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Wong plucked the fan out of Kyoshi’s hand and snapped it open. He tossed it into the air and it spun perfectly around its pivot pin, the leaf tracing circles as it flew. He twirled around himself and caught the fan behind his back before lifting it coquettishly to his face.
“The peony sheds its beauty before the moon,” he sang in a deep, beautiful, vibrant voice, using the surface of the fan to reflect and amplify the sound. “Shamed by the light of a spirit so pure / I leap to catch its petals / and mourn for what I have left unsaid.”
He thrust the fan all around him in a series of flitting gestures, the leaf opening and closing rapidly like the beating of insect wings. It was an expertly performed dance. But Kyoshi knew it could also have been a sequence of attacks, defensive weaving, evasion and retaliation against multiple opponents.
With a flourish, Wong ended the performance in a traditional heroic pose, a deep stance with his arms spread wide, his head intentionally wobbling side to side with the leftover energy from his motions. It was a showcase of classic poetry, older than old school. Auntie Mui would have fainted with delight.
Kyoshi applauded, the only appropriate response to a display of skill that great. “Where did that come from?” she asked.
“Hark. We have a lineage through your father’s side that traces back to one of the Royal Theater schools in Ba Sing Se,” Kirima said. “And we stay sharp enough at performing to have plausible cover in the cities we visit. We’re the Flying Opera Company, after all.”
She raised a leg behind her, over her head, and kept it going until she completed a forward-facing, no-handed cartwheel, a move that elite dancers saved for the climax of their performances. Kirima looked like she could have done her market shopping, traveling that way.
Kyoshi was astonished. That would explain how they were so light on their feet. Royal Theater performers were known to be some of the most physically capable people in the Earth Kingdom, able to mimic dozens of martial styles on the stage and act out dangerous stunts without getting hurt. It made her feel better about the agreement they’d struck. She could get some extra value out of the bargain.
Wong folded the fan and handed it back to her. “I’ll teach you to use this,” he said. “For a fifth of your shares on any future jobs we do.”
“Deal,” Kyoshi said quickly. She didn’t know what shares were, but she would have paid nearly any price to better understand her weapons.
Rangi and Kirima both smacked their hands against their foreheads, but for different reasons. “You could have gotten at least half,” Kirima said to Wong.
Lek popped his head around the side of Pengpeng. “Do you want to get going, or do you want to sit here rubbing each other’s backs all day?” he said.
“Hey, Lek, guess who the newest member of the gang is,” Kirima said. “Official and everything.”
Lek’s eyebrows squeezed together in frustration. “You cannot be serious!” he yelled. He waved his arm at Kyoshi like she was a fake vase they’d brought home. “She doesn’t care about the Code! She’s abider chaff! She’s squarer than the hole in an Earth Kingdom coin!”
“And she has a bison,” Kyoshi snapped. “So unless you like walking, I suggest you deal with me being part of your stupid outlaw family.” If Kirima or Wong took offense to her regression in attitude toward daofei, they didn’t show it.
“I am never calling you kin,” Lek spat. He went back to making final adj
ustments on Pengpeng’s reins. He’d saddled the giant bison by himself—in impressive time too. Neither Kyoshi nor Rangi could find any fault with the work he’d done as they mounted Pengpeng.
Lek took offense at their examination. “I know what I’m doing,” he said. “I probably have more practice than you two.”
“If we’re being perfectly honest, our whole reputation was built on Jesa’s bison,” Kirima said. “We might talk a good game, but Longyan did all the work. Smuggling’s a cinch when you can just fly over checkpoints.”
She and Wong finished loading and climbed onto Pengpeng’s back. Rangi marked her territory in the driver’s seat, daring Lek to challenge her for it. He compensated for his downgrade in the pecking order by pulling a crude map out of his pocket. Real leaders navigated and scheduled.
“We’re going to a meeting post in the mountains outside Ba Sing Se,” he said, denting the paper with his finger. “We’ll get the latest news from other groups and find a few easy jobs to get our feet back into the water.”
Rangi lifted off. The late-morning sun had yet to turn oppressive. And with the prep work having been done by extra hands, Pengpeng’s unhurried climb into the cool air almost felt relaxing.
“How did the two of you get a bison?”
Lek’s sudden question was tinged with suspicion and jealousy. “Neither of you were raised Air Nomad,” he said. “And this girl would never let you fly her unless she’d already known you for a long time. Did you steal her from an Airbender friend?”
In her head, Kyoshi silently thanked Lek for reminding her of her duty. This was where she needed to stay. Down in the muck, painted in hatred for herself and her enemy, not flying in the wind with Kelsang. “Yes,” Kyoshi said. “I did.”
Rangi gave her a worried glance, not understanding why she’d lie. Lek shook his head in disgust. “Separating a monk from their bison?” he said. “That’s cold. Though I should have expected such low behavior from someone who doesn’t respect their mother and father.”
Kyoshi said nothing and stared into the distance, where the horizon broke into jagged formations against the sky. The empty feeling was good. It absolved her of choice, allowed her to think of herself as merely a vessel, an agent of balance.
But her tranquility was broken when she noticed something missing. “Wait,” she said, turning around in the saddle. “Where’s Lao Ge?”
OBLIGATIONS
“I always had a feeling I would be undone by a fancy party,” Jianzhu muttered.
