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“I lost a koala sheep in the mountains! Give me the luck I need to find it!”
Kyoshi wasn’t surprised by the reception. Outside of Yokoya, whose tightfisted residents tended to view Kelsang as a nuisance, Air Nomads were often seen by Earth Kingdom commonfolk as bearers of good fortune. Since monks and nuns would have to stop at villages across the world along their journeys from temple to temple, most peasants gladly provided Airbenders hospitality in exchange for help with chores, news and entertaining stories from other parts of the world, or a promise to relay messages to distant relatives.
Having an Air Nomad say a few words of spiritual blessing over a new barn or baby was considered great luck among those who rarely encountered members of the wandering nation. She was glad to see the same attitude prevailed here across the sea.
Jinpa stepped forward and raised his glider-staff. “May those whom this wind touches be successful in business and health!” he shouted.
He whirled his staff with its tail fins open, creating a wide, gentle breeze that swept broadly over the fairground. It was a speedy and equitable distribution of luck, more efficient than trying to bless everyone in turn. The workers sighed and held their arms wide, trying to catch as much of the invisible wealth as possible.
Jinpa closed his staff to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd, a more boisterous response than the muted applause the Fire nobles had given him. “I have no idea if any of that stuff works,” he whispered to his group. “But it makes people happy.”
“Folk here seem less uptight than in the capital,” Atuat said. The stall vendors had noticed her polar origins and reasoned that if Atuat had traveled very far to be here, she must have had a lot of money. They shifted their attention away from Jinpa, who might have had the spirits on his side, but not cold hard cash.
“Water princess!” they cried at Atuat. “Queen of the snow, this way! This way for the best games, the best drinks! Only the best for a queen!”
“I really should be treated like royalty more,” Atuat said. She smiled and waved at the workers like a dignitary stationed atop a slowly moving carriage.
“Can we trust you two to keep attention off the rest of our backs?” Hei-Ran said.
“Of course,” Jinpa said. “Sifu Atuat and I will see to it that the three of you can conduct your business with discretion. She and I will—Oh dear, that’s all of our money, isn’t it?”
Atuat was busy dumping a large purse of coins onto a table in exchange for gambling tokens. Jinpa nodded at Hei-Ran as reassuringly as he could before joining the doctor.
Hei-Ran tried to tamp down the veins in her head with her fingers. “This is my punishment,” she said. Once she’d recovered from her friend-induced headache, she led them in a meandering path through the tents, choosing lefts and rights with certainty. Occasionally she would stop and sniff at the air, her nostrils flaring.
“Yes, it smells bad here,” Rangi said. “What were you expecting? We’re near a rotting seaweed bed.”
“What I’m looking for has no odor,” Hei-Ran said. “I’m trying to see if I’m getting any dizzier.”
Instead of explaining her cryptic statement, she picked her way through two stalls that weren’t meant to have a path between them. Their owners didn’t appreciate her crossing the lines of business, but a sharp glare from the headmistress convinced them to withhold their objections. Kyoshi felt compelled to mumble apologies as she wedged herself into the gap to keep up.
They came to a large tent all on its lonesome. It was made of cloth greased with flax oil, in the manner of ship sails desig
ned to let as little air through them as possible. The structure looked so stained and flammable that an errant cough from a Firebender would send the whole thing up in smoke.
A sign posted outside said Spirit Visions of the Future. Either the characters were painted in wavy lines in a blurred approximation of a dreamlike state, or the painter simply didn’t care enough to keep his strokes neat. Hei-Ran lifted the entrance flap with the tip of her cane. The three of them ducked inside.
“Welcome!” the sole occupant bellowed, throwing his arms in the air to hail his potential customers. “Are you interested in divining the secrets of the Spirit World? Do you hunger for a glimpse of the great tapestry of the future? Unlike what fraudulent soothsayers and mystics might claim, dear visitor, the power for such visions lies within you! For a small price, let me merely be . . . your humble GUIDE!”
“Nyahitha,” Hei-Ran said. “It’s me.”
The man blinked, adjusting to the light they’d let in. “Oh,” he said, dropping his arms. “It’s you.”
He was about Hei-Ran’s age. His pockmarked face bore the markers of a rougher life, more days in the open sun. He was wearing costume pieces intended to mimic a Fire Sage’s ceremonial outfit, a pointed hat and wide shoulder pieces over bare arms. The effect was less convincing than Chaejin’s mock–Fire Lord robes.
The tent was empty except for some throw rugs and cushions. In the center, a metal device that resembled a charcoal brazier was jammed straight into the ground. There was no fuel in it though, only a small knob on the side of the pot.
Kyoshi hoped the man would offer them a seat so she could stop cricking her neck to fit inside the tent. But he and Hei-Ran opted to stare at each other in cold silence, drawing upon what were obviously old memories and intense dislikes.
“Why are you here?” Nyahitha said. He’d stopped shouting and was speaking to them in a quiet, clipped tone.
“Kuruk’s reincarnation needs your help,” Hei-Ran said, gesturing to Kyoshi.
That was Kyoshi’s least favorite way for people to refer to her Avatarhood. But if it got her what she wanted, then fine. She bowed to Nyahitha.
The sage pretender eyed her up and down. Kyoshi had the same uncomfortable feeling of being bored into that Tagaka and Lao Ge had given her. Older folk who would find her dark depths before she could herself.
“Sit,” he said. He turned his back on them and left through the rear of the tent.
