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“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 over fire. 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
