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“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 latch on to. Talking will only 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.
