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“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.
