory pile, and we'll get Rangi to teach 
you at some point." 

There were a lot of guesses around the village about 
what, exactly, Kyoshi did in the mansion. Given her 
orphaned, unwanted status, the farmers' children assumed 
she handled the dirtiest, most impure jobs, dealing with 
refuse and carcasses and the like. The truth was somewhat 
different. 

What she really did, as her primary role, was pick up after 
Yun. Tidy his messes. The Avatar was such a slob that he 
needed a full-time servant following in his wake, or else the 
chaos would overwhelm the entire complex. Soon after 
taking her on, the senior staff discovered Kyoshi's strong, 
compulsive need to put things back in their rightful place. 



minimize clutter, and maintain order. So they put her on 
Avatar-containment duty. 

This time, the pile they sat hip-deep in was not Yun's 
fault. Wealthy visitors were constantly showering him with 
gifts in the hope of currying favor, or simply because they 
loved him. As big as the house was, there wasn't enough 
room to give each item a display place of honor. On a regular 
basis Kyoshi had to sort and pack away the heirlooms and 
antiques and works of art that only seemed to get more 
lavish and numerous over time. 

"Oh, look," she said, holding up a lacquered circle set in a 
crisscross pattern with luminous gems. "Another Pai Sho 
board." 

Yun glanced over. "That one's pretty." 

"This is, without exaggeration, the forty-fourth board you 
own now. You're not keeping it." 

"Ugh, ruthless." 

She ignored him. He might be the Avatar, but when it 
came to her officially assigned duties, she reigned above 
him. 

And Kyoshi needed this right now. She needed this 
normalcy to bury what Kelsang had told her. Despite her 
best efforts, it kept rising from below, the notion that she 
was betraying Yun and swallowing up what belonged to him. 

As he lounged on his elbows, Kyoshi noticed Yun wasn't 
wearing his embroidered indoor slippers. "Are those new 
boots?" she said, pointing at his feet. The leather they were 
crafted from was a beautiful, soft gray tone with fur trim like 
powdery morning snow. Probably baby turtle-seal hide, she 
thought with revulsion. 

Yun tensed up. "I found them in the pile earlier." 

"They don't fit you. Give them over." 

"I'd rather not." He scooched backward but was hedged 
in by more boxes. 



She crawled over to peer at the boots from a closer angle. 
“What did you—did you stuff the extra space with 
bandages? They're ridiculously too big for you! Take them 
off!" She got to her knees and grabbed his foot with both 
hands. 

"Kyoshi, please!" 

She paused and looked up at his face. It was filled with 
pure dread. And he rarely ever raised his voice at her. 

It was the second time today a person important to her 
had acted strangely. She forced herself to acknowledge the 
two incidents weren't related. So he'd suddenly developed 
an intense taste for footwear. She'd make a note of it. 

Yun sat up and put his hands on Kyoshi's shoulders, fixing 
her with his jade-green eyes. She'd long since become 
inured to his flirty smiles whenever he wanted a rise out of 
her, his puppy-dog pout when he wanted a favor, but his 
expression of earnest desire was a weapon he didn't pull out 
often. The way his troubled thoughts softened the sharp 
edges of his face was heart piercing. 

“Spill it," she said. “What's bothering you?" 

“I want you to come on a journey with me," he said 
quietly. “I need you by my side." 

Kyoshi nearly choked on her surprise. He was offering a 
taste of the world that only an exalted few got to sample. To 
be a companion of the Avatar, even for a moment, was an 
honor beyond reckoning. 

Flying into the sunset, huddled close to Yun, the wind in 
their hair—if Aoma and the other villagers were jealous of 
her before, they'd go foaming-mad with envy now. “What 
kind of trip is this?" she said, unconsciously lowering herself 
to his volume. “Where is this taking place?" 

“The Eastern Sea, near the South Pole," he said. “I'm 
signing a new treaty with Tagaka." 

Well, so much for fantasy. Kyoshi knocked Yun's hands off 
her shoulders and sat back on her knees properly. The 



motion felt like it helped drain the heat out of her face. 

'The Fifth Nation?" she said. "You're going to sit at a table 
with the Fifth Nation? And you want me to come with you?" 
What was she going to do surrounded by a band of 
bloodthirsty pirates that was bigger than most Earth 
Kingdom provincial militias? Sweep up their. . . cutlasses? 

"I know how much you hate outlaws," Yun said. "I thought 
you might appreciate seeing a victory over them up close. 
It's only political, but still." 

Kyoshi puffed her cheeks in frustration. "Yun, I am 
basically your nanny," she said. "You need Rangi for this 
mission. Better yet, you need the Fire Lord's entire personal 
legion." 

"Rangi's coming. But I want you as well. You won't be 
there to fight if things go wrong." He stared at his own feet. 
"You'll just stand around and watch me as things go right." 

"For the love o^—whyl" 

"Perspective," he said. "I need your perspective." 

He pulled out a Pai Sho tile he'd nicked from the set she'd 
put away and squinted at it like a jeweler in the light. 

"Is it sad that I want a regular person there?" he said. 
"Someone who'll be scared and impressed and overwhelmed 
just like me, and not another professional Avatar monitor? 
That afterward I want you to tell me I'm as good as Yangchen 
or Salai, regardless of whether or not that's true?" 

He laughed bitterly. "I know it sounds stupid. But I think I 
need the presence of someone who cares about me first and 
history second. I want you to be proud of me, Yun, not 
satisfied with the performance of the Avatar." 

Kyoshi didn't know what to do. This idea sounded mind- 
numbingly dangerous. She wasn't equipped to follow the 
Avatar into politics or battle, not like the great companions 
of past generations. 

Her stomach wound into a knot as she thought of the 
secret between her and Kelsang. They wouldn't get the time 



they needed to figure that matter out. The world demanded 
an Avatar or else. 

“It'll be safer than it sounds," Yun said. “Oddly enough, 
most c/ao/e/gangs hold quite a bit of respect for the Avatar. 
Either they're superstitious about the Avatar's spiritual 
powers or intimidated by someone who can drop all four 
elements on their heads at once." 

He tried to sound lighthearted, but he looked more and 
more pained the longer she kept him waiting in silence. 

Then again, was it so dire of a choice? Jianzhu would 
never risk Yun's life. And she had a hard time believing Yun 
would risk hers. Really, the situation wasn't as grand or 
complicated as she made it out to be. Avatar business and 
the fate of the Earth Kingdom was for other people and other 
times. Right now, Kyoshi's friend was depending on her. 
She'd be there for him. 

“I'll come," she said. “Someone has to clean up whatever 
mess you make." 

Yun shuddered with relief. He caught her fingers and 
brought them gently to his cheek, nuzzling into them as if 
they were ice for a fever. “Thank you," he said. 

Kyoshi flushed all the way down to her toes. She 
reminded herself that his casual tendency to be close to her, 
to share touches, was just part of his personality. She'd 
caught glimpses and heard stories from the staff that 
confirmed it. One time he'd kissed the hand of the princess 
of Omashu for a second longer than normal and scored an 
entire new trade agreement as a result. 

It had taken her a very, very long time after starting at 
the house to convince herself she was not in love with Yun. 
Moments like this threatened to undo all of her hard work. 
She let herself plunge under the surface and enjoy being 
washed over by the simple contact. 

Yun reluctantly put her hand down. “Three . . ." he said, 
cocking his ear at the ceramic-tiled floor with a smile. “Two 



. . . One . . 


Rangi slid the door open with a sharp click. 

“Avatar.” She bowed deeply and solemnly to Yun. Then 
she turned to Kyoshi. “You've barely made any progress! 
Look at this mess!” 

“We were waiting for you,” Yun said. “We decided to burn 
everything. You can start with those hideous silk robes in the 
corner. As your Avatar, I command you to light 'em up. Right 
now.” 

Rangi rolled her eyes. “Yes, and set the entire mansion on 
fire.” She always tried as hard as she could to remain 
dignified in front of Yun, but she cracked on occasion. And it 
was usually during the times when the three of them, the 
youngest people in the complex, were alone together. 

“Exactly,” Yun said cheerily. “Burn it all to the ground. 
Reduce it back to nature. We'll achieve pure states of mind.” 

“You would start whining the moment you had to bathe 
with cold water,” Kyoshi said to him. 

“There's a solution for that,” Yun said. “Everyone would 
go to the river, strip down naked, grab the nearest 
Firebender, an6—pthah'' 

A decorative pillow hit him in the face. Kyoshi's eyes went 
wide in disbelief. 

Rangi looked utterly horrified at what she'd done. She'd 
attacked the Avatar. She stared at her hands like they were 
covered in blood. A traitor's eternal punishment awaited her 
in the afterlife. 

Yun burst out into laughter. 

Kyoshi followed, her sides shaking until they hurt. Rangi 
tried not to succumb, clamping her hand over her mouth, 
but despite her best efforts, little giggles and snorts leaked 
through her fingers. An older member of the staff walked 
past, frowning at the trio through the open door. Which set 
them off further. 



Kyoshi looked at Yun and Rangi's beautiful, unguarded 
faces, freed from the weight of their duties if only for a 
moment. Her friends. She thought of how unlikely it was that 
she'd found them. 

This. This is what I need to protect. 

Yun defended the world, and Rangi defended him, but as 
far as Kyoshi was concerned, her own sacred ground was 
marked by the limits where her friends stood. This is what I 
need to keep safe above ail else. 

The sudden clarity of her realization caused her mirth to 
evaporate. She maintained a rictus grin so the others 
wouldn't notice her change in mood. Her fist tightened 
around nothing. 

And the spirits help anyone who would take this from me. 



THE ICEBERG 


Kyoshi's nightmare smelled like wet bison. 

It was raining, and bales of cargo wrapped in burlap 
splashed in the mud around her as if they'd fallen from great 
heights, part of the storm. It no longer mattered what was in 
them. 

A flash of lightning revealed hooded figures looming over 
her. Their faces were obscured by masks of running water. 

I hate you, Kyoshi screamed. I'll hate you until I die. I'll 
never forgive you. 

Two hands clasped each other. A transaction was struck, 
one that would be violated the instant it became an 
inconvenience to uphold. Something wet and lifeless hit her 
in the shins, papers sealed in oilcloth. 

"Kyoshi!" 

She woke up with a start and nearly pitched over the side 
of Pengpeng's saddle. She caught herself on the rail, the 
sanded edge pressing into her gut, and stared at the roiling 
blue beneath them. It was a long way down to the ocean. 

It wasn't rain on her face but sweat. She saw a droplet fall 
off her chin and plummet into nothingness before someone 
grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her back. She fell 
on top of Yun and Rangi both, squashing the wind out of 
them. 

"Don't scare us like that!" Yun shouted in her ear. 

"What happened?" Kelsang said, trying to shift around in 
the driver's seat without disturbing the reins. His legs 



straddled Pengpeng's gigantic neck, making it difficult for 
him to see behind himself. 

“Nothing, Master Kelsang," Rangi grumbled. “Kyoshi had 
a bad dream is all.” 

Kelsang looked skeptical but kept flying straight ahead. 
“Well okay then, but be careful, and no roughhousing. We 
don't want anyone getting hurt before we get there. Jianzhu 
would have my head on a platter." 

He gave Kyoshi an extra glance of worry. He'd been 
caught off guard by Yun's sudden mission, and her agreeing 
to tag along had amplified the strain. This treaty signing was 
too important to cast doubt on Yun's Avatarhood now. Until it 
was over, Kelsang would have to help her shoulder the 
burden of their secret, their lie by omission. 

Below them on the water's surface, trailing only slightly 
behind, was the ship bearing Yun's earthbending master, as 
well as Hei-Ran and the small contingent of armed guards. 
Aided by the occasional boost of wind that Kelsang 
generated with a whirl of his arms, the grand junk kept pace 
with Pengpeng, its battened sails billowing and full. 
Kelsang's bison was dry and well-groomed for the occasion, 
her white fur as fluffy as a cloud underneath her fancier 
saddle, but the stiff salt breeze still carried a hint of beastly 
odor. 

That must have been what I smelled In my dream. It had 
been a very long time since Kelsang had taken her for a ride, 
and the unfamiliar environment rattled her sleeping mind. 
The titanic, six-legged animal stretched its jaws wide and 
yawned as if to agree with her. 

And speaking of dressing up, Jianzhu had given Kyoshi an 
outfit so far beyond her station that she'd almost broken out 
in hives when she saw it. She'd thought the pale green silk 
blouse and leggings would have been enough finery, but 
then the wardrobe attendants brought in two different 
pleated skirts, a shoulder-length wraparound jacket, and a 



wide sash with such exquisite stitching that it should have 
been mounted on a wall rather than tied around her waist. 

The other servants had to help her into the clothing. She 
didn't miss the looks they shared behind her back. That 
Kyoshi had abused the master's favoritism—again. 

But once the pieces were assembled, they melded to her 
body like she'd been born to wear them. Each layer slid over 
the next with ease, granting her full mobility. She didn't ask 
anyone where the clothes that fit her so well came from, not 
wanting to hear a snippy answer like Oh, Jianzhu ripped 
them off the corpse of some fallen giant he defeated. 

And the serious nature of the task ahead made itself clear 
as she finished dressing. The inside of the jacket was lined 
with finely woven chainmail. Not thick enough to stop a 
spearpoint with a person's entire weight behind it, but 
strong enough to absorb a dart or the slash of a hidden 
knife. The weight of the metal links on her shoulders said to 
expect trouble. 

“Why are the four of us up here and not down there?" 
Kyoshi said, pointing at the boat, where more preparations 
were undoubtedly being made. 

“I insisted," Yun said. “Sifu wasn't happy about it, but I 
told him I needed time by myself." 

“To go over the plan?" 

Yun looked off into the distance. “Sure." 

He'd been acting strange recently. But then again, he was 
a new Avatar about to enact a decree in one of the most 
hostile settings imaginable. Yun might have had all the 
talent and the best teachers in the world, but he was still 
diving into the abyss headlong. 

“Your master has good reason for his reluctance," Kelsang 
said to him. “At one point it was somewhat of a tradition for 
the Avatar to travel extensively with his or her friends, 
without the supervision of elders. But Hei-Ran, Jianzhu, and I 
. . . the three of us weren't the positive influences on Kuruk 



that we were supposed to be. Jianzhu views that period of 
our youth as a great personal failing of his.” 

"Sounds like a failing of Kuruk's instead,” Kyoshi 
muttered. 

"Don't criticize Yun's past life,” Rangi said, whacking her 
shoulder with a mittened hand. "The Avatars tread paths of 
great destiny. Every action they take is meaningful.” 

They meaningfully passed another three dull, meaningful 
hours in southward flight. It got colder, much colder. They 
pulled on parkas and bundled themselves in quilts as they 
swooped over otter penguins wriggling atop ever-growing 
chunks of floating ice. The cry of antarctic birds could be 
heard on the wind. 

"We're here,” Kelsang said. He was the only one who 
hadn't put on extra layers; it was theorized around the 
mansion that Airbenders were simply immune to the 
weather. "Hold on for the descent.” 

Their target was an iceberg almost as big as Yokoya itself. 
The blue crag rose into the air as high as the hills of their 
earthbound village. A small flat shelf ringed the formation, 
presumably giving them a place to set up camp. Most of the 
far side was obscured by the peak, but as they flew lower 
Kyoshi caught a glimpse of felt tents dotting the opposite 
shoreline. The Fifth Nation delegation. 

"I don't see their fleet,” Rangi said. 

"Part of the terms were that the negotiating grounds be 
even,” Yun said. "For her that meant no warships. For us that 
meant no ground.” 

The compromise didn't feel even. The vast iceberg was 
one of many, drifting in an ocean cold enough to kill in 
minutes. A dusting of fresh snow gave every surface flat 
enough to stand on a coat of alien whiteness. 

Kyoshi knew that though the Southern Water Tribe had 
long since disowned Tagaka's entire family tree, she still 



came from a line of Waterbenders. If there was ever a 
location to challenge an Earth Avatar, it was here. 

Kelsang landed Pengpeng on the frozen beach and 
hopped down first. Then he helped the others off the huge 
bison, generating a small bubble of air to cushion their fall. 
The little gesture stirred unease in Kyoshi's heart, the playful 
bounce like cracking jokes before a funeral. 

They watched Jianzhu's ship come in. It was too large and 
deep-keeled to run aground, and there wasn't a natural 
harbor formation in the ice, so the crew dropped anchor and 
lowered themselves into longboats, making the final sliver of 
the journey in the smaller craft. One of them reached the 
shore much faster than the others. 

Jianzhu stepped out of the lead boat, surveying the 
landing site while straightening his furs, his eyes narrowed 
and nostrils flared as if any potential treachery might have a 
giveaway smell to it. Hei-Ran followed, treating the water 
carefully, as she was decked out in her full panoply of battle 
armor. The third person on the longboat was less familiar to 
Kyoshi. 

“Sifu Amak," Yun said, bowing to the man. 

Master Amak was a strange, shadowy presence around 
the compound. Ostensibly, he was a Waterbender from the 
north who was patiently waiting his turn to teach the Avatar. 
But questions about his past produced inconsistent answers. 
There was gossip around the staff that the lanky, grim-faced 
Water Tribesman had spent the last ten years far from his 
home, in the employ of a lesser prince in Ba Sing Se who'd 
suddenly gone from eleventh in the line of succession to the 
fourth. Amak's silent nature and the web of scars running 
around his arms and neck seemed like a warning not to 
inquire further. 

And yet the Avatar had regular training sessions with 
him, though Yun had told Kyoshi outright that he couldn't 
waterbend yet and wasn't expected to. He would emerge 



from the practice grounds, bloodied and mussed but with his 
smile blazing from new knowledge. 

“He's my favorite teacher other than Sifu," Yun had said 
once. “He's the only one who cares more about function than 
form." 

There must have been strategy at work with Amak's 
attendance. Instead of the blue tunic he wore around the 
complex, they'd dressed him in a set of wide-sleeved robes, 
dark green in Earth Kingdom style, and a conical hat that 
shaded his face. His proud wolftail haircut had been shaved 
off, and he'd taken out his bone piercings. 

Amak took out a small medicine vial with a nozzle built 
into the top. He tilted his head back and let the liquid 
contents drip directly into his eyes. “Concentrated 
spidersnake extract," Yun whispered to Kyoshi. “It's a secret 
formula and hideously expensive." 

Amak caught Kyoshi staring at him and spoke to her for 
the first time ever. 

“Other than Tagaka herself, there are to be no 
Waterbenders from either side at this negotiation," he said 
in a voice so high-pitched and musical it nearly startled her 
out of her boots. “So . . ." 

He pressed a gloved finger to his lips and winked at her. 
The iris of his open eye shifted from pale blue to a halfway 
green the color of warmer coastal waters. 

Kyoshi tried to shake the fuzz out of her head. She didn't 
belong here, so far from the earth, with dangerous people 
who wore disguises like spirits and treated life-and-death 
situations as games to be won. Crossing into the world of the 
Avatar had been exciting back when she took her first steps 
inside the mansion. Now the slightest wrong footing could 
destroy the fates of hundreds, maybe thousands. After Yun 
told her last night about the mass kidnappings along the 
coast, she hadn't been able to sleep. 



More boats full of armed men landed ashore. They lined 
up to the left and right, spears at the ready, the tassels of 
their helmets waving in the frigid breeze. The intent must 
have been to look strong and organized in front of the pirate 
queen. 

“She approaches," Kelsang said. 

Tagaka chose a relatively undramatic entrance, 
appearing on the edge of the iceberg as a faraway dot 
flanked by two others. She plodded along a path that ran 
around the icy slope like a mountain pass. She seemed to be 
in no hurry. 

"I guess everyone dying of old age would count as 
achieving peace," Yun muttered. 

They had enough time to relax and then straighten back 
up once Tagaka reached them. Kyoshi stilled her face as 
much as possible and laid the corner of her eyes upon the 
Bloody Flail of the Eastern Sea. 

Contrary to her reputation, the leader of the Fifth Nation 
was a decidedly unremarkable middle-aged woman. 
Underneath her plain hide clothing she had a laborer's build, 
and her hair loops played up her partial Water Tribe 
ancestry. Kyoshi looked for eyes burning with hatred or a 
cruel sneer that promised unbound tortures, but Tagaka 
could have easily passed for one of the disinterested 
southern traders who occasionally visited Yokoya to unload 
fur scraps. 

Except for her sword. Kyoshi had heard rumors about the 
green-enameled jian strapped to Tagaka's waist in a 
scabbard plated with burial-quality jade. The sword had 
once belonged to the admiral of Ba Sing Se, a position that 
was now unfilled and defunct because of her. After her 
legendary duel with the last man to hold the job, she'd kept 
the blade. It was less certain what she'd done with the body. 

Tagaka glanced at the twenty soldiers standing behind 
them and then spent much longer squinting at Kyoshi, up 



and down. Each pass of her gaze was like a spray of cold 
water icing over Kyoshi's bodily functions. 

“I didn't realize we were supposed to be bringing so 
much muscle," Tagaka said to Jianzhu. She looked behind 
her at the pair of bodyguards carrying only bone clubs and 
then again at Kyoshi. "That girl is a walking crow's nest." 

Kyoshi could sense Jianzhu's displeasure at the fact she'd 
drawn attention. She knew he and Yun had fought over her 
presence. She wanted to shrink into nothingness, hide from 
their adversary's gaze, but that would only make it worse. 
Instead she tried to borrow the face Rangi normally used on 
the villagers. Cold, inscrutable disdain. 

Her attempt at looking tough was met with mixed 
reactions. One of Tagaka's escorts, a man with a stick-thin 
mustache in the Earth Kingdom style, frowned at her and 
shifted his feet. But the pirate queen herself remained 
unmoved. 

"Where are my manners," she said, giving Yun a 
perfunctory bow. "It's my honor to greet the Avatar in the 
flesh." 

"Tagaka, Marquess of the Eastern Sea," Yun said, using 
her self-styled title, "congratulations on your victory over 
the remnants of the Fade-Red Devils." 

She raised an eyebrow. "You knew of that business?" 

"Yachey Hong and his crew were a bunch of sadistic 
murderers," Yun said smoothly. "They had neither your 
wisdom nor your . . . ambition. You did the world a great 
service by wiping them out." 

"Ha!" She clapped once. "This one studies like Yangchen 
and flatters like Kuruk. I look forward to our battle of wits 
tomorrow. Shall we head to my camp? You must be hungry 
and tired." 

Tomorrow? Kyoshi thought. They weren't going to wrap 
this up quickly and leave? They were going to sleep here, 
vulnerable throughout the night? 



Apparently, that had been the plan all along. “Your 
hospitality is much appreciated," Jianzhu said. “Come, 
everybody." 


It was a very, very awkward dinner. 

Tagaka had set up a luxurious camp, the centerpiece a 
yurt as big as a house. The interior was lined with hung rugs 
and tapestries of mismatching colors that both kept the cold 
out and served as markers of how many tradeships she'd 
plundered. Stone lamps filled with melted fat provided an 
abundance of light. 

Low tables and seat cushions were arranged in the 
manner of a grand feast. Yun held the place of honor, with 
Tagaka across from him. She didn't mind the rest of their 
table being filled out by the Avatar's inner circle. Jianzhu's 
uniformed guardsmen rotated in and out, trading sneers 
with the pirate queen's motley assortment of corsairs. 

The Fifth Nation described themselves as an egalitarian 
outfit that disregarded the boundaries between the 
elements. According to the propaganda they sometimes left 
behind after a raid, no nation was superior, and under the 
rule of their enlightened captain, any adventurer or bender 
could join them in harmony, regardless of origin. 

In reality, the most successful pirate fleet in the world 
was going to be nearly all sailors from the Water Tribes. And 
the food reflected that. To Kyoshi, most of the meal tasted 
like blood, the mineral saltiness too much for her. She did 
what she could to be polite, and watched Yun eat in perfect 
alignment with Water Tribe custom. 

As Yun downed another tray of raw blubber with gusto, 
Tagaka cheering him on, Kyoshi wanted to whisper in Rangi's 
ear and ask if they should be afraid of poison. Or the 
prospect of the dinner party stabbing them in the back with 


their meat skewers. Anything that reflected the hostilities 
that must have been bubbling under the surface. Why were 
they being so friendly? 

It became too much once they began setting up Pai Sho 
boards for members of Tagaka's crew who fancied 
themselves a match for the young Avatar's famous skills. 
Kyoshi nudged Rangi in the side and tilted her chin at the 
merriment, widening her eyes for emphasis. 

Rangi knew exactly what she was asking. While 
everyone's attention focused on Yun playing three 
opponents at once, she pointed with her toe at two men and 
two women who had silently entered the tent after the party 
had finished eating, to clean up the plates. 

They were Earth Kingdom citizens. Instead of the pirates' 
mismatched riot of pilfered clothing, they wore plain 
peasant's garb. And though they weren't chained or 
restrained, they carried out their duties in a hunched and 
clumsy fashion. Like people fearing for their lives. 

The stolen villagers. Yun and Rangi had undoubtedly 
spotted them earlier. Kyoshi cursed herself for treating them 
as invisible when she knew what it was like to move 
unnoticed among the people she served. The entire time, 
Yun had been putting on a false smile while Tagaka paraded 
her true spoils of war in front of him. 

Rangi found her trembling hand and gave it a quick 
squeeze, sending a pulse of reassuring warmth over her 
skin. Stay strong. 

They watched Yun demolish his opponents in three 
different ways, simultaneously. The first he blitzed down, the 
second he'd forced into a no-win situation, and the third 
he'd lured into a trap so diabolical that the hapless pirate 
thought he was winning the whole time until the last five 
moves. 

The audience roared when Yun finished his last victim off. 
Coins clinked as wagers traded hands, and the challengers 



received slaps and jeers from their comrades. 

Tagaka laughed and threw back another shot of strong 
wine. “Tell me, Avatar. Are you enjoying yourself?” 

“I've been to many places around the world,” Yun said. 
'And your hospitality has been unmatched.” 

"I'm so glad,” she said, reaching for more drink. ”1 was 
convinced you were planning to kill me before the night was 
through.” 

The atmosphere of the gathering went from full speed to 
a dead stop. Tagaka's men seemed as surprised as Jianzhu's. 
The mass stillness that ran through the party nearly created 
its own sound. The tensing of neck muscles. Hairs raising on 
end. 

Kyoshi tried to glance at Master Amak without making it 
obvious. The hardened Waterbender was sitting away from 
the main group, peering soberly at Tagaka over the edge of 
his unused wine cup. The floor was covered in skins and 
rugs, but underneath was a whole island of weaponry at his 
disposal. Instead of freezing up like everyone else, Kyoshi 
could see his shoulders relaxing, loosening, readying for a 
sudden surge of violence. 

She thought Jianzhu might say something, take over for 
Yun now that the theatrics were off course, but he did 
nothing. Jianzhu calmly watched Yun stack the Pai Sho tiles 
between his fingers, as if the only thing he cared about was 
making sure his student displayed good manners by 
cleaning up after a finished game. 

"Mistress Tagaka,” Yun said. "If this is about the size of my 
contingent, I assure you I meant no harm or insult. The 
soldiers who came with me are merely an honor guard. I 
didn't want to bring them, but they were so excited about 
the chance to witness you make history with the Avatar.” 

"I'm not concerned about a bunch of flunkies with spears, 
boy,” Tagaka said. Her voice had turned lower. The time for 
flattery was over. "I'm talking about those three.” 



She pointed, her fingers forming a trident. Not at Amak or 
any of the armored Earth Kingdom soldiers, but at Jianzhu, 
Hei-Ran, and Kelsang. 

“I'm afraid I don't understand,'' Yun said. “Surely you 
know of my bending masters. The famed companions of 
Kuruk." 

“Yes, I know of them. And I know what it means when the 
Gravedigger of Zhulu Pass darkens my tent in person." 

Now Yun was confused for real. His easy smile faded, and 
his head tilted toward his shoulder. Kyoshi had heard of 
various battles and locations associated with Jianzhu's 
name, and Zhulu Pass was one of many, not a standout in a 
long list. He was a great hero of the Earth Kingdom after all, 
one of its leading sages. 

“Are you referring to the story of how my esteemed 
mentor piously interred the bodies of villagers he found cut 
down by rebels, giving them their final rest and dignity?" 
Yun said. The game tiles clacked together in his palm. 

Tagaka shook her head. “I'm referring to five thousand 
Yellow Necks, buried alive, the rest terrorized into 
submission. The entire uprising crushed by one man. Your 
'esteemed mentor.'" 

She turned to Jianzhu. “I'm curious. Do their spirits haunt 
you when you sleep? Or did you plant them deep enough 
that the earth muffles their screams?" 

There was a hollow thunk as one of the game pieces 
slipped out of Yun's grasp and bounced off the board. He'd 
never heard of this. Kyoshi had never heard of this. 

Now that he was being addressed directly, Jianzhu 
deemed it proper to speak up. “Respectfully, I fear that 
rumors from the Earth Kingdom interior tend to grow wilder 
the closer they get to the South Pole. Many tales of my past 
exploits are pure exaggerations by now." 

"Respectfully, I gained my position through knowing facts 
beyond what you think a typical blue-eyed southern rustic 



should know,” Tagaka snapped. "For example, I know who 
holds the Royal Academy record for the most 'accidental' 
kills during Agni Kais, Madam Headmistress.” 

If Hei-Ran was offended by the accusation, she didn't 
show it. Instead Rangi looked like she was going to leap on 
Tagaka and cook the woman's head off her shoulders. Kyoshi 
instinctively reached out to her and got her hand swatted 
away for the trouble. 

"And Master Kelsang,” Tagaka said. "Listen, young Avatar. 
Have you ever wondered why my fleets stay cooped up in 
the Eastern Sea, where the pickings are slim, engaged in 
costly battles for territory with other crews? It's solely 
because of that man right there.” 

Of the three masters, only Kelsang looked afraid of what 
Tagaka might reveal. Afraid and ashamed. Kyoshi already 
wanted to defend him from whatever charges the pirate 
might levy. Kelsang was hers more than anyone else's. 

"My father used to call him the Living Typhoon,” Tagaka 
said. "We criminal types have a fondness for theatrical 
nicknames, but in this case, the billing was correct. Grandad 
once took the family and a splinter fleet westward, around 
the southern tip of the Earth Kingdom. The threat they 
presented must have been great indeed, because Master 
Kelsang, then a young man in the height of his power, rode 
out on his bison and summoned a storm to turn them back. 

"Sounds like a perfect solution to a naval threat without 
any bloodshed, eh?” she said. "But have any of you pulled a 
shivered timber the size of a jian from your thigh? Or been 
thrown into the sea and then tried to keep your head above 
a thirty-foot wave?” 

Tagaka drank in the Airbender's discomfort and smiled. "1 
should thank you. Master Kelsang. 1 lost several uncles on 
that expedition. You saved me from a gruesome succession 
battle. But the fear of a repeat performance kept the Fifth 
Nation and other crews bottled up in the Eastern Sea, my 



father's entire generation terrified of a single Air Nomad. 
They thought Kelsang was watching them from the peaks of 
the Southern Air Temple. Patrolling the skies above their 
heads." 

Kyoshi looked at Kelsang, who was hunched in agony. 
Were you? she thought. Is that where you went between 
stays in Yokoya? You were hunting pirates? 

"A lesson from your airbending master," Tagaka said to 
Yun. "The most effective threat is only performed once. So 
you can imagine my distress when I saw you bring this . . . 
this collection of butchers to our peace treaty signing. I 
thought for certain it meant violence was in our future." 

Yun hummed, pretending to be lost in thought. The Pai 
Sho tile that he'd fumbled was now flipping over his 
knuckles, back and forth across his hand. He was in control 
again. 

"Mistress Tagaka," he said. "You have nothing to fear from 
my masters. And if we're giving credence to gruesome 
reputations, I believe I would have equal cause for concern." 

"Yes," Tagaka said, staring him down, her fingers lying on 
the hilt of her sword. "You absolutely do." 

The mission hinged there, on the eye contact between 
Yun and the undisputed lord of the Eastern Sea. Tagaka 
might have been looking at the Avatar, but Kyoshi could 
only see her friend, young and vulnerable and literally out of 
his element. 

Whatever Tagaka was searching for inside Yun's head, she 
found it. She backed off and smiled. 

"You know, it's bad luck to undertake an important 
ceremony with blood on your spirit," she said. "I purified 
myself of my past crimes with sweat and ice before you 
arrived, but with the stain of so much death still hanging 
over your side, I suddenly feel the need to do it again before 
tomorrow morning. You may stay here as long as you'd like." 



Tagaka snapped her fingers, and her men filed out of the 
tent, as unquestioningly as if she'd bent them away. The 
Earth Kingdom captives went last, ducking through the exit 
flaps without so much as a glance behind them. The act 
seemed like a planned insult by Tagaka, designed to say 
they're more afraid of me than they're hopeful of you. 

Jianzhu swung his hands together. “You did well for—" 

“Is it true?" Yun snapped. 

Kyoshi had never heard Yun interrupt his master before, 
and from the twinge in his brow, neither had Jianzhu. The 
earth sage sighed in a manner that warned the others not to 
speak. This matter was between him and his disciple. “Is 
what true?" 

“Five thousand? You buried five thousand people alive?" 

“That's an overstatement made by a criminal." 

“Then what's the truth?" Yun said. “It was only five 
hundred? One hundred? What's the number that makes it 
justified?" 

Jianzhu laughed silently, a halting shift of his chest. “The 
truth? The truth is that the Yellow Necks were scum of the 
lowest order who thought they could plunder, murder, and 
destroy with impunity. They saw nothing, no future beyond 
the points of their swords. They believed they could hurt 
people with no repercussions." 

He slammed his finger down onto the center of the Pai 
Sho board. 

“I visited consequences upon them," Jianzhu said. 
“Because that's what justice is. Nothing but the proper 
consequences. I made it clear that whatever horrors they 
inflicted would come back to haunt them, no more, no less. 
And guess what? It worked. The remnants of the daofei that 
escaped me dispersed into the countryside because at last 
they knew there would be consequences if they continued 
down their outlaw path." 



Jianzhu glanced at the exit, in the direction Tagaka had 
gone. “Perhaps the reason you've never heard about this 
from decent citizens of the Earth Kingdom is because they 
see it the same way I do. A criminal like her watches justice 
being done and bewails the lack of forgiveness, 
conveniently forgetting about what they did in the first 
place to deserve punishment." 

Yun looked like he had trouble breathing. Kyoshi wanted 
to go to his side, but Jianzhu's spell had frozen the air inside 
the tent, immobilizing her. 

"Yun," Kelsang said. "You don't understand the times 
back then. We did what we had to do, to save lives and 
maintain balance. We had to act without an Avatar." 

Yun steadied himself. "How fortunate for you all," he said, 
his voice a hollow deadpan. "Now you can shift the burden 
of ending so many lives onto me. I'll try to follow the 
examples my teachers have set." 

"Enough!" Jianzhu roared. "You've allowed yourself to be 
rattled by the baseless accusations of a pirate! The rest of 
you get out. I need to speak to the Avatar, alone." 

Rangi stormed out the fastest. Hei-Ran watched her go. 
Maybe it was because they used the same tight-lipped 
expression to hide their emotions, but Kyoshi could tell she 
wanted to chase her daughter. Instead Hei-Ran walked stiffly 
out the opposite side of the tent. 

When Kyoshi looked back, Kelsang had vanished. Only 
the trailing swish of an orange hem under a curtain betrayed 
which way he'd gone. She gave a quick bow to Jianzhu and 
Yun, avoiding eye contact, and ran after the Airbender. 

She found Kelsang a dozen paces away, alone, sitting on 
a stool that had presumably been abandoned by one of 
Tagaka's guards. The legs had sunk deep into the snow 
under his weight. He shivered, but not from the cold. 

"You know, after Kuruk died, I thought my failure to set 
him on the right path was my last and greatest mistake," he 



said quietly to the icy ground in front of his toes. “It turned 
out I wasn't finished disgracing myself." 

Kyoshi knew, in an academic sense, that Air Nomads held 
all life sacred. They were utmost pacifists who considered no 
one their enemy, no criminal beyond forgiveness and 
redemption. But surely exceptional circumstances allowed 
for those convictions to be put on hold. Surely Kelsang could 
be forgiven for saving entire towns along the coasts of the 
western seas. 

The strain in his voice said otherwise. 

“I never told you how far I fell within the Southern Air 
Temple as a result of that day." Kelsang tried to force a smile 
through his pain, but it slipped out of his control, turning 
into a fractured, tearful mess. “I violated my beliefs as an 
Airbender. I let my teachers down. I let my entire people 
down." 

Kyoshi was suddenly furious on his behalf, though she 
didn't know at whom. At the whole world, perhaps, for 
allowing its darkness to infect such a good man and make 
him hate himself. She threw her arms around Kelsang and 
hugged him as tightly as she could. 

“You've never let me down," she said in a gruff bark. “Do 
you hear me? Never." 

Kelsang put up with her attempt to crush his shoulder 
blades through the force of sheer affection and rocked 
slightly in her embrace, patting at her clasped hands. Kyoshi 
only let go when the sound of a plate shattering pierced the 
stillness of the night. 

Their gazes snapped toward the crash. It had come from 
the tent. Yun and Jianzhu were still inside. 

Kelsang stood up, his own troubles forgotten. He looked 
worried. “Best if you head back to camp," he said to Kyoshi. 
The muffled sound of arguing grew louder through the felt 
walls. 

“Are they all right?" 



“I'll check. But please, go. Now." Kelsang hurried to the 
tent and ducked through the curtain. She could hear the 
connnnotion stop as soon as he re-entered, but the silence 
was more ominous than the noise. 

Kyoshi paused there, wondering what to do, before 
deciding she'd better obey Kelsang. She didn't want to 
overhear Yun and Jianzhu have it out. 


As she fled, the moonlight cast long, flickering shadows, 
making Kyoshi feel like a puppeteer on a blank white stage. 
Her hurried exit took her too far in the wrong direction, and 
she found herself among the outskirts of the pirate camp, 
near the ice cliff. 

She slammed against the frozen wall, trying to flatten 
herself out of sight. Tagaka's crew was in the midst of 
retiring for the night, kicking snow over dying campfires and 
fastening their tents closed from the inside. They had 
guardsmen posted at regular intervals looking in different 
directions. Kyoshi had no idea how she'd come so close 
without being noticed. 

She edged as quietly as she could back the way she 
came, around the corner, and bumped into the missing 
sentry. He was one of the two pirates who'd accompanied 
Tagaka to greet them. The man with the mustache. He 
peered up at her face like he was trying to get the best view 
of her nostrils. 

“Say," he said, a rank cloud of alcohol fumes wafting out 
of his mouth. “Do I know you?" 

She shook her head and made to keep going, but he 
stuck his arm out, blocking her path as he leaned against 
the ice. 

“It's just that you look very familiar," he said with a leer. 


Kyoshi shuddered. There was always a certain kind of 
man who thought her particular dimensions made her a 
public good, an oddity they were free to gawk at, prod, or 
worse. Often they assumed she should be grateful for the 
attention. That they were special and powerful for giving it 
to her. 

“I used to be a landlubber,” the man said, launching into 
a bout of drunken self-absorption. "Did business with a 
group called the Flying . . . Something Society. The Flying 
Something or others. The leader was a woman who looked a 
lot like you. Pretty face, just like yours. Legs . . . nearly as 
long. She could have been your sister. You ever been to 
Chameleon Bay, sweet thing? Stay under Madam Qiji's 
roof?” 

The man pulled the cork from a gourd and took a few 
more swigs of wine. "I had it bad for that girl,” he said, 
wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "She had the most 
fascinating serpent tattoos going around her arms, but she 
never let me see how far they went. What about you, honey 
tree? Got any ink on your body that you want to show 
meeeaggh!” 

Kyoshi picked him up by the neck with one hand and 
slammed him into the cliffside. 

His feet dangled off the ground. She squeezed until she 
saw his eyes bulge in different directions. 

"You are mistaken,” she said without raising her voice. 
"Do you hear me? You are mistaken, and you have never 
seen me, or anyone else who looks like me before. Tell me 
so.” 

She let him have enough air to speak. "You crazy piece of 
—I'll kill—aaagh!” 

Kyoshi pressed him harder into the wall. The ice cracked 
behind his skull. "That's not what I asked you.” 

Her fingers stifled his cry, preventing him from alerting 
the others. "I made a mistake!” he gasped. "I was wrong!” 



She dropped him on the ground. The back of his coat 
snagged and tore on the ice. He keeled over to his side, 
trying to force air back into his lungs. 

Kyoshi watched him writhe at her feet. After thinking it 
over, she yanked the gourd full of wine off his neck, 
snapping the string, and poured the contents out until it was 
empty. The liquid splashed the man's face, and he flinched. 

“I'm holding on to this in case you change your mind yet 
again," she said, waggling the empty container. “I've heard 
about Tagaka's disciplinary methods, and I don't think she'd 
approve of drinking on guard duty." 

The man groaned and covered his head with his arms. 


Kyoshi collapsed facedown outside her tent. Her forehead 
lay on the ice. It felt good, cooling. The encounter had 
sapped her of energy, left her unable to take the last few 
steps to her bunk. So close, and yet so far. 

She didn't know what had come over her. What she'd 
done was so stupid it boggled the mind. If word got back to 
Jianzhu somehow . . . 

A bright light appeared over her head. She twisted her 
neck upward to see Rangi holding up a self-generated torch. 
A small flame danced above her long fingers. 

Rangi looked down at her and then at the liquor gourd 
still in her hand. She sniffed the night air. “Kyoshi, have you 
been drinking?" 

It seemed easier to lie. “Yes?" 

With great difficulty, Rangi dragged her inside by the 
arms. It was warmer in the tent, the difference between a 
winter's night and an afternoon in spring. Kyoshi could feel 
the stiffness leaving her limbs, her head losing the 
ponderous echo it seemed to have before. 


Rangi yanked pieces of the battle outfit off her like she 
was stripping down a broken wagon. “You can't sleep in that 
getup. Especially not the armor." 

She'd taken her own gear off and was only wearing a thin 
cotton shift that exposed her arms and legs. Her streamlined 
figure belied the solidness of her muscles. Kyoshi caught 
herself gawking, having never seen her friend out of uniform 
before. It was hard for her to comprehend that the spiky bits 
weren't a natural part of Rangi's body. 

“Shouldn't you be sleeping with Yun?" Kyoshi said. 

Rangi's head turned so fast she almost snapped her own 
neck. “You know what I mean," Kyoshi said. 

The redness faded from Rangi's ears as quickly as it 
came. “The Avatar and Master Jianzhu are reviewing 
strategy. Master Amak only ever sleeps in ten-minute 
intervals throughout the day, so he and the most 
experienced guardsmen will keep watch. The order is that 
everyone else should be well-rested for tomorrow." 

They settled beneath their furs. Kyoshi already knew that 
she wouldn't be able to sleep as she'd been told. Her former 
life on the street in conjunction with her privileged place in 
the mansion these days meant that, improbably, she'd never 
had a roommate before. She was acutely aware of Rangi's 
little movements right next to her, the air rising in and out of 
the Firebender's chest. 

“I don't think they did anything wrong," Kyoshi said as 
she stared at the underside of their tent. 

Rangi didn't respond. 

“I heard from Auntie Mui about what Xu and the Yellow 
Necks did to unarmed men, women, and children. If half of 
that is true, then Jianzhu went too easy on them. They 
deserved worse." 

The moonlight came through the seams of the tent, 
making stars out of stitch holes. 



She should have stopped there, but Kyoshi's certainty 
buoyed her along past the point where it was safe to 
venture. “And accidents are accidents,” she said. “I'm sure 
your mother never meant to harm anyone.” 

Two strong hands grabbed the lapels of her robe. Rangi 
yanked her over onto her side so that they were facing each 
other. 

"Kyoshi,” she said hoarsely, her eyes flaring with pain. 
"One of those opponents was her cousin. A rival candidate 
for headmistress.” 

Rangi gave her a hard, jostling shake. "Not a pirate, or an 
outlaw,” she said. “Her cousin. The school cleared her honor, 
but the rumors followed me at school for years. People 
whispering around corners that my mother was—was an 
assassin.” 

She spit the word out like it was the most vile curse 
imaginable. Given Rangi's profession as a bodyguard, it 
likely was. She buried her face into Kyoshi's chest, gripping 
her tightly, as if to scrub the memory away. 

Kyoshi wanted to punch herself for being so careless. She 
cautiously draped an arm over Rangi's shoulder. The 
Firebender nestled under it and relaxed, though she still 
made a series of sharp little inhalations through her nose. 
Kyoshi didn't know if that was her way of crying or calming 
herself with a breathing exercise. 

Rangi shifted, pressing closer to Kyoshi's body, rubbing 
the soft bouquet of her hair against Kyoshi's lips. The 
startling contact felt like a transgression, the mistake of a 
girl exhausted and drowsy. The more noble Fire Nation 
families, like the one Rangi descended from, would never let 
just anyone touch their hair like this. 

The faint, flowery scent that filled Kyoshi's lungs made 
her head swim and her pulse quicken. Kyoshi kept still like it 
was her life's calling, unwilling to make any motion that 
might disturb her friend's fitful slumber. 



Eventually Rang! fell into a deep sleep, radiating warnnth 
like a little glowing coal in the hearth. Kyoshi realized that 
connforting her throughout the night was both an honor and 
a torture she wouldn't have traded for anything in the world. 

Kyoshi closed her eyes. She did her best to ignore the 
pain of her arm losing circulation and her heart falling into a 
pile of ribbons. 


They survived the night. There had been no sneak attack, no 
sudden chaos outside the tent, as she'd feared. 

Kyoshi couldn't have slept more than an hour or two, but 
she'd never felt more alert and on edge in her life. When 
they breakfasted in their own camp at the base of the 
iceberg, she declined the overbrewed tea. Her teeth were 
already knocking together as it was. 

She looked for signs of trouble between Yun and Jianzhu, 
Rangi and Hei-Ran, but couldn't find any. She never 
understood how they managed to wound each other and 
then forgive each other so quickly. Wrongs meant 
something, even if they were inflicted by your family. 
Especially if it was family. 

Kelsang stayed close by her during the preparations. But 
his presence only created more turbulence in her heart. Any 
minute now they were going to walk up that hill and watch 
Yun sign a treaty backed by the power vested in the Avatar. 

It's not me, Kyoshi thought to herself. Kelsang admitted 
there was hardly a chance. A chance is not the same thing 
as the truth. 

Jianzhu signaled it was time to go and spoke a few words, 
but Kyoshi didn't hear them. 

He's jumping to conclusions because Jianzhu sidelined 
him. He wants to be a bigger part of the Avatar's life. Any 
Avatar's life. And I'm the closest thing to a daughter he has. 


She had to admit the line of reasoning was a little self- 
important of her. But much less so than, say, being the 
Avatar. It made sense. Kelsang was human, prone to 
mistakes. The thought comforted her all the way to the top 
of the iceberg. 

The peak came to a natural plateau large enough to hold 
the key members of both delegations. For Yun's side, that 
meant Jianzhu, Hei-Ran, Kelsang, Rangi, Amak, and—despite 
the foolishness it implied—Kyoshi. Tagaka again deigned to 
come with only a pair of escorts. The mustached man was 
not part of her guard this time, thankfully. But one of the 
Earth Kingdom hostages, a young woman who had the 
sunburned mien of a fishwife, accompanied the pirates. She 
silently carried a baggage pack on her shoulders and stared 
at the ground like her past and future were written on it. 

The two sides faced each other over the flat surface. They 
were high enough up to overlook the smaller icebergs that 
drifted near their frozen mountain. 

“I figured we'd use the traditional setting for such 
matters," Tagaka said. "So please bear with me for a 
moment." 

The pirate queen wedged her feet in the snow and took a 
shouting breath. Her arms moved fluidly in the form of 
waterbending, but nothing happened. 

"Hold on," she said. 

She tried again, waving her limbs with more speed and 
more strain. A circle rose haltingly out of the ice, the size of 
a table. It was very slow going. 

Kyoshi thought she heard a scoff come from Master Amak, 
but it could have been the creak of two smaller ice lumps 
sprouting on opposite sides of the table. Tagaka struggled 
mightily until they were tall enough to sit on. 

"You'll have to forgive me," she said, out of breath. "I'm 
not exactly the bender my father and grandfather were." 



The Earth Kingdom woman opened her pack and quickly 
laid out a cloth over the table and cushions on the seats. 
With quick, delicate motions, she set up a slab inkstone, two 
brushes, and a tiny pitcher of water. 

Kyoshi's gut roiled as she watched the woman 
meticulously grind an inkstick against the stone. She was 
using the Pianhai method, a ceremonial calligraphy setup 
that took a great deal of formal training and commoners 
normally never learned. Kyoshi only knew what it was from 
her proximity to Yun. Did Tagaka beat the process into her? 
she thought. Or did she steai her away from a iiterature 
schooi in one of the iarger cities? 

Once she had made enough ink, the woman stepped 
back without a word. Tagaka and Yun sat down, each 
spreading a scroll across the ice table that contained the 
written terms that had been agreed upon so far. They spent 
an exhaustive amount of time checking that the copies 
matched, that phrasing was polite enough. Both Yun and the 
pirate queen had an eye for small details, and neither of 
them wanted to lose the first battle. 

“I object to your description of yourself as the Waterborne 
Guardian of the South Pole,” Yun said during one of the more 
heated exchanges. 

"Why?” Tagaka said. "It's true. My warships are a buffer. 
I'm the only force keeping a hostile navy from sailing up to 
the shores of the Southern Water Tribe.” 

"The Southern Water Tribe hates you,” Yun said, rather 
bluntly. 

"Yes, well, politics are complicated,” Tagaka said. "I'll edit 
that to 'Self-Appointed Guardian of the South Pole.' I haven't 
abandoned my people, even if they've turned their backs on 
me.” 

And on it went. After Tagaka's guards had begun to yawn 
openly, they leaned back from the scrolls. "Everything 
seems to be in order,” Yun said. "If you don't mind. I'd like to 



proceed straightaway to the next stage. Verbal 
amendments.” 

Tagaka smirked. ”Ooh, the real fun stuff.” 

”On the matter of the hostages from the southern coast of 
Zeizhou Province as can be reasonably defined through 
proximity to Tu Zin, taken from their homes sometime 
between the vernal equinox and the summer solstice . . .” 
Yun said. He paused. 

Kyoshi knew this was going to be hard on him. Rangi had 
explained the basics of how people were typically ransomed. 
At best Yun could free half of the captives by sacrificing the 
rest, letting Tagaka save face and retain leverage. He had to 
think of their lives in clinical terms. A higher percentage was 
better. His only goal. He would be a savior to some and 
doom the rest. 

”1 want them back,” Yun said. 'All of them.” 

"Avatar!” Jianzhu snapped. The Earthbender was furious. 
This was obviously not what they'd talked about beforehand. 

Yun raised his hand, showing the back of it to his master. 
Kyoshi could have sworn Yun was enjoying himself right now. 

”1 want every single man, woman, and child back,” Yun 
said. "If you've sold them to other pirate crews, I want your 
dedicated assistance in finding them. If any have died under 
your care, I want their remains so their families can give 
them a proper burial. We can talk about the compensation 
you'll pay later.” 

The masters, save for Kelsang, looked displeased. To 
them, these were the actions of a petulant child who didn't 
understand how the world worked. 

But Kyoshi had never loved her Avatar more. This was 
what Yun had wanted her to see when he'd begged her to 
come along. Her friend, standing up for what was right. Her 
heart was ready to burst. 

Tagaka leaned back on her ice stool. "Sure.” 



Yun blinked, his moment of glory and defiance yanked 
out from under him prematurely. “You agree?" 

"I agree," Tagaka said. "You can have all of the captives 
back. They're free. Every single one." 

A sob rang out in the air. It was the Earth Kingdom 
woman. Her stoic resolve broke, and she collapsed to her 
hands and knees, weeping loudly and openly. Neither 
Tagaka nor her men reprimanded her. 

Yun didn't look at the woman, out of fear he might ruin 
her salvation with the wrong move. He waited for Tagaka to 
make a demand in return. He wasn't going to raise the price 
on her behalf. 

"The captives are useless to me anyway," she said. She 
stared out to sea at the smaller icebergs surrounding them. 
Despite her earlier patience, she sounded incredibly bored 
all of a sudden. "Out of a thousand people or more, not one 
was a passable carpenter. I should have known better. I 
needed to go after people who live among tall trees, not 
driftwood." 

Yun frowned. "You want . . . carpenters?" he said 
cautiously. 

She glanced at him, as if she were surprised he was still 
there. "Boy, let me teach you a little fact about the pirate 
trade. Our power is measured in ships. We need timber and 
craftsmen who know how to work it. Building a proper navy 
is a generational effort. My peaceable cousins in the South 
Pole have a few heirloom sailing cutters but otherwise have 
to make do with seal-skin canoes. They'll never create a 
large, long-range war fleet because they simply don't have 
the trees." 

Tagaka turned and loomed over the table. "So, yes," she 
said, fixing him with her gaze. "I want carpenters and trees 
and a port of my own to dock in so I can increase the size of 
my forces. And I know just where to get those things." 



“Yokoya!" Yun shouted, a realization and an alert to the 
others, in a single word. 

Tagaka raised her hand and nnade the slightest chopping 
motion with her fingers. Kyoshi heard a wet crunch and a 
gurgle of surprise. She looked around for the source of the 
strange noise. 

It was Master Amak. He was bent backward over a 
stalagmite of ice, the bloody tip sprouting from his chest like 
a hideous stalk of grain. He stared at it, astonished, and 
slumped to the side. 

“Come now," Tagaka said. “You think I can't recognize 
kinfolk under a disguise?" 


The moments seemed to slowly stack up on each other like a 
tower of raw stones, each event in sequence piling higher 
and higher with no mortar to hold them together. A structure 
that was unstable, dreadful, headed toward a total and 
imminent collapse. 

The sudden movement of Tagaka's two escorts drew 
everyone's attention. But the two men only grabbed the 
Earth Kingdom woman by the arms and jumped back down 
the slope the way they'd come, dodging the blast of fire that 
Rangi managed to get off. They were the distraction. 

Pairs of hands burst from the surface of the ice, clutching 
at the ankles of everyone on Yun's side. Waterbenders had 
been lying in wait below them the whole time. Rangi, 
Jianzhu, and Hei-Ran were dragged under the ice like they'd 
fallen through the crust of a frozen lake during the spring 
melt. 

Kyoshi's arms shot out, and she managed to arrest herself 
chest-high on the surface. Her would-be captor hadn't made 
her tunnel large enough. Kelsang leaped into the air, 
avoiding the clutches of his underground assailant with an 


Airbender's reflexes, and deployed the wings of his glider- 
staff. 

Tagaka drew her jian and swung it on the downstroke at 
Yun's neck. But the Avatar didn't flinch. Almost too fast for 
Kyoshi to see, he slammed his fist into the only source of 
earth near them, the stone inkslab. It shattered into 
fragments and reformed as a glove around his hand. He 
caught Tagaka's blade as it made contact with his skin. 

Kyoshi stamped down hard with her boot and felt a 
sickening crunch. Her foot stuck there as the bender whose 
face she'd broken refroze the water, imprisoning her lower 
half. Above the ice, Kyoshi had the perfect view of the Avatar 
and the pirate queen locked together in mortal knot. 

They both looked happy that the charade was over. A 
trickle of Yun's blood dripped off the edge of the blade. 

“Another thing you should know,'' Tagaka said as she 
traded grins with Yun, their muscles trembling with exertion. 
“I'm really not the Waterbender my father was." 

With her free hand she made a series of motions so fluid 
and complex that Kyoshi thought her fingers had telescoped 
to twice their length. A series of earsplitting cracks echoed 
around them. 

There was a roar of ice and snow rushing into the sea. The 
smaller icebergs split and calved, revealing massive hollow 
spaces inside. As the chunks of ice drifted apart at Tagaka's 
command, the prows of Fifth Nation warships began to poke 
out, like the beaks of monstrous birds hatching from their 
eggshells. 

Yun lost his balance at the sight and fell to the ground 
onto his back. Tagaka quickly blanketed him in ice, taking 
care to cover his stone-gloved hand. “What is this?" he 
yelled up at her. 

She wiped his blood off her sword with the crook of her 
elbow and resheathed it. “A backup plan? A head start on 
our way to Yokoya? A chance to show off? I've been 



pretending to be a weak bender for so long, I couldn't resist 
being a little overdramatic." 

Waterbenders aboard the ships were already stilling the 
waves caused by the ice avalanches and driving their 
vessels forward. Other crew members scrambled among the 
masts like insects, unfurling sails. They were pointed 
westward, toward home, where they would drive into fresh 
territories of the Earth Kingdom like a knife into an 
unprotected belly. 

“Stop the ships!" Yun screamed into the sky. “Not me! The 
ships!" That was all he could get out before Tagaka covered 
his head completely in ice. 

Kyoshi didn't know whom he was talking to at first, 
thought that in his desperation he was pleading with a 
spirit. But a low rush of air reminded her that someone was 
still free. Kelsang pulled up on his glider and beelined 
toward the flagship. 

“Not today, monk," Tagaka said. She lashed out with her 
arms, and a spray of icicles no bigger than sewing needles 
shot toward Kelsang. 

It was a fiendishly brilliant attack. The Airbender could 
have easily dodged larger missiles, but Tagaka's projectiles 
were an enveloping storm. The delicate wings of his glider 
disintegrated, and he plunged toward the sea. 

There was no time to panic for Kelsang. Tagaka levitated 
the chunk of ice Yun was buried in, threw it over the side of 
the iceberg toward her camp, and leaped down after him. 

Kyoshi grit her teeth and pushed on the ice as hard as 
she could. Her shoulders strained against her robes, both 
threatening to tear. The ice gripping her legs cracked and 
gave way, but not before shredding the parts of her skin not 
covered by her skirts. She lifted herself free and stumbled 
after Tagaka. 

She was lucky Yun's prison had carved out a smooth path. 
Without it, she would have undoubtedly bashed her skull in. 



tumbling over the rough protrusions of ice. Kyoshi managed 
to slide down to the pirate camp, her wounds leaving a 
bloody trail on the slope behind her. 

Tagaka's men were busy loading their camp and 
themselves into longboats. An elegant cutter, one of the 
Water Tribe heirlooms she'd mentioned, waited for them off 
the coast of the iceberg. Only a few of the other pirates 
noticed Kyoshi. They started to pick up weapons, but Tagaka 
waved them off. Packing up was more of a priority than 
dealing with her. 

"Give him back," Kyoshi gasped. 

Tagaka put a boot on the ice encasing Yun and leaned on 
her knee. "The colossus speaks," she said, smiling. 

"Give him back. Now.” She meant to sound angry and 
desperate, but instead she came across as pitiful and 
hopeless as she felt inside. She wasn't sure if Yun could 
breathe in there. 

"Eh," Tagaka said. "I saw what I needed to see in the 
boy's eyes. He's worth more as a hostage than an Avatar, 
trust me." She shoved Yun off to the side with her foot, and 
the bile surged in Kyoshi's throat at the disrespectful 
gesture. 

"But you, on the other hand," Tagaka said. "You're a 
puzzle. I know you're not a fighter right now, that much is 
obvious. But I like your potential. I can't decide whether I 
should kill you now, to be safe, or take you with me." 

She took a step closer. "Kyoshi, was it? How would you 
like a taste of true freedom? To go where you want and take 
what you're owed? Trust me, it's a better life than whatever 
dirt-scratch existence you have on land." 

Kyoshi knew her answer. It was the same one she would 
have given as a starving seven-year-old child. 

"I would never become a daofei” Kyoshi said, trying as 
hard as possible to turn the word into a curse. "Pretending to 



be a leader and an important person when you're nothing 
but a murderous slaver. You're the lowest form of life I know." 

Tagaka frowned and drew her sword. The metal hissed 
against the scabbard. She wanted Kyoshi to feel cold death 
sliding between her ribs, instead of being snuffed out 
quickly by water. 

Kyoshi stood her ground. "Give me the Avatar," she 
repeated. "Or I will put you down like the beast you are." 

Tagaka spread her arms wide, telling her to look around 
them at the field of ice they were standing on. "With what, 
little girl from the Earth Kingdom?" she asked. "With what?" 

It was a good question. One that Kyoshi knew she 
couldn't have answered herself. But she was suddenly 
gripped with the overwhelming sensation that right now, in 
her time of desperate need, her voice wouldn't be alone. 

Her hands felt guided. She didn't fully understand, nor 
was she completely in control. But she trusted. 

Kyoshi braced her stomach, filled her lungs, and slammed 
her feet into the Crowding Bridge stance. Echoes of power 
rippled from her movement, hundredfold iterations of herself 
stamping on the ice. She was somehow both leading and 
being led by an army of benders. 

A column of gray-stone seafloor exploded up from the 
surface of the ocean. It caught the hull of Tagaka's cutter 
and listed the ship to the side, tearing wooden planks off the 
frame as easily as paper off a kite. 

A wave of displaced water swept over the iceberg, 
knocking pirates off their feet and smashing crates to 
splinters. Out of self-preservation, Tagaka reflexively raised a 
waist-high wall of ice, damming and diverting the surge. But 
the barrier protected Kyoshi as well, giving her time to 
attack again. She leaped straight into the air and landed 
with her fists on the ice. 

Farther out, the sea boiled. Screams came from the lead 
warships as more crags of basalt rose in their path. The 



bowsprits of the vessels that couldn't turn in time snapped 
like twigs. The groan of timber shattering against rock filled 
the air, as hideous as a chorus of wounded animals. 

Kyoshi dropped to her knees, panting and heaving. She'd 
meant to keep going, to bring the earth close enough to 
defend herself, but the effort had immediately sapped her to 
the point where she could barely raise her head. 

Tagaka turned around. Her face, so controlled over the 
past two days, spasmed in every direction. 

“What in the name of the spirits?" she whispered as she 
flipped her jian over for a downward stab. The speed at 
which Tagaka moved to kill her made it clear that she'd be 
fine living without an answer. 

“Kyoshi! Stay low!" 

Kyoshi instinctively obeyed Rangi's voice and flattened 
herself out. She heard and felt the scorch of a fire blast 
travel over her, knocking Tagaka away. 

With a mighty roar, Pengpeng strafed the iceberg, Rangi 
and Hei-Ran blasting flame from the bison's left and right, 
scattering the pirates as they attempted to regroup. Jianzhu 
handled Pengpeng's reins with the skill of an Air Nomad, 
spinning her around for perfectly aimed tail shots of wind 
that drove away clouds of arrows and thrown spears. Kyoshi 
had no idea how they'd escaped the ice, but if any three 
people had the power and resourcefulness to pull it off, it 
was them. 

The fight wasn't over. Some of Tagaka's fleet had made it 
past Kyoshi's obstacles. And from the nearby sinking ships, a 
few Waterbenders declined to panic like their fellows. They 
dove into the water instead, generating high-speed waves 
that carried them toward Tagaka. Her elite guard, coming to 
rescue her. 

Rangi and Hei-Ran jumped down and barraged the pirate 
queen with flame that she was forced to block with sheets of 
water. Rangi's face was covered in blood and her mother had 



only one good arm, but they fought in perfect coordination, 
leaving Tagaka no gaps to mount an offense. 

“We'll handle the Waterbenders!" Hei-Ran shouted over 
her shoulder. “Stop the ships!" 

Jianzhu took a look at the stone monoliths that Kyoshi 
had raised from the seafloor, and then at her. In the heat of 
battle, he chose to pause. He stared hard at Kyoshi, almost 
as if he were doing sums in his head. 

“Jianzhu!" Hei-Ran screamed. 

He snapped out of his haze and took Pengpeng back up. 
They flew toward the nearest formation of stone. Without 
warning, Jianzhu let go of the reins and jumped off the bison 
in midair. 

Kyoshi thought he'd gone mad. He proved her wrong. 

She'd never seen Jianzhu earthbend before, had only 
heard Yun and the staff describe his personal style as 
“different." Unusual. More like a lion dance at the New Year, 
Auntie Mui once said, fanning herself, with a dreamy smile 
on her face. Stable below and wild on top. 

He hadn't been able to earthbend on the iceberg, but 
now Kyoshi had provided him with all of his element that he 
needed. As Jianzhu fell, flat panes of stone peeled off the 
crag and flew up to meet him. They arranged themselves 
into a manic, architectural construction with broad daylight 
showing through the triangular gaps, a steep ramp that he 
landed on without losing his momentum. 

He sprinted toward the escaping ships, in a direction he 
had no room to go. But as he ran, his arms coiled and 
whipped around him like they had minds of their own. He 
flicked his fists using minute twists of his waist, and 
countless sheets of rock fastened themselves into a bridge 
under his feet. Jianzhu never broke stride as he traveled on 
thin air, suspended by his on-the-fly earthworks. 

Fire blasts and waterspouts shot up from the benders 
manning the ships. Jianzhu nimbly leaped and slid over 



them. The ones aimed at the stone itself did surprisingly 
little damage, as the structure was composed of chaotic, 
redundant braces. 

He raced ahead of the lead ship, crossing its path with his 
bridge. Right as Kyoshi thought he'd extended too far, that 
he'd run out of stone and thinned his support beyond what 
it could hold, he leaped to safety, landing on top of a nearby 
ice floe. 

The precarious, unnatural assembly began to crumble 
without Jianzhu's bending to keep it up. First the individual 
pieces began to flake off. Chunks of falling rock bombarded 
the lead ship from high above, sending the crew members 
diving for cover as the wooden deck punctured like leather 
before an awl. 

But their suffering had only begun. The base of the 
bridge simply let itself go, bringing the entire line of stone 
down across the prow. The ship's aft was levered out of the 
waterline, exposing the rudder and barnacled keel. 

The rest of the squadron didn't have time to turn. One 
follower angled away from the disaster. It managed to avoid 
crashing its hull, but the change of direction caused the 
vessel to tilt sharply to the side. The tip of its rigging caught 
on the wreckage, and then the ship was beheaded of its 
masts and sails, the wooden pillars snapped off, a child's toy 
breaking at its weakest points. 

The last remaining warship bringing up the rear might 
have made it out, assuming some dazzling feat of heroic 
seamanship. Instead it wisely decided to drop anchor and 
call it quits. If Tagaka's power was in her fleet, then the 
Avatar's companions had destroyed it. Now they just had to 
live long enough to claim their victory. 

"You did good, kid," said a man with a husky voice and an 
accent like Master Amak's. "They'll be telling stories about 
this for a long time." 



Kyoshi spun around, afraid a pirate had gotten the drop 
on her, but there was no one there. The motion made her 
dizzy. Too dizzy. She sank to her knees, a drawn-out, lengthy 
process, and slumped onto the ice. 



THE FRACTURE 


It was warm. So warm that when Kyoshi woke up in the 
mansion's infirmary, she thought it would be Rangi sitting in 
the chair by the bed. She hoped it was. 

Instead it was Jianzhu. 

Kyoshi clutched her blankets tighter and then realized 
she was being silly. Jianzhu was her boss and her benefactor. 
He'd given Kelsang the money to take care of her. And while 
she'd never crossed the courteous distance that lay between 
them, there was no reason to feel uncomfortable around the 
earth sage. 

That was what she told herself. 

Her throat burned with thirst. Jianzhu had a gourd of 
water at the ready, anticipating her need, and handed it 
over. She tried to gulp it as decorously as she could but 
spilled some on her sheets, causing him to chuckle. 

“I always had the hunch you were hiding something from 
me," he said. 

She nearly choked. 

"I remember the day you and Kelsang told me about your 
problem with earthbending," Jianzhu said with a smile that 
stayed firmly on the lower half of his face. "You said that you 
couldn't manipulate small things. That you could only move 
good-sized boulders of a regular shape. Like a person whose 
fingers were too thick and clumsy to pick up a grain of 
sand." 

That was true. Most schools of earthbending didn't know 
how to deal with a weakness like Kyoshi's. Students started 



out bending the smallest pebbles, and as their strength and 
technique grew, they moved to bigger and heavier chunks 
of earth. 

Despite Kelsang's protests, Kyoshi had long since decided 
that she wouldn't bother formally training in bending. It 
hadn't seemed like a problem worth solving at the time. 
Earthbending was mostly useless indoors, especially so 
without precision. 

"You didn't tell me the reverse applied," Jianzhu said. 
"That you could move mountains. And you were separated 
from the ocean bed by two hundred paces. Not even I can 
summon earth from across that distance. Or across water." 

The empty gourd trembled as she put it on the bedside 
table. "I swear I didn't know," Kyoshi said. "I didn't think I 
could do what I did, but Yun was in danger and I stopped 
thinking and I—where is Yun? Is he okay? Where's Kelsang?" 

"You don't need to worry about them." He slumped 
forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees, his fingers 
knotted together. His clothes draped from his joints in a way 
that made him look thin and weary. He stared at the floor in 
silence for an uncomfortably long time. 

"The Earth Kingdom," Jianzhu said. "It's kind of a mess, 
don't you think?" 

Kyoshi was more surprised by his tone than his random 
change of subject. He'd never relaxed this much around her 
before. She didn't imagine he spoke this informally with Yun. 

"I mean, look at us," he said. "We have more than one 
king. Northern and southern dialects are so different they're 
starting to become separate languages. Villagers in Yokoya 
wear as much blue as green, and the Si Wong people barely 
share any customs with the rest of the continent." 

Kyoshi had heard Kelsang express admiration for the 
diversity of the Earth Kingdom on several occasions. But 
perhaps he was speaking from the perspective of a visitor. 



Jianzhu made the Earth Kingdom sound like different pieces 
of flesh stitched together to close a wound. 

“Did you know that the word for daofei doesn't really 
exist in the other nations?" he said. “Across the seas, they're 
just called criminals. They have petty goals, never reaching 
far beyond personal enrichment. 

“But here in the Earth Kingdom, daofei find a level of 
success that goes to their heads and makes them believe 
they're a society apart, entitled to their own codes and 
traditions. They can gain control over territory and get a 
taste of what it's like to rule. Some of them turn into spiritual 
fanatics, believing that their looting and pillaging is in 
service of a higher cause." 

Jianzhu sighed. “It's all because Ba Sing Se is not a truly 
effective authority," he said. “The Earth King's power waxes 
and wanes. It never reaches completely across the land as it 
should. Do you know what's holding the Earth Kingdom 
together right now, in its stead?" 

She knew the answer but shook her head anyway. 

“Me." He didn't sound proud to say it. “I am what's 
keeping this giant, ramshackle nation of ours from 
crumbling into dust. Because we've been without an Avatar 
for so long, the duty has fallen on me. And because I have 
no claim on leadership from noble blood, I have to do it 
solely by creating ties of personal loyalty." 

He glanced up at her with sadness in his eyes. “Every 
local governor and magistrate from here to the Northern Air 
Temple owes me. I give them grain in times of famine; I help 
them gather the taxes that pay the police salaries. I help 
them deal with rebels. 

“My reach has to extend beyond the Earth Kingdom as 
well," Jianzhu said. “I know every bender who might 
accurately call themselves a teacher of the elements in each 
of the Four Nations, and who their most promising pupils 
are. I've funded bending schools, organized tournaments. 



and settled disputes between styles before they ended in 
blood. Any master in the world would answer my summons.” 

She didn't doubt it. He wasn't a man given to boasting. 
More than once around the house she'd heard the 
expression that Jianzhu's word, his friendship, was worth 
more than Beifong gold. 

Another person might have swelled with happiness while 
looking back over the power they wielded. Jianzhu simply 
sounded tired. "You wouldn't know any of this,” he said. 
"Other than the disaster on the iceberg, you've never really 
been outside the shelter of Yokoya.” 

Kyoshi swallowed the urge to tell him that wasn't true, 
that she still remembered the brief glimpses she'd seen of 
the greater world, long ago. But that would have meant 
talking about her parents. Opening a different box of vipers 
altogether. Just the notion of exposing that part of her to 
Jianzhu caused her pulse to quicken. 

He picked up on her distress and narrowed his eyes. "So 
you see, Kyoshi,” he said. "Without personal loyalty, it all 
falls apart!” 

He made a sudden bending motion toward the ceiling as 
if to bring it crashing down onto their heads. Kyoshi flinched 
before remembering the room was made of wood. A trickle of 
dust leaked through the roof beams and lay suspended in 
the air, a cloud above them. 

"Given what I've told you,” he said. "Is there anything 
you want to tell me? About what you did on the ice?” 

Was there anything she wanted to tell the man who had 
taken her in off the street? That there was a chance he'd 
made a blunder that could destroy everything he'd worked 
for, and that her very existence might spell untold chaos for 
their nation? 

No. She and Kelsang had to wait it out. Find evidence that 
she wasn't the Avatar, give Yun the time he needed to prove 
himself conclusively. 



“I'm sorry," she said. “I truly wasn't aware of my own 
limits. I just panicked and lashed out as hard as I could. 
Rangi told me she often firebends stronger when she's 
angry; maybe it was like that." 

Jianzhu smiled again, the expression calcifying on his 
face. He clapped his hands to his knees and pushed himself 
up to standing. 

“You know," he said. “I've fought daofei Wke Tagaka across 
the length and breadth of this continent for so long that the 
one thing I've learned is that they're not the true problem. 
They're a symptom of what happens when people think they