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He was too dried out to cry and too weary to cry out. Here, among humans, the earth did not automatically shake itse
lf asunder in obeisance to his emotions. There was nowhere for the pain to go, no reflection of his suffering. Another wave of grief swelled inside him, and he could only cling to his own sides, powerless, trying not to drown.
“Oh come on!” a man shouted loud enough to rattle the waxed paper covering a window above Yun’s head. “You’re docking me half a week for one missed day?”
“You should be grateful you’re not fired,” someone else replied calmly, probably the owner of the teahouse. “You miss your shift, you don’t get paid. How hard is it to show up for work when you’re supposed to?”
“It’s because you insist on using that stupid calendar!” said the first one. “The six thousand twenty-whatever-eth day of the Era of Yun? What are you, some Upper Ring ninny who sleeps with a portrait of the Avatars under his pillow? It’s not going to make this dump any fancier!”
Yun froze at hearing his own name. They were referring to the Avatar calendar. Six thousand and twenty-odd days into his era meant Yun had been trapped in the Spirit World for about a week.
“I’m surprised you’re not a greater devotee,” the owner said to his delinquent worker. “Didn’t the Avatar save your sorry hide from the big bad pirate queen?”
“Wait, what?” a woman said. Boots clunked to the floor like she’d taken them off a chair to sit up in interest. “I never heard about this. You were one of Tagaka’s hostages?”
“Gow here is originally from Lansou Village on the other side of these mountains,” the owner said. “He got nabbed like a gold piece left in the street. Whisked away like a poached pig chicken.”
“Oh, cram it,” said the other man. “You tell the story more often than I do.” He sounded like he viewed the whole experience as embarrassing instead of harrowing, like tripping into a pile of manure.
Yun squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been thrown one last bit of luck. He summoned the energy to stand up, unsure if he could do it again after this.
There was no door, only an empty frame with a curtain tied to the side. As he entered, Yun knocked on the wooden strut to draw the attention of the people inside. “Sorry to trouble you,” he said.
He’d seen finer establishments, to say the least. The interior was furnished with rope spools for tables. The benches were overturned supply crates. The owner, a burly man with heavy-lidded eyes and hairy arms, was in the middle of wiping used cups, evidently the only cleaning they ever saw.
His gaze dipped to Yun’s chest, where no tags were to be found. “What do you want?”
“I could use some water. Please.”
He heard a laugh come from the woman sitting at a table. She had wavy hair tied back low on her head and a round, flat face. Her boots were caked with dried slurry, but only up to the ankle. She must have been a shift boss from the mines. A regular worker would have been covered in the filth from head to toe, nor would they be in a teahouse in the middle of the day. Yun did his best not to stare at the steaming pot in front of her, or the long, damp leaves poking out from under the lid of her ceramic gaiwan.
“Do you have money?” the owner said.
“I do not.” His pockets were empty. And after clawing his way back to the mortal world, Yun’s once-fine robes were no longer capable of convincing anyone he was rich.
“Then get out.” The owner said it with so little malice that it sounded like a pleasant Good afternoon.
Yun expected this response, but he had one last desperate counter play. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation about the Avatar. You, someone who obviously respects the master of all four elements.” He bowed slightly at the owner before turning to Gow. “And you, sir, whom the Avatar rescued from danger.”
Gow was thinner in body and face than his boss, and in the habit of shifting his weight from side to side where he stood. “Yeah?” he said defensively, his pinched features turning even narrower in suspicion. “What of it?”
“I know it sounds hard to believe,” Yun said. “But I’m the . . .”
He hitched. An era passed in silence, the almost-lie stuck to his lips.
“I’m Yun,” he said, recovering. “I am the man your calendar refers to. I led the rescue efforts in the southern seas.” He gave it a moment to sink in. “Now, I ask you again, can I please have some water?”
Perhaps he would have been taken seriously had he not hesitated over his identity. Perhaps it wouldn’t have made a difference. The owner’s sleepy-looking eyes sparked with amusement, not reverence.
“I don’t know,” he said. He tilted his head at Yun. “Gow, is this your savior?”
Gow squinted. “The sailors who picked us up off that iceberg were Fire Navy. I didn’t see an Avatar do anything to rescue me.”
“Yes, but I—you see, it’s—” Yun’s hand went to his head. A quick way to explain the complexities and logistics of transporting over a thousand kidnapped Earth Kingdom villagers eluded him.
The owner took advantage of his loss for words by going to the stove and placing a fresh cast-iron pot on it. From the heavy way it clanked, it was full. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You can have all the water you want, provided you stay right over there.” He rapped the pot with his knuckles. “Here. Have a drink on me.”
Yun’s jaw fell. “You . . . What?”
