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FOR THE HEALERS AND THE HEALING
PROLOGUE The frigid wind howled like a vengeful spirit as it rolled off the mountains and whipped across the frozen lake. The hunters—two specks in a vast expanse of white—lowered their hooded heads and shielded their faces against the biting cold. Their progress was slow and would only get slower. Not only were their harpoons and hearts heavy, but ahead lay the dense white haze of an approaching blizzard swallowing the horizon. “We should return to camp,” Aasu called out to his father after the gust relented long enough to raise his face. Aasu’s father, a towering caribou-bear of a man named Qarsoq, let the wind carry his son’s words away. It was an obvious enough truth under normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances. Their quarry had been missing from the usual migration routes throughout the summer, and they could not return empty-handed yet again. In another era, Qarsoq and Aasu would have simply adapted and followed the animals’ shifting movements, taking their tribe with them. However, their family—like many in the North—had moved to the capital years ago, so they were now beholden to the trading companies. Companies who told them when and where to hunt. Companies who valued efficiency over tradition. Companies quick to sever services. So father and son resumed prodding at the ice buried beneath the snow with the tips of their harpoons, searching for one of the small circular openings through which the turtle-seals took their breaths. They whistled to keep track of each other and snuck glances at the horizon to follow the storm’s approach. Time and time again, their harpoons struck only solid ice. The wind picked up. The snow arrived. When Aasu next raised his eyes,
the white had swallowed not only the mountains in the distance but also Qarsoq. Aasu listened until he caught the faint sound of his father’s whistle, then clenched his jaw, tightened his grip on his harpoon, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. A few taps later, Aasu’s breath hitched as the pole pushed through snow and splashed into water. He prodded the spot a few more times to be certain, then dug until he uncovered a hole in the ice the size of a fist. So small—an immeasurably improbable discovery. His chapped lips cracked as he broke out in a wide grin. Surely, it was more than luck. Fate had guided his hand and would soon deliver a turtle-seal with enough meat to quiet the company’s concerns about his skills. Aasu let out a long, piercing whistle to signal his find, and Qarsoq trudged through the deepening snow with pride glimmering in his eyes. Aasu remained stoic even as his heart soared. His father had always taught him that humility is the companion of true strength. Wordlessly, they took up positions on either side of the breathing hole, raised their harpoons, and waited for a whiskered snout to break the water’s surface. And waited. And waited. The wind whistled. The snow whirled. Ice creaked and groaned in the distance. The cold stung Aasu’s face. His muscles began to tremble, and his focus flickered. He fought the urge to break his stance and shake out his limbs, for Qarsoq had also taught him that patience was the difference between weakness and strength, between failure and success, between death and survival. But he did not have to wait much longer. A turtle-seal burst through the breathing hole, slammed into Qarsoq, and knocked him onto his back in the snow. The creature pinned the hunter down and tore into him as his screams shattered the quiet. Heart pounding and eyes wide, Aasu hurled his harpoon—but it glanced harmlessly off the turtle-seal’s hard shell. The creature whipped around, black eyes targeting Aasu as it bared bloody, serrated teeth. Its slick skin was mottled with purple bruises, and it was foaming at the mouth. Aasu froze.
This shouldn’t be happening. Turtle-seals aren’t feral like arctic wolves. They can’t break through the ice like lion-orcas. They don’t maul humans like polar bear–dogs. Yet a dozen paces away was his father, groaning and writhing weakly in the snow, trapped beneath just such a creature, which was now letting out barking, gargled snarls. It slithered off Qarsoq’s body and prowled slowly toward Aasu, dragging itself forward on its front flippers with twitchy, erratic movements. Aasu swallowed and stood his ground. He wasn’t a Waterbender, but he had a knife sheathed at his waist beneath his parka. Slowly, he began to reach for it as the turtle-seal continued its menacing approach. The beast was five or six paces away by the time Aasu’s mitt was under his parka. It was two or three away by the time his trembling gloved hand grasped the knife’s hilt. Aasu was about to unsheathe the blade when the turtle-seal faltered and broke eye contact. It let out several choking coughs, stumbled forward a few more paces, then collapsed into the snow. Its chest rose and fell with wheezing breaths as the fight and light drained away. Silence returned. Aasu exhaled. He had no idea what had happened to the creature, but he didn’t care. He rushed past it and dove to his father’s side. “Father!” he cried. Qarsoq’s face was pale, his body was ravaged, and he was no longer moving. But his eyes fluttered open at the sound of his son’s voice as thick flakes fell upon them. He was alive, but for how much longer? Panic thrummed through Aasu. What to do now? Would it be safe to move Qarsoq? Aasu didn’t have a choice. He lifted his gaze to find himself enveloped in a swirling world of white. The blizzard—which he’d forgotten in the chaos of the attack—was now fully upon them. Would he be able to find their camp in this? And if so, where was the nearest outpost that might have a healer? He was about to turn his attention back to his father when a figure began to emerge from the snow in the middle distance. A person—or a hallucination. After all, who would be all the way out here in the middle of a storm? A third possibility entered his mind as the figure grew closer, grew clearer. He had grown up hearing stories of a human-shaped spirit who helped those lost on the ice find their way to safety. Perhaps this was that spirt.
“Help us, please!” Aasu called in case he was not imagining things. “My father’s badly hurt!” The person or spirit or hallucination said nothing but continued to approach. Soon, Aasu could make out the silhouette of a tribesman in winter furs. No—a tribeswoman, judging by the parka’s longer, curved hemline. Her hood was up and drawn tight, so he couldn’t see her full face. She stopped and knelt next to the turtle-seal. She poked and prodded at the body, turned it over, and leaned closer. Her shoulders sagged, and she let out what sounded like a disappointed scoff—although Aasu couldn’t imagine why. “Please!” he called again, frustrated by her lack of urgency. “We need your help!” The tribeswoman hesitated for a moment, stood, then resumed walking toward him—still at an unhurried pace. Aasu glanced down at his father, whose eyes had closed. He shook the man as he urged him to wake up, but Qarsoq remained unresponsive. A lump formed in Aasu’s throat as his heart began to break. He looked up to find the woman standing over them. She was tall with a strong jaw and dark braided hair peeking out from beneath her hood, which still shrouded her eyes. “It finally worked,” Aasu heard the woman mutter to herself as she examined Qarsoq’s mutilated body. “But not for long enough . . .” “Please,” Aasu begged, ignoring her strange comments. “Whoever you are —” “Atka,” the tribeswoman interrupted unexpectedly. “Okay—Atka,” Aasu repeated. “Help him. Please.” But the woman who called herself Atka shook her head. “I’m not here to help,” she said, her words as frigid as the water churning unseen below the buried ice. With that, Atka turned and walked away. Aasu continued calling after her, but the wailing wind drowned out his curses and cries for help as she vanished through the veil of swirling snow.
THE SHARPEST SCYTHE Roku was ready—but he hesitated at the threshold. The sense that he was forgetting something nagged at him, so he turned around to examine the small room one final time. There wasn’t much to forget though. The prince’s crown sat atop his head, his fire bamboo staff was in hand, and his satchel was slung across his body. He had no other possessions, and the simple furnishings within the room all belonged to the Southern Air Temple. Everything else he’d need for his journey had already been packed on Lola’s saddle. Roku’s lingering gaze shifted to the open window. It was a clear morning. Golden light poured over the surrounding mountaintops, making the temple’s ivory towers glow and its blue spires gleam. A sky bison soared past, chased by a scattering of flying lemurs and gliding Airbenders. He wasn’t forgetting anything—he was missing something. This place, before he’d even left. This life. These people. Abbott Rabten and his absent- minded wonder. Sister Disha and her patient wisdom. Gyatso and his gentle sarcasm. The last time he’d left a place he’d called home, he’d been forced to part with a city and a life and a friend he’d never thought he’d leave to confront a destiny he had never asked for, had never wanted. He had felt like something was being ripped away. Now he felt more that the seasons were simply shifting. Even so, one could miss summer’s warmth as they welcomed autumn’s chill and changing leaves. Because, after three years, Roku was done here. Three years of meditation sessions and breathing exercises and philosophy lessons. Of chores and relief missions. Of meatless meals. Of riding sky bison and sailing gliders. Of learning to shift fluidly between spiraling forms to
push and pull and shape and guide the air until intention became instinct and his own flowing energy became an extension of the wind. In other words, he had finally mastered airbending. A breeze stirred behind Roku, pulling his attention back indoors. He turned to find Sister Disha, a petite Air Nun with the blue arrow tattooed over her bald scalp. When Roku had first met his airbending master, he’d stood a full head taller than her. Now it was closer to two. She entered, hands clasped behind her back. Her eyes wandered around the room as his had. “I traveled to Agna Qel’a a few times when I was Avatar Kyoshi’s companion,” she said. “Your lodgings in the Northern Water Tribe’s capital will be much closer to what you’re accustomed to as a Fire Nation noble.” “But how’s the view?” Roku asked. “Icy,” she said. “Especially in the dead of winter. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait to depart so you arrive in spring? As much as you’ve learned from us, regulating your body temperature like an Air Nomad can’t be taught. Besides, my affairs at the Eastern Air Temple should be concluded by then, and I’d be able to accompany you north.” Roku shook his head. “It’s time.” “That it is,” Sister Disha conceded. “You were ready for your airbending trials months ago when Gyatso underwent his.” Roku wasn’t so sure that was true. “Can I tell Gyatso you said that? Maybe he’ll stop bragging about how he beat me to it.” “If you must.” She smiled sadly. “Anyway, it was a stroke of good fortune that the royal family’s invitation arrived when it did. Now the two of you will get to say a long goodbye without this old woman tagging along.” “I suppose so.” Roku matched her smile with a sad one of his own. Gyatso had been tasked with establishing the Fire and Air Center for Learning, the first site in the capital where the Air Nomads would be able to properly share their teachings with Fire Nationals. So after Roku had received Lord Taiso’s summons, he had decided he would escort Gyatso to the Fire Nation before heading north alone. “Just don’t let him take you too far off course trying to find an unagi to surf,” Sister Disha cautioned, shaking her head. “It’s all he’s been talking about these last few days.” “I’ll try my best,” Roku said. “But I’m only the Avatar.”
“It’s important to know one’s limitations.” Roku chuckled. “Thank you for not giving up on me, Sister.” The Air Nun nodded. They both remembered Roku’s first few weeks at the Southern Air Temple, when he’d masked his insecurity with arrogance and impatience. In direct defiance of her instructions, he’d even snuck away with Gyatso to one of the Fire Nation’s outer islands—now known as Lambak Island—that Prince Sozin claimed the Earth Kingdom had been trying to steal. The truth of the situation turned out to be much more convoluted, and Roku wouldn’t have made it off the island alive without the help of Gyatso and an islander named Malaya, who wasn’t so lucky herself. After the ordeal, he’d expected anger and punishment in the face of his disobedience. He had even worried that Sister Disha might abandon him as a student altogether. However, instruction through punishment was the way of the Fire Nation, not the way of the Air Nomads. Sister Disha was far more relieved than upset when she found Gyatso and Roku. And when they’d returned to the Southern Air Temple, she and the other elders ensured Roku and Gyatso had the space to meditate, discuss, reflect on, and process all they’d experienced. The ways their actions had helped. The ways their actions had hurt. The regret. The guilt. The shame. The grief. Roku had come to understand how he’d been shaped by his past but did not need to be bound by it, a far more valuable lesson than any bending technique. Roku’s chest tightened at the thought of leaving behind such guidance. He dropped his gaze and adjusted his grip on his staff. “What if I can’t do it?” he said quietly. “Do what?” Sister Disha asked in the familiar tone she used when she wanted him to speak something aloud for himself. Roku sighed. “Be the Avatar the world needs.” Sister Disha wandered over to the window. Again, she met his question with one of her own. “What feeds that fear?” Roku walked up next to her. He breathed in the fresh mountain air and the smoke of the morning’s cooking fires as he tried to find the words to articulate the tangled worries that knotted in his gut. “I just . . . I don’t know. You’re always advising us to look inward. It’s one thing to meditate on that peacefully here at the temple, but I worry if I can do it out there. What if I face a difficult decision and looking inward doesn’t help me figure out the
right thing to do?” Sister Disha turned to Roku. “Like on Lambak Island?” He nodded, thinking of what happened to Malaya as well as how he’d taken the life of that murderous Waterbender, Chief Ulo. “You were untrained and unwilling to listen,” she said. “You’re a different person now.” Roku wasn’t so sure about that. He’d learned much from the Air Nomads over the last few years, but could someone ever truly change their innermost nature? “I’d be more worried,” Sister Disha continued, “if you did not have this concern. It’s an important matter. As the Avatar, many regard you as a tool to fix their problems, a weapon to slay their enemies. They’ll entreat your assistance as if reaching for the heaviest hammer or the sharpest scythe. And always, they will assure you that what they need you to do is ‘right.’ That it is ‘good.’ But remember what you’ve learned here, Avatar Roku. Actions—like people—are neither ‘right’ nor ‘wrong.’ They are neither ‘good’ nor ‘bad.’ Those are words often twisted to justify or obscure or absolve. Your true work is discerning the course of action that will bring harmony.” Roku forced a smile. “Thank you for the reminder, Sister Disha.” His airbending master unclasped her hands and held up a small scroll. “And one more thing before you depart—a final message from your friend.” She winked. He smiled. He knew she meant Ta Min. They’d written to each other so frequently over the years, they’d taken to using a dedicated messenger hawk —a strong, golden-brown feathered bird with a gloomy disposition that softened only when she was plied with treats. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “Nothing from Sozin?” She shook her head. “If anything arrives after you leave, we’ll send it north.” They both knew nothing would. For some reason, Sozin hadn’t responded to any of Roku’s missives in months. After Roku had written to say he’d be stopping by on the way north, the royal family’s invitation had arrived with no actual message from Sozin. At least he’d see his old friend in person soon enough. Roku reached to take Ta Min’s message, but a sudden breeze blew the scroll from Sister Disha’s fingers. A short, lean Airbender with sleepy eyes
swept into the room, snatched the message out of the air, and grinned. “Ooh,” Gyatso said. “What’s she have to say about the Earth Queen’s court this time?” Before the Air Nomad could break the wax seal, Roku exhaled a puff of air that sent the scroll fluttering back into his own hands. Sister Disha chuckled. “I’ll leave you to it.” She pressed her fists together and bowed. Roku returned the gesture, bowing even more deeply. “It’s been an honor.” “Likewise. May the wind be at your back,” she said. “Please visit if you ever find yourself near the Eastern Air Temple.” “I will,” Roku said, already aching for that day. Then, she was gone. Gyatso brushed past Roku and hopped onto the windowsill, sitting with his back to the open air. “Well?” he asked. “Well, what?” Roku said. Gyatso pointed to the message scroll. “Are you going to read that?” Roku angled his body away, broke the seal, and started to read as if settling into a hot spring. My Dearest Roku, Let me begin by saying congratulations! I have no doubt that by the time you read these words, you will be a master Airbender—I only hope this message reaches you before you depart for the North. The thirty-six tiers you described in your last message indeed sound much more daunting than the trials required of Firebenders, but you’re a studious and disciplined and determined Avatar if ever there was one. I wish I felt as certain about my own endeavors. Omashu’s court politics are as complex as its network of delivery chutes. At times, I find it a thrilling challenge to navigate these ever-shifting alliances and enmities. At other times, I’m left wondering if I am truly cut out for the life of an emissary. It is not exactly how I’d imagined it. Perhaps my father was right, and I should return to the capital and settle down with Prince Sozin. Ha! Did I fool you? The prince should be so lucky! In all seriousness, I wish I could say more about the . . . complicated situation here. Suffice it to say that despite Queen
Guo Xun’s popularity among her people, there are those attempting to diminish her influence by weaving an ever-widening web of bureaucracy. I’d value your advice on a certain matter related to this, but I’ve come to learn that some information is best divulged face-to- face. Tell Gyatso I said hello and that there’s a list waiting for him in the capital of all my favorite vegetarian eateries in the city (since I know you probably never frequented any such place with Yasu or Sozin). May the spirits keep you, Avatar Roku. Send word the moment you reach Agna Qel’a. Until we meet again, Ta Min Roku reread the message, then passed it to Gyatso. As Gyatso read, Roku began mentally drafting a response. He’d be proud to tell Ta Min that she had been right, and he had successfully passed the Air Nomads’ tests. He’d offer her encouragement, in turn. He had no doubt she possessed the intelligence, cunning, and charisma necessary to untangle the knot of Omashu politics and be a valuable diplomat for the Fire Nation. No need to settle for being the wife of the future Fire Lord, he’d joke. “Oooooh,” Gyatso let out in a singsongy voice. “‘Face-to-face,’ eh? I bet she wanted to write ‘lips to lips’!” The wiry Air Nomad closed his eyes and puckered his own lips at the Avatar. Roku sighed. “I can’t believe they granted you your arrows. I’ll meet you at Lola,” he said, and swung his staff as he turned to leave, sending out a soft burst of air that nearly pushed Gyatso out the open window.
EMISSARY OF THE FIRE NATION Ta Min casually scanned the crowded room for her contact, a woman who was supposed to be wearing robes embroidered with red spider lilies. Every Earthbender party had two distinct phases, and the current gathering was in the first. Dignitaries and high-ranking officials stood around stiffly in their finery, chatting amiably as they nibbled at the offerings and sipped their drinks. It was all very refined, very respectable. The second phase commenced after those with the highest social standing departed. People went from sipping to chugging, from nibbling to devouring, from chatting to shouting and singing, from idly standing to dancing. Acrobats and dancers and bawdy players and leashed beasts would be brought out. Behavior that would have brought a generation’s worth of shame upon one’s clan back in the Fire Nation went completely unremarked upon and would be forgotten in the morning. One might think—as Ta Min had in her early days at court—that this was the part of the night during which she might learn the most valuable information. However, that was not the case. People would become sloppy but not careless, and there seemed to be an unspoken rule against discussing anything remotely political at that point. Therefore, she’d quickly learned to leave before the revelry deepened. Continuing to keep an eye out for her contact, Ta Min began to mingle. She listened to the badger-frog-shaped Minister of Commerce brag about how he’d garnered enough support to overturn the queen’s prohibition against using the delivery chutes after dark. She asked an agricultural merchant from Ba Sing Se about the economic policies that were causing the price of rice to soar in the Fire Nation. She met a haggard healer from the Northern Water Tribe who mourned the fact that none of the governments devoted enough attention or resources to the different illnesses spreading as
international trade expanded. She talked with a slow-speaking Sandbender about the spiritual enlightenment attainable via cactus juice. This was the part of the job she enjoyed. Connecting with people from all walks of life, from all over the world, and expanding her knowledge of their customs, cultures, and histories. Someday, she hoped to rise high enough in the ranks that she could truly use this knowledge to build relationships, advocate for policies, and foster cooperation to help maintain peace while improving the lives of the people across the Four Nations. But since Prince Sozin had pulled the necessary strings to post Ta Min in Omashu, he expected more from her in return. He would send messages instructing her to meet one contact or another at a certain time and place, and then that contact would convey the specifics of a “requested” task. Generally, the assignments were of the type he’d never put in writing, becoming riskier as time went on. A sensitive question to answer. A conversation to eavesdrop upon. A rumor to confirm. A story to plant. A message to intercept. In essence, she served as another one of his spies. Completing these additional duties required Ta Min to undergo unofficial training that often took her to the lower, shadier levels of the city. It was there, often late at night, where she brushed up on her firebending, learned to pick locks, practiced scaling stone walls, fashioned convincing disguises, or plied the servants of the rich and powerful for sensitive information about their employers. Ta Min was never given reasons or context to see the larger picture. She was never asked to harm anyone. Yet accomplishing Sozin’s little missions always made her soul feel sullied. Though he had made it clear from the start that the choice was hers, deciding not to help him meant sacrificing her post in Omashu—as well any possible future as an emissary of the Fire Nation. Every time she wrote to Roku, she considered asking his thoughts as to whether it was worth it, but she never did out of fear that it might change the Avatar’s opinion of her. Someone spilled a drink. There was a burst of raucous laughter. The music picked up, and the highest ranking and more reserved started to bid their farewells. Ta Min ground her teeth and scanned the crowd again. Where was her contact? A trio of fire ferrets in matching hats scurried into the middle of the room
and began an astoundingly coordinated dance. It was interrupted after only a few moments, when an overenthusiastic member of the audience stumbled forward, embraced one of the creatures, and wouldn’t let it go. As the animal trainer tried to pry the poor fire ferret from his grip, someone sidled up next to Ta Min. “Dirt eaters . . .” the person muttered in disgust. Ta Min glanced over and was surprised to find she recognized the slender young woman with long black hair and golden-brown skin who was now standing next to her. Even more surprising, the woman was wearing crimson robes with spiny-petaled spider lilies embroidered around the skirt. “Good evening, Dalisay,” Ta Min greeted Princess Zeisan’s ex-girlfriend and Sozin’s confidant, who was known to be one of the most brilliant scientists in the Fire Nation. Dalisay nodded in greeting, eyes still fixed on the undignified chaos unraveling in front of them. The other two fire ferrets had joined the scrum and were yanking the overenthusiastic man’s hair and ears to try to help free their companion while the onlookers chortled. “Shall we?” “You don’t want to see how this turns out?” Ta Min asks. Dalisay made a disgusted face. “I do not.” They slipped away from the crowd and out to the terrace, shutting the doors behind them to muffle the commotion within. They wandered over to the stone balustrade, and Ta Min leaned over it while Dalisay leaned back against it so they were facing opposite directions. It was a cool, clear evening. The nearly full moon glowed overhead, bathing Omashu in soft silver light. The steep, green ceramic-tiled roofs of the innumerable stone structures swept downward in every direction, growing increasingly crowded until they kissed the outer walls toward the base of the mountain. Only a few scattered lanterns remained lit, and the city was still except for the occasional stone carts that whooshed down the labyrinthine chutes. Ta Min steeled herself for whatever unpleasant task lay ahead and cut right to the heart of the matter. “What does he want me to do this time?” Dalisay crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s a meeting in a few days,” she said. “Between Omashu’s Minister of Peace and Ba Sing Se’s.” Ta Min arched an eyebrow. “That’s a big deal,” she noted. Though the two cities were both under the Earth King’s banner, Queen Guo Xun and Earth
King Jialun operated almost independently of each other. The fact that the meeting was between the officials in each city who were charged with quelling internal dissent and protecting their respective regions from external threats piqued Ta Min’s curiosity more than usual. Dalisay nodded. “Prince Sozin would very much like to know what it’s about.” Ta Min grimaced. “The security of such a meeting will be tight. How am I supposed to get close enough to hear their discussion clearly without being discovered?” Dalisay shrugged. “Not my problem,” she said. After sharing exactly when and where the meeting would occur, she headed back inside, leaving Ta Min alone on the terrace to figure things out for herself.
THE BEST AVATAR I KNOW It was a humid, cloudy afternoon when Roku, Gyatso, and Lola approached the volatile outer reaches of the Fire Nation archipelago. The first scattering of islands dotted the horizon across the expanse of deep blue as if some massive spirit had chucked a handful of rocks into the sea. Roku sat up and rolled out his neck. A nauseated feeling settled in his stomach. Excitement, or apprehension? Gyatso smoothed a hand over the tattooed arrow that ran over his scalp, still unused to the raised skin scarred with the sky-blue ink. “How many islands make up the Fire Nation?” he asked. “Over five thousand,” Roku said proudly. “But out here, most are uninhabited.” Some were so small they would disappear with the rising tide. Some were barren landscapes with strange formations, little more than fresh heaps of hardened lava. Some were themselves active volcanoes that could erupt at any moment. And some were sizeable, verdant isles—too remote to settle. Gyatso peered past Lola’s horns, the left one of which was missing its tip. “Are any of those Lambak Island?” he asked. Roku shook his head. “It’s much farther east.” Gyatso cast a plaintive gaze in that direction, even though there was nothing to see but more water, more waves cresting in long, slow rows. “Thinking of Malaya?” Roku asked. Gyatso nodded. “There are some people who stay with you throughout your life,” he reflected, “and some whose path crosses yours briefly but alter you forever.” Roku knew this to be true. You could miss and mourn and love all at the same time without clinging to the despair of stolen futures if you learned to
appreciate how someone’s existence—no matter how brief—continued to resonate throughout the lives of those they’d touched. Still, it never stopped hurting. “May her flame light our way,” Roku said. “I wouldn’t be alive right now if she hadn’t warned me about Chief Ulo.” Another mark against relying on his own judgment. “Neither would I,” Gyatso said, though his remark was less literal. He had started to fall for the young woman, and opening up to her about losing his sister had helped Gyatso reframe his grief and reconnect with his airbending. “But I’ve come to accept I’m destined to lose everyone I love.” A flock of white birds sailed past. Tears welled in the Air Nomad’s eyes as he watched. Roku scooted closer on the saddle and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You haven’t lost me.” Gyatso wiped his eyes. “Not yet.” As the first Fire Islands neared, the dark blue water of the deep turned to the semitransparent turquoise of the shallows. Soon, the sea was dotted with fishing boats, and the coasts were peppered with small villages with humble docks. These gradually gave way to cities with bustling ports, while coastlines smoothed into volcanic plains that led to lush jungles and mountainous valleys. Lola carried them over one final ridge, and on the other side waited a vast harbor. The bay’s placid water was crowded with ships coming and going, flying flags from all over the world. The city hugged the harbor and stretched all the way to the foot of the looming caldera that held the most important buildings of the Fire Nation within, including the Royal Palace. “Welcome to Hari Bulkan,” Roku announced with forced excitement. “The Fire Nation Capital. My old home, and your new one.” “Yay,” Gyatso said just as flatly. After registering at the port, they flew to the caldera and visited Roku’s family. The cook had prepared Roku’s favorite meal from childhood— sinigang soup, white rice, crispy roast pig-chicken, and fresh mango—and on the surface, his parents seemed happy to meet Gyatso and see their surviving son again. There were the expected comments about how tall and strong he’d
grown in his absence, questions about his training at the Southern Air Temple, and judgment about his lack of interest in searching for a wife while he was in town despite his parents’ prepared list of potential candidates. They filled him in on the clan’s business and notified him of the elders who had passed on, most of whom Roku didn’t remember. Yet Roku couldn’t help but notice the way his parents kept exchanging meaningful glances. The way they occasionally started to say something— only to hesitate and change the subject. And then they swiftly excused themselves from dinner without touching the fried plantain, even before tea was served. “There’s something important they’re not telling me,” Roku said to Gyatso as he watched the servants begin to clear the dishes. Gyatso shoved Roku’s father’s untouched portion of plantain into his mouth before it was taken away. “Like what?” he asked through the mouthful. “I don’t know,” Roku said. Gyatso swallowed. Wiped his mouth. “I’m sure they’ll tell you when they’re ready.” Roku sighed. “We’re not really the kind of family that is ever ready to talk about difficult things. I’ve spoken with you about Yasu much more than I ever did with them after his death.” Rain began to fall, pelting the roof. Roku led Gyatso to the tearoom, and they sat down on the tatami mats. They waited patiently as the servants brought out the tea and began to prepare it, using firebending to warm the water to perfection. As Roku watched, he marveled at how he had lived the first sixteen years of his life without doing such simple tasks for himself. At sunrise the next morning, Roku and Gyatso meditated, ate a light breakfast, then hiked up to the rim of the caldera and leapt into the open air with their gliders. As they circled over the city beneath another overcast, humid sky, Roku pointed out his favorite bathhouses and eateries and street food vendors, emphasizing those that Gyatso might find most interesting, like a teahouse in which capybara-cats roamed freely. Yet Gyatso remained uncharacteristically quiet, and when the tour concluded and Roku swept
toward the Royal Palace, the Airbender’s face grew grim. They landed in the courtyard and flicked their gliders closed. Guards immediately approached, while others stationed along the ramparts shifted into firebending stances. “State your business,” one of the guards said, blocking their way. Roku started to open his mouth, but Gyatso spoke first. “This is Avatar Roku,” he declared with mock pompousness, chest puffed up. “Master of Two Elements.” “Why do you have to say it like that?” Roku muttered to his friend as he fished through his satchel. He pulled out the scroll that contained the Fire Lord’s summons and presented it to the guard. “I’m here to see the royal family.” The guard took the scroll, examined the message, and handed it back with a sneer. “Welcome home, Avatar Roku,” she said bitterly and stepped aside without a bow. “Thank you?” Roku said, confused by the strange reception. He started to walk forward but stopped and turned around when Gyatso didn’t follow. “Everything okay?” Gyatso stared past Roku at the palace. It was an imposing structure in dark, fiery shades that loomed over an expansive stone square. A colossal tower rose at the center from which three wings radiated, each terminating in elaborate pagodas. Gyatso shuddered. “This place gives me the creeps.” Roku had grown up in the shadow of the royal palace, but he tried to see it through his friend’s eyes. It did call to mind the shape and feel of a volcano on the verge of eruption. He supposed it might be intimidating to someone accustomed to the light and airy Southern Air Temple, which perched among the clouds and mountaintops like a dream. “I’ll wait for you here,” Gyatso decided. “Are you certain?” Roku asked. “Meeting Sozin and Fire Lord Taiso would be a great way to begin establishing yourself in the capital.” Gyatso cast one more nervous glance at the palace before shifting his gaze back to the Avatar. “I’m sure our paths will cross in time.” Sozin had always been a sore spot between the two of them. Gyatso had never seemed to forgive Sozin for lying about Lambak Island, but Roku had always sensed that the Air Nomad’s mistrust of the Crown Prince went even deeper than that.
So, Roku nodded and didn’t push it further. He made his way alone across the square and toward the palace. The closer he got, the faster his heart began to race. By the time he reached the entrance, his palms were so sweaty he had to wipe them on his robes. He showed the Fire Lord’s invitation to the next set of guards, whose reception was as brusque as that of those at the gate. Except instead of simply stepping aside, one of the guards said, “Follow me,” and began to lead the way. As Roku followed her down the familiar long halls, he was surprised to find that she missed the turn he’d expected them to take. “The Royal Quarters are that way,” he pointed out, lingering at the intersection. “I was instructed to take you to the throne room,” she said without stopping. Roku jogged to catch up, feeling more worried now than nervous. He had chalked up Sozin’s increasingly infrequent correspondence to his friend being too busy to write after being put in charge of the nation’s affairs with Omashu, but what if there was another reason? What if Roku had done or said something to offend Sozin or the Fire Lord? He would find out soon enough. A final set of guards stood at the entrance to the throne room. Silently, they took Roku’s staff and satchel, opened the massive doors, and moved aside. A finely woven burgundy carpet lined by red-and-gold pillars led the way to the slightly elevated perch at the end of the room. Fire Lord Taiso sat upon the throne, behind which loomed a golden relief of an imperious dragon that seemed to stare directly at the supplicant. Roku’s heart sank, however, when he saw the empty benches on either side of the Fire Lord’s seat. Sozin was not here. Roku gathered himself and approached. He stopped the proper distance away, pressed his fist to the base of his other hand’s open palm, and bowed deeply. “It’s an honor, Fire Lord Taiso,” Roku greeted. Fire Lord Taiso sat rigidly. Compared to the last time Roku saw him, his hair and his beard—which was shaved down the chin—were noticeably more gray than black. His already pale skin was lighter, his face carved with deeper wrinkles, and his golden eyes were dimmer. Though he still conveyed an undoubtedly commanding presence, Roku couldn’t help but feel there was
something diminished about Sozin’s father. “You finally deign to return home, and you arrive in foreign clothing,” the Fire Lord said, firing an opening salvo. “Oh . . .” Roku looked down at himself, suddenly self-conscious at his worn yellow-and-orange traveling robes. Why didn’t he think to have a new set of formal Fire Nation robes fitted before this meeting? “They’re really comfortable,” he mumbled, feeling less like the Avatar and more like the little boy who used to run underfoot with the Crown Prince. And what was that Fire Lord Taiso said about “deigning” to return home? “I’ve been told you’ve recently mastered airbending?” the Fire Lord asked before Roku could parse the meaning behind his initial comment. Roku straightened up and nodded proudly. “Szeto was a fully realized Avatar by your age,” Fire Lord Taiso noted. Roku forced a smile. “There are as many paths to full Avatarhood as there are Avatars,” he said, borrowing the words Sister Disha had always used to reassure Roku when he began to compare himself to Kyoshi, Kuruk, or any of his other incarnations. “Yes,” the Fire Lord conceded. “I suppose some are slower than others. But I didn’t summon you here to discuss protracted peregrinations.” So it had been the Fire Lord who sent the invitation, not Sozin. Roku glanced at the empty bench next to the Fire Lord’s throne again. “Will the prince be joining us?” he asked. “No,” the Fire Lord said. “When can I see—” “He’s traveling. He will not return for some time.” “Oh.” Roku’s shoulders sagged. If Fire Lord Taiso noticed Roku’s disappointment, he didn’t care. He pressed on. “I wanted to speak to you, young Avatar Roku, because the Fire Nation could use your help.” Roku tensed. The last time he’d heard that line, it had been followed by a lie. “Here I was thinking you simply missed me,” Roku replied, channeling Gyatso to try to lighten the mood. The Fire Lord ignored Roku’s comment. “The Northern Water Tribe has been harassing our merchant ships in the Northern Sea. Searches. Seizures. Denials at ports of entry. It’s not enough to violate any of our peace or trade
agreements—they always have a ‘reason’—but it is costing our merchants valuable time and resources.” “That doesn’t sound like the Northern Water Tribe,” Roku said. “What ‘reasons’ do they give?” The Fire Lord didn’t answer. His face went slack, and a faraway look came over him. Roku glanced around, thinking that the Fire Lord was distracted by someone or something behind him, but they were still alone, save for the guards who stood as still as statues. Must be some other important matter occupying his thoughts. “Fire Lord Taiso?” Roku tried. The Fire Lord blinked. His eyes snapped back into focus. He cleared his throat. “As was I saying . . .” he continued before drifting off. Roku shifted awkwardly. “The Fire Nation ships . . .” he prompted. “Right.” Fire Lord Taiso said, regaining his composure. “It’s not your concern why they’re being harassed.” “It would be helpful to—” “Speak with Chief Tiguaa when you reach Agna Qel’a,” the Fire Lord commanded. “And ensure it comes to an end.” Roku hadn’t been away from the Southern Air Temple for long, and already Sister Disha’s caution about how others would regard him was proving true. “This sounds like a task better suited to one of your trade officials or—” “My Grand Advisor?” the Fire Lord suggested as he looked pointedly at Roku, who knew that Szeto had served their nation in that exact capacity while he was Avatar. Roku said nothing. He’d already made it clear to Sozin that he wouldn’t be following in Szeto’s footsteps in that way. “Should you succeed,” Fire Lord Taiso continued, “I’ll ensure your clan’s financial troubles disappear.” His clan’s financial troubles? That must have been why his parents were acting so strangely last night. Roku clenched his jaw. They should have told him. He received no payment for serving the world as Avatar, but he might have helped them find a solution to whatever mess they were in. Maybe he still could. Roku raised his chin defiantly. “That sounds like a threat, Fire Lord Taiso.”
“Consider it a fair exchange of services, young Avatar. Such is how the world works.” “I’ll inquire about the situation,” Roku said, “but I promise nothing and ask nothing in return.” Fire Lord Taiso offered a small nod that signaled both disappointment and dismissal. Roku bowed, glad to go. “One more thing,” Fire Lord Taiso said. The Avatar lingered. The Fire Lord’s eyes shifted to the prince’s crown that held Roku’s hair- knot in place. Sozin had gifted Roku the golden headpiece, which was a smaller and less ornate version of the one that adorned the top of Taiso’s head. “The Air Nomads have been feeding you their misguided beliefs about detachment,” Fire Lord Taiso said. “But know that those who forget where they come often find they have no place to which they can return.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” Roku lied as he left. “Let’s get out of here,” Roku said when he returned to Gyatso. The young Air Nomad was leaning back against the stone wall outside the gates as he used his airbending to idly spin a few leaves over his open palm. “Meeting didn’t go so well?” Gyatso asked, letting the leaves flutter away as he rose to his feet. Roku shook his head. “Sozin wasn’t there, and his father simply wanted to order me around like I’m his lackey.” “Where was Sozin?” “‘Traveling’ is all the Fire Lord would say.” “He knew you’d be visiting, right?” Gyatso asked. Roku’s grip tightened around his staff as he looked back at the Royal Palace and nodded. Had Sozin timed his travels so that their paths wouldn’t cross? If so, why? And what had Roku done to deserve the disrespect with which the Fire Lord had treated him? Now that he was out of the throne room, he could clearly see the man’s comments were seeds meant to sow self-doubt. It was
the same tactic Roku had witnessed Fire Lord Taiso use on Sozin countless times when they were growing up to stoke Sozin’s desire to earn his father’s approval. Roku flicked open his glider. Gyatso did the same. They ran and tugged a gust under their paper wings, which lifted them into the air. “And what did Taiso order you to do?” Gyatso asked as they soared higher. Roku shared the few details he knew about the situation in the Northern waters—but he left out the part about the Fire Lord’s “offer.” Gyatso made a face, clearly thinking of the last time a Fire Nation royal had appealed to Roku for assistance. “Are you going to do it?” Despite his noncommittal response to the Fire Lord, Roku shook his head decisively. “It’s Fire Nation business. The Fire Lord can figure it out for himself.” Gyatso looked relieved. They landed on the northern rim of the caldera and snapped their gliders closed. Roku gazed back at the palace below as a warm breeze carrying the scent of rain ruffled his robes and hair. It soothed his frustrations, calmed his nerves, and brought a sense of clarity. “I thought I would be proud to come home as this completely different person,” Roku said. “Instead, I feel like I’m a kid again. Not good enough for my parents. Not good enough for my nation. And certainly not good enough to be the world’s Avatar.” “You are enough,” Gyatso reassured him. “No matter how they view you.” Roku still didn’t know if that was true. “I’m sorry, Gyatso—I know I told you I’d stay with you here for a few days to show you around and help you get settled in, but it’s time for me to leave for the North.” Gyatso could take care of himself, and with Sozin out of the city and Ta Min still in Omashu, there was no reason to remain in the capital. Even the initial determination he’d felt to help his parents with whatever financial situation his clan was facing had melted away. If his parents wanted his help, they would have asked for it. But Gyatso didn’t look as crestfallen at this sudden goodbye as Roku had expected. Instead, the Airbender grinned. “Great—let’s go!” Roku raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming with me?” “Of course.”
“What about your assignment?” Gyatso looked away. “Eh, it’s not going anywhere.” Roku scratched the back of his head. He wasn’t eager to help Gyatso disobey the elders. “I don’t know, Gyatso . . .” The Air Monk pressed his free hand to his heart. “I promise I’ll come straight back after Lola and I drop you off. I won’t even stop to ride an arctic elephant-koi.” There seemed to be more to Gyatso’s hesitance to begin his work, but what was a few extra weeks when Gyatso’s task would surely keep him in the capital for years? Besides, Roku wasn’t quite ready to be alone. “Fine,” Roku relented. Gyatso beamed as he took out a whistle carved from bone into the shape of a sky bison. “I don’t care what anyone says. You’re the best Avatar I know.” “Wow. Thanks. That means so very much.” “Anytime,” Gyatso said and then blew the whistle, sending a deafening, high-pitched shriek rippling across the city. They waited a long time for Lola to appear. She had an independent streak and often roamed far when apart from Gyatso. It wasn’t uncommon for her to return with leaves or twigs from plants native to distant lands tangled in her fur or stuck between her teeth. Last year, she’d even come back with the tip of her left horn broken off, and they could only wonder how that had happened. After the sky bison finally arrived, they mounted her saddle, and she carried them away. Glad to be free of this palace, this city, this nation with quick-fire faith, Roku didn’t look back.
A VERY LONG DAY Prince Sozin sat at his father’s side, still fuming. He had reluctantly submitted when the Fire Lord commanded him to stop responding to Roku’s messages, but he never thought his father would refuse to let Sozin see his best friend while he was in the city. And now, from what he’d heard, the Avatar was already gone. According to Taiso, it was all about laying the groundwork to ensure the Avatar remained loyal. Keep a man guessing where he stands with you, his father had explained, and he’ll do everything he can to gain your regard. It did not escape Sozin that his father employed this same strategy to child-rearing—which is why Sozin knew it was effective. Not only was he angry with his father, but Sozin was also bored to tears. The dozen or so royal advisors who kneeled before them took turns reporting their areas of concern, sharing their supposed insights, and awaiting the Fire Lord’s instructions. The windows were shut against the night. Flames flickered in the braziers lining the walls, casting long, quick-shifting shadows around the high-ceilinged room. They had been at it for hours, and there was no end in sight. It pained Sozin deeply to be stuck in this stuffy room with these crusty old men, most of whom already seemed to have one foot in the eternal flame. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been out in the world, doing as he pleased. After Roku had left, he’d crossed the sea and the Earth Kingdom. He’d found Wan Shi Tong’s Spirit Library. He’d located a lost island with a sacred cave that briefly enhanced his bending a thousandfold. He’d defeated a powerful outer island separatist and even saved the Avatar. Well, not that last part. Truth be told, Roku had been the one to defeat that crazy old man and save Sozin—but the truth didn’t need to be told.
And because it hadn’t been, the story that spread elevated Sozin more quickly than he ever could have imagined. Afterward, Taiso had even charged Sozin with managing the nation’s affairs with Omashu. Sozin was under no illusion he had truly won his father’s respect. In fact, his father had a way of looking at him sometimes that made him suspect the man knew the truth of what had transpired on that remote island. And what Fire Lord Taiso lacked in bending prowess, he more than made up for with political cunning. He simply sensed the people’s regard for the young prince surging and knew he could wield his son as a torch to illuminate the Fire Nation’s future, to extinguish any doubts about the strength of the royal family’s lineage. Sozin, meanwhile, was fully aware torches were a tool. But constantly accompanying his father meant no more sailing across the sea. No more crossing the other nations on a whim. No more discovering lost islands. He barely even had time to keep up with his training, let alone pursue any of the legendary firebending powers he’d read about while in the Spirit Library. Instead, his days were now filled with one mind-numbing meeting after another. If it wasn’t the royal advisors, it was the generals or foreign emissaries or representatives of the clans and guilds or the Fire Sages or any other number of those with endless complaints. In this way, securing his future as Fire Lord turned out to be less a reward than a punishment. For now, at least. “Sozin,” his father barked. “Answer the question.” Sozin sat up straighter. Cleared his throat. “Apologies, father. Yes . . . the question . . .” He had no idea what the question was. His mind had drifted, as it so often did during these long sessions. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on the advisor who regarded Sozin with the most expectant gaze of the bunch. It was the broad-shouldered, large-gutted man with the beard stiff as old straw who oversaw trade concerns. “Tell me more,” Sozin said, employing his go-to command that he issued whenever he needed to stall. The man looked about uncertainly, unsure of what more to say. He’d already laid out the most important details of whatever situation he’d just related to Fire Lord Taiso and now was at a loss for how to avoid repeating himself. Fire Lord Taiso hated when people wasted his time by repeating
themselves. The straw-bearded man cleared his throat. “Yes. Um. Another thing to consider, Prince Sozin, is . . . um . . . the quality of the goods.” That wasn’t very helpful. But if Taiso was expecting a response from Sozin, that meant it had to do with trade in or around Omashu. He vaguely recalled that the Fire Nation merchants had been disgruntled about the rising costs of importing goods from the western states of the Earth Kingdom and guessed it had to do with that. “Of course,” Sozin said. “Raise the tariffs.” He looked to his father. A familiar disappointment settled into Fire Lord Taiso’s golden gaze. “How many times must I explain this to you? If we raise the tariffs, the merchants will raise the prices even higher to cover those additional taxes. Which means Fire Nationals will pay even more for those same goods.” “Then we produce those goods ourselves,” Sozin tried. “Most of those products cannot be grown or manufactured here,” the Fire Lord pointed out, as if explaining things to a small child. “Hence the reason we import them.” Sozin flushed with shame. Fire Lord Taiso turned back to the stiff-bearded advisor and opened his mouth to speak his solution—but no words came out. Sozin tensed and held his breath. Everyone waited for the Fire Lord to say something. Yet he continued to remain frozen, mouth open. People shifted and exchanged confused glances. The awkward silence stretched on several seconds. Sozin tried in vain to will his father to speak. This was not the first time the Fire Lord’s mind suddenly wandered away, but these mental slips were becoming more frequent and more prolonged. While Taiso had so far managed to keep it from becoming public knowledge, the Fire Sages and higher-ranking clans were beginning to quietly wonder whether Taiso was fit to lead—and whether the prince’s blood might carry this same affliction. Sozin clapped his hands together, breaking the spell of silence and drawing everyone’s attention to himself. He smiled good-naturedly. “Fire Lord Taiso has had a very long day—we’ll reconvene in the morning.” Reluctantly, the advisors bowed and backed out of the room. It wasn’t until the last one had left that Taiso’s mouth slowly closed, and his eyes came back into focus. He turned to Sozin, the only other person left in the room,
looking as lost as someone waking from a long slumber. “It happened again, Father,” Sozin said softly. Shame flickered in the Fire Lord’s eyes for the briefest moment before his expression hardened. “You’re dismissed,” he told his son. Sozin bowed and then left, afraid of what this meant for his father. Afraid of what it meant for his future.
OUT OF BALANCE After a couple of weeks traveling at a leisurely pace, Roku and Gyatso reached the southwestern edge of the Northern Water Tribe territory. The air was frigid, the sky gray, and the sea frozen into a vast white field crossed by pressure ridges and dotted by low, rocky mounds, which Roku guessed became islands during the summer melt. A jagged mountain range waited on the distant horizon, far on the other side of which lay Agna Qel’a. They hadn’t seen a soul in days, and they were low on provisions, so they both perked up as soon as they spotted a collection of tiger-seal-hide tents clustered atop one of the rocky hills. But Roku frowned when he noticed how the tents were tattered, with several sagging or leaning askew, while the low ice wall that encircled the encampment was shoddy and crumbling. Lola didn’t even bother slowing down. “Anybody home?” Gyatso called through cupped hands as they neared. The arctic wind swallowed his words, and there was no movement or response. They were about to keep flying past when Roku noticed a faint curl of smoke rising from the encampment’s sole ice structure. He pointed to it. “There.” Gyatso squinted as he gathered the sky bison’s reins. “Should we check it out?” “Why not?” Roku said. They were still days away from reaching Kuruk’s Point, the southwesternmost coastal settlement that appeared on Northern Water Tribe maps. Lola dropped them at the base of the hill below the encampment, then flew off to forage. What she’d find, Roku didn’t know. He had read and heard all about the harsh, unforgiving environment of the Northern Water Tribe in preparation for the next phase of training, but to see
it—and feel it—for himself was another thing entirely. It was the exact opposite of the Fire Nation’s warm waters and tropical vegetation. Even the mountaintop Air Temples were only a short flight from lush forests and verdant valleys. He knew people had survived in the North for thousands of years—had even learned to draw their strength from it—but how? Roku and Gyatso were wearing extra layers of Air Nomad winter robes and had sky bison fur blankets wrapped around themselves, but still Roku shivered as they trudged uphill through the icy snow. He didn’t even need to try firebending to know that the freezing temperatures would diminish his energy. Maybe he should have listened to Sister Disha and timed his trip for a spring arrival. The encampment seemed even more destitute up close. There was not a single buffalo-yak, and nobody came out to greet them. The only sounds were the wind, their breathing, and the ice crunching beneath their boots. The only sign of life was that thin line of smoke. Roku led the way to the ice shelter from which it rose, then pushed aside the door flap. “Flamey-o, coldmen!” Gyatso greeted as he poked his head around Roku. “Or maybe it should be ‘Snowy-o, icemen’?” he mumbled to himself. “‘Icey- o, snowmen’?” Roku narrowed his eyes at Gyatso, then turned his attention to those within. There were half a dozen tribespeople sitting atop caribou-bear skins around a small stone basin filled with burning oil. Everyone looked up, except for a tall tribeswoman with long, black hair sitting apart. Roku had been on enough relief missions with the Air Nomads that he instantly recognized the hunger in their eyes, the hope that he’d brought something to eat. Unfortunately, he did not have much. “Greetings, travelers,” said a large, older tribeswoman with white hair loops. She scooted over and gestured for them to sit. “Come in from the cold before you freeze your skinny butts to death.” “Thank you,” Roku said. He and Gyatso entered. The air was warm but stuffy and smoky. They unshouldered their satchels, lowered their hoods, and sat down. “I’m Avatar Roku, and this is Monk Gyatso.” “Avatar, eh?” the old woman said as everyone around the fire eyed him with renewed interest—except for the person sitting alone, whose head remained down. Roku swept his hand outward. Warmth surged as the stone lamp blazed
brighter. “Nice trick,” the old woman said. “But unless you brought more oil, the fire’s only going to burn out faster now.” Roku’s face reddened. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.” “Forgive my friend,” Gyatso said, clapping Roku on the shoulder. “He means well, but he’s still new at this helping people thing.” “Of course,” the old woman said. “Regardless, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” She motioned for one of the tribesmen—a squat, grumpy-looking fellow with a sharp, pinched face like a hawk—to hand her something. The man hesitated. “We don’t have enough left to share,” he whispered angrily. The old woman glared at him. “Are none of our traditions sacred anymore? They are our guests.” With a huff, the man handed something over that was the size of a fist and covered in cloth. The old woman unwrapped it to reveal a chunk of frozen meat. “Turtle-seal blubber,” she said. Someone else handed her a half-moon- shaped ulu knife. She set the blubber down, cut it into small cubes, and offered the first two pieces to Roku and Gyatso. “If you truly don’t have enough—” Roku started to say. “Nonsense,” she said. “Don’t you know it’s an insult to deny your host’s food in the Northern Water Tribe?” Roku looked to Gyatso, who shrugged. The latter didn’t normally eat meat, but Air Nomad beliefs permitted it when offered. Roku and Gyatso thanked her, took the small cubes, and popped them into their mouths. “Well?” the old woman asked, satisfied to have fulfilled her duty. “What do you think?” “Chewy,” Roku said as his teeth worked the rubbery piece of fat. “But good.” “And fishy,” Gyatso added. She cut more and distributed them to the others. After Roku finished his piece, he opened his satchel and took out a pouch. “Flaming fire flakes,” he said. “From the Fire Nation.” “They’re a bit spicy,” warned Gyatso.
The others looked to the old woman eagerly. She nodded, and Roku passed the pouch. As each took a handful, Roku examined the faces around the fire. They were a mixture of men with unkempt beards and women with facial tattoos. Their hair was black or gray or turning gray, and their skin was various shades of brown. A coughing fit overtook the old woman. “You weren’t lying, little guy,” she told Gyatso through tears as her coughing turned to laughter. “Those are spicy.” The others tried the flakes for themselves, and soon nearly everyone was coughing and laughing and passing around water pouches. As the laughter passed and they finished eating, the old woman turned back to Roku. “So, what’s the Avatar doing all the way out here? Saving the world, I suppose?” Roku smiled. “Not yet. I’m on my way to begin my waterbending training. In Agna Qel’a.” The squat, hawk-faced man scoffed. “The capital,” he muttered. “Of course.” “What’s wrong with the capital?” Roku asked. The man turned his head and spat. “What isn’t wrong with the capital?” “I don’t know,” Roku admitted. “I’ve never been there before.” The old woman glared at the hawk-faced man again. “This is a conversation best left to our own community.” “He is the Avatar, is he not?” the man said. “Come to live among our people and learn our ways?” She said nothing, so he continued. “The appetite abroad for Northern fish and skins and meat only grows with each passing year, and the trading companies don’t care about taking more than the land offers so long as it fattens their pockets. Chief Tiguaa is glad to let them do it so long as trade flows, and his precious capital continues to grow.” “Not only that”—the old woman had decided to chime in—“but he’s offered such high wages for Waterbenders that few remain in the outskirts.” That explained why this tribe was still living mostly in tents instead of ice shelters, despite the fact it was already winter. “Why would he do that?” Gyatso asked. “Think about it.” The hawk-faced man tapped his temple several times. “A city that size constructed almost entirely of ice—who’s building and maintaining it? Who’s defending it? Who’s working its tanneries and
fisheries and docks and infirmaries?” “And then there are the illnesses,” said a young tribeswoman with lavender eyes, speaking for the first time. Everyone’s attention shifted to her. “What illnesses?” Roku asked. “Take your pick,” she said sadly. “The more these traders move around the world, the more they spread sickness. My own village was wiped out a few years ago by the Northern Pox. I lost everyone I love in this world.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” Gyatso said. “Unfortunately, our story isn’t unique,” said the young woman. Roku was confused. “Isn’t there a remedy to the Northern Pox?” “There is,” she answered. “But Agna Qel’a controls the supply, since many of the ingredients are rare. We were only a small, poor village, unable to afford even a few doses.” Roku shifted, bothered by the blatant injustice. “Chief Tiguaa should have given it to you freely.” The hawk-faced man scoffed again. “Where’s the capital’s profit in that?” Indignant, Gyatso asked, “But where’s the profit in letting the pox spread through the North? What if it reached the city?” “I’m certain they keep enough on hand just in case that should happen,” the man said. “It’s only the surplus they’re willing to part with for those who have enough coin.” “He’s right,” the young woman agreed, then dropped her eyes to the ground. The old woman sighed. “I’m afraid the same thing is about to happen again.” Roku turned to her and leaned forward. “What do you mean?” “There’s a new sickness in this region,” she said. “One that affects animals. Covers them in purple sores and turns them vicious. Even those that are normally docile or harmless go completely feral, mauling whoever they encounter.” “A few moons ago, my cousin Qarsoq was killed by a turtle-seal infected with this condition,” the hawk-faced man said bitterly. “My nephew barely escaped with his life.” “A turtle-seal?” Gyatso asked in disbelief, clearly wondering if this was a joke.
But the man nodded gravely. “And besides the danger of animal attacks, the other creatures smell the infection and stay away. It’s making hunting nearly impossible.” “And what if humans can catch it too?” the old woman asked. “We sent word to Agna Qel’a, but do you think they cared?” said the man. Nobody responded, because everyone knew the answer. The man let out a heavy sigh. “For thousands of years, our people moved with the seasons, listening to the land. We have always had encampments and settlements and trading outposts, some larger than others. But they were the limbs of our people, not the heart. Now Chief Tiguaa seeks to strengthen the capital at the expense of the rest of the Northern Water Tribe, and everything is out of balance.” Several grunted in agreement. Roku had heard about the increasing prosperity of Agna Qel’a over the last few decades, but in the Fire Nation it was cited as an example of the benefits of growing trade between the nations. He had yet to consider or witness what was sacrificed on the altar of that growth. The man turned his icy gaze back to Roku. “I’m surprised you even bothered to stop here. You said you’re to start your Waterbending training at the capital?” Roku nodded. “Then you too are here to take.” “He trains so he can serve,” Gyatso said, coming to his friend’s defense in a way that warmed Roku’s heart. “It’s okay, Gyatso,” Roku said, since getting defensive wouldn’t accomplish anything. The man’s concern was valid, even if the frustration was misdirected. “I appreciate the perspective.” The man stood. “I only hope you’re appreciative enough to help more than yourself while you’re with us, Avatar.” With that, he strode between Roku and Gyatso and walked out of the tent. “You’ll have to forgive us, Avatar Roku,” the old woman said. “We’d be better hosts under different circumstances. Anyway, we may not have much, but we do have extra clothing left behind by those who abandoned us for the capital. You should be able to find something that fits. Our furs will be much warmer than those thin robes you’re wearing now. And you’re free to stay as long as you’d like before you continue with your journey.”
Roku and Gyatso thanked the old woman, knowing it was an impossible offer. This small, aging tribe didn’t have enough to sustain themselves for much longer, let alone two young men and a sky bison. “We could fly you to another community like Kuruk’s Point if you’d like,” Roku offered. “Thank you, but we wish to live as our ancestors always have,” the old woman said. “Or die trying.” “We have to help, right?” Gyatso asked Roku later that night. They were lying on sleeping mats in one of the vacant tents that the small tribe had lent them for the night. A small, slow-burning fire crackled between them as wind whipped at the patchwork of tattered tiger-seal hides that comprised the tent’s walls. Roku rolled from his back onto his side and propped up his head on a fist. “She didn’t ask for help.” “It’s not their way,” Gyatso said. “But it was implied.” Roku thought of Lambak Island. Of rushing in before he was ready. Of trying to channel borrowed energy. Of the lives that were lost as a direct result. “When we reach the capital, we’ll share what they’ve told us with Chief Tiguaa.” Gyatso sat up. “You heard that man—they already did that, and the chief didn’t care.” “I’ll be better equipped to help people like them once I’m a fully realized Avatar,” Roku said. “Do you plan to do nothing for the world for however many decades it takes to complete your training?” Gyatso asked. It was a low blow. He knew Roku was insecure about his progress. Roku took a calming breath. “It’s not going to take decades.” Gyatso blinked in disbelief. “So that tribesman was right—you are just here to take.” “You said yourself that I train so I can serve,” Roku said. “Maybe I was wrong.” Gyatso laid back down and rolled away from the fire, away from Roku. Roku returned to his back, closed his eyes, and took another deep breath.
He wished Sister Disha were here to advise him on what to do even though he knew the Air Nun would direct him to look inward. But whenever he did that, Roku did not find some moral compass pointing the way. Instead, there was only the murk of indecision and uncertainty.
A CLEAR PATH Atka crept toward the Avatar’s tent through the semidarkness of a Northern midnight in which the snow and ice always glowed an ethereal white. She stepped lightly to reduce her footfalls to a whisper, then paused before the entrance to listen. It was quiet within, save for the soft flames of an oil lamp and the steady sound of breathing. She nudged aside the door flap until she could see the two sleeping young men. Her gaze slid past the bald Airbender to the new Avatar. He was on his side, fists softly clenched below his chin. His long black hair was down and fanned out behind his head. Despite his height and muscles, he looked like a little boy. Like her little brother when he’d wake from a nightmare, climb into her bed, and fall back asleep nestled against her—which would never happen again. Atka took off her mitts, slipped one hand into her pocket, and wrapped her fingers around a small vial filled with a viscous, metallic liquid. It had taken her years of studying poisoncraft to create this recipe. As close as she was to perfecting it, the job wasn’t yet finished. And she wasn’t about to let the Avatar stop her. By tinkering and trying different iterations on various animals, she had already learned to prepare the poison in different ways to manipulate its effect. She could turn it into a colorless, tasteless, odorless powder with which she could contaminate food or drink. She could dilute it to delay the reaction. She could mix it with certain ingredients so the unchecked aggression and unnatural strength lasted a few hours instead of a few minutes before the subject died. She still hoped to figure out how to extend that to at least a couple of days, but there would be time for that. The task at hand only required the poison in
its purest, most undiluted form. A few drops slipped between the Avatar’s lips would be enough to corrupt his energy within the time it took her to disappear. Then, he would lose all control, destroying everything and everyone around him, until the poison ran its course and he perished a few minutes later. At least, that’s what she theorized. She had yet to test it on any humans. What better human specimen to test it on than the Avatar though? Atka visualized herself slipping into the tent as silently as a spirit. Using her bending to quietly immobilize the Airbender. Kneeling at the Avatar’s side. Uncorking the vial. Touching the glass rim to his lower lip then tilting. Simple enough. She pulled the door flap open wider and was about to enter when a sudden thought gave her pause. Was the Avatar the best person to test the poison on? What if he was too strong? What if the threat to his life triggered the powerful Avatar State? Would the poison still be able to corrupt his energy? If his spirit was able to fight the effects, and he ended her, it would have all been for nothing. That was not a risk she was willing to take. Not yet anyway. Atka drew the vial back, corked it, and sighed softly. But then a slow grin spread across her face as a new idea came to mind like stumbling upon a clear path: The Avatar may not be the best person to test the poison on, but he might be the best person to test it against. She could shadow him and the Airbender as she continued trying to work out the final kinks. They would try their best to stop or cure the animals—or people—she infected, and their actions could give her insight into how best to alter the recipe. In such a way, she might be able to refine the poison until she crafted something truly unstoppable. Then it would be ready to unleash upon Agna Qel’a—and the rest of the world. Yes, that was the way forward. And she would begin this very night.
GOOD COMPANY Roku felt the low growl rumbling through the ice more than he heard it. Though where—or what—it was coming from, he couldn’t say. It was night, and he was walking through a narrow passage between the tall, jagged walls of a twisting ice canyon. Overhead, the sky shimmered with the diaphanous green and purple Northern spirit lights. There was someone ahead of him, half crouched in the stillness with a staff in hand. “Did you hear that noise?” Roku asked, assuming it was Gyatso before him. But a response came in a rough, deep voice that did not belong to the young Air Monk: “For the last time, be quiet.” With a twisting snap of his wrist, Roku brought a small flame into his palm so he could get a better look at this stranger. “Who—” The person swiftly whipped around to face Roku, pale blue eyes glaring. “Put. That. Out.” Roku nearly gasped as he took in the sight of the barrel-chested man in dark blue furs with light brown skin, a chiseled jaw, and animal teeth and claws strung around his thick neck and muscular wrists. And it was not an Airbender’s staff he carried, but a spear. “Avatar Kuruk?” Kuruk slapped Roku on the side of the head. Roku’s flame extinguished as he moved his hand to rub the spot Kyoshi’s predecessor had just struck. Kuruk spun back around, dropped back into a half crouch, and continued stalking through the icy canyon. Not knowing what else to do, Roku followed. They were hunting, apparently. At least, Kuruk was. Was this the Spirit World? No—if it were, Roku wouldn’t have been able
to firebend even such a small flame as he had. Which meant it must be a dream. A lucid one, given he had enough awareness for that realization. Though Roku had a thousand and one questions, he kept his mouth shut, lest he get smacked even harder. Instead, he continued quietly trailing Kuruk as he prowled through the winding, icy maze. The Water Avatar took slow, careful steps, shifting his weight expertly from heel to toe so that he moved smoothly and silently. Though his spear was lowered, Roku had no doubt the man could raise and hurl it with deadly accuracy in an instant. Kuruk’s every motion suggested the silent stealth of a lethal predator. The growling grew louder, nearer, more threatening. Roku’s instincts were screaming at him to retreat, even as Kuruk led them forward in search of the beast making the sound. Roku had no idea what it was. Something large and ferocious, surely. A polar bear–dog, perhaps. Maybe a lion-orca. Having encountered neither beyond scrolls and paintings, Roku had no idea what they sounded like. For all he knew, it might be an entirely different creature. Avatar Kuruk stopped so abruptly, Roku almost bumped into him. They had come to a sharp turn in the icy passageway. Kuruk leaned forward slowly and peered around the corner. Then he withdrew his head and faced Roku, eyes wide with fear. Except it wasn’t his terrified face in front of Roku now—it was Gyatso’s. “Wake up!” the Airbender cried. Roku’s eyes flew open. He was back in the tent. The lamp had burned out, and it was so dark he could barely make out the shape of Gyatso’s bald head hovering in front of him. “What?” Roku said, rubbing his face. “What is it? I was dreaming of Avatar Kuruk and—” A deafening roar cut him off, followed by a loud crash and a chorus of screaming and shouting. “Something’s out there,” Gyatso said, stating the obvious. Roku threw back his blanket, hurriedly pulled on his borrowed pelts, then shot out of the tent and into the frigid night, trailed by Gyatso. Roku brought a flame to life in his hand to light their way, and they dashed through the frosty snow, their breath puffing out in dense white clouds as they ran. It didn’t take long to reach the source of the chaos. With harpoons drawn, three of the tribesmen stood surrounding a hulking, antlered figure down on all fours. A caribou-bear. Except its brown fur was mottled with purple
splotches, as if it had some strange form of mange. Behind the beast lay an unmoving body among the ruins of a wrecked tent. At the sound of Roku and Gyatso’s approach, the snarling beast swung its antlered head around. Half of its face had been consumed by the purplish sores, and its eyes were as wild as they were vacant. Its lips curled back as it bared razor-sharp teeth. “Um,” Gyatso muttered. Roku shifted into a defensive stance, wishing he were still with Kuruk. “What’s wrong with it?” “I think it has that sickness,” Gyatso said. The beast roared, lowered its head, and charged antlers-first. The tribesmen hefted their harpoons. The weapons stuck into its back like quills but did nothing to slow the creature’s advance. Roku and Gyatso dove apart, barely avoiding the beast’s antlers as it plowed through the space where they’d been standing a moment before. Gyatso rolled back onto his feet. “Don’t hurt it,” he called to Roku. “I’m more worried about us,” Roku said, returning to Gyatso’s side. The caribou-bear skidded to a stop in the snow, wheeled around, roared, and barreled forward again. Roku and Gyatso thrust open palms forward, pushing streams of air directly at the beast. The combined force should have been enough to send most anyone or anything sailing into the distance—but the creature dug its claws into the snow-covered ground and slid back only a few inches. Gathering its strength, it began to power forward as the gale tousled its fur and swept away the top layer of snow. “Any other ideas?” Roku asked, straining to sustain the air blast as the beast inched toward them. The caribou-bear was only a dozen paces away now. “Freeze it!” Gyatso said. “Did you forget I’m on my way to begin my waterbending training?” “Oh, right.” Gyatso furrowed his brow. “Maybe there’s another way . . .” The beast closed the distance and lunged forward, forcing them to dive apart again. Without missing a beat, they rolled to their feet and pushed air at the creature from opposite directions this time, creating a whirling trap that held it in place. “I can’t keep this up forever,” Roku called out through clenched teeth.
Gyatso’s face lit up with an idea. “Firebending!” “You said not to hurt it.” “Then don’t.” Gyatso shifted his arms downward to redirect his air blast at the ground, showering the beast with snow. It turned toward him and reared up within the white cloud, claws out. “Now!” the Air Nomad shouted. Roku understood. He released the air, clenched one hand into a loose fist, and pushed out a soft wall of flames. The snow that had enveloped the caribou-bear melted, and in the next instant, Gyatso swung his arms around and wrapped the creature in a spiral of arctic air that flash-froze the water before it could even settle. Encased in ice, the beast loomed over Gyatso mid- lunge, its massive paw only inches away from batting the Air Nomad’s head off his neck. Gyatso grinned at Roku. “Ta-da!” Roku wasn’t so quick to celebrate—the brittle ice casing was already beginning to quiver and crack. “Look out!” Roku called a moment before the creature broke free. Its enormous paw grazed the top of Gyatso’s head as the Air Monk ducked and slid between its legs aided by a burst of air at his back. “I think I need to hurt it,” Roku said, lowering into an offensive firebending stance as the caribou-bear spun around once more. But before it could take another step forward, ice sprouted from the snow beneath the beast’s feet, crackling as it climbed up the length of the caribou- bear’s body and then freezing it in a thick chunk of solid ice up to the neck. The creature’s eyes darted wildly about as it snarled and bit at the air. This time, the ice held. Gyatso turned to Roku, impressed. He patted Roku on the back, then turned with a flourish to the tribesman cowering behind the remaining tents. “Behold: Avatar Roku, master of three elements!” “That wasn’t me,” Roku admitted. Gyatso rose a frosty eyebrow. “Then who was it?” “Me,” came a soft-spoken voice behind them. It was a tall young tribeswoman with amethyst eyes set within an umber face framed by a fur- lined hood. Two thin V-shaped white lines were tattooed on her forehead, and another single line of white ink ran from the center of her lower lip to the bottom of her chin. She hadn’t been among those sitting around the fire last night. Roku would have remembered such a face. Then, it hit him—she must have been
the one sitting silently apart who had kept her head down all evening. “Ah,” Gyatso said as the girl approached. “Then thank you! Whoever you are . . .” “Makittuq,” she said with a warm, broad smile. “Thank you, Makittuq,” Roku echoed. “You saved our lives.” The young woman was about to say something else when someone cried out from the other side of the encampment: “Avatar, please come quickly!” Roku, Gyatso, and Makittuq rushed over to find the old tribeswoman kneeling next to the hawk-faced man. He was lying back among the wreckage of one of the tents, propped up on his elbows. He was groaning, face contorted in agony—probably because his right arm was bent at an unnatural angle. Roku and Gyatso had helped splint broken arms before—it was a common enough injury among novice Airbenders—but Makittuq dropped to the man’s side first. She lifted her hands, and a line of snow rose from the ground. It melted into water and enveloped his injured arm. Roku’s eyebrows shot up. Despite what the old woman had said last night, he had found not just a Waterbender but a healer. Makittuq began to sway her hands back and forth, the motions fluid and hypnotic. Before long, the water began to glow as it snaked around the arm. Gradually, the bend in the arm straightened out, and the man’s pained expression melted away. “Ta-da,” she said, and winked at Gyatso before dropping her hands. The water dimmed and fell to the snow-covered ground with a muted splash. The man sighed with relief. “Thank you.” Makittuq got up and walked back toward the caribou-bear, which had fallen silent at some point. Roku followed after her. She stopped in front of the beast, crossed her arms over her chest, and sighed. “It’s dead.” Sure enough, the creature was frozen in the exact same position as it had been before, but now its head lolled to one side, its eyes were blank, and it didn’t appear to be breathing. Sadness overcame Roku at the loss of life. “Did the ice kill it?” “The cold doesn’t kill that quickly,” Makittuq said. Her eyes ran over the patches of purple sores. “It was the infection.” “Have you encountered it before?” Roku asked.
“No,” she said simply. “You think there’s a cure?” “Maybe. But you’d need a living one to test any remedies.” Roku shifted. Things could get even worse for tribes on the outskirts if an illness like this continued to spread. So much of the Northern Water Tribe’s way of life depended on animals that not even the capital would remain untouched. And what if it could be transmitted to humans like the old woman had speculated? Roku had longed for direction, and the universe had sent an immense, snarling, sore-encrusted caribou-bear and a Waterbender. He turned to Makittuq. “My friend and I won’t be going straight to Agna Qel’a, after all. But we could use the help of someone who’s familiar with the land, knows how to heal, and can flash-freeze any infected feral animals that try to tear off our heads again. Know anyone who fits that description?” Makittuq stared up at the caribou-bear as she considered the offer. “What’s the pay?” “Good company,” Roku said. The young Waterbender looked him over, unimpressed. He was certain she was going to say no—but then she shrugged. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
A COLD AND CONSUMING FIRE “Have you something better to do?” asked Fire Lord Taiso, standing at the head of the table as Princess Zeisan sauntered into the room several minutes late, wearing loose, flowing robes and without her crown. “Actually, Father,” she said as she took the seat across from Sozin, “I had several more appealing invitations for this evening.” She made a face at her brother and nodded in greeting to their mother, Lady Hazei, who was at the end opposite from the Fire Lord. She was still the favorite despite her burgeoning rebelliousness, so the Fire Lord merely sighed at his daughter’s impertinence as he wandered over to close the door she’d left open. Sozin’s jaw tightened. If he had entered in such a manner, he would have been commanded to try again. “We have an important matter to discuss,” Taiso said. He returned to his place at the head of the table but remained standing. “Let’s get right to it.” Zeisan leaned back. Sozin sat up straighter. It was time then. They were finally going to address the elephant-koi in the room. Sozin had already suspected as much given that Taiso had sent all the servants and guards away so that nobody was within earshot, but even so his heart began to race. The Fire Lord looked to Lady Hazei, who nodded encouragingly. He turned back to his children and cleared his throat. “You may have noticed that I haven’t been entirely myself lately.” Though they certainly had noticed, neither Sozin nor Zeisan dared to confirm this. They simply waited for their father to say more. He didn’t. Instead, he squirmed like this was the last place in the world he wanted to be despite being the one to call the family together. With a deep sadness in her amber eyes, Lady Hazei took over. “The Royal
Fire Healer has been reading your father’s aura each day ever since his first . . . ‘episode.’ She says—” “Claims,” Taiso corrected. Lady Hazei started over. “She claims your father’s condition is only going to get worse.” The Fire Lord scoffed. Sozin tried hard not to look at his father. Zeisan asked, “Worse how?” Their mother looked to their father, but he gestured for her to continue. “She believes that these brief . . . lapses are only the beginning,” Hazei said. “She warns they’ll become more frequent and more prolonged as time goes on, and that eventually . . . your father will go days—maybe weeks—without knowing where he is, who he is, who we are, or even what year it is.” Taiso scoffed again. “How long before it gets to that point?” Sozin asked, trying not to sound overeager. Taiso glared at Sozin. “It won’t.” Sozin’s mother waited a beat then answered the question carefully. “According to the Royal Healer, there’s no way to know. In some cases, it only takes months. In others, years.” She quickly added, “Assuming she’s even right about what’s going on.” Zeisan leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table’s edge. “I’ve heard about this ancient Bhanti Island treatment where you inhale volcanic gas. Maybe you should try that?” “Are you trying to kill our father?” Sozin asked. “You don’t breathe in enough to die, idiot. Only a bit each day. It’s supposed to, like, open your pathways and rebalance your energy or something. They say it really works.” Sozin laughed. “Are ‘they’ the same people who convinced you that snorting powdered dragon scales would turn you into a Firebender?” Zeisan made a face at Sozin. “Are you really going to keep bringing that up, Soso? I was a little kid. Anyway, at least I’m trying to help.” “Stop it,” Lady Hazei commanded her bickering children. Sozin turned to his father. “I’ll send a message to Roku. Maybe he knows a good healer.” “Nobody’s writing to anybody about this,” the Fire Lord sneered. He sat
down wearily, closed his eyes, and began to massage his temples. A heavy silence settled over the room like a cloud of volcanic ash. Sozin shifted in his seat. Truth be told, he felt no great sympathy for his father. The man was a cold and consuming fire, always quick to remind Sozin he was not yet clever enough or responsible enough or good enough to be the leader the Fire Nation needed. Always threatening to give his birthright to Zeisan. Yet, if there were a cure or remedy, they wouldn’t be having this meeting. One of the family’s guiding principles was to never show weakness, even to each other. Which could mean only one thing. Sozin’s heart beat even faster. For much of his life, he couldn’t wait for this moment. However, the increased responsibilities that had already fallen to him with overseeing relations with even just Omashu had cooled his impatience. The invisible workings that ungirded the running such a political relationship—let alone an entire nation—were more complex than he had ever imagined, exposing his own deficiencies and gaps in knowledge. A failure to fully grasp the consequences of raising tariffs would be the least of his worries from this point on. As Sozin turned and looked his father in the eye, he felt like when he would go cliff diving as a kid with Roku and Yasu. They’d all be so excited, bragging about the flips they’d do as they leapt into the water. When they’d reach the top and look down, Sozin would be gripped by the dizzying fear of heights he’d always kept hidden. But he hadn’t let fear stop him from beating the twins over the edge and into the sea, and he wouldn’t let it stop him now. He cleared his throat. Sat up straight. “I’m ready.” The Fire Lord opened his eyes. Confusion passed over his face. Sozin tensed, assuming his father was having one of his episodes. But then Taiso asked, “For what?” Sozin hesitated. Then he went cold. He had misread the moment. Fire Lord Taiso realized this a beat later. He curled his lip, crossed his arms over his chest, and leveled the same look at Sozin that he had used when Sozin was a little boy and blew his nose into the hem of his robes. “Did you actually think I was about to name you the new Fire Lord?” Hazei winced. Zeisan stifled a laugh. Sozin withered.
“I’m not going anywhere,” the Fire Lord declared. “The Royal Healer’s misdiagnosis isn’t important. What matters is keeping knowledge of these ‘episodes’ within the family. Until they pass, I’m going to reduce public appearances, and all of you will take up more responsibilities.” He paused to narrow his eyes at Zeisan, who had been spending more time hosting her friends on Ember Island than embracing any royal duties. “You are not to speak a word of this to anyone outside of this room. If you hear any discussions or rumors about my health, snuff them out. If I have an episode in front of others, it’s to be attributed to exhaustion, stress, or a lack of sleep. If someone expresses open doubt regarding my ability to rule, notify me. I will see that their doubts are . . . quieted. Understood?” Sozin nodded. Zeisan didn’t disagree. Fire Lord Taiso steepled his fingers in front of his lips. “From your vantage point, our family’s position may seem secure. But there have always been—and will always be—those among the noble clans and Fire Sages circling overhead like buzzard-wasps, waiting to make a meal of us.” He looked pointedly at Sozin, as if to imply his son were one of those buzzard- wasps as well. “Maybe we should let them,” Zeisan said. Taiso’s attention snapped to his daughter. “Excuse me?” She shifted in her seat, looked down at her hands, and pressed on, despite the fact it was clearly a bad idea. “I mean, we don’t let them destroy us. But you have, like, all the power. Maybe you should share some of it. Make things a bit more . . . equal.” Fire Lord Taiso glowered at her. Sozin savored the tense silence that followed. Zeisan’s colossally stupid suggestion had drawn the attention away from his own horrifying misstep, and it may even have been offensive enough to cast her from their father’s favor forever. “Never say anything that foolish again,” the Fire Lord said through clenched teeth. He leaned back, still looking fire daggers at Zeisan. “Now get out of my sight.” A grin crept onto Sozin’s face—but it was wiped away when their father turned on him and clarified. “Both of you.”
KURUK’S POINT Kuruk’s point was a dense, ramshackle collection of simple buildings constructed from ice and bones and pelts that overlooked an expansive dock with boats frozen in the bay for the season. A thick, musky miasma of smoke hung over the walled-in outpost. Its businesses were an endless loop of tanneries, taverns, Pai Sho dens, kelp noodle shops, and boardinghouses. Its narrow streets were a slushy mixture of mud and snow, crowded with rough- looking tribespeople in well-worn furs hauling heavy loads, some on sleds, others guiding polar bear–dogs or riding buffalo-yaks. It was a place not of beauty but of necessity. A community not for families but for work. “Kuruk’s Point exists because of the meat and fur trade,” Makittuq said as she led Gyatso and Roku into the city. It was the middle of the day, but the smoke and the overcast sky lent the air an uneasy gloom. “If there’s someone who can point us in the direction of more animals infected with that strange illness, they’ll be here.” Roku was still annoyed that the hawk-faced man back at the encampment had refused to give them any information about where his cousin had been killed. “Why is it called Kuruk’s Point?” Gyatso asked. “Supposedly, this was where Avatar Kuruk was born,” she said. “Really?” Roku wondered. He hadn’t dreamt of his previous incarnation since the night of the caribou-bear attack. Perhaps the spiritual significance of this location would change that. “I doubt it,” Makittuq said, dampening his hopes. “There was nothing here until a few decades into Kyoshi’s era when trade picked up between the Four Nations. The companies probably began calling it that to lend some sense of
importance to their business.” Alas. They came to a stop outside of a tavern, in front of a signboard covered with pinned-up scraps of parchment advertising jobs, rooms for rent, used pelts or boots or sleds, and more. As patrons passed by on their way in or out of the adjacent establishment, they cast wary glances at the odd trio but left them alone. “Where do we start?” Roku asked. “The local chief?” Makittuq laughed. “There’s no chief here.” “Okay, then,” Roku said, adapting his plans. “We ask around.” “I’ll leave that to the two of you,” Makittuq said. “I’ll replenish our supplies, pick up some ingredients that might be useful for potential remedies, and meet you back at this spot later.” Roku and Gyatso nodded. Makittuq left. “Why do you think she decided to come with us?” Gyatso wondered as they watched her disappear into the bustling crowd. Despite the fact it had taken them a few days to reach Kuruk’s Point, Makittuq had revealed no personal details about herself—not for lack of trying on Gyatso’s part. “I don’t know,” Roku said, uncomfortable speculating about her life behind her back. “Anyway, we should probably split up to cover more ground.” “We could,” Gyatso said, and nudged Roku in the ribs with an elbow. “But what if another Earthbender assassin tries to bury you alive, and I’m not there to dig you out again?” Roku let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re never going to let me forget that, eh?” “Absolutely not.” So, together they began asking random tribespeople if anyone had seen or heard of any feral animals with wild eyes, foaming mouths, and purple sores covering their bodies attacking people unprovoked. They asked anyone on the streets willing to stop and speak with them. They asked men hunched over drinks or stroking their beards at Pai Sho boards. They asked diners picking the meat from fishbones or chewing on fermented sea cucumber. They asked workers stacking the frozen carcasses of turtle-seals or tiger-seals or koala-otters onto sleds like cords of firewood. Nobody had heard of such an illness. Everyone was skeptical. Several
suggested they were mistaking the symptoms for simple mange or some other common condition. One asked if they’d been licking ice toads—and if so, where they had found them this time of year. Soon, darkness began to encroach as the early winter sun set. The temperature dropped, freezing the snow. Shopkeepers lit their lanterns. The streets emptied as people funneled into Pai Sho dens and taverns. “Let’s call it a day,” Roku told Gyatso after one last failed attempt to find any useful information. “We can try again in the morning.” Gyatso agreed, and they returned to the signboard where they’d parted ways with Makittuq. However, the young woman wasn’t there. Gyatso peered at the crowded, noisy tavern. “Maybe she got cold?” “Go ahead and check,” Roku said. “I’ll wait out here in case she comes by.” Gyatso nodded and disappeared inside. Roku shoved his mitts into the front pocket of his parka. Shivering, he scanned the surrounding streets in vain for a few moments before his attention strayed to the cluster of messages pinned to the nearby signboard. He idly surveyed the used goods available for purchase or barter and the open jobs. Actually, Roku noticed that only one job seemed available in town. The Western Kingdom Trading Company was looking for capable hunters familiar with the mountains to the east of Kuruk’s Point. The notice had been posted several times. Some of those posts were brittle and frosted or faded with age, while others were crisp, the characters written in fresh ink. “Nope,” Gyatso said as he came back outside, gripping a steaming flagon in his mitt. “Not in there.” “Look at this, Gyatso.” Roku motioned Gyatso over and pointed out the constellation of the Western Kingdom Trading Company’s posts. Gyatso squinted as he read. “Clearly, they need hunters. And clearly, nobody wants the job.” “But why not?” Roku prompted. The Air Nomad shrugged. “Because the Western Kingdom Trading Company is terrible?” It was a logical guess. After all, it was their mining operation that had led to his sister Yama’s death. And it was their people who had trespassed on Lambak Island in search of some rare mineral and ended up destroying the
clan’s village. But Roku shook his head. “I think it has to do with the region,” Roku said. “What if nobody wants to hunt in that particular area because they’re afraid to?” “Ah,” Gyatso said, catching the updraft of Roku’s implication. “Because of strange animal attacks.” Roku’s mouth stretched into a self-satisfied smile. “Exactly.” “But if everyone is avoiding that job for that reason, wouldn’t at least one person we spoke to today have mentioned that?” Roku stroked his chin. “Maybe we were going about it the wrong way. Instead of asking about sick, aggressive animals, we should have been asking about hunters who’ve disappeared.” “Hmm.” Gyatso took a drink of whatever he was holding—at least he tried to. The beverage was frozen solid. He held it out to Roku. “A little help?” Roku twirled a finger over the cup until the beverage thawed. Gyatso drank and sighed with satisfaction. “That’s some good buffalo-yak milk,” he muttered to himself. “But a little chunky.” “Should we try talking to a few more people?” Roku asked, reeling Gyatso’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Can’t hurt,” Gyatso said. They headed into the tavern—and the first person they asked confirmed Roku’s theory. So did the second tribesman they spoke with. And the third. And the tavernkeeper, who had been eavesdropping on their conversations. Over the last few months, several hunters had ventured into the mountains to the east and never returned. The rumor was that they’d been snatched by an angry spirit in revenge for over-hunting the land. Nobody would take a job out that way anymore. However, Roku couldn’t shake the suspicion that the unfortunate tribesmen had been killed by animals infected with the strange sickness. So, in the morning, they’d head out toward those very mountains and discover the truth for themselves.
THE ELEMENT OF CHANGE The farther Roku, Gyatso, and Makittuq traveled across the tundra that stretched east of Kuruk’s Point the next day, the colder and windier and snowier it became. Ice kept forming in clumps along the strands of Lola’s dense fur, weighing her down. Time and again, she’d gradually slow, land, and refuse to take off until Roku defrosted her with his firebending. It was dark, and the sky was clear and full of stars after another defrosting, when Lola grunted and shuffled away as they tried to remount her saddle. With a huff, she dropped onto a dry patch of bare ground that Roku’s flames had melted away and rolled onto her side. “What’s wrong with her?” Makittuq asked. Gyatso scratched the massive beast behind her horns. “I think she needs to rest.” Lola almost instantly began to snore. Makittuq yawned. “She has the right idea.” Roku rubbed his eyes and looked out at the jagged silhouette of the mountains still low on the horizon. It pained him to stop, knowing the infection was likely spreading at that very moment, but they had no other choice. “We’ll make camp here for the night,” he agreed. They gathered their things from Lola’s saddle. Makittuq used her waterbending to shape an ice shelter large enough for three people and a sky bison. Roku used his firebending to melt the snow and dry the kindling he scavenged. Gyatso used his airbending to make a snowman. When everything was ready, they went inside. Roku lit the lamp, and they shed their mitts, boots, and outer layers as the air warmed. They ate in silence from the provisions Makittuq had gathered and rationed, bid each other goodnight, then lay down to sleep.
Gyatso’s and Makittuq’s breathing grew deep and even almost immediately, but Roku tossed and turned. He tried meditating and counting fire ferrets. He tried deep breathing and Air Nomad visualization strategies. Still, sleep would not come. Roku sat up. He melted some snow in a cup, brewed one of the teas he’d brought with him from the Fire Nation, and gazed at the flames as he waited for it to steep. A few moments later, Roku heard someone shift, then sniff at the air. “What is that?” came Makittuq’s voice. “Tea.” Roku nodded. “Valerian root. It’s supposed to be good for relaxing a restless spirit.” She propped herself up onto an elbow. “You have a restless spirit?” “You could say that.” “Me too,” she said, sitting up all the way. “Can I try some?” “Of course.” Roku found another empty cup, poured a bit into it, then passed it over. Makittuq sniffed the tea and wrinkled her nose. “Smells like a hunter’s boots at the end of the day.” She took a sip, swished it around in her mouth, and swallowed with a grimace. A shudder ran through her. “Tastes like it too. I think my spirit would feel more relaxed if I didn’t drink the rest of this. No offense.” “More for me.” Roku held out his cup, and she reunited her portion with his. Makittuq swept her hand downward, and a chunk of ice broke off the wall. With another small wave, the ice melted into water, then poured itself into her cup in a slow, snaking stream. When the cup was full, she held it out to Roku who heated it with a swirl of his finger. “Behold,” Roku declared with mock solemnity. “Avatar Roku, Warmer of Cold Beverages.” Makittuq chuckled quietly, and they fell into a comfortable silence. The fire crackled. The wind whistled. Roku sipped his tea. Makittuq drank her hot water. Gyatso stirred, and Lola began to snore softly. Though they had fallen into the habit of saying little to each other, Roku had the sudden urge to know more about his new traveling companion. Perhaps it was the tea. “Where are you from, exactly?” he asked.
She gave the same answer as she had when Gyatso asked before. “The North.” “Where’s your family?” he tried. “Please don’t say ‘the North.’” Makittuq drank. “I lost them.” “That must be hard,” he said. “And lonely. Especially out here.” “I’m not alone,” Makittuq said. “This land is full of spirits.” Roku arched an eyebrow. “You can see spirits?” Makittuq took a drink as she peered at him over her cup with those purple eyes. “Can’t you? You’re the Avatar.” “No,” he admitted, trying to figure out if she was messing with him. “What’s it like?” She looked away. “Hard to describe. It’s more like I’m able to stand in both worlds simultaneously, one foot in each.” “Have you always been able to see them?” “No,” she said. “It took years of training.” “Who trained you?” “The same Waterbender who taught me water healing.” He sensed there was more to the story—much more. After all, Roku had met numerous highly spiritual gurus and Air Monks and Air Nuns. None had ever claimed to be able to perceive or exist in both worlds at the same time. He’d never even read about such a skill. But Makittuq held her silence, perhaps not yet ready to trust Roku with the rest of the story. Maybe she would in time. “Can you put both feet into the Spirit World?” he asked. She nodded. “You?” “I think I crossed over once,” he said, remembering that strange moment at the peak of the summer solstice in Lambak Island’s Sacred Cave when he’d witnessed the confluence of two great spirits. “But not at will.” “What can you do?” she asked. “Bend fire. And air.” Roku thought some more. “Earth, once—but I haven’t managed to do that again.” “Water?” she asked. Roku shook his head. He had tried many times. Something wasn’t clicking. Then again, he hadn’t been able to airbend or earthbend until his life was in danger. Maybe bending water would require similar circumstances.
Not to mention, the opposite element in the cycle is rumored to be the most difficult one for any Avatar to master. “Let’s try,” she suggested. “Now?” Roku asked. “Why not?” She set aside her cup. With a swirl of her hands, she shaved more ice from the wall and drew it into a perfect spinning sphere floating between her palms. Roku finished his tea and watched carefully. She moved her hands around the ice as if shaping it without touching it. The spinning sphere turned from solid ice to swirling water. A few moments later, it changed to a ring of flowing snow. And after a few more, it hardened back into solid ice that came to rest upon her palm as her hands stilled. She closed her fingers around it and passed it to Roku. “Remember,” she said, “water is the element of change.” Roku took a centering breath, and then tried to imitate her swirling hand movements. The ice promptly rolled out of his palm and hit the ground with a soft thump. “Hmm.” Makittuq said. “You have to feel it.” “I did.” Roku picked the ice up and hefted it to assess its weight. “It’s cold. Hard. Heavy.” “Water is the element of change,” she repeated. “But change is the unfolding of time—and time is an illusion. Every form the water can take is already present at any given moment. So, yes, it’s hard, cold, and heavy. But perceive beyond that. It’s also as feathery as falling snow, as swift as a river, as powerful as a crashing wave.” She sounded like Sister Disha. “Okay.” Roku nodded sagely, eyes fixed on the ice ball. “What does that mean?” Makittuq reached for a different way to explain. “You were training with the Air Nomads. From what I know, one of their core teachings is that everything is connected—including past, present, and future.” “That’s right.” “Everything that has happened, everything that is happening, and everything that will happen—it’s all woven together.” “Basically,” he said, wondering if he could put the ice down. His palm was starting to go numb.
“Think of water in the same way. Once you feel those threads, you can push and pull them to bend the element. Make sense, Avatar Roku?” Roku was starting to understand. “I think so.” “Then let’s try again.” He took another deep breath. Stared at the ice. Felt it. Moved to swirl his hands around it as Makittuq had. Again, it plopped onto the ground. “Maybe if I could observe you one more time . . .” he wondered. “Let’s back up a bit,” Makittuq said. With a wave of her hand, the ice rose and merged back into the wall. “What’s the first word that comes to mind when you think of water?” Roku wiped his palm on the thigh of his trousers. “Death,” he said without hesitation. Makittuq raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t think we’d get to the core of the problem so quickly. Why do you associate water with death?” Again, Roku didn’t have to pause to think. “My twin.” He drew his legs to his chest as he let himself feel the familiar grief. “We were swimming one night when we were kids. An undertow or riptide pulled him out to sea . . . then he was just . . . gone. As much as I swam around, I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t save him.” Makittuq lowered her eyes. “The pain of loss is great enough without the lack of closure,” she said softly. It seemed an observation borne from her own personal experiences. Maybe something to do with her family. “And then there was Ulo,” Roku continued. “It’s a long story, but he was a Waterbender. The chief of a clan on a remote island. I tried to stop him from killing a bunch of people. I did, but I took his life in the process.” Roku’s eyes flicked toward Gyatso’s sleeping form. “And my actions also led to the death of another person—a friend we met on the island.” May Malaya’s flame light our way, Roku thought. When Makittuq raised her eyes again, she offered no trite platitudes. “It’s clear why you link water with death, but you’ll need to learn how it’s also life if you’re going to unblock your connection with waterbending.” “How do I do that?” he asked. “That’s the kind of thing you have to figure out on your own.” Now she really sounded like Sister Disha. “I’m going back to sleep,” Makittuq said after a moment. “We’ll keep working on your waterbending so you’re not completely useless out here.
Thanks for sharing your tea. Even if it was disgusting. Once we get to the mountains, we’ll get you a proper cup of glacial water heated to perfection. You’ll never look back.” “If you say so,” Roku said, unconvinced. To each their own. “Thanks again for coming with us. I have a feeling we’re going to need your help more than we thought.” “Glad to be of service to someone.” She lay back down and rolled away. Roku sighed and went back to watching the flames. It had crossed his mind that those incidences might hinder his ability to connect with his waterbending. But in the spirit of embodying the Air Nomad’s philosophy, he had tried his best to feel the guilt, examine it, and let it pass each time it visited. Apparently, though, it had taken up residence somewhere in his soul.
MINISTERS OF PEACE The wealthiest homes in Omashu featured heated floors. The fire would be lit in the furnace in the adjoining room, and the smoke would travel along a horizontal flue that ran through an enclosed, shallow space dug beneath the structure before exiting out the chimney on the other side. As a result, the heat would warm the masonry in between, keeping those above nice and toasty for hours, even after the fire had burned out. It was a marvel of Earthbender construction found in few other places in the world. Yet Ta Min felt no sense of wonder as she waited, wedged in that cramped, dark, sooty, and stuffy space. The ground under her back was coarse. The layer of stonework inches above was hard and unforgiving. She was hungry. She was thirsty. And her nose itched fiercely—a sensation that only intensified the more she mourned the fact she didn’t have space to scratch it. Thus, it was only a slight improvement over the time an Earthbender assassin had nearly buried her and Roku alive. What would Roku think of her if he saw her now, doing Sozin’s bidding for the sake of retaining her position as an emissary? More importantly, what did she think of herself? She still wasn’t sure. But she was sure that she couldn’t wait for the meeting between Omashu’s and Ba Sing Se’s Ministers of Peace to begin. Thankfully, she soon heard shuffling above. Not the certain, unhurried footfalls of the master of the house, but the frantic scurrying of servants who were likely preparing the room and setting the table. Their quiet chatter— which Ta Min could hear through a small, discreet hole she had paid one of them to drill in the floor’s masonry—quickly confirmed this. As much as the claustrophobic space allowed, she took a deep breath,
shook out her limbs, and rolled her neck. Once the meeting began, she’d have to remain perfectly still. Gradually, the conversation above quieted, and the bustling died down. It was completely silent for a time. Then, a door slid open. Two sets of heavy footsteps entered. The door slid shut. “Have a seat, Minister Pushi,” said a honeyed, self-assured voice Ta Min recognized as belonging to a young man named Huaji, Omashu’s Minister of Peace. She’d met him only once in passing at a party, and he’d reminded her of Sozin. In the short time Ta Min had been in the city, he’d gone from graduating at the top of his class to leading one of the eight departments that ran the western region of the Earth Kingdom. “Thank you, thank you,” said Minister Pushi, who had the grizzled sound of an old soldier. Which—according to the information she’d gathered—he was. A former Dai Li agent, and one of Ba Sing Se’s top military officials. Years ago, he had unraveled the Sandbenders’ rebellion before it even had a chance to truly begin. There were more steps, the muffled scrapes of chairs, and then sound of the men settling into their seats. “Comfortable?” Huaji asked. “Dinner will be served shortly.” “I’m perfectly fine,” Pushi said. “Actually, it’s a bit chilly in here—or is it just me?” Ta Min tensed with panic. One of the reasons she’d decided on this plan was that the weather in Omashu had been unseasonably warm as of late, and Huaji’s servant had assured her they wouldn’t be heating the floors. “Hmm,” Huaji considered. “If you’d like, I could have a servant fetch you a blanket or light the furnace.” There was silence as Ba Sing Se’s minister considered his choice. Take the blanket! Ta Min shouted at Pushi in her mind. “On second thought, I’ll be okay,” he decided, mercifully. “When you get to be as old as I am, Minister Huaji, your bones are always cold.” Ta Min let out a careful sigh of relief. “You’re not so old yet,” Huaji said generously. “But let me know if you change your mind. Anyway, how was the journey?” And that was what they talked about. At length. Minister Pushi was as long-winded as a lonely grandfather, generous with descriptions of everything he saw and ate along the way, every change in the weather, every
minor inconvenience he suffered. It was woefully uninteresting, and by the time the servants entered to serve the meal, he had only just begun to describe how he’d crossed the Great Divide. When he reached the end of his tale, the dinner talk turned to the general Earth Kingdom news of the day. It was nothing Ta Min didn’t already know, and she couldn’t imagine Minister Pushi had made the trip simply to discuss such innocuous topics. Yet as the servants cleared the dishes and brought out the tea, their time together seemed to be coming to a close, and Ta Min wondered if all this had been for nothing. “Can we speak candidly yet?” Pushi asked after the tea service concluded and the last of the servants’ footsteps receded. Ta Min perked up. “A moment, please,” Huaji said and crossed the room. Shifting into an authoritative tone, Huaji ordered someone in the hallway to make sure the area was secure. “And if it’s not too much of a bother,” Pushi called over, “could you please have someone light that furnace after all?” Tell him it’s VERY bothersome! Ta Min mentally commanded Huaji. Instead, Huaji said “Of course,” and relayed the command before shutting the door. Not good. Ta Min considered shimmying out the way she’d come in, but the ministers were only now getting to the real conversation. She prayed the servant tapped for the task would be the same girl who’d helped her form this very plan. Aware of Ta Min’s presence underfoot, hopefully the girl would either take her time or invent some excuse for why the fire could not be lit. Huaji returned to the table and sat down again. “What’s the status of our little project?” Pushi asked. “Is it ready yet?” “Almost,” Huaji said. “Our operative in the North assures us it will be ready soon.” Ba Sing Se’s minister scoffed. “She’s certainly taking her time, isn’t she?” “I thought our elders were supposed to be the ones who possessed patience,” Huaji said so smoothly in his honeyed voice that the insult came off like a jest. “Ha!” Pushi barked. “You said I wasn’t that old!” “We can’t rush it,” Huaji said. “The poison must work perfectly if we’re to pull this off successfully.”
Ta Min’s eyes widened. Poison? What poison? And who were they planning to poison? Queen Guo Xun or the Earth King would be the most obvious targets, but— A scratching noise nearby drew Ta Min’s attention. There wasn’t space enough to turn her head and look, but she was pretty sure it was the sound of someone arranging kindling or coals. But she had to hear the rest of this conversation. “Sounds like an excuse.” Pushi blew his nose. Coughed. “With all of her ‘experimentation,’ do you have any of the Lambak mineral sample remaining?” Ta Min’s brow furrowed. The Lambak mineral? That was the stone Roku said the Western Kingdom Trading Company had been seeking on the island he and Gyatso had traveled to a few years ago. But Roku had told her that they’d stopped the Earthbenders and sent them back to the Earth Kingdom empty-handed and manacled. “Enough,” Huaji answered. “Where are you keeping it?” Pushi asked. “Somewhere safe.” The visiting minister grumbled at his host’s coyness. “At least tell me you can get more if needed.” “I can.” “Good. You’ll need plenty if you’re to mix enough of that woman’s poison to contaminate your city’s entire water supply.” Ta Min stifled a surprised cough. “Did you just hear something?” Huaji asked. Ta Min froze. Pushi let out a better laugh. “You mean besides the sound of the Earth King’s gold clinking into your coffers in exchange for empty assurances?” “Shh . . .” Huaji silenced the other man. There was the faint snick of a striking flint, followed by the whoosh of a flame coming to life. “Ah,” Huaji said. “The furnace.” “About time,” Pushi grunted. “This mountain air is too drafty.” As Ba Sing Se’s minister of “peace” began to detail Omashu’s other failings, Ta Min decided she had heard enough. She had to get out of here before she died of suffocation or heat exhaustion.
As the air grew hot and smoky, Ta Min began to shimmy toward the chimney’s small opening that was several paces beyond her head. Her soot- covered skin began to slick with sweat, and it was becoming difficult to breathe. If only she had enough room to maneuver and firebend that cursed flame out of existence. “There—” Huaji suddenly said, interrupting Minister Pushi’s grievance about the delivery chutes. “I heard something again. I don’t think it was the furnace this time.” Ta Min paused. A chair scraped across the floor. Someone stood, walked toward her, and stopped directly above. “Maybe you have scorpion-rats,” Pushi suggested. “Wouldn’t surprise me . . .” “There’s not a single scorpion-rat left in Omashu,” Huaji snapped, oddly offended by the assumption. The air under the floor grew unbearably hot and smoky. Sweat trickled down the side of Ta Min’s face. A cough tickled her throat. She clamped her mouth closed and held her breath. The silence above stretched on. Ta Min imagined Huaji on the other side of the masonry, ear pressed to the floor. “As entertaining as this is,” Pushi’s gruff voice said suddenly, “I’ve had a long day and wish to retire.” There was a shifting above Ta Min—likely Huaji rising to his feet—and then the sound of muffled steps moving away. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll show you to your quarters.” As soon as their footsteps faded, Ta Min resumed her wriggling scramble for the exit. When she finally reached the chimney, she writhed upright and climbed out into the open. She drank in a deep breath of cool air and dusted herself off. After glancing around to make sure nobody had seen her, she crept off into the night, mind reeling from the horror of what she’d overheard. She had to find Dalisay to notify Sozin. She had to warn Omashu’s queen. She had to send a messenger hawk to Roku. It would be bad enough if the ministers were plotting to assassinate some official or noble, but poisoning the entire city? It was genocide. And to what end? It didn’t matter. There was no reason that could justify killing innocent
people. Ever.
FIND THE BODIES Roku was back in the icy canyons with Kuruk. The slow, ever-shifting curtain of purple and green spirit lights still filled the jagged slice of the night sky visible overhead between the canyon’s walls. The shorter but burlier Avatar was still peeking around a sharp turn in the narrow passage, spear in hand. And the unseen creature waiting around the corner was still emitting a guttural growling that reverberated through the ice. This time, Roku didn’t speak or try to light a flame. He simply waited. After a long stretch of stillness, Avatar Kuruk turned slowly toward Roku. The Water Avatar met the Fire Avatar’s eyes and nodded. It was time to strike. Roku took a centering breath and returned the nod with dream logic assurance. Kuruk slipped around the corner and flung the spear. Roku followed but froze with dread. It was neither a polar bear–dog nor a lion-orca toward which Kuruk’s weapon whispered through the semidarkness—it was a spirit in the shape of a giant water serpent. Coiled within a large space into which the canyon opened, it had a massive wolf’s head, and its scales shimmered with an otherworldly indigo. The colossal spirit unspooled with supernatural speed, slithering out of the spear’s way. It whipped its tail and struck Kuruk. He slammed against the canyon wall, cracking the ice. The spirit lunged at Roku next. He dove sideways as he spun, tugging the wind to pull himself out of the way. Its massive jaws snapped shut at his heels. He landed and whirled around with a flaming kick that the spirit easily dodged. Kuruk cursed, found his footing, and rejoined the fight. Fire, earth, wind, and water whipped through the frigid night air as the two Avatars tried to
strike or immobilize the spirit. But it was too quick. It slipped and slid and swerved away, an impossible target that never stopped moving. It darted over the ground, shot along the canyon walls, swam through the air. And then it dove into a wall of solid ice as if slipping into water. “Um . . .” Roku said, as his flames extinguished. “Did you know it could do that?” Kuruk shifted into a defensive stance and scanned the area, waiting for the spirit to reappear from anywhere. “Yes.” “A warning would have been nice,” Roku said, doing the same. “What is this thing?” “It used to be a guardian spirit,” Kuruk answered. “Used to?” Roku echoed. “What does that mean?” “Shh!” Kuruk spun around at the sound of creaking ice—but nothing emerged. The wind whistled through the canyon. Died down. Silence regathered. Roku was about to repeat his question to Kuruk when the spirit shot up from the ice directly below Roku and swallowed the Fire Avatar whole. Roku jolted awake, heart pounding. He rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t inside some giant spirit water serpent—he was flying on Lola’s saddle. Gyatso and Makittuq were staring at him. “Bad dream?” Gyatso asked. “Maybe,” Roku said, still emerging as he sat up. The arctic wind stung his face and ruffled his furs. The sun glowed dimly behind the clouds. Not too far ahead of them stretched a jagged, snow-dusted mountain range. “We made it,” Roku said, relieved. Makittuq nodded. “We call them the Spirit’s Claws.” It had taken longer than he had hoped. The days had been getting shorter, and their provisions were low again. Roku had even begun to doubt he’d made the right decision by choosing to investigate this illness instead of continuing to the Northern capital. The possibility that Lola carried him closer to some looming mistake continued to nag at him. “How are we going to find anything down there?” he asked. “With our eyes,” Makittuq said flatly. Gyatso snorted a laugh as he gathered the reins and guided Lola to slow down and fly lower.
“Seriously,” Roku said, “wouldn’t any evidence the hunters left behind be buried by the snow?” “Any encampments would only be under the upper layers,” Makittuq said. “We just need to keep an eye out for places where it seems uneven or irregular. That could be a sign that there’s a tent, a sled, or a body below.” Whether she meant the bodies of the hunters or their prey, Roku didn’t know—and didn’t ask. Regardless, he didn’t think he’d be much help. To his untrained eyes, it all looked like fields of blinding white stretching between rocky protrusions. A quizzical glance and shrug from Gyatso indicated the Air Nomad felt equally useless. Nonetheless, all three continued to peer below as Lola weaved through the mountains. “You should know that even though I’m a healer, I don’t have any experience stopping an illness from spreading,” Makittuq said after some time, eyes still searching the snow. “We do,” Gyatso said. “In the Foggy Swamp,” Roku added. As they continued watching for signs of hunting encampments, they told her about one of the Air Nomads’ relief missions a couple years ago in the southern Earth Kingdom. The villagers—descended from a tribe of Waterbenders that had emigrated from the Southern Water Tribe long ago— were being plagued by an unfamiliar illness. During the early stages, the sick experienced symptoms like fever, vomiting, and aching joints. But as their condition worsened, people struggled to breathe, suffered severe stomach pains, and bled from their gums. Gradually, they would lose their energy and expire. “Interesting,” Makittuq said. “Horrifying,” Gyatso corrected. “Of course,” Makittuq said. “It’s just that I’ve never come across an illness like that before.” “Neither had the tribe or any of us,” Roku said. He explained how Sister Disha had split the Air Nomads and healthy villagers into three groups: one to contain the illness, one to cure it, and one to figure out how to prevent it. The first group got to work quarantining the ill and restricting those allowed to directly interact with the sick to a limited few. They also disposed of the food stores and started drawing from a new water source in case it was
caused by contamination. Meanwhile, the second group began testing remedies, and the third interviewed the villagers to piece together a detailed picture of all that had happened leading up to the first cases of sickness. “Clever,” Makittuq said. “What did you each do?” “I worked on the cure,” Gyatso said proudly. Roku scoffed. “He fetched ingredients.” “And you, Avatar?” Makittuq asked. “Containment,” he admitted, wishing he had played a more heroic role in the story. “And our airbending master, Sister Disha, focused on figuring out how to prevent it.” “Did she?” Makittuq asked. “Yes,” Roku answered. “She learned that the tribe had begun fishing a new section of a nearby river, so she had a few of the villagers show her the way. She spent days exploring the area, visiting the Spirit World, and asking the villagers questions about every little thing.” “They grew so annoyed.” Gyatso laughed at the memory. “Obviously, they’d already thought this change might have something to do with the sickness, and they’d discussed it thoroughly even before sending for help. But they hadn’t been able to think of any reason it might be connected, and they often rotated where they fished from season to season, year to year.” “Eventually,” Roku continued, “Sister Disha noticed a flying insect near that section of the river that was as small as a dust mote. She asked about it— like she’d asked about everything else. The tribesmen admitted they were unfamiliar with the bugs. Since a remedy had already been developed by this time—” “Thanks to my team!” Gyatso interrupted. “Sister Disha let several of the tiny insects bite her,” Roku resumed, ignoring the Air Nomad. “And she came down with the illness?” Makittuq asked. Roku nodded. “Prevention proved as simple as steering clear of that area.” Makittuq nodded, impressed. “Smart woman.” “The smartest,” Gyatso acknowledged. “Too bad she’s not here,” Roku mourned. “Too bad we don’t have a team of Air Nomads to help,” Gyatso said. “Too bad we’re dealing with a completely different sickness and situation,” Makittuq added.
Roku sat up, trying to rally himself from falling into despair. “Sister Disha’s approach could still be helpful though,” he offered. “Contain, cure, and prevent.” They continued scanning the frozen mountains. To accomplish any of that, first they needed to find the infected. The sun was setting, turning the sky a bruised purple when Makittuq pointed at the ground yet again. “There.” Roku squinted as he followed her finger to a lump in the snow. He hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be another boulder, but he stroked his chin skeptically. They’d been searching for hours, and that’s all they’d discovered so far. “Bring Lola down,” Roku instructed Gyatso. “It’s getting late. If this proves to be nothing, we’ll camp here for the night.” Lola came to a soft landing, and they hopped off her saddle. Makittuq led them to a mound in the snow that looked like one more buried boulder. She widened her stance, then swung her arms upward and away, sweeping aside the snow. Roku exhaled with relief. “Finally.” It was a tent. Only big enough for two or three people. But a sign that they might be on the right track nonetheless. The hides that formed the tent’s walls were frozen stiff, so Makittuq had to snap off the door flap so they could peer inside. There wasn’t much to see. Two unrolled sleeping mats. A small stone lamp. Various supplies covered in frost. “I don’t see any weapons,” Makittuq observed as they stepped back. “Or a sled.” Considering everything that had been left behind, Roku understood the implication. “They went out hunting but never returned.” “Exactly,” she said. “Now what?” Gyatso asked. Roku considered the surrounding mountains. “We find the bodies.” “There’s still some light,” Makittuq said. “I’ll look around and check for any signs that might point to where they went.” “Good idea,” Roku said. “We’ll set up camp.”
“Think you could build us one of those fancy ice shelters before you go?” Gyatso asked Makittuq. He nodded toward the abandoned tent. “Not sure that’s going to cut it.” Makittuq gestured for them to stand back. With several flowing sweeps of her arms, she erected a domed shelter large enough for the three of them and Lola. Then, she set off into the mountains. “Don’t stay out too long,” Roku called after her. “It’s getting dark.” “Don’t worry about me,” the young tribeswoman called back. “This place is my home—I know how to survive.”
THE SUPERIOR STRATEGY Atka watched the ice shelter from behind a rocky outcropping in the mountainside above. It glowed from within as smoke rose from the chimney. The wind whistled. The ice creaked and groaned. A distant lone howl carried through the cold. Before it fell quiet, another took up its call. And then another. Soon, there was an eerie chorus of arctic wolf howls ringing across the semidarkness. They gradually quieted, and silence returned. Satisfied that the Avatar and the Airbender were not going to leave the warmth of their fire, the young woman turned and walked away. She followed a familiar trail to a small cavern she’d used the last time she’d been in this area. After building a small fire, she opened her satchel and removed her mortar and pestle, her scales, and an array of vials and bottles and pouches. She thought of her mother as she neatly laid each item on the ground, because the tools had been hers before passing to Atka. She had taught Atka to use them to save lives, but now Atka used them to take lives. When everything was ready, Atka cracked open her notebook, and got to work preparing a new recipe. Tagging along with the Avatar was already proving to be as useful as the young woman had hoped. She had been testing the poison on progressively larger creatures, but his handling of the caribou-bear showed her the error of her ways. A single poisoned animal—no matter how ferocious—could be stopped. This time, she’d corrupt several. Attack on many fronts. Split the Avatar’s attention. Overwhelm him. Perhaps this was the superior strategy. Atka was a bit worried that he’d managed to so quickly find the remote region where she’d started her experiments months ago. But no matter. He still didn’t suspect anything about the true nature of the illness. By the time
he did, it would be too late. Justice would be hers.
FEWER THAN FIFTY When the sun finally rose the next morning, Roku, Gyatso, and Makittuq strapped on their snowshoes and set off by foot into the mountains while Lola flew off to forage. The sky was cloudy again but the wind was calm, making the air feel a fraction less frigid. Last night, Makittuq had found boot prints pressed into the frozen mud on a portion of a nearby game trail where the wind had thinned the snow. Their plan was to follow the trail and see where it led—a task Makittuq assured them would be much easier to accomplish if they weren’t zooming through the air on a sky bison. “Did you dream of Kuruk again last night?” Gyatso asked Roku, making conversation as they crunched through the snow, using their staves as walking sticks. Makittuq was far ahead and didn’t seem inclined to slow down for their sakes. “No,” Roku said. Gyatso smirked. “Ta Min?” Roku laughed and didn’t deny it. Neither did he divulge the details of the dream in which he and Ta Min had been walking through the Southern Air Temple’s floating gardens together at dusk. Thankfully, Gyatso didn’t ask. Instead, he returned to the initial topic of interest. “It’s weird that your second Kuruk dream was a continuation of the first,” he mused. “Dreams don’t usually work like that.” “Maybe it’s not a dream,” Roku said. “Maybe I’m connecting with him. Or, he’s trying to connect with me.” “Why?” “No idea,” Roku said. Up ahead, Makittuq stopped and pointed at the ground. “Here’s what I
found last night,” she called back to them before proceeding. Roku and Gyatso examined the spot as they reached it. Yup, it was a boot print. They continued on their way. “When you connected with Kyoshi,” Gyatso said, resuming their conversation, “you basically just spoke with her, right?” “Kind of,” Roku said, remembering that moment when he’d thought he had been crushed to death as the Sacred Cave collapsed upon him. Thankfully, that moment of connection with the Earth Avatar had allowed him to tap into his own latent earthbending to save himself and Sozin. “So why wouldn’t it be that straightforward with Avatar Kuruk?” Gyatso asked. Roku thought about his conversation with Makittuq the other night. “Probably because my emotions are blocking my connection to water.” “Ah,” Gyatso said. “Been there. But with airbending, of course.” The Avatar already knew about how his friend had worked through his grief—in fact, Roku had helped him do so—but it wasn’t grief that held Roku back. The conversation with Makittuq the other night helped him understand that it was guilt. Not to mention, Roku was pretty sure that how one dealt with a block depended on the specific qualities of the element in question— something Gyatso wouldn’t understand, since only Avatars had to worry about connecting with different elements. “You just have to let it go,” Gyatso told Roku with the easy confidence of someone who’d never truly struggled with the exact issue of the person they were advising. Roku sighed. “Working on it.” As if it were that easy. “I’m here if you ever want to talk,” Gyatso offered. “I know,” Roku said. “Thank you.” “By the way,” Gyatso said as he stopped walking. “Do you trust her?” Roku paused and turned to the Air Nomad, surprised. “Makittuq?” “Yeah.” “Why?” Roku asked. Gyatso hesitated. “It’s just . . . we’ve been traveling with her for a few days, and we know next to nothing about her. She still won’t tell us where she’s from, how old she is, or anything specific about her past. For all we know, ‘Makittuq’ might not even be her real name.” “She told me she lost her family,” Roku reminded Gyatso. “Maybe
whatever happened to them occurred recently enough that she still doesn’t know how to—or want to—talk about it. We both know what that’s like.” Gyatso wiped his nose. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. They fell quiet and continued following Makittuq through the snow across the mountainside. Roku hadn’t thought much of the way Makittuq kept to herself, but his instincts had failed him before. Perhaps the Air Nomad was onto something. Maybe they shouldn’t trust her so readily. They eventually found two bodies half buried in the ice at the base of a rocky outcropping. Not much remained of either beyond the bones and the tattered, stiff fragments of the hunters’ pelts. One still clutched a club; the other, a bow. It was clear that something had cornered and brutally attacked them. It didn’t take long for Makittuq to surmise what after examining the remains. “We heard them howling last night,” she said. “Arctic wolves?” Roku asked. Makittuq had been crouching, but she rose now as she turned to face the Avatar and the Air Nomad. She nodded. Gyatso gulped. “As in more than one wolf?” “They hunt in packs,” she said. “How big are their packs?” Roku asked. “They can be as small as four or five, as large as fifty.” “Fifty?” Gyatso’s hooded eyes widened. “Fifty possibly infected wolves,” Roku corrected. A shudder ran through him as he imagined such a pack, roaming throughout the North unchecked, spreading the illness. “We have to find them.” Makittuq’s amethyst gaze slid to something behind Roku and Gyatso. “I think they found us.” Roku tensed. Gyatso grimaced. “If I turn around, am I going to see a bunch of wolves?” he whispered. Makittuq slowly shifted into a defensive waterbending stance. “Fewer than fifty.” But Gyatso and Roku didn’t have to turn around. A moment later, more
wolves prowled silently into sight on the rocks above, shoulders hunched, hackles raised, and teeth bared. They had the same wild and vacant eyes as the caribou-bear, the same purple sores mottling gray-and-white fur, the same froth foaming at their mouths. Now that they had shown themselves and had their prey encircled, the infected creatures began snarling and barking as they inched closer from all sides. One lunged forward and snapped at the air—only to pull back. Others did the same. Feints designed to distract and intimidate. “Back-to-back,” Roku said under his breath. Avoiding any sudden movements, the Avatar, the Air Nomad, and the Waterbender slowly positioned themselves so they were facing outward, their backs to each other. Roku raised his staff, took a centering breath, and braced himself for the melee to begin.
TREATMENT Sozin faced the door as if he were about to fight an Agni Kai. His heart was pounding, his palms were clammy, and his breath was shaky. But this was no duel—at least, not physically. He had merely come to deliver some news. Granted, it was probably the most consequential news he’d carried about Omashu since the Fire Lord had placed him in charge of the Fire Nation’s relationship with the western Earth Kingdom’s largest city. He took one more shaky breath, cleared his throat, and knocked. “Not now!” barked the Fire Lord’s voice from within. Not a great start. “Father, it’s me,” Sozin tried. “Sorry to disturb you,” he quickly tacked on. There was a groan of resigned frustration. “What is it?” “News. From Omashu.” “And it can’t wait until my treatment is over?” “It’s urgent,” Sozin said. Another groan of resigned frustration. “Come in.” Sozin slid the door open and stepped inside a small dimly lit room that smelled of sweat, incense, and fire. The Royal Fire Healer was kneeling next to Taiso, who was lying on his stomach on a mat in the center of the room with his eyes closed. His upper body was bare, his arms were crossed under his head, and three overturned glass cups were stuck to his back. Within the glasses rose circles of swollen red skin. “One more,” the Fire Lord instructed the healer. The healer—an older, tan-skinned woman with her hair twisted into tight, gray locs braided with shells—picked up another glass. She held it upside down, lit a quick flame inside with a flick of her free hand, then swiftly set it
onto an empty space on the Fire Lord’s back. Immediately, the skin began to redden and rise as it suctioned into the cup. Sozin always expected the skin to swell until it filled the cup completely, but it always stopped after rising one or two fingers. The Fire Lord sighed with satisfaction and dismissed the Royal Healer with a relaxed wave. The woman rose, bowed deeply, and backed out of the room, sliding the door closed as she left. “This better be good, Sozin,” Taiso said without bothering to open his eyes. Sozin knew how to tell a good story, but his father preferred things straight and to the point, so that’s how Sozin shared what he’d discovered about the meeting between Omashu’s and Ba Sing Se’s Ministers of Peace. The Earth King was funding the development of some new poison, and the ministers planned to use it to contaminate Omashu’s water supply. “Why would King Jialun do such a thing?” the Fire Lord asked. Though it was less a question borne from curiosity or concern and more a test to assess his son’s grasp of the situation. “To destabilize Omashu,” Sozin answered without hesitation. “And consolidate his power over the entire Earth Kingdom.” Taiso didn’t affirm Sozin’s claim, but neither did he correct it. Instead, he posed a second query. “Why would Omashu’s Minister of Peace help?” Sozin shifted. “I don’t know for sure,” he admitted, “but the Earth King must have promised Minister Huaji something. Perhaps he plans to replace Queen Guo Xun with the minster after the tragedy passes. Of course, Huaji would only be king in title. In reality, he’d be a figurehead. Jialun’s puppet.” Taiso finally opened his eyes, lifted his head so his chin rested on his forearms, and looked at his son. Sozin couldn’t be certain, but he thought he caught a glimmer of pride. Then, the Fire Lord asked the final and most important question. “What should the Fire Nation do?” Sozin had already considered this as carefully as if it were the single most important Pai Sho tile placement in his life. Maybe it was, in a way. At least, so far. Forget rice tariffs. This was the first real question of consequence within his realm of official responsibility. “Nothing,” Sozin answered. Fire Lord Taiso blinked. Whatever glimmer Sozin thought he’d caught in his father’s eyes a moment ago dulled. “Nothing?” “Nothing,” Sozin repeated with feigned confidence. “Let Omashu fall.”
Taiso held a sharp silence, waiting for Sozin to explain his rationale. The prince shifted. Cleared his throat. “Queen Guo Xun is too smart and strong a leader to have so close to our borders. Her economic policies are the reason trade is so complicated between Omashu and the Fire Nation.” “King Jialun is a brute,” Taiso responded. “And brutes are simple,” Sozin pointed out. “Easy to understand, to manage. Better him in charge—through a puppet—than her.” “Brutes make the worst neighbors, Sozin.” Fire Lord Taiso sighed with disappointment as he closed his eyes and laid his head back down on his arms. “Warn the queen immediately. Gain her favor. Omashu serves as a useful buffer between us and Ba Sing Se. You are to keep it that way.” “But Father—” “That is all,” Taiso interrupted. “Send the Royal Healer back in on your way out.” Sozin gritted his teeth and clenched his fists behind his back. The Fire Lord was wrong—wasn’t he? But what could Sozin do? It wasn’t his call yet. Nothing truly was. Speaking of figureheads. Burning with frustration, he bowed curtly and turned to go. But when he opened the door, his father asked, “What is it?” Sozin stopped, confused. “Father?” “Oh, it’s you, Sozin.” The Fire Lord, opened his eyes, lifted his head so his chin rested on his forearms, and looked at his son. “This better be good. You interrupted my treatment.” It took a moment for Sozin to register that his father was having one of his episodes. He’d completely forgotten the conversation they’d just had. Guess the fire cupping wasn’t working. Which meant Sozin had another chance. He could reexplain the situation and provide the “correct” answer to his father’s final question, gaining his approval. But then he thought of a better solution. He relaxed his jaw and unclenched his fists. “Mother was wondering when you’ll retire this evening,” Sozin lied. “It’s late, and she’s worried you haven’t been getting enough rest.” “That’s all?” Taiso laughed. “Tell her I’ll be along shortly.” “Of course, Father.”
The Fire Lord laid his head back down. “Send the Royal Healer back in on your way out.” “Yes, Father.” Sozin bowed and left. As soon as the door was closed, Sozin grinned. He was right about how to handle the Omashu situation. He was sure of it. The correct course of action was to do nothing. Sit back and let it play out, let the mud dwellers destroy and weaken each other. His real mistake had been not the answer he gave but bringing the situation to the Fire Lord’s attention in the first place. His father might be angry when Sozin later claimed ignorance after the fact, but better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. Actually, Sozin wouldn’t even need forgiveness. The results would speak for themselves.
THE WEAK POINT This would not be an easy fight—even if the two dozen or so wolves surrounding them weren’t being driven mad by some strange illness that magnified their aggression and strength. Roku, Gyatso, and Makittuq had to defend themselves while keeping their backs to each other. If anyone strayed out of formation, they’d expose the others to attacks from the rear or flanks. Roku was facing the corner formed by the rocky outcropping, at the base of which the hunters’ remains were half-frozen into the ice. The wolves standing on the low cliff formed by the rocks continued to snarl and snap at the air, edging closer as they waited for the pack’s signal to pounce. At least they weren’t dark spirits, Roku thought. Then again, maybe he’d prefer to take on one of those colossal indigo glowing serpents over all these wolves. One of the wolves barked, and the others surged forward. Those on the rocks burst ahead with a few quick strides, leapt over the edge, and pounced at Roku. Roku swung his staff, sending out a wide ribbon of wind that sent most of the wolves in front of him sailing over the rocks. He whipped one arm back around, and the sudden flaming arc hit those the wind had missed. The beasts landed short of the Avatar, whimpering and pawing at their singed snouts. But they didn’t retreat. More reappeared atop the rocks. They attacked again. Roku pushed them back with air and fire, with his staff and fists and feet. But they were relentless. No sooner would he send a few flying off with a gust of air or jumping back from the heat of his flames than another group would lunge at him from his other side. Meanwhile, from behind him came a jumble of sounds. Sliding, shuffling, grunting. Snarling, snapping, growling. A sudden yelp or whimper. The
whooshing of Gyatso’s winds. The crackling and splashing of Makittuq’s ice and water. “Everyone doing all right?” Roku called to his companions after fire- kicking away one of the creatures that had slipped under a blast of wind and nearly sunk its teeth into his arm. Breathing hard, Gyatso called back, “No—we can’t all bend more than one element.” Roku understood his friend’s frustration—without the room to properly maneuver, air was particularly ineffective. Roku had already tossed his staff aside to free his hands to focus on firebending. “We’ll tire out before they do,” Makittuq said as ice cracked and shattered. Roku jabbed his hands forward rapidly, shooting a series of sharp flames that made a group of advancing wolves hesitate. “Have you been able to freeze any of them, Makittuq?” “A few,” she said. “But they’re too fast, and there are too many.” Roku’s mind raced for a solution. Makittuq was right about the creatures outlasting them. How much longer could they hold off the attack? It was only a matter of time before the benders grew tired and one of the wolves slipped past their defenses. Then, the beasts would work together to exploit the weak point. He briefly considered calling out for Makittuq to raise an ice shelter over them. But it wouldn’t be safe for her to let her guard down long enough to do that, and it would be only a temporary solution. The wolves would merely wait them out. Roku thought some more. An idea came. “Makittuq,” he called. “Take my spot when I move. And then, Gyatso, shift over so the two of you stay back-to-back.” Ice crackled. A wolf yelped. “Okay,” said Makittuq. Wind rippled past Roku, ruffling his furs and eliciting a few whimpers. “Are you about to do something stupid?” Gyatso asked. “Maybe.” After pushing back one more lunging attack with a sweeping kick, Roku flipped as he sprung into the air boosted by an updraft. He landed with his back to the rocks, amid the now scattered remains of the hunters. As he had hoped, several wolves spun to face him. Also as he had hoped, Makittuq flung her arms upward and encased them in a wall of ice before
they lunged. More wolves darted out from either side of the wall a moment later, but a fresh attack to Makittuq’s left drew her attention away. Freed from the formation, Roku ran, jumped, and dove as he flung flames and wind at the infected creatures from all directions, confusing their attack. Makittuq took advantage of the distractions to freeze more when she was able to. The area became littered with icebergs jutting from the ground, wolves frozen within up to their necks. With their numbers dwindling, the beasts’ strategy started to collapse. Soon, only a few were left stalking between their trapped packmates, uncertain if they should keep pursuing their prey or flee. Makittuq had just frozen one more when Gyatso cried out in pain. Perched upon the rocks, Roku turned toward his friend. A wolf had its jaws clamped around Gyatso’s left calf. It was tugging on the Airbender’s leg as it growled and shook its head violently from side to side. Unable to maneuver to do any airbending, Gyatso was whacking it with his staff—to little effect. Roku reared his hand back and channeled a length of flame into his palm. He leapt down as he whipped it forward. The fire’s tip snapped across the side of the wolf’s face. The beast released Gyatso with a yelp. It began to back away when water rose around its body and solidified into ice with a quick crackle. Oblivious to any remaining danger, Roku rushed over and slid to his friend’s side. “Gyatso! Are you okay?” he asked between huffing breaths. The Air Nomad’s face contorted in pain as he leaned on his staff and dropped onto the ground. He pulled his left leg in. The area around the calf was a bloody mess of torn flesh and ripped pelt. “I’d be better,” he said through his teeth, “if Makittuq didn’t leave my back exposed.” “She didn’t do it on purpose,” Roku offered. “Didn’t do what on purpose?” Makittuq said, breathing heavily as she appeared at Gyatso’s other side. “Nothing,” Roku and Gyatso said at the same time. She side-eyed them. “Okay . . . anyway, all the wolves are taken care of.” Makittuq swung her arms overhead, covering the three of them with a dome of ice. With another quick motion, she cut a hole for a chimney overhead. “Start a fire,” she told Roku. Roku nodded. With nothing to burn and no lamp to light, he snapped his
wrist and brought a small flame to life in his palm. That would have to do. “Can I take a look at that leg?” Makittuq asked. Gyatso hesitated. Roku narrowed his eyes. “Sure,” Gyatso relented. “Roll onto your stomach,” Makittuq instructed. Grimacing, the Air Nomad shut his eyes and did as he was told, the snow crunching beneath him. Makittuq used her waterbending to shape a small blade from ice and cut both layers of Gyatso’s pant leg above the knee. She peeled them away and carefully stretched his leg out straight. With a wave, she melted some snow and used the water to rinse the wound. The blood washed away and revealed the pale skin of Gyatso’s calf and the clear oval bite mark. It was bruising, and blood was pooling in the punctures. Makittuq sat back on her heels and raised her hands, palms open upward. As she did so, a stream of water formed above Gyatso’s leg and began to glow. She moved the water back and forth with smooth, rhythmic, swaying motions as if she were weaving in the air. Roku untensed as Gyatso’s face relaxed—a clear sign Makittuq’s water healing was relieving the pain. Soon enough, the bleeding stopped. Whatever doubts Gyatso harbored about the Waterbender, Roku was glad he had trusted his instincts and asked Makittuq to join them. After a few more moments, the water dimmed and evaporated into a puff of mist as Makittuq swept it aside and dropped her hands. “There.” “You okay, Gyatso?” Roku asked. Gyatso’s eyes half-opened, and he took in the sight of Roku kneeling over him, flame in hand. “Behold,” Gyatso muttered weakly. “Avatar Roku: Heater of Rooms.” “Har-har,” Roku said. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Makittuq tore a strip of clean cloth and used it to bandage Gyatso’s leg. “Thank you,” he told her. “Of course.” She swept her hand out one more time and pushed open a small hole in the side of the impromptu ice shelter. “Now let’s see if I can do anything for those wolves.”
NO DEATH IS GENTLE While Gyatso rested, Roku climbed out of the shelter and joined Makittuq. The young tribeswoman was walking between the frozen arctic wolves, surveying her handiwork as the beasts continued to snarl and bite at the air. Step one was complete: They were contained. Of course, it was only a partial success. Roku had no way to know how many other infected animals were still out there, spreading the horrifying sickness. But one thing at a time. “Would have been quicker if you could waterbend,” Makittuq said. “Did you even try?” Roku ignored the question. “We should get them out of the ice before they die like the caribou-bear. We need them alive if we’re to try some remedies.” Makittuq nodded wearily, took a deep breath, and set her feet. She shot her arms out in front of her and traced a wide, swift circle. As she did, a low ice wall erupted around the frozen wolves. With several additional swift movements, she raised a few pillars and pulled a roof over the entire thing, leaving a narrow gap at the top of the wall along one side. “Will that do?” Roku approached and peeked through the gap. “I think so.” He heard Makittuq’s furs rustle and her boots shift. A moment later, the ice around the wolves melted, depositing the beasts onto the ground. They found their footing, shook themselves off, then immediately rushed at Roku. The barking, snarling mass slammed into the wall, and Roku jumped back. Snapping snouts poked through the gap in the ice enclosure, straining to reach the Avatar as their angry breaths puffed out in white clouds. Roku took a few more steps away. “You could have warned me.” Makittuq smirked. “Then I wouldn’t have gotten to see the Avatar stumble so elegantly.” Roku watched the wolves a moment longer before glancing over his
shoulder at the ice shelter within which Gyatso was resting. “You think he’s going to be okay?” “The bleeding stopped,” Makittuq said. “That’s the important thing. If you can call the sky bison, I’ll have the supplies to make a poultice that will help the wound heal. Of course, he’s going to be favoring that leg for at least a few weeks. Those teeth were sharp and dug deep into his flesh.” Roku put his fingers to his mouth, whistled, and watched the sky for Lola. Dread sat in his stomach like a smoldering coal. “You think the infection spread into his body when the wolf bit him?” She shrugged. “One way or the other, we’ll find out soon enough.” He didn’t even want to imagine his friend as a wild-eyed feral monster covered in purple sores and foaming at the mouth—but he couldn’t help it. Makittuq peeled her attention away from the creatures and shifted it to Roku. “Your friend doesn’t like me very much, does he?” Roku considered how to respond. “He can be a bit . . . overprotective of me.” “He thinks I’m planning to hurt you?” “He doesn’t know you. That’s all.” “What does he need to know?” she asked, indignant. Lola appeared in the distance—but instead of landing as she neared, she circled overhead. She kept her distance, casting uneasy glances below. Roku remembered what the hawk-faced man had said back at the first encampment about how hunting had become difficult because the other animals could smell the infection and stayed away. “I think we need to put some distance between ourselves and the wolves before Lola’s willing to land,” Roku said. Makittuq nodded, and Roku went to tell Gyatso the plan. However, when he peeked inside, he found the Air Nomad fast asleep. Roku backed out and began to follow the trail back down the mountain with Makittuq. “When Gyatso and I first met, he despised me,” Roku said, picking up the thread of their conversation. “That’s hard to imagine,” she said. “You two seem inseparable.” “He thought I was a spoiled Fire Nation brat who didn’t deserve to be Avatar.” Roku laughed at the memory of those early days. “He was right, of course. At least, about who I was in that moment. But the more time we spent together, the more we got to know each other. The more we realized we had
in common. The more we helped each other grow.” Makittuq considered this. “So, what—you want me to tell him my life story?” “That’s up to you,” Roku said. “But he needs to know someone at a deeper level before he’s able to connect with them.” Hence the reason Roku kept pushing Gyatso to spend time with Sozin once he took up his new post in the Fire Nation Capital. “When he does, he’s the most loyal person I know.” “I’m not interested in his loyalty,” Makittuq said. Roku chuckled. “Neither was I.” “What about you?” Makittuq asked. Roku checked the clouds. Lola was still keeping her distance, but she was flying lower now. “What about me?” “Can you trust a person without knowing everything about them?” “I asked you to come with us, didn’t I?” Roku said. “You did,” she conceded. “But only because you thought it would be useful to have a waterbending guide.” “Turns out I wasn’t wrong,” Roku said. “But that wasn’t the only reason. I had a good feeling about you.” Even as he said it, Roku second-guessed the sentiment. He had gone to Lambak Island because he’d believed Sozin’s lie. Then, he had trusted Ulo right up until Malaya warned the Avatar about her chief’s murderous intentions. He wondered again if Gyatso might be right to distrust Makittuq. Maybe Roku too often saw the best in other people. Regardless, he was deep in the North during winter and couldn’t yet waterbend. Gyatso was injured, and there was an enclosure packed with infected wolves and who knew how many other infected animals out there. So, it wasn’t like Roku had many options aside from sticking with her. “Of course,” Roku went on, keeping his tone casual, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about you.” A look of indecision passed over Makittuq’s face. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth to speak—and closed it as her eyes went to something in the snow. She walked over and crouched to examine it. “What did you find?” Roku asked. She motioned him closer, tugged him over by his boot, and lined the boot up next to a footprint pressed into the snow. Roku’s was much larger. “It’s not yours,” she concluded, “and it’s not mine.”
“It’s probably Gyatso’s,” Roku suggested. “Or from the hunters.” “Maybe,” she said as her gaze traveled along the trail. None of the other boot prints were as clear though. Whatever Makittuq was thinking, Roku didn’t have time to ask. Lola landed tentatively nearby, and his attention turned to the matter at hand. Roku defrosted the sky bison’s fur with his firebending. Then they mounted her saddle and flew back toward camp to retrieve the Water Healer’s supplies. They moved camp to the rocky outcropping and remained for several days. Makittuq returned the hunters’ bones to the ice, then set to work testing remedies with the wolves using the supplies she’d gathered when they had stopped at Kuruk’s Point. Roku meditated, tried to connect with Kuruk, and practiced his waterbending forms. Gyatso rested. Much to everyone’s relief, the Air Nomad showed no signs of the strange illness, and his wound was healing well. Things were not looking so good for the wolves, who never even slept. Makittuq brewed tinctures that she mixed with their water. She crafted powders that she sprinkled onto small chunks of jerky or bits of fish she dropped inside the enclosure. She burned various dried herbs and had Roku use his airbending to waft the smoke their way. Nothing brought their eyes back into focus. Nothing halted or diminished the ever-expanding purple sores that mottled their fur. Nothing ebbed their unrelenting aggression. One night, as Roku was meditating on the rocks under the moon and stars, he noticed that it was quieter than usual. The constant barking and snarling that had become background noise was fading. He rushed over to the pen and peered within, excited that something had finally worked. Makittuq and Gyatso were at his side a moment later. But one by one, the wolves went silent, stumbled a few steps, and collapsed. Soon, the last breaths left their lungs and returned to the moon. When the final wolf’s chest fell to never rise again, a haunting silence hung over the enclosure. They were fires that had burned too hot, too quickly. “At least it seemed a gentle ending,” Roku said. Makittuq met Roku’s eyes. “No death is gentle, Avatar Roku.”
They walked back to their ice shelter, climbed inside, and sat in silence for a long time. Roku didn’t light a fire. Nobody lowered their hoods. “What now?” Gyatso eventually asked. Roku sighed. They had failed to find a cure and had no other leads. They were low on lamp oil. They’d eaten the last of their salted jerky and dried seaweed, and Roku’s tea satchel was empty. The only food that remained besides the fish Makittuq caught was fermented sea cucumber, which only Gyatso was willing to eat. “Maybe we should go on to Agna Qel’a,” the Avatar said. “Tell Chief Tiguaa about the sickness. Let him and the other chiefs deal with it.” Makittuq looked up. “And if they decide to do nothing?” “That’s on them,” Roku said. Disappointment filled Gyatso’s eyes. “You want to give up.” “This was a mistake,” Roku said. “I’m still not ready to be the Avatar the world—or even just the Northern Water Tribe—needs.” “You’ll never be ready if you’re always too afraid to try,” Gyatso said. A tense silence settled between them. Roku shifted. Cracked his knuckles. Clenched his jaw. He’d told Makittuq that Gyatso had been right about him when they’d first met—was that annoying little Airbender right again? Roku turned to the young tribeswoman. “Say we captured more infected animals—what are the chances you’d eventually be able to find the right remedy?” Makittuq’s tattooed face scrunched in uncertainty. “To be honest? Not good. I’ve already tried nearly everything I know.” “You didn’t try healing,” Gyatso pointed out, glancing down at his bandaged left leg. “That’s mostly for external wounds,” she said. “Only highly skilled healers can use it for anything more than that.” “You strike me as quite skilled,” Roku said. Makittuq scoffed. “Not skilled enough to cure a disease that seems utterly unnatural.” Roku’s brow furrowed as his mind snagged on that last word—unnatural. It made him think of the creature in his dreams with Kuruk.
Roku’s gaze lost focus. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that he was on to something—and the stronger the sense that he needed to reach the end of his dream. He turned to Makittuq. “Can you help me connect with Avatar Kuruk?”
COMPLICIT When Dalisay relayed Sozin’s command to “Do nothing,” Ta Min was disturbed. No—she was furious. She tried to argue with Dalisay, but it was pointless. No matter how intelligent the scientist from Ember Island was, she was simply another of Sozin’s lackeys. However, Ta Min was done blindly following Sozin’s orders. She would not be complicit. She would not stand by and “do nothing” while Huaji poisoned the city and killed countless people. Even if it cost her the future she’d worked toward her entire life. She had already sent a messenger hawk to Roku, but she hadn’t yet been granted an audience with the queen. When pressed for the reason she’d wanted to meet with Omashu’s monarch, Ta Min kept it vague. After all, she didn’t know who else might be part of the plot. It turned out, however, that simply saying “It’s an urgent matter of profound importance” wasn’t good enough. Ta Min also came to realize that if she ever managed to find a way to speak with Queen Guo Xun, she’d need more than words from a conversation she’d eavesdropped on while hidden beneath the floor. She’d need evidence. And that was why the Fire Nation’s emissary was scaling up the side of Huaji’s villa in the dead of night. When Ba Sing Se’s minister had asked where he was keeping the remaining Lambak mineral, Huaji had replied, Somewhere safe. What place felt safer than one’s own home? She’d already searched his office but had found nothing. Hand over hand, she climbed the rope toward his window. She ascended slowly and carefully, the sleeping city stretched out below. It would be a long fall if she lost her grip. Huaji’s quarters were near the top of a tower, and as one of the highest-ranking officials in the city, his residence was built upon
one of the highest tiers. Only the peak, the palace, and a few other buildings rose above. Eventually, Ta Min made it. She pried open the window and climbed inside, unworried about encountering anyone asleep within. Save for his servants, Huaji lived alone, and Ta Min had watched the minister leave that morning for a trip to one of the army’s fortresses to the south. He was supposed to be gone for at least a couple weeks. She slipped off the pair of gloves she’d worn for the climb and shook out her arms, shoulder muscles burning. Then, she crossed the shadows, pressed herself against the wall near the door, and caught her breath as she waited. Soon enough she heard the heavy footfalls of an approaching guard. They stopped on the other side of the wall. It was quiet for a beat—and then the heavy wooden door creaked open. Ta Min held her breath and kept perfectly still. She had studied the guards’ movements from afar over the last few days, so this was expected. She only hoped he didn’t thoroughly check the room. She had timed her self-assigned mission for the end of the laziest guard’s shift to push the odds in her favor. Thankfully, he didn’t even step inside. The door closed. The footsteps faded. She had at least an hour until the guard finished his rounds and returned. Ta Min unpeeled herself from the wall. She untied a black sash from around her waist and laid it down along the base of the door, then drew the curtains closed. She noticed a lamp sitting upon a desk along the wall and lit it from a distance with a flick of her wrist. Huaji’s décor didn’t surprise her. Everything was gold and forest green and deep brown. Rich tapestries. Finely carved marble statues. Tall mirrors and tall windows. Coffered ceilings. Furnishings that looked like they cost more than the combined daily wages of everyone in the lower-level slums— the centerpiece of which was a massive four-poster bed capped with an elaborately carved pagoda. Ta Min scanned the room, trying to figure out where he might have hidden the Lambak mineral. She started with the minister’s writing desk but found nothing in its drawers beyond scrolls, brushes, and inkwells. She scoured his wardrobe and cabinets and nightstands, checking pockets and reaching into corners, only to come up empty. Gently and methodically, she peeked behind the tapestries and mirrors, knocked on walls, and tapped the parquet floor
hoping to find a false panel. Hands on her hips, Ta Min sighed and scrutinized every spot in the room that she had not yet checked. If she lived here, where would she hide something she didn’t want others to find? Her gaze fell upon that gaudy monstrosity of a bed. She walked over and peered under it. She lifted the mattress. She pulled off the pillows and pulled back the fine silken blankets and sheets. Nothing. She grabbed one of the wooden posts and pulled herself up. With her free hand, she groped the pagoda’s faux rooftop. She was about to give up and try the other side when her fingers found a loose shingle. She pried it open and reached inside—her fingers touched a small, metal box, no bigger than the kind a jeweler might use for an expensive ring. She grabbed the box, hopped down, and lifted the lid, which hinged open like a clamshell. A single rough chunk of black stone sat inside, nested within forest green velvet. It was no bigger than a lump of coal, but it was several times heavier. She held it up for a better look. Its surface was a silken black with a metallic sheen that glittered red as it caught the lamplight. This had to be the Lambak stone Roku had told her about. But how in the world would anyone craft a poison from this? And what kind of poison? As Ta Min considered these questions, she began to wonder if it was even safe to touch. She quickly placed the stone back in the metal box, snapped the lid shut, and wiped her hands on her trousers. She started back toward the window when the muffled sound of footsteps came from the hallway again. But not a single, unhurried set—several rushing toward the room. She didn’t have time to escape. And she couldn’t be caught with the stone. Ta Min hopped back onto the bed and tucked the box back into its hiding spot. She jumped down as several Earth Kingdom guards burst through the door. Ta Min put on a false smile. “Sorry, I was looking for the—” With a lazy flick of her fingers, one of the guards flung stone cuffs across the room. They wrapped around Ta Min’s wrists, pulled them together behind her back, and tightened painfully before she could utter the rest of the lie. Ta Min’s mouth went dry. “What is the meaning of this? I’m an official
diplomat of the Fire Nation,” she pleaded. The guards stepped aside, and Minister Huaji walked in with a smug smile. “A strange place for a diplomat to find herself in the middle of the night—but, I suppose, less strange than under the floor during an important meeting.” Ta Min blinked. There was no trip to a southern fortress. It was a ruse. A trap, meant to catch her, and she’d stepped right between its teeth. “How did you know it was me?” she asked. “I knew I heard something underfoot, so I returned later that night . . . with my shirshu. Didn’t take long for the old girl to follow the sooty trail back to the Fire Nation emissary’s apartments. My people have been keeping an eye on you ever since.” Ta Min swallowed. Dread settled in her stomach. Huaji knew she’d spoken with Dalisay. He knew she’d sent a hawk to Roku. He knew she’d tried to speak with the queen. He would never let her live. “Why wait?” Ta Min asked. “Why didn’t you have me arrested immediately?” Omashu’s Minister of Peace gestured to the guards. “Because now I have witnesses of your attempted assassination.” Ta Min glared at him. Her dread ignited into rage. “I wasn’t trying to assassinate you!” she said—even though she definitely wanted to now. “Take her away,” Huaji commanded his guards. They gripped Ta Min’s upper arms and began to drag her out of the minister’s quarters. She spat at his feet. “You’re not getting away with this. You’ll be brought to justice.” Huaji looked down at the small splatter of spittle tainting his shiny floors. Then he raised his eyes to Ta Min, again with that smug smile. “Is that so?” She was about to tell him the Avatar was already on the way when the minister held up a small message scroll. She recognized it immediately. It was the one she’d written to Roku—Huaji had intercepted the hawk. Of course he had. Ta Min’s anger burned out, leaving ashes in her throat. Wherever she was headed, nobody was coming to save her. And whatever the reason Huaji planned to poison his own people, nobody was going to stop him.
LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Gyatso asked Roku as he eyed Makittuq warily. Makittuq stared right back. It was nighttime. They had returned the wolves to the ice as the sun set and were now seated on caribou-bear pelts inside a new shelter Makittuq had constructed atop a nearby frozen lake. A low fire burned in the lamp, keeping them warm enough to shed their mitts, boots, and outer layers. Roku sat up straight. “I do.” “I don’t,” Gyatso mumbled. “Yes, that was obvious enough,” Makittuq said. “But it’s not like I was the one who suggested helping you both cross into the Spirit World.” “Nobody asked you to do that,” Gyatso said. “Roku wants help connecting with Avatar Kuruk.” “And that’s the best I can do,” Makittuq shot back. “Can Gyatso and I please have a moment?” Roku asked Makittuq. The young woman grumbled about wasting time as she tugged on her boots, mitts, and outer pelts. She raised her hood. “Let me know when you’re ready,” she said and left. Roku retied his hair, and they resumed the conversation in hushed voices. “What’s the problem?” “You know the problem—I don’t trust her.” “You don’t know her.” “And neither do you,” Gyatso shot back. “The Spirit World can be a dangerous place. It’s not all forest sprites and spirit tea. What if she tries something?” Roku sighed. “Like what? We’ll be entering through meditation, so none of us will be able to bend.”
“What if she leads you into a trap of some sort?” The Air Nomad crossed his arms over his chest. Roku rubbed his face. “Why would she even do that?” “You’re the Avatar,” Gyatso answered. “Forget blue arrows—you’ve forever got a target tattooed on your back.” Roku held up a finger. “She saved us from the caribou-bear.” He raised a second finger. “She guided us to Kuruk’s Point.” He raised three more. “She found the encampment, froze all those wolves, spent days trying to craft a cure.” He dropped his hand. “Not to mention she’s built our ice shelters and taught us how to stay alive in the North. All she’s done is help us, Gyatso.” Gyatso motioned to his leg. “Speak for yourself!” “That was an accident!” Roku closed his eyes, took a calming breath, then opened them. “She’s not Sozin.” Gyatso’s brow furrowed. “Sozin? What does he have to do with any of this?” Roku hesitated to rehash this old argument, but he’d already brought it up. “Let’s be honest. He’s the reason you didn’t want to stay in the capital. You still blame him for everything that happened on Lambak Island.” “That’s not why I wanted to come north with you.” The Air Nomad’s expression hardened. “Anyway, it was all his fault. Besides the fact his lies persuaded you to go to the island, the last time I saw Malaya alive was right before he forced her to show him a way through the tunnels.” “He was trying to find me as quickly as possible so he could help me fight Ulo,” Roku said, exasperated. “And as I’ve told you before, Sozin said he left her outside the entrance to the Sacred Cave.” “You’ve got to stop taking everything anyone says as the truth,” Gyatso advised. “Sozin’s not just anyone.” Gyatso rolled his eyes. Roku tapped himself hard in the center of his chest. “Malaya died when I caused the cavern’s collapse.” They glared at each other in silence for several moments. Roku had thought they’d settled this years ago, but apparently not. “Then why was her body so badly burned?” Gyatso asked quietly. The question stunned Roku into silence. The Air Nomad had never mentioned this detail before. But if anyone knew, it would be Gyatso. He’d
pulled her body from the rubble. He’d helped wash it and wrap it in its shroud. He would not now resurrect it to craft a lie to win an argument. At the same time, Sozin was a good person. Sure, he was ambitious, and he could be fierce when something stood in his way. But he would never use his firebending to burn another human being alive. Especially not someone like Malaya. “We were underground,” Roku said, grasping for another explanation. “When my fire filled the cavern, it would have pushed through any openings in the rock—like the tunnel’s entrance where Malaya was standing.” Gyatso said nothing. They’d strayed from the original point Roku had been trying to make and gotten lost in the weeds. He rubbed his face and tried again. “What I’m trying to say is that you don’t trust Sozin, and now you’re projecting that suspicion onto Makittuq.” Gyatso still said nothing. “Sister Disha taught us to look inward,” Roku said. “Normally, that helps me as about as much as advising someone caught in the rain to dodge the water droplets. But this time my instinct is clear: Makittuq is trying to help. Please let her. Otherwise, we’re not going to figure out how to stop this illness from destroying her people’s way of life.” The Air Nomad’s face softened a measure. He uncrossed his arms. “How do you know this will even work? You asked her to help you connect with Kuruk, and the best she knows how to do is cross over to the Spirit World.” “Trying to force myself to return to that dream every time I lie down to sleep hasn’t helped,” Roku said. “Maybe this will.” Gyatso leaned back on his hands. “I’m not going to stop you, but I’m not going to leave your body undefended. I’ll stay behind.” Roku’s shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t persuaded his friend that he was right about Makittuq, but it was a fair enough compromise. “Thank you,” he said, then called to the young woman. “By the way,” Roku added, remembering Gyatso’s earlier comment, “why did you want to come North with me?” Gyatso looked away and answered quietly. “I didn’t want to be alone.” Roku’s heart broke. “You helped me figure out how to grieve,” Gyatso said. “But I don’t know how to lose someone who’s still alive.” It was so obvious—how had Roku missed this before? They’d eaten,
cleaned, meditated, trained, sparred, learned, traveled, and served together nearly every day since Lambak Island. They’d helped each other master airbending. Roku’s fire had heated the ink used to tattoo Gyatso’s arrows. But before Roku could respond to his friend’s confession, Makittuq stepped back into the tent. “Ready?” she asked them. Roku looked to Gyatso as if to continue their conversation, but the Air Nomad answered Makittuq’s question. “Roku is—I’ll be staying behind.” If Makittuq was offended by the implied mistrust, she didn’t show it. She simply shrugged, lowered her hood, removed her mitts, and pulled off her boots. Then she shed both her outer and inner layer of furs. She looked even taller standing before them in her undergarments, her figure lithe and muscular. “You too,” she instructed Roku without offering further explanation. While Roku removed his inner layer of pelts, Makittuq kicked aside the skin she’d been sitting on before to expose the thick ice underneath. She set her feet, put her arms out, and swept her hands around. As she did so, a circle opened in the ice. Slushy blue-black water welled up. She gestured to Roku, inviting him to take a dip. Roku hesitated. She wanted him to jump in there? He was nearly naked— the cold would kill him. Makittuq sighed wearily. “Hop in, and I’ll pull you out after only a few seconds. The shock of cold will put you in the right frame of mind for meditating into the Spirit World.” “Unless that’s a portal, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gyatso said, second-guessing the compromise he’d offered Roku. “Sister Disha never needed to do anything like that.” Gyatso wasn’t the only one having second thoughts. Roku had been so certain about Makittuq’s intentions moments ago, but as he stared at the dark circle of slushy water, he wondered if he had misjudged someone yet again. What if he stepped inside the water, only to have Makittuq close the hole and trap him under the ice? “And was your airbending master able to teach either of you to cross over successfully?” Makittuq asked. They said nothing. Her purple eyes remained fixed on the Avatar, needing no additional words to underscore her point.
Still, Roku hesitated. Makittuq looked back and forth between Gyatso and Roku. She took a deep breath, sat back on her heels, and let her gaze travel to the water. “I was raised as a boy,” she said after a moment—then paused, waiting for their reactions. When neither Gyatso nor Roku conveyed anything other than attentiveness, Makittuq proceeded. “I’ve always had a girl’s spirit. When I was a small child, I often shared this truth. Most didn’t give it much thought—there are many stories of ancestors who discovered their true selves later in life. However, some dismissed it as a youthful misunderstanding. A few found it confusing.” Makittuq paused. It was the most Roku had heard the Waterbender say at once, and he wondered if she was done. She wasn’t. “My parents were among those few.” “That must have been difficult,” Roku said. Gyatso nodded in agreement. “It was,” Makittuq said. “And then one night, when I was older, my parents told me that it was okay for me to feel my truth, but that I needed to stop speaking it so often. Apparently, my father’s uncle had recently been talking to a trader from the northern Earth Kingdom and casually mentioned that he’d been raised as a girl. The trader—and all of the others from the same place—stopped doing business with my uncle after that. Now, he’s struggling to take care of his family. My mother said she’d heard similar stories from others.” Roku shook his head in disbelief at the intrusion of these ideas from some corner of the Earth Kingdom. “That’s so wrong.” “Even though I didn’t agree with my parents, I respected them,” Makittuq continued. “I don’t want you to think they’re bad people. They’re not. They had taken care of me, taught me well, and treated me gently in every other way. They never even raised their voices like some of my friends’ parents. They loved me. I loved them. They were simply part of a growing number who believed we needed to adapt as our lives became more entwined with foreigners who didn’t understand our ways. So, I did as they wished. I wore furs cut in the male style. I focused on fishing and trapping and hunting. I practiced using my waterbending to attack and defend. On the outside, I appeared no different than any other young tribesman.”
“But on the inside . . .” Roku guessed, trailing off. She raised her eyes and finished the thought. “I was suffering. There was a painful disconnect between who I knew I was and who I had to pretend to be to keep the peace in my family. That pain grew each day. I felt like there were two ice floes within me, pushing against each other. I didn’t know how I would survive that slow collision.” “So how did you?” Gyatso asked. “Water,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Whenever that feeling was too overwhelming, I’d go away from my family. I’d open a hole in the ice, just like this”—she nodded her head toward the circle of dark water between them—“and dip myself into it. At first, I did it because it calmed me. The sudden shock of the plunge that seized my body and stole my breath—it forced me to focus on my lungs, my heart, my spirit. All my other anxieties evaporated.” Roku looked at the water, remembering what Makittuq had told him the other night night—that despite his experiences, he needed to understand that water brought life, not only death. “But one day,” she continued, “I broke the water’s surface only to realize that I was not even close to our encampment. In place of my tribesmen and our ice shelters and tents, spirits roamed all around, walking or swimming or flying past. Most didn’t seem to register my presence. But a few briefly glanced my way, and one even wandered over—a tundra spirit, I know now. It said the words I’ll never forget.” Makittuq paused, looked up, and smiled softly. “It said, ‘Are you lost, little girl?’” “It saw who you really were,” Roku said. Makittuq nodded. “It was the first time someone truly had. And when I looked down at my body—or at my energy’s manifestation of a body—it matched the way I had always felt. I was right about myself, no matter what my parents thought I should do. So, I looked at the kind tundra spirit and answered, ‘No, I’m not lost.’” “The water helped you leave the world behind,” Roku said, thinking of Sister Disha’s constant refrain to look inward. He still struggled with this, but Makittuq had been doing it her entire life. Again, she nodded. “Soon, I wasn’t crossing over only to soothe myself when I was distressed. I was doing it to spend time around those who recognized me as I truly am. The more I went to the Spirit World, the harder
it became for me to remain in this one—at least in the way my family wanted me to.” Makittuq sighed. “Still, I tried, for their sake. And when I reached the age when those in our tribe are traditionally betrothed, I went willingly with my father to meet the girl my parents had thought would be a good match for me.” “Had you told your parents about your experiences in the Spirit World?” Gyatso asked. Makittuq shook her head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. They were too afraid for me.” “Avatar Kyoshi once said, ‘Fear is the soil in which injustice takes root,’” Roku quoted. “Wise words,” Makittuq said. “But it turned out that going with my father that day was the best thing I could have done.” “Why?” Gyatso asked. “Because of their tribe’s shaman, Urulu. I met with her before I met the girl I was to marry in a few years—as is the custom. As soon as Urulu and I were alone, she told me that she sensed my spirit’s energy. That she knew. Without me revealing anything about myself or even speaking a word. And she said that she was the same. That, if one so desired, there were herbs that could help transform the body to align with the spirit to a certain extent. That my parents’ fear wasn’t our way. That there were, have always been, and will always be others like us—and others with two spirits—living in the Water Tribe and the other Nations.” “I know a few Airbenders at the Southern Air Temple,” Gyatso confirmed. “There’s a famous singer in the Fire Nation,” Roku confirmed. “And at least one of my previous incarnations. But who knows—there may have been more.” “Really?” Makittuq said. They both nodded. “Hmm,” Makittuq said. “Anyway, Urulu gave me a choice that night. Continue with my life as is and go through with the wedding in a few years. Or, stay and train with her.” “You stayed with Urulu,” Roku said, his heart mending a bit at the thought of such people in the world. Fires in the darkness. “That’s right,” Makittuq said. “As much as I loved my family, I knew that I couldn’t keep denying myself. The trips to the Spirit World were no longer
enough. So, yes, I stayed. I learned to heal. After a few years, Urulu declared I was ready. She gave me a new name and these”—Makittuq traced the thin white lines tattooed onto her forehead and chin—“then sent me on my way to find my own tribe.” Admiration filled Roku. His own life had been upended by fate or destiny or whatever one wanted to call it. He had been dragged into it kicking and screaming, having desired nothing more than a quiet, comfortable life. Yet Makittuq had made her decision with clear eyes, knowing full well the depth and breadth of the consequences. “Stop looking at me like that,” Makittuq told Roku. “I don’t want your pity, but neither do I want your adoration.” “You knew you wouldn’t be able to go home,” Roku responded, “and still you trusted yourself. That’s what you meant when you told me you lost your family. That’s braver than anything I’ve ever done.” “I made the only decision with which I could live,” Makittuq said soberly. “That’s not bravery. It’s survival.” “Sometimes they’re the same thing,” Roku said. “Maybe,” Makittuq said. Roku caught the hint of a smile on her lips. “The people you were with when we met,” Roku said. “Is that your new tribe? Were you their shaman?” “No. They’re not even a tribe, really. Just the remnants of other tribes that had dissipated, people who refused to move to Agna Qel’a, Kuruk’s Point, or another larger settlement. I traveled with them for a bit, but I always knew I’d move on eventually.” “Maybe someday you’ll be able to go back home,” Gyatso ventured. “People can change. So can the world.” Makittuq sighed. “Sometimes for the worse.” Roku had made a deal with Sozin that would eventually lead to the creation of the Fire and Air Center for Learning in the capital, but he wondered if there was more he could do—should be doing—to help spread the Air Nomads’ teachings of acceptance. True peace and balance could never be gained solely through policy or war. “What about going to the capital?” Gyatso asked. “Or starting a new life in one of the other nations?” “I could never leave—this is my home. This.” She patted the ice. “Not the capital.”
She said no more on the matter. She had said enough. Roku and Gyatso exchanged a look, and it was clear from the Air Nomad’s apologetic expression that her tale had allayed his suspicions. Roku bowed to Makittuq. “Thank you for honoring us with your story.” “Yes, thank you,” Gyatso echoed, humbled. Makittuq nodded in acknowledgment. “Are you ready now?” In response, the Avatar stood, stepped forward, and plunged into the freezing water.
HERE AND NOT HERE Roku gasped as the frigid water engulfed his body. His blood turned to ice. His muscles seized. His lungs forgot to breathe, his heart forgot to beat. He was certain he was going to die if he remained under for any longer. And then a surge of water pushed him upward. Strong hands caught him. Pulled him above the ice. Set him down. Guided him into lotus position. Roku could barely register what was happening. Gyatso was asking if he was okay, but Roku couldn’t even answer. “Don’t use your firebending to warm yourself,” Makittuq said a breath before he was about to channel his energy. “Close your eyes. Breathe. Focus on the cold.” Roku closed his eyes even as every ounce of his being screamed at him to ignore the directive. His teeth were chattering, his body was shivering, and his head was ringing with a sudden, splitting headache. Frigid water droplets sluiced along his skin. As he tried to focus, there was another splash. Panic seized him—had he fallen back in? His eyes sprung open, but it was only Makittuq, taking her turn. She calmly emerged a few seconds later and positioned herself across from him, equally drenched. “Close your eyes,” she reminded him. As soon as he did, he saw the empty nighttime sea after the current had carried Yasu away. He saw Ulo’s striking waves, and he saw himself blasting the old man with a killing burst of iridescent flames. He saw the cavern collapse, crushing Malaya somewhere out of sight. And then it wasn’t the cold that overwhelmed him but the familiar guilt. “Exhale,” Makittuq’s voice encouraged Roku. That single word was a lifeline. He’d felt like he couldn’t inhale, but the true problem was that he wasn’t exhaling. His lungs were still holding on to
the last breath he’d taken, refusing to let it go. He forced himself to exhale. “Good,” she said gently. “Now inhale.” He breathed in. “Now exhale again. This time, imagine a wave pulling away from the shoreline.” Roku imagined the water receding. “Now inhale, visualizing the water washing back to shore.” Roku visualized the water returning. “You’re doing great,” Makittuq said. “Keep that up.” He did as she instructed, and measure by measure, his breathing smoothed. His body warmed. His muscles unclenched, and his heart regained its rhythm. After several moments, Makittuq spoke again. “With your next inhale, imagine the wave brings one of your worries to shore. Only one. And then with your next exhale, let the water carry it out to sea. Trust that those worries are not gone forever, but that they’re gone for now, giving you space to be.” Again, Roku followed her directions. The water brought Yasu, then it took him away. The water brought Ulo, then it took him away. The water brought Malaya, then it took her away. “Continue like that,” guided Makittuq’s gentle voice. “Until the waves bring only water, until the coast feels clean.” Firebenders concentrated on the inhale, the gathering of potential energy. Airbenders focused on the exhale, the freedom of release. Waterbenders—as he was beginning to truly understand for himself—drew on the give-and-take rhythm, the flow of balance. His guilt wasn’t fuel gathered for a fire or a caged bird released into the open sky. It was both. It was neither. It was the waves, coming and going. Here and not here. Ever-changing and unceasing. Forever. “Open your eyes,” Makittuq said. Roku opened them. He was in the serpent’s throat.
A SPECK OF DIRT The nation’s highest-ranking generals and admirals were waiting for Prince Sozin’s orders. His jaw was clenched, his arms were crossed over his chest, and his golden eyes glared at the detailed map of the Fire Islands laid out before him. The only sound was the soft crackling of the fires burning in the braziers. More specifically, the prince was staring at Lambak Island on the map’s eastern edge. It was barely more than a dot. A speck of dirt. If only he could reach over and brush it away. That morning, a messenger hawk had brought news from that spirits- forsaken place. Not “news” per se, but a declaration. Of the clan’s independence from the Fire Nation. Those ungrateful backwater islanders. Sozin had worked hard to craft an arrangement that had honored his agreement with Roku while appeasing both Taiso and the clan’s chief, Baku. They were technically under the Fire Nation flag, but they could still choose their own leaders and run their own affairs. They weren’t even taxed. Of course, the only reason the Fire Lord had agreed to it was because the arrangement also stipulated that the clan couldn’t say no to the construction of a naval base or to the mining operations. While bases were always valuable, it was what lay within the ground that made this particular island invaluable. It was the world’s only source of the unique mineral that could be used as a flux to produce low-cost, high-quality steel. A boon to armaments production. Unfortunately, Lambak Island’s declaration was not an empty gesture. According to the message—which came from the clan’s new chief, Amihan —they had burned down the base, sunk the fleet, and demolished the mining
equipment. They had also taken all Fire Nation military and mining personnel captive and threatened execution unless the island was granted true independence. Sozin was about to issue his orders for a response when one of the admirals to the prince’s right cleared her throat. Everyone’s eyes shifted to the short-haired woman, who was easily the tallest person in the room. “Yes?” Sozin side-eyed her, annoyed as much by her height as he was by the fact she’d interrupted his moment. She looked down at Sozin without a trace of the nervousness or fear people displayed when speaking to the Fire Lord. “Perhaps this is a matter best left to Fire Lord Taiso.” “My father left me in charge until he gets back,” he snapped, seething at the disrespect. He left out the part about how Taiso had cautioned his son against deciding anything remotely important in his absence. But Sozin had essentially discovered Lambak Island, so why shouldn’t he be the one to determine its fate? “And when, exactly, might we expect Fire Lord Taiso’s return?” a burly general across the table asked. It was a logical question on its face, but Sozin sensed the suspicion behind it. The official story was that the Fire Lord had gone to Jonduri on political business. The truth was that he had taken his dragon to Bhanti Island seeking a cure for his worsening condition. The official story’s credibility stretched thinner with each passing day of Taiso’s absence. “As soon as he’s taken care of his affairs in Jonduri,” Sozin said, forcefully enough to imply nothing else was to be said on the matter. Then he got the meeting back on track. “Reject Chief Amihan’s demand. Crush their clan’s little rebellion. Rebuild the base and resume mining operations as soon as possible.” His father might have gone with a more diplomatic solution, but this was the right way. A direct path. It would preserve the Fire Nation’s access to the Lambak mineral and give those around the table a glimpse of the kind of Fire Lord Sozin would be. A tense silence descended. People shifted uneasily. It was the tall admiral who broke it again. “And what of the one hundred and six prisoners, Prince Sozin?” Sozin answered without missing a beat. “Send commendations to their
families to honor their sacrifice.” He surveyed the subtle reactions of everyone gathered around the table. Ah, there it was—a bit of the fear that had been missing from their eyes earlier. That freakishly tall woman’s face had paled. A few even seem pleased with his decisive call. Satisfied, Sozin dismissed the room and the admirals and generals somberly filed out. Kozaru strolled in as the last general exited. The broad-shouldered woman approached Sozin, bowed, then crossed her scarred, muscular forearms over her chest. “Trouble in Omashu,” she said without preamble. Sozin sat down, masking his excitement. “Do tell.” But the news was not of the city’s downfall. “Ta Min has been arrested,” Kozaru said. Sozin cocked his head. This didn’t make any sense. He had sent word for her to do nothing. How does one get arrested for doing nothing? “What happened?” he asked. “Word is she was caught trying to assassinate Minister Huaji.” Sozin’s hand went to his forehead. Kozaru’s initial news was surprising, but this downright stunned him. Attempting to take the life of Omashu’s Minster of Peace was not nothing. Failure to follow orders aside, Sozin had never even thought Ta Min had it in her. Hence the reason he had only assigned her bloodless tasks. To be honest, he was kind of impressed. But mostly annoyed. This could turn into an international scandal—in the city he was responsible for dealing with. “What should I tell Dalisay to do?” Kozaru asked when Sozin hadn’t responded after a few moments. Sozin sat back with a sigh and stroked his chin as he considered his options. The Earth Kingdom’s official punishment for espionage was execution. They’d torture her first, of course. Try to determine what she was after, whom she answered to. She wouldn’t implicate Sozin right away, but the Earth Kingdom had ways to make even the most hardened criminals talk. Slow-growing crystals that encased the body at a snail-sloth’s pace. Needlelike slivers of stone slipped under the fingernails. There were even rumors they could alter the mind to be pliable as clay—though, Sozin wasn’t sure he believed that. Sozin couldn’t leave Ta Min to such a fate—even if she’d gotten herself
into that situation by ignoring his orders. It exposed him to too much risk. And if nothing else, it would upset Roku. His friend was already drifting away from the Fire Nation. If Roku lost Ta Min, he might never return home. At the same time, Sozin couldn’t negotiate a pardon. It would save her life, but it would also require him to officially acknowledge the crime. The Fire Lord would certainly have questions about that. Sozin leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table as he clasped his hands together. “Ta Min’s tenure as our emissary to Omashu has come to an end,” he told Kozaru. “Go and retrieve her. Quickly. Quietly.” Kozaru nodded, uncrossed her arms, and left. Trusty Kozaru. So reliable. Rarely curious. Never defiant. Why couldn’t everyone simply do as Sozin said? The world would be a much better place.
CORRUPTION The spirit twisted and turned, dipped and dove, halted and lunged. Roku rode with it from within, hugged by the grinding, twisting walls of its gullet. His body jerked around in the cold, constricting darkness in constant jarring motion. He couldn’t maneuver to do any bending. He couldn’t even focus enough to channel his energy into a pulse of heat or breath of fire. Roku’s only hope was Kuruk, who was presumably still battling the spirit. But whatever was happening out there, the spirit showed no signs of slowing down. Roku’s faith faltered the longer he was trapped at its mercy. He had to do something. As he continued getting whipped and snapped around, Roku worked his hands up from where they’d been trapped against the sides of his body. He wriggled his palms into place against the cool rippling sinew inside the spirit’s throat as if to stop two encroaching walls from crushing him to death. He took a deep breath. He relaxed his muscles. Then he pushed with all his strength as he channeled his energy into firebending, burning with determination to free himself. He may as well have been trying to light a fire underwater. Water—maybe that was it. Roku kept his hands in place but relaxed his muscles and his mind. Instead of straining to orient himself against the constant motion, he gave himself over to it. He imagined the spirit as the churning sea. And he imagined himself—not as some poor soul caught in the currents but as the currents themselves, drawing energy from the undulations. Roku pushed outward again—this time his hands burned with cold. He swung his arms in circular motion, slicing the serpent’s throat open from within with blades of ice.
Roku’s stomach dropped as the world listed forward. The spirit hit the ice with a heavy thump. Roku tumbled out of its severed neck. The wolf-shaped head hit the ground a few moments later, rolling to a stop upside-down only paces away from the Avatar. The spirit’s indigo glow dimmed. A hand reached out and pulled Roku to his feet. “I knew you had it in you,” said Kuruk’s deep voice. He dusted the snow off the back of Roku’s pelts and smirked. “After all, you’re me.” As he caught his breath and waited for the world to stop spinning, Roku stared at the decapitated spirit. He’d done that. With waterbending. “Did I kill it?” Kuruk’s gaze followed Roku’s. “Can you kill water? Spirits don’t die, Avatar Roku. Their energy disperses, regathers, reorganizes.” As if heeding the Water Avatar’s words, both the body and the head of the spirit began to dissipate like top ice evaporating in summer’s morning sunshine. After a few moments, nothing remained except scuffed snow. Roku looked around. He and Kuruk were alone in this area where the ice canyon widened. The air was cold and clean. The Northern spirit lights still shone above like a slow-shifting river of iridescent light. “What is this?” Roku wondered aloud. Makittuq had told him she had no idea how to help him connect with Kuruk and that the best she could do was try to guide him into the Spirit World. He’d ended up back in the dream as he’d hoped, but it didn’t feel like a dream. He was too aware. If anything, it was like when he’d connected with Avatar Kyoshi. Yet that had merely been a conversation in the Southern Air Temple’s inner shrine, a place Roku knew. It wasn’t a battle with some massive wolf-headed serpentine spirit somewhere he’d never stepped foot. “A memory.” The barrel-chested Avatar stroked his short beard. “Blended with a connection, I suppose.” “You actually encountered that spirit during your life?” Roku asked. Kuruk nodded. Roku’s brow furrowed. “How could this be a memory if I wasn’t there?” “Weren’t you?” This was confusing. Roku tried to piece it together out aloud. “You are me in an earlier life . . . so it swallowed you whole . . . and then you decapitated it with your waterbending from within?” “That’s about the shape of the ice,” Kuruk said, which Roku assumed was
some archaic Northern Water Tribe idiom. “Got it.” Which meant Roku hadn’t bent water. Kuruk had. “And that creature”—Roku tilted his chin toward the empty space where the serpentine body and wolf head had dissolved—“you said it used to be a guardian spirit?” “That I did.” Roku turned back to Kuruk. “What happened to it?” “Something corrupted its energy.” “You mean something angered it?” Kuruk shook his head. “I knew that spirit before. It was a protector of the North. A friend. And then one day, it changed.” He paused. A shadow passed over his face. “I’d fought against enough dark spirits to sense the same energy. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t simple imbalance. It was a complete inversion.” “What turned it?” Roku asked. “A dark spirit whose name I never learned,” Kuruk said. “It had slipped into our realm through a stray portal and was tracking down the spirits in our world and . . . infecting them—at least, that might be the best way to put it.” Roku’s mitt went to his forehead. That was it. Makittuq had been on to something with her offhanded comment—the sickness they were trying to stop was unnatural. It was a corruption that imbalanced the animals’ chi to such an extent that it turned them irrationally aggressive. “How did you rebalance the spirits?” Roku asked, excited to finally learn how he might solve the emerging crisis he, Gyatso, and Makittuq had decided to take on. Kuruk’s eyes went back to the spot where the serpent had fallen. “Did it look like I rebalanced that one?” Roku said nothing. The Water Avatar sighed. He took a few steps forward, the ice crunching underfoot. “I never figured out a way. Though I’d mastered all four elements and the Avatar State, manipulating spirit energy was beyond me. I never found anyone who could do it. The only way to end the spreading corruption was to drive the dark spirit back into its own world through a portal and defeat it there.” Roku crossed his arms over his chest and considered this new information.
Kuruk said spirits didn’t die. Was it possible the same dark spirit had returned to the human world? The sickness he, Gyatso, and Makittuq were trying to stop wasn’t a corruption spreading among spirits, but there had to be a connection. Why else would he be here, embodying this particular memory from Kuruk’s life? Roku started to open his mouth to ask more about the dark spirit when Kuruk whirled around. “Wake up,” the Water Avatar commanded. Roku’s eyes snapped open. He was back in the mortal world, in the ice shelter. The light was dim, the oil in the stone lamp almost depleted. The space across from Roku was empty—Makittuq was gone. How much time had passed? Someone shifted behind him. Roku spun, rising into a fighting stance in the same fluid motion. But when he saw who it was, he dropped his fists and exhaled with relief. “You startled me!” Gyatso said nothing. He was leaning on his staff, head down, breathing heavily. Roku tensed. Something wasn’t right. “Gyatso?” He repeated, voice trembling. “Are you well? Is your leg bothering you?” Gyatso didn’t respond or look up. He only kept breathing heavily, propping himself up with his staff. As the last drops of oil burned up, the lamp went out, plunging them into darkness. Roku brought a flame to life in his palm—and he inhaled sharply. Gyatso was looking up. And he was not right. A purple splotch like a fresh bruise peeked past the Air Nomad’s collar. His lips were drawn in a tight line with spittle leaking from the corners. And below his blue forehead arrow, his eyes were wild and vacant, pupils twitching. He was infected. Roku raised his hands—but not quickly enough. A blast of wind struck the Avatar and sent him crashing through the wall.
CRUSH OR CUT OR KILL Roku scrambled back to his feet. He brushed himself off, dropped into a defensive stance, and waited to fight his friend. The air was frigid, and his shaky breath came out in white puffs. A crescent moon shone above the shelter, its light reflected by the smooth white surface of the frozen lake that stretched out into the surrounding darkness. The shelter burst apart, sending chunks of ice hurtling outward. With a sweep of his arms, Roku redirected the rushing wind. The fragments zipped past. It was just the two of them facing each other on the ice, under the moon, twenty or so feet apart. “Gyatso!” Roku called. “Stop this! It’s me—Roku.” But Gyatso wasn’t there. The Airbender slapped his palms together, sending out a rush of air that blew aside snow and ice as it carved a path toward Roku. Roku sidestepped the gust and let it sail past. The Airbender leapt in the wake of his wind and attacked. Despite his injured leg, he became the picture of grace as he whirled and spun and leapt, unleashing spurts of wind with a flurry of arcing kicks, thrusting punches, and a swinging staff. Roku ducked and dodged and danced out of the way. When he had to, he used his own airbending to disperse, redirect, or push back. He’d spent years sparring Gyatso. He knew his friend’s strengths and limitations; he knew how to evade or defend or counter nearly any way he might manipulate the wind. But these were not the soft, billowing breezes Airbenders usually slung to cushion or guide or neutralize. These were wild, sharp, and high-pressured bursts that sought to crush or cut or kill. They were stronger than any attack he’d weathered from Gyatso during those sparring sessions. Either the
infection was stopping the Air Nomad from holding back, or it was enhancing his bending. Either way, it didn’t matter. Roku continued to evade and defend as he waited for an opening, not wanting to hurt his friend. When he thought he had one, Roku whipped the wind at the ground in front of Gyatso, kicking up a cloud of snow. He spun, sweeping broad flames out with one arm as he pulled the wind behind the fire with the other, hoping to melt and then flash-freeze the snow around Gyatso like they’d tried to do together with the caribou-bear. The heat and air immediately rushed back toward Roku as Gyatso exhaled. The Avatar dissipated the flames. Brushed aside the wind. No sooner than he had, the Airbender struck with a blast of air that hit Roku like an invisible wall. The force knocked him off his feet. He crashed hard on his back, cracking the ice. Before he could get up, a whorl of air slipped beneath his body. It lifted him higher and higher—then dispersed a breath before another powerful gust hit Roku from above. It slammed him back down, knocking the wind from his lungs and cracking the ice even farther. It happened again—CRACK! And again—CRACK! And again—CRACK! But when the wind yanked him upward the next time, Roku was ready. He tugged on the air and helped Gyatso bring his body down even harder. As he’d hoped, he crashed through the weakened ice as if it were a brittle pane of glass, and together they plunged into the frigid water below.
WISH YOU WERE HERE Ta Min’s cell was a dank cavern, dimly lit by softly glowing green crystals embedded in the earth. It was ten paces across at its widest points, and if she reached up, she could touch the rocky, uneven ceiling. There was a threadbare bedroll along one wall, a thick stone door along another, and a wooden bucket in the corner. The cell’s door had a small “window”—a narrow slit cut into the stone at eye level—through which she could see, and through which the guards’ eyes occasionally peeked at her. The small opening looked out into a narrow corridor illuminated by a few lanterns and more of those glowing green crystals sprouting from the stone. A row of doors along the opposite walls suggested more cells, but she seemed to be the dungeon’s sole occupant. Most likely, Earthbender prisoners were imprisoned elsewhere. After she’d been caught searching the Minister of Peace’s private quarters, she’d been blindfolded and dragged down to the villa’s lowest levels and through a maze of tunnels. The air was cool and stagnant, and there were more twists and turns along the path than Ta Min could memorize. When they’d finally reached their destination, someone removed the blindfold, shoved a foul-smelling burlap tunic and pair of trousers into her hands, and pushed her into the cell with the command to change. After she did, they took her hairpins and clothing and used their earthbending to slide the heavy door shut. At first, she’d been hopeful that she would be given the chance to plead her case. Queen Guo Xun had a reputation as fair and just, so Ta Min was confident she’d at least direct someone to look into the accusations against the minister. At the very least, she figured the Fire Nation would have learned of her imprisonment and sent someone to negotiate her release.
But nobody came for her. Ta Min tracked time by the two meals her jailers brought each day. In the morning, a bowl of tasteless mush that Ta Min thought was supposed to be tsampa. In the evening, a bowl of stale noodles in a watery broth. A cup of dingy, metallic-tinged water with each. Sometimes, the guards would enter, bind Ta Min’s hands and legs with stone cuffs, toss a few buckets of grimy water on her, and call it a bath. There was no torture except boredom and isolation—which were agonizing enough on their own. Ta Min devised a routine for herself so that she didn’t lose her mind in the unchanging jade semidarkness. When she awoke, she stretched and meditated until the “tsampa” arrived. After the meal, she called out into the corridor in case the guards had a change of heart and decided to acknowledge her existence. When her voice grew hoarse, she gave up and moved through a thorough exercise routine that she varied each day. Next, she sat down and did mental exercises—trying to recall the name of every Earth Kingdom state and its capital, or as many Avatars before Roku that she knew of and their animal companions, or the details of every active treaty or alliance the Fire Nation had signed with the other Nations, or all the firebending forms—or some such task. After the physical and mental exercises, she meditated, considered ways to escape, and mentally composed letters to friends and family that she’d never get to send. Greetings, Avatar Roku, her letter began that night. It’s me again, Ta Min. Emissary to the Fire Nation! Sozin’s spy! Huaji’s prisoner! She who sacrificed her principles on the altar of ambition—at least until it was too late! How are you? Besides cold? I bet you’re glad to be back with a people who appreciate meat. Do you know who else appreciates meat —polar bear–dogs! Watch out for them! Your waterbending training must already be underway, but I’m not sure you’re quite ready to take on such ferocious beasts. Things in Omashu . . . could be better. The food is terrible. The company is lacking. The views are . . . literally rocks. Wish you were here! That is, to help bust me out of this cursed hole in the mountain into which they tossed and then promptly forgot me. Seriously. No trial. No
fellow prisoners with whom I might commiserate, form a reluctant bond, and plot a daring escape. The guards won’t even tell me their names. In order of physical stature, I call them Pebble, Rock, Boulder, and Mountain. Pebble is my favorite. He’s adorable. Anyway, you’re not coming, are you? Neither is Sozin. I’m of no use to him anymore, so why keep me around? I’m certain he’s nervous that I’ll tell the queen that the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation sent me to assassinate her Minister of Peace. Daddy Fire Lord wouldn’t like that, would he? But no. I would never. I acted on my own. That’s the truth. I brought this upon myself, so I will suffer the consequences. And if I could do it all over again, I would—if it meant there was even the smallest chance of stopping Huaji from poisoning Omashu. Sozin must have had his reasons for ordering me to do nothing. Perhaps there’s a bigger picture that can only be viewed from the highest towers in the Royal Palace. But I don’t care. At the end of the day, we’re responsible for our own actions. I had to do what I felt in my soul was right, regardless of the orders from above. I know that if you were in my position, Roku, you would have done everything in your power to try to save these people. I only hope we still might. Take care. Stay warm. And stay away from any cute tribeswomen. Yours, Ta Min
LIVING LIGHT Roku splashed into the icy water. The sudden cold took his breath away, but his body didn’t seize with shock, his mind didn’t flash images of Yasu or Ulo or Malaya, and his heart didn’t sink like an anchor forged of guilt. He was ready this time. Instead, he heard Makittuq reminding him to breathe. He remembered giving himself over to the serpent’s sinuous movements in the dream. He felt the water’s living energy swirling around him just as he felt it with the wind and the flames. The Avatar called a current with a downward, spiraling stroke of his arms. He surged upward, broke the surface, and splashed onto the ice. Someone grabbed his parka by the shoulders and dragged him back from the water’s edge. “Avatar!” Makittuq said. “What happened?!” “Gyatso’s still under,” he told her, teeth chattering. “And he’s infected.” Her eyes widened slightly, but she nodded in understanding and set her feet. As if yanking an invisible rope, she pulled the Air Nomad from the water already encased in a chunk of ice. Roku rushed over and pressed the palms of his soggy mitts against its cold, hard surface. Within the ice, Gyatso’s face was frozen in a grimace, but his eyes continued to twitch madly. “Get him out of there before he freezes to death!” Roku urged. “And then what?” Makittuq asked. “I can’t stick him in an enclosure like the wolves—he’d have too much space to airbend.” Roku’s mind raced for another solution. They could bind his arms and legs and gag his mouth, but a skilled Airbender like Gyatso could still maneuver enough to guide the wind even like that.
Then he remembered what Kuruk had told him. He turned to Makittuq. “Use your water healing.” She hesitated, a sympathetic but pained expression on her face. “I’ve done what I can for his wound, Avatar. But I can’t do anything for the infection. We don’t even know what it—” “Something’s corrupted his energy—” Roku interrupted. “Inverted it. Maybe you can . . .” He trailed off, struggling to articulate what he was asking her to do. “I don’t know . . . purify his chi? Return it to its original state, and bring him back into balance?” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know if I can do that—I’m not even certain that what you’re describing is water healing, let alone possible.” “Please, try,” Roku begged, desperate. “You can do this.” Makittuq still looked skeptical, but she took a step back and faced Gyatso. She widened her stance and raised her arms, pulling streams of water from the fractures in the ice. She started weaving the air, her hands moving in wide, sweeping motions. The ice melted into ropes of flowing water that coiled around Gyatso’s body. Makittuq’s eyes narrowed in concentration as she lowered her stance and dug her heels deeper into the snow. The water began to glow with a blue-white light, just as it had done when she’d healed the hawk-faced man’s arm or Gyatso’s bite wound. But then something happened that Roku had never seen before—the glow turned gold. It started at the base of the water streams before spreading upward until Gyatso’s body looked as if it were being wrapped in tendrils of living light. Roku watched in amazement as the Air Nomad’s feet then began to radiate with the same golden glow. Slowly, the light traveled up his legs, spread through his torso, ran along his arms, crept up his throat, and filled his face. Gyatso’s entire body soon shone like the sun for several moments—until Makittuq exhaled and dropped her arms. The light dimmed. The water fell away. The Air Nomad’s eyes fluttered closed as his freed body slumped forward. Roku rushed forward and caught his friend before he hit the ice.
A RIVER REVERSED After helping Gyatso, constructing a new ice shelter, and drawing all the moisture out of their drenched furs, Makittuq was drained. She’d nodded off moments after sitting down by the fire as soon as everyone was safe, dry, and warm. They didn’t even get a chance to talk about all that had happened. Roku was also exhausted, but he forced himself to stay awake. Because as much as he hoped Makittuq’s water healing—or whatever it was—had worked, there was no way of knowing yet until Gyatso regained consciousness. The purple splotches still marred his skin, his breathing was ragged and uneven, and his eyelids twitched even as they remained shut. It was entirely possible that as soon as he woke, he’d be at Roku’s throat again. As the sky began to lighten late the next morning, Roku yawned, stretched, and rubbed his face. He was hungry, his eyes were burning and bleary, he had a splitting headache, and he had no idea what to do next. His gaze drifted from Gyatso to Makittuq. She was lying on her side turned toward the wall, her body rising and falling softly with every breath. Gyatso wasn’t the only reason Roku needed to stay awake. Had the Air Nomad been right not to trust her? The question had dogged Roku all night, drowning out any sense of accomplishment at having connected with his waterbending. Makittuq had frozen the caribou-bear. She had helped them find and trap the wolves, then tried her best to craft remedies to cure the sickness. She had helped Roku find Kuruk and then fished Gyatso from the freezing water and potentially cured him. Yet something—or someone—was behind this corruption. That much he now felt in his bones to be true. Besides Roku and Gyatso, Makittuq was the only one who’d been present for every encounter they’d experienced so far.
He believed what Makittuq had shared about her life—he saw truth in her eyes as she had told her story. But there was a glaring gap in her tale, between the time the shaman Urulu had sent her out to find a new tribe and when Roku and Gyatso had encountered her. What had happened in the intervening years? And where was she when the caribou-bear had begun rampaging through the camp that night? She was the one who tracked down the hunters’ bodies, but what if she’d intentionally led them into a trap? Had she really tried her best to find a remedy for the wolves? Where was she when Roku had returned from connecting with Kuruk? And what if that strange thing she did to Gyatso wasn’t meant to cure him at all? Roku hugged his legs to his chest. His eyes turned to the lamp’s low flame, and he let out a long, slow exhale. If Makittuq were somehow responsible for spreading the corruption—like a human version of the dark spirit Kuruk had dealt with—what was her motivation? And why tag along with Roku and Gyatso under the guise of trying to help? They’d been traveling together for days—why didn’t she take the Avatar’s life at the first chance? The more Roku thought, the less sense any of it made. It had been a long night, and he was tired. It would do no good to keep asking himself the same questions over and over again. He shook his head as if to clear his spiraling mind and rubbed his face once more. He found a cup, melted some ice, and warmed the water with his firebending. Makittuq stirred awake as he took the first sip. She stretched, yawned, and propped herself up on her elbows. Her bleary, unfocused eyes looked around, disoriented. “How long was I out?” Roku took another sip of his hot water, pretending it was tea. “Most of the night.” Her attention shifted to Gyatso, who was lying on his back under the thick white fur of a polar bear–dog pelt. “Anything yet?” Roku shook his head. “Hasn’t so much as rolled over.” She sat up and rubbed the back of her neck. “You were right about his chi,” she said. “It wasn’t simply off-balance; it was completely inverted. Like a river reversed, suddenly flowing in the opposite direction. Which probably explains all the aggression.”
Roku searched her face for any hint of deception. If this were an act, she was an exceptional liar. “I suppose it might,” he said. She ran her hands through her hair. “I did what I could, and—to stick with the same metaphor—I believe I managed to reverse the river’s course again and get it flowing back in its natural direction . . . In other words, I think your friend’s going to be okay.” The Avatar took a drink and tried not to imagine the alternative. “We’ll see.” The wind whistled. The lamp faltered. Snow began to drift through the chimney. Roku held out an open hand, and the flakes melted on his palm. “How did you even figure out what was happening with his chi?” Makittuq asked, watching. Roku lowered his hand. He told her about hunting the spirit with Kuruk, and he shared what the Water Avatar revealed about how some other spirit had corrupted its energy. Roku watched Makittuq’s face pinch in concentration as she listened to his story. After several moments, she said, “I knew spirits could turn dark, but I didn’t know another entity could directly cause that change.” “Same,” Roku said as he held her gaze, waiting for her to look away or fidget or change the subject. But she didn’t. “But if that’s possible, I suppose you’re right that it’s also possible that something can affect another living being’s chi in such an intense way. But what?” “Or who,” Roku added. “You mean a spirit?” “Or a human.” Makittuq shook her head and looked away. “I don’t think it’s possible. As benders, we can manipulate the energy that connects us to the elements. Even Water Healers only interact with the water within the body to aid recovery. But no human can fundamentally alter another person’s chi. Not even the Avatar—as far as I know.” He glanced at his still unconscious friend. “Isn’t that what you did to Gyatso?” “I’m not sure,” Makittuq said. She paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t think so. At least, not exactly. It’s hard to explain.” She paused again. “I wonder if I’d be able to do the same thing to a dark spirit . . .” She
trailed off. “If so,” Roku said, “then too bad you hadn’t been alive a couple centuries ago to help Kuruk.” Makittuq said nothing, lost in thought. Roku drank the last of his hot water and set the cup aside. “Where were you, by the way?” he tried to ask casually. The Waterbender blinked. Her attention returned to the Avatar. “Where was I?” Answering a question with a question. Interesting. “When I returned to my body,” Roku clarified. “Ah,” she said. “I didn’t see you in the Spirit World, so I figured you’d either entered at another region or that you hadn’t managed to do it at all. After waiting a bit, I returned. And since Gyatso was already watching over you, I decided to make myself useful and collect some kindling for when we ran out of lamp oil.” She gestured toward a bundle of branches against the wall. Then her eyes went to Gyatso. “Guess I would have been more useful if I’d stayed though. Sorry about that. He was quieter than usual, but I didn’t know he was infected. He was bitten days ago—shouldn’t he have showed some signs before now?” The truth, or a convenient excuse? Roku didn’t know and said nothing. Makittuq prepared her own cup of water with the help of her waterbending and then asked Roku to warm it. He obliged, scrutinizing her every movement. She froze mid-sip, eyes widening. “Too hot?” Roku asked. She lowered the cup and turned to Roku. “Remember that boot print?” Roku cocked his head, thrown off by the seemingly random question. “What boot print?” “The one I saw in the snow that day after we’d trapped the wolves and were backtracking so Lola would come close to us.” Right. Roku nodded. “What if someone’s been following us? And what if they’re the one responsible for doing this to Gyatso and the wolves and the caribou-bear?” A convenient possibility. Roku narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said it was impossible for a human to directly alter another person’s energy like that?”
“Maybe they’re not doing it directly. Lots of things influence our chi. Breath. Movement. Environment. Light. Diet. Emotions. Relationships. Most of the time, the imbalances are slight, and the impacts unfold slowly over time. But what if this person has found something that takes hold more powerfully and more abruptly?” “Like chi blocking.” Makittuq looked at him blankly. Roku explained how he’d met an Air Nun who knew how to rapidly apply the right pressure to specific points of the body in an exact sequence to temporarily paralyze the person and block their bending. “Exactly,” Makittuq said, her face lighting up. “Except I don’t think it’s exactly that. They’re not blocking chi—they’re inverting it.” This made sense to Roku, and his gut told him that Makittuq’s revelations were as genuine as his own. Yet he didn’t want to fall for another lie as he’d fallen for Sozin’s and Ulo’s. Makittuq started hurriedly pulling on her furs, boots, and mitts. “Where are you going?” Roku asked. She rose and flipped up her hood. “To find them.” “Wait—” And then Makittuq disappeared through the door flap. Roku went over, pushed the skin aside, and watched her trek away across the ice. Should he go after her or stay with Gyatso? The snow was falling heavy and fast, the winds were strengthening, and the clouds hung overhead with dark underbellies. A storm had arrived. His gaze lingered on Makittuq’s fading figure a moment longer before he turned back to his friend. “Wake up, Gyatso,” Roku muttered. “Tell me what to do.” The Air Nomad took a ragged breath. His eyelids twitched but stayed closed. He stirred no further, entombed in a troubled sleep.
JUSTICE Atka sat by the fire in her cave, safe from the blizzard outside and confident that the Avatar wouldn’t leave his friend anytime soon. As she gazed into the flames and ate her breakfast of frozen fish and flatbread, she smiled to herself. She could hardly believe it. Everything she had worked for over the last several years was coming to fruition. Leaving her home. Changing her name and her past. Forsaking all the skills she’d learned as a healer to study poison-craft. Refining those skills underground in the tunnels and aqueducts that wound through the mountain beneath Omashu. Ridding the city of its scorpion-rats so effectively that she finally caught that pompous Minister Huaji’s attention. Ridding him of his rivals and perceived enemies until she gained his trust, and one day he asked what kind of death she might create with the rarest mineral in the world. Experimenting with that mineral in this cursed, frozen wasteland where nobody would know what she was up to. Tweaking and refining it over the course of months. Testing it against the new Avatar. And last night, it had worked. The Avatar’s friend had eaten the fermented sea cucumber she’d poisoned, and it had corrupted his energy and possessed him with such wild fury that he’d nearly killed the Avatar. Now, she only had to infect enough benders as she had wolves, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not even Roku. The minister had told her to send the recipe the moment it was ready, and she would do that in time. But first, she had her own revenge to exact. The entire reason she’d left the village that had been her home in the first place. Atka finished the last of her food, washed it down with a cup of water,
then began to pack her things. As soon as the storm passed, she’d be on her way to Agna Qel’a. “Who are you?” A young woman’s voice boomed through the cave, startling Atka, who was in the middle of stowing the scales. Atka looked up to see that Waterbender who’d been traveling with the Avatar standing in the cave’s opening. She was in an offensive stance with a stream of water encircling her at the ready. Behind her, the world outside was a wall of swirling white. The girl had tracked her here. Atka slowly put her hands up as if surrendering, unable to stop the corner of her mouth from twisting up in a slight smirk. What a turn of good fortune. She had watched last night as the girl with the eyes that were a deeper purple than her own pulled that trick with the Water Healing. Atka had never seen anything like that before, and if she ended the girl right now, she probably never would again. “My name is Atka,” she finally said, taking a slow step back. “Or Nightshade. Or Khadra. Or a few others. It depends on who’s asking.” As the Waterbender approached, recognition finally came into her face. “You were in the encampment with us,” she said in disbelief. “That night Roku and Gyatso arrived.” Atka took another slow step back as she nodded. “You’ve been following us. You corrupted those animals’ chi. And Gyatso’s.” “I meant to poison you as well,” Atka admitted. “But apparently you’re the only person in the Northern Water Tribe who doesn’t enjoy the taste of fermented sea cucumber.” “It wasn’t the wolf’s bite?” Makittuq asked. Atka burst out in laugher. “I wish! Could you imagine if I were able to craft a poison that could spread like a disease? This would all be so much easier, so much faster. Alas.” Makittuq looked at Atka as if she were a madwoman. “Why?” Atka’s face hardened. She took a step back. “My village.” “That story was true, then?” the Waterbender said, finally remembering. “About how it was wiped out by the Northern Pox?” Atka sneered. “Don’t forget the part about how Agna Qel’a refused to provide the remedy that would have saved us.”
“So, this is about revenge?” Makittuq asked, disgusted. “No,” Atka said, retreating another step. Her back was against the wall now. “Justice.” The Waterbender lowered her stance like a predator preparing to pounce. “Whatever you want to call it, it ends here.” As Makittuq struck, Atka swung one of her arms. Stone from the wall wrapped around her own body, and ice shattered against the other side. Atka was about to hurl her shield at the Waterbender when a voice shouted, “Makittuq!” It was the Avatar. Atka hesitated. This—was not quite a turn of good fortune. With the stone wrapping around her, she blended in perfectly with the cave’s walls. He couldn’t see her. “It was you?!” he cried with rage. “All this time?” Or maybe he could. But then the Waterbender’s voice replied, “It wasn’t me, Roku! It was—” “Enough with the lies!” the young Avatar shouted over her. “You’re the only one here in this little hideout. And that bag of vials and pouches and bottles over there—is that how you did it?” “That woman from—” Makittuq kept trying. “We trusted you, Makittuq. I trusted you.” “You have to believe me, Roku, she’s right over—” A deafening whoosh of rushing wind drowned out the rest of what she had to say. Then there was no more debate—only the sounds of water splashing, flames roaring, wind gusting, ice crackling and shattering. It went on only for a few chaotic seconds before there was the sickening thud of a body slamming against solid stone, then another as it hit the ground. Silence. Footsteps. A sigh. Then the Avatar’s weary voice. “I should have listened to Gyatso.” Atka swung her arm back. The stone peeled away. As the Avatar startled at the sound, she stomped the ground hard. Earth rose up around him and closed like a giant fist around his body, up to his neck. “Actually,” she said, “you should have listened to Makittuq.” “You,” Roku said. His bewilderment turned to anger.
Atka waved dismissively. She’d already had this conversation with the girl who was now lying unconscious at the base of the cavern’s wall. Speaking of the girl . . . With a few thrusting motions, Atka pulled the earth over Makittuq’s prone body like a blanket, leaving only a small opening for the Waterbender’s face. As Roku pleaded with her to let them go and stop what she was doing, Atka considered killing them both. How easy it would be to squeeze the stone around their bodies until their organs and eyes popped. Yet they’d die a much slower death like this, trapped and with nothing to do but argue about all the ways they’d failed. That was a much more delicious demise to imagine. “Sorry,” Atka said to the Avatar, who was still trying to persuade her to release them. “I’ve got somewhere else to be.” She gathered her things, secured them on her sled, and dragged the sled to the entrance. Then she raised a platform of hardpacked earth underfoot and propelled it forward with her bending, carving a swift path through the snow. She would have preferred to wait for the storm to pass, but the universe had its own timeline.
A FLICKERING FLAME Dear Ta Min, I messed up. Bad. I don’t really want to get into all the details right now, but here’s the current situation: Gyatso’s chi was—and possibly still is— corrupted, Makittuq’s knocked unconscious and tucked soundly into the earth, and I’m caught in stone up to my neck. Avatar Kyoshi was known for her swift decisiveness, and Avatar Kuruk—who I finally connected with, by the way—seemed like a confident and determined guy. I haven’t met any of my other past lives yet, but I can’t help but feel like I’m the only Avatar to have absolutely no idea what he’s doing. I was right this time—but my guilt fed my self-doubt, and I talked myself out of listening to instincts and logic. Basically, the exact opposite of what Sister Disha always tried to teach me to do. Anyway, sorry to be such a flickering flame. How is Omashu these days? I’m interested to hear about— “Roku?” Makittuq’s groggy voice came from the darkness, interrupting the letter he’d been mentally composing. “What happened?” Roku exhaled with relief. “I’m here, Makittuq,” he said, voice hoarse from having shouted her name until the campfire burned out and the muted sunlight outside the cavern faded to black. “And I’m sorry.” She ignored his apology. “Where’s Atka?” “Gone,” Roku said. “She was the woman from the encampment who told us about her village, wasn’t she?”
“It seems so,” Makittuq confirmed. “And she’s apparently an Earthbender,” Roku said. The memory of the young woman appearing suddenly out of the stone and then trapping him in rock before he could make sense of the sight flashed before his eyes. “An Earthbender who wants revenge on Agna Qel’a. That’s the whole reason she created that poison.” Roku nodded. “I had time to piece it all together.” “Did you have time to connect with your earthbending?” “I tried,” Roku said. “But no. Also, no luck connecting with Kyoshi or any of my other past lives who might be helpful.” “I can’t move to do any waterbending,” Makittuq said. “But at least your head is free. Maybe you can breathe some fire or air on these rocks and break them apart.” Roku shook his head. “The force of any wind I’d be able to exhale wouldn’t be strong enough. And even if I could blow flames hot enough to crack the stone, it would roast you like you were inside an oven.” “On second thought, let’s not do that.” Makittuq considered the situation for a few moments. “Is there anything you might be able to do using both elements together that wouldn’t turn me into a kebab?” Roku was about to say no when a memory rose to the front of his mind. He was having a cup of tea one particularly cold morning in the Floating Gardens at the Southern Air Temple. It had been so cold, the clay cup felt like ice in his hands. Sister Disha came by, and they’d talked for long enough that the next time Roku had tried to take a sip he found his tea had frozen. He used his firebending to warm it, but then the clay cup had shattered in his hand, spilling tea everywhere. “There might be something I can try,” he told her. “Hold on.” Turning his head toward the cave’s entrance, Roku took a long, deep breath, filling his lungs with frigid night wind from outside. Then he aimed his mouth at the hardened earth trapping Makittuq’s feet and exhaled until frost encrusted the stones. When he’d expelled the last of the freezing air, Roku inhaled deeply again. This time, when he opened his mouth to exhale, a stream of fire burst from his lips for several seconds, lighting up the cave. Not the hottest fire he could create, but hot enough. The rocks charred, then popped and fractured as pockets of air within the stone rapidly changed temperature.
“Can you get out?” Roku asked. Makittuq strained as she tried to move her feet. The rocks shifted but didn’t give way. “Try it one more time,” she said. Again, Roku cooled the rocks by borrowing the arctic wind, then rapidly heated them with dragon’s breath. There was more popping as the fractures expanded and deepened from the sudden change in temperature. The charred stones covering her feet crumbled as Makittuq kicked at them from within. After a bit more kicking and writhing, she was able to free herself all the way up to the waist, then wriggled free. “Look at that,” she said. “You’re good for more than just heating beverages and warming rooms.” Roku bowed his head. “Glad to be of service. Now get me out of here, please.”
CLARITY Much to Roku’s relief, they returned to their ice shelter to find Gyatso still alive and still asleep. Leaving the Air Nomad’s side to follow Makittuq had been a necessary risk—at least Roku had thought so at the time—but he would have never been able to forgive himself if something had happened to his friend in his absence. “Atka has a few hours’ head start,” Roku said as he immediately began to gather their supplies. “But we can probably catch up to her before she reaches Agna Qel’a, if I can call Lola back.” “Not in this weather,” Makittuq said, sitting down in front of the fire. They had been trapped long enough in the cave that the sun had set, but the storm still hadn’t passed. The clouds flashed with lighting, and thunder rumbled through the air. “And not with Gyatso in that state. He needs to rest, not be tossed onto a sky bison like a sack of cabbages and flown through a massive blizzard.” Roku paused in the middle of stuffing things into his satchel. “So, we’re just supposed to let Atka get to the capital and poison everyone?” “She’s under the same sky,” Makittuq said. “And this is a big storm. It’s only getting worse, and it might even last a few days. She won’t be able to cross the mountains, even with her earthbending. She’ll be forced to hole up somewhere soon—if she hasn’t already. When the storm passes, we can call Lola back and catch up to her.” Roku hesitated. He’d made a mistake by letting Gyatso’s suspicion about Makittuq become his own. Would he be making another to let her change his mind now? Then again, Roku had only been in the North for a couple weeks, and this was Makittuq’s home. She knew the weather and its winter. She knew what
lay between them and the capital. Just because Roku had been right about one thing didn’t mean he’d be right about everything forever. He blinked as it hit him that the inverse was equally true—just because he’d been wrong about some things didn’t mean he’d be wrong about everything forever. What an obvious yet significant realization. Roku dropped the satchel and sat down across from Makittuq, feeling like the waves had just retreated and left behind a beach washed clean. “Okay.” “Okay,” Makittuq echoed, satisfied. “Now get some rest. I’ll stay awake with your friend.” Makittuq had been right. The storm sat on top of them for two full days, burying their shelter nearly up to the chimney. It wasn’t until the third that the snow stopped falling, the wind calmed, and the clouds parted. As if Gyatso’s spirit were in harmony with the weather, the Air Nomad’s purple sores had faded, and he began to stir. Minutes after the sun peeked over the horizon, Gyatso’s eyes slowly opened. Blearily, he took in his surroundings before focusing on Makittuq and Roku, who were sitting on either side, watching cautiously. Roku smiled. “Welcome back, friend.” Makittuq let out a sigh of relief. “He seems okay.” Grimacing, the Air Monk tried to sit up but couldn’t muster the energy. “Speak for yourself,” he croaked. “At least you’re not trying to kill the Avatar anymore,” Makittuq said. Gyatso coughed weakly. “Wait—what?” Roku cocked his head. “You don’t remember what happened?” The Air Nomad thought for a few moments, brow furrowed. “The last thing I recall is you entering the Spirit World. Then, I suddenly felt so tired, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.” “You were infected,” Roku explained. Panic widened Gyatso’s eyes as his muscles tensed. He glanced down toward the spot on his leg the wolf had bitten. “It was the fermented cucumber,” Roku clarified. “Someone poisoned it.” The Air Nomad’s gaze darted to the Waterbender.
Makittuq put her hands up. “Don’t look at me.” “It wasn’t her,” Roku confirmed. “She actually cured you.” “Maybe,” Makittuq added, hedging Roku’s claim. Gyatso looked around. “There’s nobody else here.” “Actually, there is,” Roku said. Gyatso rubbed his face and sat up as much as he was able to. “Start over.” Roku caught Gyatso up on everything from connecting with Kuruk to the moment he had woken up. With each twist of the tale, the Air Nomad’s expression shifted, cycling through skepticism and disbelief and amazement. When Roku finished, Gyatso touched the stubble growing on his scalp, as if to confirm the truth of the story as much as the passage of time. “That explains why I feel like Lola’s been using me as a bedroll,” he said. Gyatso looked at Makittuq, wincing with remorse. “Sorry about turning the Avatar against you, Makittuq. I feel terrible.” “You were looking out for your friend,” Makittuq said. “That’s no excuse. You weren’t ready to share your story with us yet, and I should have respected that instead of holding it against you.” Gyatso met Roku’s eyes. “I may have some lingering trust issues.” “You think?” Roku said. Gyatso sighed. “I promise I’ll give Sozin a chance when I get back to the Fire Nation.” Roku smiled. “The two of you are going to hit it off. I just know it.” “We’ll see about that,” Gyatso said. “Anyway, did I win?” “Win what?” Roku asked. “Our fight.” Roku scratched the back of his head, glad Gyatso had no memory of slamming the Avatar’s body against the ice repeatedly. “It wasn’t really fair. The corruption enhanced the strength of your bending, and—” “So that’s a yes?” Gyatso interrupted, smirking. “I was trying not to hurt you.” “Sure.” Gyatso’s smile suddenly fell. He looked around. “Where’s Lola?” “She flew off to forage before everything went down and hasn’t been back since,” Makittuq said. Noticing Gyatso’s concerned expression, Roku quickly added, “I’m sure she found shelter somewhere during the storm and will be back soon.”
Gyatso relaxed a measure. “You’re probably right.” “I usually am,” Roku said with a smile. He prepared a hot cup of water and passed it to Gyasto. “Now back to resting.” It wasn’t long before a heavy thump reverberated through the snow. Everyone tensed, listening. Had Atka changed her mind and decided to return and finish the job? But then came the muffled sound of a sky bison’s anxious bellow, and they all relaxed. “We’re down here, Lola!” Roku called back through cupped hands. There was muffled shifting, another bellow, then a softer thump that Roku guessed was the sky bison settling in. Gyatso pushed his cup into Roku’s hands and attempted to sit up again. “Whoa there.” Roku set the cup aside and helped his friend lie back down. “Where are you trying to run off to?” “To stop that madwoman from poisoning Agna Qel’a,” Gyatso said. “Lola’s back, I’m awake, and you said the weather’s cleared.” “You’re in no condition to travel,” Makittuq said. “Let alone help in a fight.” “But—” “You can’t even sit up, Gyatso,” Roku pointed out. Gyatso coughed. “We can’t just let her go.” “We’re not going to,” Roku said. The Avatar and the Waterbender exchanged a look, then Roku’s gaze shifted back to Gyatso. “I’m going ahead —by myself.” Gyatso’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Roku thought the corruption had taken hold again. “What do you mean?” “I’ve decided that it’s best if Makittuq takes you back to Kuruk’s Point. She’ll set you up in a warm room with a comfy bed and a fireplace, and the two of you will wait for me there. Eat. Rest. Recover.” “No.” Gyatso shook his head for emphasis even though it clearly pained him to do so. “No.” He scoffed. “How would we even get there?” “Lola,” Roku said. “Then how would you get to Agna Qel’a?” Gyatso asked. Roku had his staff, but the air this far north, this deep into winter made it difficult to use a glider for more than a few minutes at a time, since condensation on the paper wings quickly stiffened with frost. “By ice sled,” Roku answered. “Makittuq taught me how to propel it with
waterbending.” “You can waterbend?” Gyatso asked, impressed. “He’s learning,” Makittuq said, unimpressed. Gyatso considered this. “You’ll never get there in time.” “Atka’s traveling by a similar method,” Roku explained. “Except she’ll be using earth instead of ice, which we’re guessing won’t move as fast out here.” “No,” Gyatso repeated. “I’m coming with you.” Roku sighed and cast a meaningful glance at Makittuq. The Waterbender nodded and started to pull on her outer layers. “I’ll go dig us out and check on Lola.” “Thank you,” Roku said. Gyatso turned away from the Avatar and gazed blankly at the domed ceiling. He didn’t speak again until Makittuq had left. “You need me, Roku,” he said. “And I need you.” Roku took a deep breath. “Not this time.” Gyatso’s jaw clenched as he fought back tears. “Is this because I made you suspicious of Makittuq?” “No,” Roku said softly. “It’s because you need to rest and recover. I’m not going to drag you across the North to hunt down Atka when you’re not well.” “So you get to decide what’s best for me?” Roku let out a frustrated exhale. “I can’t let you put yourself in danger just because you’re afraid to be without me.” Gyatso blinked, stricken. He had admitted to Roku that he didn’t want to stay in the Fire Nation because he was afraid of being alone, and Roku was using that against him. But what other choice did Roku have? “There are just some things we have to do by ourselves,” Roku added, thinking not only of stopping Atka but also of the way his path kept diverging from those he most loved. Yasu. Ta Min. Sozin. Sister Disha. Now, Gyatso. Such was the life of the Avatar, apparently. He might have some companions for a time, but in the end, it would always be just him. Better to accept that now than spend a lifetime in denial. Gyatso didn’t argue any further. He simply lay back down, closed his eyes, and rolled onto his side, turning his back to Roku.
Roku and Makittuq prepared, packed, and secured everything she and Gyatso would need for the journey to Kuruk’s Point, setting aside supplies for Roku’s trip to Agna Qel’a. When everything was ready, they carried a quiet Gyatso out of the ice shelter and placed him on Lola’s saddle. Makittuq climbed on. Roku stepped back and looked up at them. “Take care of him,” Roku told Makittuq. “That’s my best friend.” “I will,” she said. “Hmm.” The Air Nomad tapped his chin as he looked up, pretending to think. “‘Best’ is a strong word, but you’re probably in my top ten.” Roku chuckled. The words had come out of his mouth without thinking. Yet, he didn’t take them back. These days, he truly felt much closer to the Air Nomad than he did to Sozin. “I’ll miss you, Monk Gyatso.” “And I’ll miss you, Avatar Roku.” “This really is for the best,” Roku said, trying to reassure his friend one last time. “Sure,” Gyatso said, resigned. “I can’t let anything happen to you,” Roku added. “Not in this life—or my next.” Gyatso gathered the reins, cast one more look at Roku, then told Lola, “Yip yip!” The sky bison beat her wide, flat tail, sending up a cloud of snow that glittered in the sunlight. By the time it settled, Roku’s friends were already high in the air, soaring southwest. Roku turned to the opposite direction, squinting against the sun’s glare. Buried by glaciers that rested between their shoulders, the mountains stretched out like snow-dusted islands scattered across a sea of solid white. According to Makittuq’s estimate, it would take him a few days to reach Agna Qel’a. He only hoped it wouldn’t be too late. The wind picked up, ruffling the fur that lined Roku’s hood and whipping the loose snow into spiraling whorls. He secured the snow blinders Makittuq had given him over his eyes. He positioned his pile of supplies behind him. Then he set his feet like Makittuq had shown him, took several deep breaths, and raised his arms up as he channeled his energy. An ice sled formed underfoot.
Gaze fixed on the horizon, Roku swung his arms down. The ice shot upward, launching Roku into the air. He hit the ground several paces behind where he’d started. Roku stood, brushed himself off, and reformed the ice sled. At least nobody had been around to see that. This time, he paused for a moment and took in his surroundings. The North was hauntingly beautiful. Not only these sweeping glaciers and snow-covered peaks, but the expanses of ice. The frozen lakes with pressure ridges like crashing waves stuck in time. The tundra under a sky full of stars. The Northern Spirit Lights. The warmth found within an ice shelter around the fire with close friends. The silence deeper than he’d ever known— especially now that he was alone. Even in the short time he’d been here, Roku had come to appreciate that “snow,” “ice,” and “cold” were not one-dimensional words. There was fresh snow, light snow, wet snow, dense snow, fluffy snow, powdery snow, and so on. There was ancient ice, old ice, new ice, crusty ice, slick ice, rough ice, thick ice, ice like glass, ice that creaked and groaned, ice that cracked and split. There was the stinging cold and the deeper cold that seemed to settle into your bones. The cold that you could get used to, and the cold you couldn’t. The cold that carried sound. The cold that brought clarity. And it was clarity Roku felt as he began to waterbend his way toward Agna Qel’a.
SORRY, KOZARU The guards Ta Min had nicknamed Pebble and Mountain stood in the open doorway of Ta Min’s cell, examining her unmoving body by lantern light. “That’s the same exact position she was in when I brought her breakfast,” Mountain told Pebble. “I’ve called out to her a hundred times. I poked her with my boot. I even chucked some rocks at her. Still, nothing.” The rocks had hurt. A particularly sharp one had hit Ta Min in the back of the neck. She had gritted her teeth and only barely managed to contain her yelp and keep her body limp, grateful that neither was a skilled enough Earthbender to sense her still-beating heart. “It happens from time to time,” said Pebble casually. “Minister Huaji forgets about them. But this one hasn’t been here that long. She’s probably sick.” “I don’t know about that,” said Mountain. “It’s usually . . . messier when they’re ill.” “Go check for a pulse,” Pebble urged—at which Ta Min felt a flutter of panic. She’d been hoping Pebble—who was considerably smaller—would be the one to approach. “Do it yourself.” “No way. I don’t want to catch whatever she has. I have a delicate constitution.” Mountain huffed. “Can we just pretend like we didn’t see it and let the next shift deal with it?” “I wish,” said Pebble. “But I’m a non-bender’s stone’s throw away from losing this job after what happened with that Ba Sing Se merchant.” “Oh, right. I forgot about that. All those parsnips.” Mountain scoffed. “That was definitely your fault, so you should be the one to go check.”
Pebble sighed. “Fine,” he relented, bringing Ta Min a measure of relief. “At least give me the lantern.” Reluctant footsteps shuffled closer. Ta Min thrummed with nervous energy as she listened, as she waited. Both were present at her arrest and knew she hadn’t actually tried to assassinate Huaji. So, they viewed her as nothing more than a simple spy. She’d been quiet and meek during much of her imprisonment, concealing the fact that she was a Firebender. And while she certainly hadn’t mastered the element, she had been practicing. Soon, Pebble was at her side. The guard prodded her with his foot, then gripped her roughly by the shoulder and rolled her over onto her back. She held her breath, kept her eyes closed, and joined her energy to the lantern’s flame. Pebble set the lantern down, dropped to a knee, and reached a hand toward the side of her neck to check her pulse. Ta Min released her energy, causing the lantern’s flame to flare like a small explosion. Pebble and Mountain both shielded their faces and cried out in surprise. She snatched Pebble’s wrist. Yanked him closer. Punched him in the throat. The guard let out a choking gasp as he clutched his neck and staggered forward. Ta Min slipped behind him and caught his neck in chokehold. “Stop!” cried Mountain in the doorway, uprooting a sharp chunk of rock from the ground and letting it hover threateningly in the air between them. Pebble flailed his little legs and tried to pry himself free as his lips began to turn purple. Ta Min narrowed her eyes at Mountain. “Try it, and I’ll snap his neck.” Ta Min didn’t feel great about this part of the plan, but she knew it would work. She’d decided to plot her escape during Pebble and Mountain’s shift because they actually liked each other. The threat would have been useless on Boulder and Rock, either of which would have gladly welcomed the snapping of the other’s neck. “Open it,” Ta Min commanded, referring to the heavy stone door that led out of the dungeon that could only be moved with earthbending. Mountain scowled at Ta Min. “No.” Ta Min tightened the hold. Pebble squealed as he kicked and scrabbled more frantically. With a huff, Mountain let the sharp piece of rock fall and turned to the
door. She swiped her arms aside, and rock ground against rock as the door slid open. Her glare immediately returned to Ta Min. “There. Now let him go.” Ta Min loosened her grip enough for the guard to suck in a bit of air, but she didn’t release him. “Bind him,” she commanded. “Then take off your uniform and bind yourself.” Reluctantly, Mountain did as she was told, bending bands of stone around their ankles, wrists, and mouths. Ta Min checked the bindings, then pulled on the guard’s armor and helmet. They were far too big for her, but they would suffice. She took the lamp and dashed out of the dungeon and into the passageway, hoping she’d be able to find her way out. But the first corner she turned, someone stood in her way. Not one of the other guards. A sturdy woman with short, dark hair in a sleeveless tunic that showed off muscular arms wrapped in burn marks—who looked equally surprised to stumble upon Ta Min. Ta Min dropped into the bow and arrow stance, poised to strike. “Get out of my way.” The burly woman smirked. “This makes my job easier.” “You’re the executioner,” Ta Min guessed, regretting that she hadn’t attempted her escape a day earlier. The woman laughed heartily. “No—Sozin sent me to get you out of here.” “You’re a bit late for that,” Ta Min said. “And who are you?” “Kozaru,” she said. “Captain of Prince Sozin’s personal guard.” Right. Kozaru. Ta Min had heard of the woman with the burn scars on her forearms—who, despite her official title, had the reputation of being Sozin’s attack dog—but they’d never met. Ta Min lowered her hands and rose out of her stance. She looked past Kozaru. A few unmoving bodies lay across the winding passage, which was dimly lit by the glowing green crystals sprouting from the walls. “The other guards,” Kozaru explained. “You’re welcome.” Ta Min was grateful the way was clear but hoped they were simply unconscious. “Just tell me you know the way out of here.” Kozaru grinned and held up a map of the tunnels.
Ta Min and Kozaru stood at the base of a narrow shaft. Their eyes followed the ladder carved into the stone to a closed wooden hatch. According to the map, the kitchen was above. After listening for several minutes, Ta Min heard not so much as a spider-mouse scurrying overhead. “I think it’s safe,” she declared and reached for the bottom rung. Kozaru gripped her shoulder before she could climb. “Are you sure about this?” “Yes.” She tried to pull herself up, but Kozaru was too strong. “Sozin only ordered me to bring you back.” Ta Min sighed, gave up, and looked the muscular woman in the eye. She hadn’t told Kozaru anything about why she’d wanted to make a stop at Minister Huaji’s villa instead of sneaking straight out of the city to Kozaru’s waiting eel-hound, but it looked like she had no other choice. “Gyatso and Roku said you were on Lambak Island,” she said. Kozaru’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Ta Min muttered to herself. “Anyway, up there”— she pointed overhead—“there’s a piece of Lambak mineral.” At least, she hoped so. She had hidden it before the guards busted through the doors so Huaji wouldn’t know she’d found it, and therefore wouldn’t relocate it. Kozaru scoffed. “Impossible.” “I thought so too,” Ta Min said. “But I saw it for myself. I held it.” “Wait—” Kozaru said, remembering something. “Unless . . .” “Unless what?” “The group of Earthbenders from the Western Kingdom Trading Company that were on the island with us—there was a rumor that they smuggled some of it back to Omashu.” “That must be it,” Ta Min said. Though she didn’t mention the part about how Huaji had assured Ba Sing Se’s minister that he had a way to acquire more of the mineral. “Imagine how pleased Sozin will be if you bring it back to him.” Kozaru grinned again. Shoved her toward the ladder. “Be quick. And don’t get caught.” Ta Min grabbed the bottom rung and climbed. When she reached the top, she listened at the hatch, and—hearing more silence on the other side— pushed it open slowly. She emerged into a darkness thick with the salty and spicy scent of cured
meats. Her mouth instantly watered, given that she’d been breathing nothing but dank, subterranean air and eating nothing but cold tsampa and stale noodles. Tasting the air would have to be good enough for now. She had to keep moving. Ta Min pulled herself all the way out of the shaft and shut the hatch as quietly as possible behind her. She dragged a heavy barrel over top of it. Sorry, Kozaru, she mouthed. She wasn’t interested in being someone else’s prisoner. She brought a flame to life in the palm of her hand and peered down the rows of hanging slabs of salted meat until she spotted the exit at the other end of the long, narrow, windowless room. She pushed her way through the cured shanks and shoulders and racks of ribs, then paused in front of the door. She extinguished her flame, straightened her ill-fitting guard’s armor, and took a deep breath. Last time, she had scaled the walls of the minister’s home like a thief in the night. This time, she was disguised as one of his guards, so she’d stride through the halls like she belonged there. If she were stopped, she’d simply say that she was ordered to deliver an urgent message to the minister and hope that would be enough. As for what she would do if she arrived at his chambers and found them occupied—she didn’t yet know. She’d douse that fire once it was lit. Calling to mind the heavy-footed, overconfident way Earthbenders tended to walk, Ta Min strode out of the curing chamber and into the kitchen. Lantern light fell through the windows, providing just enough of a glow to help her avoid bumping into the counters and knocking over the stacked pots or gouging herself on knives as she crossed the room. She found a lantern, lit it, and stepped out into the hallway. She looked down the corridor in each direction and tried to get her bearings. She had memorized the layout of the minister’s residence, but it had been quite some time. Ta Min picked the way she was almost certain led to the staircase and marched with a confidence she didn’t feel. She strained her ears listening for the sound of servants or other guards who might be roaming about in the middle of the night, but she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. If she were to run into someone, it would be undeniably suspicious if they caught her glancing at every corner and doorway she passed.
Thankfully, she had picked the right direction and soon reached the spiral staircase that wound upward through the center of the villa. She tried her best to step lightly as she ascended, but her heavy, oversized boots kept a thunderous beat in the midnight quiet that echoed her own thudding heart. Yet nobody came to investigate. Ta Min continued past the second floor until she reached the third, and then the fourth. She turned left and started to head down the hallway at the end of which waited Minister Huaji’s quarters. She hadn’t made it far before she thought she heard something. She paused. Listened. Distant footsteps echoed from the staircase she’d just climbed, growing louder with each step. Ta Min hesitated. She could duck into one of the many rooms that lined the hallway—but if whoever was coming had already heard her, they’d investigate until they discovered the source of the sound. Better to continue with the strategy of pretending like she belonged there. Swallowing her fear, Ta Min continued toward Minister Huaji’s quarters as the footsteps neared. Soon, her lantern illuminated the end of the corridor ahead. To her immense relief, no guards waited. “Halt!” barked a gruff male voice from the distance behind Ta Min. Another guard, no doubt. High-ranking, she guessed, based on the easy way he issued the command. Ta Min obeyed, coming to a stop only three or four paces away from the door. So close. Heart pounding, she took a measured breath and turned around. Sure enough, a towering, bearded man donning an Earth Kingdom guard’s armor and bearing a lantern was making a beeline toward Ta Min. He carried no weapons, so he was likely an Earthbender. Ta Min waited dutifully as the guard neared, trying not to let any nervous gestures betray her mounting panic. Finally, he snapped to a stop a couple paces in front of her. He stood at least a foot taller than Ta Min, and his arms seemed as thick as tree trunks. “What are you doing up here?” he asked with a growl. Ta Min cleared her throat. “An urgent message. For Minister Huaji.” The guard held out his hand. Of course, Ta Min had no scroll to place into it. “Sorry, sir,” she said. “But I was instructed to deliver the message directly
to the minister himself.” The guard held her gaze for several seconds before withdrawing his hand and clenching his jaw. “By whom?” he asked. Ta Min had memorized the names of the most important political figures of Omashu, including the upper command of Omashu’s military—but her mind drew a blank under the guard’s assessing eyes, and she couldn’t recall a single Omashu general or commander. She’d have to make something up. “General—” she started, but then stopped herself. There weren’t that many generals. He’d instantly know if she invented one. Her eyes went to the square patch on his armor. It depicted a bear, which put him at fifth rank. She’d guess something above that paired with a common name. “I mean,” she tried again, “Captain . . . Shangwei.” The guard arched an eyebrow. “Captain Shangwei?” Ta Min’s mouth went dry. She swallowed. Nodded. The man’s gaze bored into her. “And your name, soldier? I don’t recognize you.” “Lee,” Ta Min said, uttering the first fake name that popped into her mind. She realized her mistake the moment after it left her lips but kept a straight face. “Lee” was an exceedingly common name in the Fire Nation, but not so much in the Earth Kingdom. “A transfer, sir,” she added by way of explanation. “A transfer,” he echoed. “Named Lee.” Ta Min held her breath. The man scowled. “Well, ‘Lee the Transfer,’ Captain Shangwei should know the minister is away on business.” Relief flooded through Ta Min—both because there apparently was a Captain Shangwei and because of the stroke of luck that Minister Huaji wasn’t home—for real this time. But still, she maintained the blank expression of a lowly soldier fulfilling a boring task. “Of course, sir. The captain instructed me to leave the message scroll in the minister’s quarters so he can read it first thing upon his return.” Ta Min knew she was stretching the story to the limits of credulity, but she had no other choice. He considered her response for several moments. Finally, he nodded and gestured for her to enter. She did. He stepped inside right behind her. But to Ta Min’s relief, he hung back, leaning against the doorframe as he watched.
Keeping up appearances, she headed straight for Minister Huaji’s writing desk. But inside, Ta Min struggled to stifle panic. How would she search the spot above the bed’s canopy for the stone under the careful scrutiny of this giant Earthbender? She set down the lantern on the desk, which was crowded with scrolls and papers. She reached under her armor and pretended to fish out a small scroll. Keeping her fist closed around the imaginary message, she opened one of the drawers and pretended to drop it inside. She shut the drawer. Ta Min turned around to find the guard had set down his own lantern and shifted into an offensive stance, blocking the exit. A spinning stone disc hovered between his raised hands. “Captain Shangwei retired last year, so who are you really?” Feigning surprise, Ta Min took a step back, bumping the desk. As she’d hoped, the lantern tipped over. The scrolls instantly caught fire, and Ta Min swung her hands around to strengthen and spread the flames. The fire roared as it expanded. The guard’s eyes widened in panic. He dropped the stone disc and ran out of the room, shouting “Fire! Fire!” loud enough to wake everyone in Omashu. Covering her nose and mouth with the inside of her elbow, Ta Min made a beeline for the spot where she’d found the Lambak mineral hidden before. As she ran, she dragged the flames behind her. Everything quickly lit up in her wake—the fancy rugs, the finely woven tapestries, the silken wardrobe, the elaborately carved wooden statues. Heat and smoke filled the room, making it harder by the second to breathe or see. Thankfully, the small metal box was still in its spot under the shingle in the decorative pagoda over the bed. Ta Min tucked it into her pocket, then quickly tied together a few of the minister’s sheets as the fire raged around her. She secured one end of the makeshift rope to a heavy statue, pushed open the window, and tossed the other end outside as alarm gongs rang out and thundering footsteps approached—probably with buckets of water in hand. Ta Min didn’t wait around to find out. She climbed down until she reached the end of the improvised rope, then dropped the rest of the way to the balcony, rolling as she landed to soften the fall. “There she is!” someone shouted. Ta Min crossed the balcony and hopped onto the balustrade that
overlooked the steep, glittering city. She tried to ignore the gongs and the shouting and the whooshing of the flames overhead. Finally, she picked out the sound she’d been desperate to hear—the stone-on-stone whisper of an approaching delivery cart sliding along the chute that ran directly below the balcony. And then she leapt.
SURVIVAL Makittuq had assured Roku that an ice sled was much faster in this terrain than one made of earth—especially as the moon was nearly full—but it was slow going at first. He was far from mastering the element, so propelling the sled with the help of his waterbending took immense energy and concentration. He couldn’t go too far before he was overcome with exhaustion and had to stop to rest. And when he did, he couldn’t yet relax. He had to create an ice shelter so he didn’t freeze to death. Makittuq had made it look easy. With a few elegant movements, she would create a perfect structure with smooth, even walls, a small opening, and a chimney. The best Roku could do at first was make a lumpy pile of snow. When he was finally able to shape the ice into a hollow dome, it collapsed the moment he tried to carve an opening. Eventually, he managed to create one that held, but it was so small he could barely sit upright at its highest point. Then there was the matter of replenishing his energy. He devoured the last of his provisions after only a few stops. Makittuq had showed him how to carve a hole in the ice, capture fish in a current, and pull them to the surface. But again, Roku wasn’t nearly as skilled. Drained from using his waterbending to propel his sled to a frozen lake or river and then build his shelter, it was only his hunger that drove him to keep trying until he finally caught one small, unlucky fish. And by the time he finally had shelter and a fire going and a bit of food in his belly, Roku passed out the moment he lay his head down and slept much longer than he’d intended. Though he was eager to catch up to Atka before she reached Agna Qel’a, his first few days through the North in the middle of winter didn’t leave much room for Roku to stoke his anxiety as he usually would. Survival demanded constant attention.
And the journey was long. The swinging arm movements that drove his sled became smoother and more synchronized, propelling him faster across the ice while expending less energy. He even perfected the timing of pulling a gust at his back for a burst of speed that he could coast on and catch his breath for a spell. His ice shelters became more appropriately sized and took on a more even shape. Soon, he slept without the fear he’d be awoken by its collapse. And it no longer felt like it took forever before he could sense a fish wriggling in the water below, capture it in a current, and pull it to the surface as if tugging on some invisible net. So it was that the first waterbending skills Avatar Roku began to master were not of combat but of survival. He wondered if this is how it had been with the original Waterbenders all those thousands of years ago. But any pride Roku felt about strengthening his waterbending was tempered by each day that passed without any sign of Atka. A sled made of earth tearing through the ice would have left tracks hard to miss, even with fresh snow, but he saw none. Had she taken a different route? Had he unintentionally passed her? Had they been wrong in assuming that she’d head straight to Agna Qel’a? Instead of following the stars Makittuq had told him would lead to the capital, Roku wondered if he should slow down and search. His gut told him no. Though he was becoming more familiar with the terrain and more comfortable with his waterbending, he still didn’t truly know the North. He might easily get lost if he traveled too far off course. The weather had been favorable so far, but what if it suddenly shifted? Even if she took a more indirect route, Atka’s desire for revenge would compel her to the Northern capital eventually. All the better if he arrived first. So, Roku kept on. The days grew so short that the sun didn’t rise as much as it lingered briefly. The Northern Spirit Lights came out, and an awestruck Roku witnessed the shifting gossamer curtain of purple and green for the first time outside of his dreams with Kuruk. And eventually, he reached the end of the mountains. He coasted down one final glacier’s slope and into the expanse of tundra that stretched toward the bay that held Agna Qel’a, hoping with all his heart he wasn’t too late.
AGNA QEL’A After days without encountering another soul, Roku thought he was imagining the wide smudge of smoke lying low above the ice in the distance. The sun was still up, and the clear sky was an uninterrupted deep blue. But as his sled carried him nearer, he realized it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. The smoke rose from dwellings that stretched across the horizon. And this was not just a handful of tents or icy structures. It was not an encampment or a simple settlement. This was the outskirts of the capital. Roku sighed with relief. He could hardly believe it. He’d made it. He’d crossed a vast swath of the North. By himself. In the winter. And he hadn’t died or lost any fingers to frostbite. Roku had heard plenty about Agna Qel’a’s rapid growth over the last few decades, but he’d always assumed people were tracking its size relative to the other Northern Water Tribe communities scattered across the continent. Yet as he sailed closer, the full scope of the outskirts came into view. Given that this was only the outer edge on one side of the city, he wondered if it might even be larger than the Fire Nation capital. But he wasn’t here to sightsee—he was here to stop Atka. Roku’s chest tightened. His relief and sense of accomplishment gradually gave way to the fear that she’d arrived ahead of him and had already distributed her poison. Was the smoke he’d first noticed rising from fires of destruction? Would he enter the center only to find it full of infected Waterbenders terrorizing their fellow tribesmen? Would the palace have already been reduced to rubble, Chief Tiguaa’s body buried within? He sped up. As close as he was, he couldn’t get there fast enough. When he reached the first igloos, a child’s scream tore through the frigid air. Roku whipped his neck around—a group of young Waterbenders were
hurling snowballs at each other. Tribespeople of all ages were out and about in their winter furs, taking advantage of the sun’s brief appearance. Hunters were sharpening their weapons and preparing their supplies. Tanners were cleaning, soaking, scraping, and hanging skins. Seamstresses were measuring, cutting, sewing, and mending pelts. Fishermen were hanging their catches on long poles positioned over smoky fires. There was no panic here, no screams of terror. Only the murmur of casual conversation punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. People smiled and waved as Roku passed. A few widened their eyes and pointed when they spied the golden prince’s crown under his hood. The Avatar returned their greetings, but he didn’t relax and didn’t slow down. Given Atka’s grudge, she wouldn’t punish those at the city’s fringes. As in the Fire Nation, these were people who had either recently arrived or who were too poor to set up within the city’s walls. She’d strike instead at the capital’s heart. Roku rode his sled along a wide path that cut through the outskirts, the city growing denser the deeper he ventured. Finally, he saw open air past one final row of structures. He stilled his tired arms and brought his sled skidding to a stop. He stepped off, peered over the cliff’s edge at Agna Qel’a below, and gasped. Not because the capital was caught in the throes of chaos—but because it was blindingly beautiful. It was laid out in a perfect circle that had been carved into the steep cliffs that hugged the frozen gulf. A colossal gate of thick, solid ice walled the city off from the frozen water at the southern end, but the focal point was the palace—an ornate, tapering tower at the northernmost side. A symmetrical network of canals, walkways, and bridges lined with densely packed domed buildings radiated outward from the palace. Though foundations may have been built from the rock beneath the permafrost, everything apeared to be hardpacked snow, frosted brick, or expertly sculpted ice that glimmered a translucent blue-white in the sunshine. Roku grabbed his staff from the pile of supplies he’d been towing and abandoned everything else. Someone in the outskirts needed them more now. Eyes fixed on the palace, he backed up a few steps, flicked his glider open, and ran over the cliff’s edge.
“Let me get this straight,” said Chief Tiguaa as he arched an eyebrow. “An Earthbender named Atka—or Khadra, or Nightshade, or who knows—is on her way to poison the city with a mysterious substance that inverts a being’s chi so they become uncontrollably aggressive until they die, and there’s only one person who can cure them—but she’s in Kuruk’s Point?” Roku cleared his throat, standing before the chief with his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes.” Chief Tiguaa—a fat old man with a wide nose, a white beard that forked into several long braids, and a caribou-bear headdress crowned with antlers— exchanged troubled glances with the advisors on either side of him. Wearing the finest furs Roku had ever seen, they sat on iceberg-shaped chairs sprouting from a wide dais over which stood an elaborate structure like a freestanding façade. Behind them, water cascaded down from an opening near the ceiling, splashing into a pool that ran along the base of the wall. Chief Tiguaa turned back to Roku. “That is certainly concerning, and we thank you for arriving as quickly as you could to warn us, Avatar Roku. Do you have any idea where she might be?” “I don’t,” Roku admitted. “But we’ll find her. She’s a young woman. Tall. Square jaw. Lavender eyes.” “There are many people in our city who fit that description,” pointed out one of the advisors, a muscular man with the craggy features of a broken iceberg. “But I believe you’ve seen her before,” Roku said. “She might have stood right where I’m standing. She came to ask you for the Northern Pox remedy.” They stared at Roku blankly. “For her village in the Earth Kingdom,” he prompted. Still nothing. “This would have been a few years ago,” Roku tried. “Many people come before us,” explained the advisor on the far left, a bald man with a thin black beard. “Often dozens in a single day.” Even so, Roku struggled to comprehend how all of them could forget someone who had come in such dire straits. Had the hawk-faced man’s assessment of the capital’s disregard for everyone outside their walls been accurate? “Surely, there can’t be that many from the Earth Kingdom seeking
a cure only the North can provide.” “More than you seem to think, Avatar Roku,” said Chief Tiguaa. “Every nation’s illnesses travel with its trade. Like the others, we provide the remedies when we can.” Roku clenched his jaw. “You mean when they can pay.” The bald advisor scowled at Roku. “The ingredients required to craft many of these cures are neither common nor cheap. Are we to give them away for nothing, and then be without in our time of need?” “We’re all connected,” Roku said, sounding exactly like the Air Nomads with whom he’d lived for the last few years. “If you help where help is needed, then perhaps it would keep the danger from your doorstep.” Wasn’t that especially true in this instance? If they’d given Atka the cure all those years ago, then she wouldn’t have come for revenge. But Chief Tiguaa scoffed as he leaned back. “An honorable—but naïve— sentiment. It’s more complicated than that, I’m afraid. But I suppose statecraft is not one of the elements the Avatar is ever expected to master.” This was not going as Roku had hoped. “Is there anything else you’re able to tell us, Avatar Roku?” asked a clean- shaven man who looked like the youngest advisor. “Such as when this Atka plans to distribute the poison? Or whom she’s likely to target? Anything at all that might help us keep our people safe?” “I don’t know for sure,” Roku had to admit again. It had caught him completely off guard to arrive in the capital and find nothing amiss, nothing to fight. He hadn’t had time to speculate much about Atka’s next move. “I’m guessing she’s coming for all of you—as soon as possible.” Chief Tiguaa nodded. “We’ll increase the guards at the palace, the gates, the royal kitchens, the food stores, and the caches. We’ll instruct them to detain and question anyone who fits the description you provided, and we’ll put up posters across the city so the entire tribe can lend their eyes to the search.” Roku nodded, pleased that the chief was taking this seriously. The chief continued. “The royal family already has food tasters, but we’ll make sure all the highest-ranking officials in the city—including you now, Avatar Roku—have someone to take a bite or sip of everything before it passes their own lips.” Roku bristled at this. “The tasters could get infected.”
“Yes,” said the muscular advisor slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “That is the idea. Better them than us.” “There has to be another way,” Roku said. The young advisor scoffed. “Would you have Chief Tiguaa issue an edict that says everyone must starve themselves until we’ve captured this woman?” The bald advisor with the thin beard chortled. “And why stop there? Let’s freeze all importing and exporting while we’re at it.” “That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Roku fired back at the advisor, his blood beginning to boil. He knew Atka wanted retribution against Agna Qel’a, but maybe she had bigger plans. “What if you were to accidentally ship contaminated meat to another nation?” Then he shifted his ire to the young advisor. “Of course we shouldn’t tell people to starve themselves. But maybe we can instruct them to eat only food they’ve hunted or caught and prepared themselves.” Chief Tiguaa held up a hand to indicate that he’d heard enough. Everyone held their tongues. Only the steady sound of the waterfall at the back of the hall filled the air. “Avatar Roku,” the chief finally said. “Please send word to your friend— the one who can cure this ‘chi corruption.’ Tell her to come as quickly as possible to teach our healers her methods should we require them.” “Of course,” Roku said. “We’re honored by your arrival in our great capital and look forward to teaching you our ways. We’ll prepare your quarters so you can get settled in. When you’re rested, go and find this young woman before it’s too late.” “Thank you, Chief Tiguaa. I will.” “Excellent.” Chief Tiguaa rose, stepped off the dais and up to Roku. He extended his hand, and they grasped each other’s forearms firmly. “Welcome to Agna Qel’a.”
A KINDNESS “Clear the courtyard,” Fire Lord Taiso commanded, startling Sozin, who had been sparring against three firebending masters at once. All three stopped mid-motion or mid-strike, flames suddenly extinguishing. After hasty bows, they scattered like cockroaches in the light. It was a muggy afternoon. The clouds were dark overhead. A breeze carrying the scent of rain rustled the ancient willow trees that stood in the open, grassy square between the covered walkways. Feigning annoyance at the interruption, Sozin sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and nonchalantly turned around. “Welcome home, Father. How was your journey?” Taiso ignored the question as he strode up to his son, stopping an arm’s length away. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his face was set in a deep scowl. “What were you thinking?” Sozin swallowed and suppressed the rising panic. He kept his face a mask of calm as his mind raced, trying to figure out which of his most recent decisions might have upset his father so much that he’d sought Sozin first thing upon his return. But Sozin had made many. The Fire Lord’s secret trip to Bhanti Island had lasted much longer than anyone had expected. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Father,” Sozin finally said. “Lambak Island,” Fire Lord Taiso spat. Ah. So, it was the first decision of consequence Sozin had made. Instead of blubbering some excuse, he waited for his father to identify the exact cause for concern. Sure, it had taken longer than expected to quell the clan’s little rebellion, but nobody could have predicted how difficult it would be to hunt down the islanders as they flitted through the jungle on those terrifying, silent gorilla-tarsiers.
“Did you know nothing of the lives of the one hundred and six Fire Nationals you let that backwater clan execute?” Taiso asked. “I knew we couldn’t negotiate with insurrectionists,” Sozin said, bringing himself up to his full height. He was still shorter than his father, but not by much. The man also looked frailer than he had before leaving for Bhanti Island, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Taiso unclasped his hands from behind his back and clenched his fists at his sides. Was he going to strike Sozin? He hadn’t done that in years—not since Sozin’s body had filled out with muscles. “Did you know,” Fire Lord Taiso asked, “Admiral Zujon’s two daughters had been posted at the naval base?” It took Sozin a few moments to place the name with the very tall woman who’d looked at him in horror when he’d issued the orders that day. Guess this clarified why. But he said nothing. “They were both among those one hundred and six you sacrificed without a second thought,” Taiso said, as if the fact weren’t obvious enough already. Sozin knew his father was waiting for an apology. For submission. The Sozin of a few weeks ago might have given it. But something within him had shifted while stepping up in his father’s absence. Sozin felt no guilt. No regret. No uncertainty. And—more significantly—no sense he needed to pretend otherwise any longer. “There was no other way,” he told his father. Taiso’s eyes narrowed into slits. His nostrils flared. “And while we’re at it, let’s speak of Omashu.” Sozin tensed. Had his father regained a lost piece of his memory, or had someone told him? “You will warn Queen Guo Xun at once of the minister’s plot to poison her people,” the Fire Lord said. “Their blood will not be on my hands.” Sozin said nothing, certain his father was making the wrong call. Warning the queen would prevent a crisis they could take advantage of. Also, word of their intervention would get back to King Jialun, and Sozin would be marked as an enemy of the Earth King. Taiso leaned forward until their noses were practically touching. “You’re not the Fire Lord yet,” he whispered to Sozin through clenched teeth.
“Neither is your birthright as secure as you seem to believe.” With that, he turned and began to stalk away. He’d taken only a couple of steps when Sozin said, “You were the one who taught me never to show any signs of weakness.” The Fire Lord stopped—but didn’t turn around. His hands were still clenched into fists at his sides, and he was practically vibrating with barely contained rage. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that lesson yourself,” Sozin added, his comment a hot blade slipped between ribs. Sozin saw the punch coming before the Fire Lord threw it—he easily leaned out of the away, brushed the fist aside, and redirected the flames. Taiso stumbled as the momentum carried him forward, and he fell to the ground. He looked up at Sozin, livid but pathetic. It almost made Sozin feel sorry for the old man and his fading mind. Almost. Sozin’s hands curled into fists at his sides as he stood over Taiso, daring him to stand. “Your time is almost up, Father. I know that. You know that. And—if you ever threaten to remove my birthright again—everyone else in the Fire Nation will know it. Then, you’ll have no other option but to abdicate early. That is, of course, unless your lengthy Bhanti Island vacation improved your condition?” “You ungrateful—” “I didn’t think so,” Sozin interrupted. He unclenched a fist, extended an open hand, and continued in a hushed voice. “Consider this a kindness, Father. I acknowledge that I still have much to learn and that there are those like Admiral Zujon who harbor doubts about my potential leadership. So, stop wasting time with these false threats, and publicly throw your full support behind me. Then, teach me. Do that, and you may serve our nation until your flame finally flickers out—however soon that may be. Deal?” Taiso hesitated and narrowed his eyes. But after a moment, he took his son’s hand. Sozin helped the Fire Lord back to his feet as if he were a pitiable grandfather who’d simply missed a step and taken a tumble. Fire Lord Taiso yanked his arm away. He straightened his robes and brushed off the char as he glanced around the courtyard to check for witnesses. Finding none, he returned to glowering at Sozin. He said nothing for several moments. Probably trying to decide whether he should try to
strike his son again. Thinking the better of it, Taiso turned and strode away without a word. Sozin grinned. Guess that was a yes. He called his sparring partners back, ready to take on the world.
POLAR NIGHT After the Avatar’s quarters were ready—which were, as Sister Disha had predicted, much more luxurious than the small room he’d stayed in at the Southern Air Temple—Roku slept, ate, then hit the city. The sun had set, and the capital was illuminated by hanging lanterns strung between the upper levels of the buildings that lined the walkways and canals. Since it wasn’t that late, Agna Qel’a was still bustling with tribespeople. Roku asked someone where he could send a message, and they directed him to the mews. As he made his way over, Roku scanned every face he passed. But he found Atka only in the WANTED posters that had already been affixed to columns or posting boards at every major intersection Roku passed. After sending out an arctic hawk to Gyatso and Makittuq with word that he’d arrived and found everything calm—for now—Roku headed to the port. Though it was on the other side of the city, he opted to walk instead of taking his glider so he could continue to search for Atka along the way and start to familiarize himself with his new home. The port consisted of a long row of hangar-like storehouses and endless docks along the frozen water near the main gate. The ships were locked in the ice for the season, but that didn’t stop trade. Teams of Waterbenders were hard at work loading, unloading, or hauling sleds of all sizes piled with meat, fish, pelts, barrels of oil, and more. Meanwhile, more guards than were probably typical patrolled the area. Many people—like Roku’s own father—might have been in awe of the quantities of goods and sums of coins exchanging hands so efficiently. But Roku could only hear in his mind the hawk-faced man’s criticisms about the way Agna Qel’a had been overhunting and overfishing to sustain its massive
population and enrich itself through foreign trade. It was hard to argue against those critiques once confronted with the sight of so many frozen turtle-seal, tiger-seal, koala-otter, and caribou-bear carcasses stacked on hauling sleds like cords of firewood. Roku was only just beginning to learn the Water Tribe’s ways, but this seemed far from the kind of push-pull, give- take balance Makittuq had already taught him was central to the Waterbenders’ way of life. Going down the line, Roku hunted for Atka storehouse by storehouse. He snatched one of the WANTED posters to show people as he asked around. He checked the faces nestled within hoods. He peered around corners and behind crates. Hours passed. The final sleds were loaded and sent on their way. The last workers went home or to the taverns. Lanterns burned out and weren’t relit. Soon, the only people remaining besides Roku were the guards. Exhausted and hungry, Roku combed one more storehouse in vain, then stepped back out into the frigid night. He rubbed his face and sighed in frustration as his gaze slid over all the buildings he hadn’t managed to examine—and the rest of the city beyond the port. Where was Atka? When would she strike? And what would he do when she did? It was like waiting for an invisible volcano to erupt. Roku had assumed she would make her move as soon as she reached the capital. But as he walked back to his quarters, it dawned on him that she wouldn’t do that. She was a poisoner, and poisoners were patient and shrewd. She would lurk in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to arrive. Then, she would seize the opportunity to bring about the most damage as quickly as possible. He had to find her first. Days passed as Roku scoured the capital. The Northern Water Tribe hunkered down as the Polar Night began, the several weeks when they would be without daylight. The city’s pace slowed, and its bustle calmed as if muted by the heavy blanket of darkness.
So, it was by perpetual lantern light that Roku finished examining every corner of the port, then expanded his search. He checked taverns, boardinghouses, bathhouses, teahouses, noodle shops, Pai Sho dens, tanneries, temples, schools, private homes, and anyplace willing to let the Avatar have a look around. He spent hours simply walking the streets and peering at people’s faces and peeking into alleys. Once, he thought he saw Atka stepping into an apothecary’s shop—but when he’d entered behind the tall woman and spun her around, she looked back at him with pale blue eyes and an unfamiliar face. Another time, he’d turned a corner in an alley to find a figure standing along the wall in the darkness. But when he lit a flame, its glow only revealed a man beholden to his bladder. And then in another instance, he’d entered a kitchen and stumbled upon a woman with purple eyes sprinkling something onto a chunk of raw meat. Roku instinctually whipped a gust of wind that pressed her against the wall—but it wasn’t Atka, and the substance was merely salt. Days passed. The WANTED posters frosted over. Nobody reported seeing the woman from the drawing. The food tasters were all alive and well-fed. Even the guards—who had been harassing nearly every woman with remotely purple eyes—uncovered no suspicious activity or useful information. There was no trace of the poisoner’s presence. As much as Roku wanted this to mean Atka was no longer a threat, he knew she wouldn’t give up. His efforts so far had hinged upon the hope he’d stop her from distributing the poison. But the longer the fruitless search stretched on, the more he began to accept it was more likely she would infect the people right under his nose, as she had with Gyatso. He’d had a hard enough time stopping his friend, and it was Makittuq’s healing that had prevented the corruption from killing the Air Nomad. Roku wasn’t sure what he’d do if he had to face a city full of the infected alone. Following Sister Disha’s constant advice, he decided to look inward. With two guards stationed outside of his door, Roku submerged himself in a tub filled with slushy ice water. The shock of cold took his breath away, but it felt refreshing this time. More a reset than an attempt on his life. He kept calm and counted to ten in his head. Then he rose from the water, climbed out
of the tub, and sat in lotus position on the caribou-bear rug nearby, still dripping wet. Body shivering and teeth chattering, Roku shut his eyes. He heard Makittuq’s voice gently guiding him to visualize waves washing in and out with each breath. Soon, his body stilled, and his mind was as clean and clear as the imagined coast. Roku opened his eyes. He was in that icy canyon with the spirit lights illuminating the night sky above. The air was frigid but invigorating. The square-jawed, barrel-chested Water Avatar stood before him. No longer on the hunt, Kuruk now seemed relaxed, hands clasped behind his back and an arrogant smirk playing on his wide lips. “You’re back,” Kuruk said in his deep, smooth voice. “The hunt is over.” “Yours, perhaps,” Roku said. “Not mine. I need your help.” Kuruk waited for Roku to explain. Roku explained. When Roku had finished summarizing the situation, the Water Avatar nodded knowingly but said nothing. Roku waited another moment, then asked, “So what should I do? If Atka manages to spread the infection before I find her, how can I stop it by myself?” “You’re asking me?” Kuruk shrugged. “I told you I never figured out how to cure the corruption. I only ended the threat by defeating the spirit in its own realm.” So much for looking inward. “Sister Disha told me your story,” Roku said. “I hoped you might be able to offer some advice since you had to face so much alone.” “Alone . . .” Kuruk stroked his beard. A faraway look entered his icy eyes. “When I was a young Avatar, I was lucky to have a very close group of friends. We would have done anything for each other. A lot of people say that about friendships formed in youth, but we really would have . . . We went through so much together.” He paused. Sighed. Crossed his arms over his chest. “But then I pushed my friends away to protect them. In the end, that would be the biggest regret of my life.” Roku thought he understood why Kuruk was sharing this. “It’s not the same,” he said. “I sent Gyatso away so he could rest and recover. I had to . . .” He trailed off.
“Had to what?” Kuruk prompted. “Protect him?” Roku hesitated. Nodded. It was the same. He had thought he’d needed to accept that being the Avatar meant being alone. As soon as Lola had carried Gyatso and Makittuq away, he’d assumed that saving the North was solely his responsibility—as it always ultimately would be. He’d been so convinced of this and so focused on trying to find Atka, he hadn’t even bothered sending another message since he’d arrived. Maybe that’s how it began for Kuruk. Severing one connection. And then another. And another. Until the Water Avatar was utterly alone. A single ice floe that had broken off the main sheet and drifted out to sea. “I’m not alone,” Roku realized. Avatar Kuruk stepped forward and gripped Roku’s shoulder. “Keep it that way.” Roku nodded. The next time he blinked, he opened his eyes to find himself back in his quarters, sitting upon the caribou-bearskin rug. His body felt warm, his heart full. Without bothering to throw his clothes back on first, Roku found a blank message scroll, an inkwell, and a brush and began to write to his friends.
MISTAKEN Roku! What a relief to get your message! Makittuq wasn’t sure we’d ever hear from you again, but I was (mostly) confident you were still alive. I’m also glad to know that Chief Tiguaa is taking the threat seriously. Maybe you’ve already stopped Atka! I hate to admit it, but I think you were right to send us back to Kuruk’s Point. I’m feeling much better. Not at full Gyatso just yet, but those gross purple sores are completely gone, and my skin is once again as smooth as a sky bison pup’s belly. Also, I can finally walk around without leaning on my staff all the time. But . . . I’ve got some bad news. Move away from anything flammable. Grab a nice cup of that stinky tea that helps you relax. Find a comfy seat . . . We can’t go to Agna Qel’a to help you. At least, not yet. It turns out whatever Makittuq did to rebalance my energy only works temporarily. After a few days, my chi starts creeping off-kilter. Thankfully, she discovered this before I started attacking anyone again. (Sorry about that, by the way.) (Also, sorry again for absolutely dominating you in our little scuffle.) That is to say, it’s probably best I stay here for now. Makittuq’s been trying to teach the other healers in Kuruk’s Point how to rebalance my energy so that maybe she can at least join you. But so far, nobody else can do what she can. Turns out Makittuq is great—but you knew that already. I feel terrible about mistrusting her simply because she hadn’t been ready to share her story with us. I apologized, and we talked it through, but
I still feel bad. Sorry again for planting that seed of doubt in your mind. Thank you for what you said at the end of your message. Of course we’re not losing each other when I go back to begin my work in the Fire Nation. Of course whatever we’ve learned from each other will always be part of us. Of course we can still write and visit and help each other grow. And, to answer your question: Yes, as soon as you’ve mastered all the elements, you may drag me all around the world with you. Anyway, that’s about all I have to report since I spend most of my days in bed. Please write again as soon as you can. Your BEST friend, Gyatso Roku reread the message, rolled it back up, and tucked it into his pocket. He felt less alone and was happy to hear Gyatso was doing better. Of course, he was disappointed that they wouldn’t be rejoining him right away. He was also concerned that the Air Nomad wasn’t yet completely clear of the infection. Roku scribbled a quick response. He shared how he was feeling and suggested Makittuq try to craft a remedy to permanently cure Gyatso and that could be broadly and quickly distributed. He’d been speaking to the healers and elders in Agna Qel’a about how one might do so and passed along what he’d learned and promised to continue. He closed by sharing his suspicion of when Atka might make her move and urged them to try their best to arrive in the city by then—preferably with a decent supply of remedy in hand. He tied the scroll to a fresh arctic hawk and sent the bird off in the direction of Kuruk’s Point. Then he wrote another brief update to Ta Min and sent that one flying toward Omashu even though he wasn’t sure if any of his scrolls were reaching her. Kuruk had inspired Roku not only to message his friends but also to enlist the help of anyone willing. So, after leaving the mews, he headed back to his favorite tea spot to meet with Chief Tiguaa for what had become their nightly check-in. The old man with the braided white beard was already there, waving from their usual table tucked into the back of the cramped shop. “What are we having?” Chief Tiguaa asked as Roku approached. Though
Roku had learned most of the locals merely came in for steaming cups of melted glacial ice, the chief had fallen into the habit of letting Roku order tea for the table each night. Roku sat down and pulled off his mitts and parka, then retied his hair. “Milky oolong.” Chief Tiguaa looked skeptical. “Whose milk?” Roku laughed. “There’s no actual milk in it. It just has a creamy flavor.” “Without milk?” “Without milk.” After they placed their order, Chief Tiguaa asked Roku, “In what corner of our great city did you fail to find Atka tonight?” “The mews,” Roku said. “But I wasn’t looking for her there. I needed to send some hawks out.” Chief Tiguaa smirked. “To your lover?” “Ta Min isn’t my lover,” Roku said, looking around for the tea. “At least, I don’t think she is. But yes, she’s one of the people I sent a message scroll to. Still haven’t heard from her yet. I’m starting to worry.” The chief waved his hand dismissively. “Messages from the South take forever to reach us. Their hawks can’t stand the cold and the snow, especially in the winter. They can only go as far as the coastal settlements. From there, the scroll gets retied to an arctic hawk to deliver the rest of the way. Sounds simple enough, but you can’t count on the outskirts. Sometimes they leave those messages for days before they get around to transferring them.” “That’s helpful to know,” Roku said. “That, or she met a strong, handsome Earth Kingdom nobleman to settle down with in Omashu.” “Less helpful,” Roku said, then changed the subject. “Anyway, I did finally hear from Gyatso.” He shared the disappointing news. Chief Tiguaa stroked his beard. “That is too bad.” The tea arrived. They toasted the winter solstice and drank. “Creamy,” declared the old man, impressed. “I like this one.” “I think I know when Atka is going to strike,” Roku said, trying to keep the conversation on track. “Oh?” Roku drank. “The Festival of First Light.”
The festival celebrated the end of the Polar Night, which was a couple weeks away. It would be three days of dancing, music, games, ice sculpting, waterbending competitions, and more, culminating in the first sunrise in weeks. Chief Tiguaa leaned in. “Tell me more.” “It would be the perfect opportunity,” Roku said. “Not only will everyone be distracted by the festivities, but from what I’ve been told, there will be vast amounts of food and drink communally prepared and freely distributed throughout the capital.” “That is true,” Chief Tiguaa said. “How did you uncover her plan?” Roku scratched the back of his head. “Um . . .” Chief Tiguaa leaned back. “You don’t have any evidence.” “I have—” “A feeling?” Roku nodded. The chief sighed. “Our people have searched the entire city how many times now? Including the outskirts and caverns in the surrounding cliffs. If she were here, Roku, we would have found some sign of her by now.” “Do you think I’ve been lying to you?” Roku asked, indignant. “Not at all,” the chief said. “But you may have been mistaken. Perhaps we’re not the target of her revenge.” Roku’s brow furrowed. “Then who do you think is?” “Her own government. Wouldn’t that make more sense? Why come after a foreign nation when it was the Earth Kingdom who failed to take care of their own citizens?” “Maybe you’re right that Omashu or Ba Sing Se are in her sights as well,” Roku said. “But I have a feeling she’ll strike here first.” “We can’t keep this up forever because of a ‘feeling.’ Even if you are the Avatar.” “What are you saying?” asked Roku. Chief Tiguaa’s gaze dropped to his cup. He took a drink. “We’re going to reduce the patrols.” The taste of warm oolong on Roku’s tongue turned bitter. “Atka’s still out there.” “I wish it were as simple as that, Roku, but it’s not. Our resources are
finite. All those guards are real people. They’re exhausted. And they’re tired of spending so much time away from their families to chase a threat that doesn’t seem to exist.” Roku shook his head in disbelief. “Atka’s been waiting for the city to let its guard down, and that’s exactly what you’re about to do.” “Everyone looks forward to the festival, Roku. Including the guards. It’s more than just a good time. It’s necessary for the soul. For the spirits. After weeks of demanding the guards work extra shifts without anything to show for it, I can’t justify pulling so many away from their families during the celebration.” “So, you’ll have some unhappy guards,” Roku pointed out, unable to see the big deal. “I’ll have armed men harboring resentment,” Chief Tiguaa corrected. Roku scoffed. “You think they’ll revolt because you told them they had to work during the festival?” “No,” the chief said. “But the leader of a nation must consider such things. Resentment builds up. It gathers. Grows. Hardens. Layers like the ice. You ignore it for too long, it becomes so thick, it’s impenetrable.” Roku rubbed his chin, trying to think of a better counterargument. Despite their chilly first meeting, Roku had come to like the fat old man with the braided snowy white beard. He listened to his advisors. He cared for his people. He lived his life among them—unlike the Fire Lord, who rarely left the palace grounds save for special occasions or extenuating circumstances. It was true, however, that this concern and care was mostly limited to the capital. He’d often appealed to the idea that water was the element of change to justify their need to adapt to a shifting world. As if sighting a gathering storm on the horizon, the chief was convinced that the Northern Water Tribe’s survival depended on leaving behind their nomadic traditions for the sake of strengthening Agna Qel’a. “If I’m mistaken,” Roku finally said, “then you’re left with a few disgruntled guards. If you’re mistaken, then Atka might bring down the capital from within in a matter of hours.” Chief Tiguaa finished his tea and pulled on his parka. “If you can find any evidence Atka’s in the city, then we’ll do it your way. Otherwise, I’ll give you a crew of my best Waterbenders and let the other guards take a much-
needed break. That’s the best I can do.” “The best you can do, or the best you’re willing to do?” Roku asked. “I’m sorry, Roku,” Chief Tiguaa said. Roku leaned back and crossed his arms. “At least tell me Taqukaq will be in that crew,” he said, referring to the tribesman he’d heard was the strongest Waterbender in the North. “Unfortunately, no,” Chief Tiguaa said. “He’s still . . . abroad. But he should be back any day now.” “Has he agreed to train me yet?” Roku asked, reaching for some sliver of hope. “If you’re wrong, and Atka manages to poison your people, I’ll need to know how to do more than build an ice shelter and yank a few fish from the water.” “Taqukaq will take some convincing.” The chief scratched his beard. “He really doesn’t trust Fire Nationals. In the meantime, I’ll set you up with our second-best Waterbending master who can teach you some combat basics.” He rose to leave. “Thanks for the tea.” “I hope I’m the one who’s wrong about Atka,” Roku said. “I hope so too,” said Chief Tiguaa before leaving.
A LONG STORY “There it is,” the sled driver announced over the rushing sound of ice sliding across ice. “Kuruk’s Point.” Ta Min sat up and peered through the darkness as the cold wind stung her face. Sure enough, scattered points of lantern light twinkled atop a distant snowy hill. She leaned back and sighed with relief, her breath coming out in a dense white cloud. Finally. After escaping from Minister Huaji’s residence via delivery chute, she’d used Kozaru’s map of the tunnels to slip out of the city undetected. Luckily, Sozin’s lackey had clearly marked the spot down the mountain where she’d entered the tunnels and had planned to exit. That’s where Ta Min had found Kozaru’s eel-hound tied up to a tree. She mounted the lightning-quick creature and steered it north. Where else could she go? Omashu’s guards would be scouring the city for her, so there was no way she’d be able to speak to the queen to warn her of Huaji’s plot. She couldn’t go to Ba Sing Se because the Earth King was in on the scheme. And it would be pointless to return to the Fire Nation. It was Sozin—and presumably the Fire Lord—who’d ordered her to do nothing in the first place. They must be furious at how she’d disobeyed their instructions and gotten herself arrested for allegedly attempting to assassinate the Minister of Peace. Roku was the only person she could turn to. So, when Ta Min had reached the bay on the other side of the Great Divide, she bartered the eel-hound for passage on a trading ship that was sailing across the bay and all the way up the strait to the point where the Northern Sea froze over. From there, she found a hauling sled headed to
Kuruk’s Point with a driver kind enough to take her along for free. He had even given her a set of old furs so she didn’t freeze to death. As the sled pulled up to the settlement, Ta Min profusely thanked the man. She offered to send payment as soon as she could, but he shook his head and insisted she return the kindness by helping someone else in need. Ta Min reluctantly agreed, thanked him one more time, then grabbed her things and hopped off. She spent the next couple of hours asking around for another hauling sled to take her the rest of the way to Agna Qel’a. However, Ta Min had no coin and nothing to trade—besides the Lambak mineral. Nor was she able to find another kind, generous driver. Those who were open to the idea of letting her ride at no cost didn’t seem like the type with whom she’d want to spend several days alone on the ice. After she asked every sled heading to the capital, she had no choice but to call it a day and try again tomorrow. Luckily, a short-staffed innkeeper was happy to exchange room and board for an evening of dishwashing. “Don’t suppose you’re sticking around another night?” the wiry old innkeeper asked Ta Min from the kitchen when the young woman came out of her room the next morning. It was so early, the innkeeper was just lighting the cooking stove. “You’re a much better dishwasher than my kids. Look at those plates.” She motioned toward a stack of dishes. “They’re so clean you could eat off them. Ha!” Ta Min yawned. “Thanks, but I’ll be gone as soon as I find someone who can take me to Agna Qel’a.” Fire crackled as the kindle caught. The innkeeper brushed off her hands as she stood and turned toward Ta Min. “What’s the rush?” “I need to find my friend, Avatar Roku,” she said. Immediately, she regretted revealing even that much. The innkeeper had proved kind, but Ta Min was technically on the run. What if Minister Huaji had someone hunting her down? Or what if Kozaru were on her tail? “Another friend of the Avatar’s, eh?” Ta Min cocked her head. “What do you mean ‘another’?” “Two others have been in town for a few weeks. A young woman and a scrawny Airbender. He’s been ill, but I hear he’s on the mend.” Ta Min couldn’t believe it. She didn’t know who the woman was, but the Air Nomad had to be Gyatso. The last message she’d received from Roku
before everything went down said his friend had decided to travel North with him. “Where are they staying?” she asked. “Other side of town,” the innkeeper said and gave Ta Min directions. Ta Min had almost reached the other inn when she spotted two figures approaching along the path—a short man and a tall woman who looked like they were out for a morning stroll. Deep in conversation, their heads were down and their faces were shrouded by their hoods. But Ta Min instantly recognized an Airbender’s staff in the man’s hand. “Gyatso?” she called. The pair stopped and looked up. The shorter of the two was exactly who she’d hoped it might be. He squinted in confusion, but his mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Ta Min?” he asked in disbelief with a voice that was deeper than the last time they’d met. Laughing, Ta Min ran over, boots crunching across the snow. She slammed into the Air Nomad as she wrapped her arms around him. “Careful!” he said, unable to suppress his grin even as he winced. “I’m a bit fragile right now.” She stepped back and looked him over, unable to stop smiling. He’d gotten his arrows and grown several inches since she’d last seen him at the Southern Air Temple, but he still had that same sleepy-eyed look. The innkeeper had said he was sick, but other than the way he was leaning on his staff, he appeared healthy. “What are you doing here?” Gyatso asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Omashu?” “It’s a long story,” she said. “But what are you doing here. Where’s Roku?” “Also a long story,” he said. Her attention shifted to the tall young woman who had been watching the exchange with amusement. She had striking purple eyes and thin white lines tattooed on her forehead and chin. “Sorry—Hi!” Ta Min bowed. “I’m Ta Min.” The young tribeswoman returned the bow. “Makittuq,” she said.
Ta Min turned back to Gyatso. “Let’s duck inside somewhere warm and exchange long stories.”
THE FESTIVAL OF FIRST LIGHT Roku stood alongside Chief Tiguaa and his advisors atop the steps in front of the Royal Palace. It seemed like the entire city had shown up for the opening of the Festival of First Light, filling the courtyard below and packing the surrounding walkways, bridges, and canals as far as the eye could see. As the Northern Water Tribe said of such crowds, there wasn’t enough space between the people for falling snow to find the ice. It was morning, even though it was still dark and would be for three more days. The sky was clear and bursting with stars. The cold air carried the crisp, fresh scent of ice Roku had already grown fond of. After everyone was settled, a line of tribeswomen climbed to the top of the steps that served as a stage. Two tribesmen followed and took their places in front of the women. One carried a wide drum comprised of a skin stretched taut across a thin, circular frame. The other only had a waterskin at his belt. Gradually, the crowd’s murmur quieted. The entire city seemed to fall silent. The drummer raised his stick—a short length of bone—and the other man uncorked his waterskin. The drummer hit the frame, and a sharp, percussive beat rang out, resonating between the surrounding cliffs. He began to dance back and forth, gracefully raising and lowering the drum in time with the beat as he tilted it around. The women started to sing a haunting song, while the other man drew the water from his skin and began to bend it into intricate designs as fine as lace that pulsed and shifted with the rhythm. Though the combined effect was beautiful and arresting, Roku’s attention was on the crowd. He scanned the hooded faces lit by the hanging lanterns strung across the courtyard, still searching for Atka as the drummer played and the women sang and the Waterbender manipulated the water with artful
precision. Since the conversation with Chief Tiguaa over the milky oolong, Roku had found no evidence to prove Atka was an imminent threat to Agna Qel’a. Thus, much to the guards’ delight, Chief Tiguaa reduced the patrols, leaving only a skeleton crew in place to watch over the festivities and the areas where food and drink would be prepared. Also true to his word, the chief put six of his best Waterbenders at Roku’s command. At that moment, half were among the crowd, and half were watching the crowd with spyglasses from various rooftops. They were all the help it seemed Roku would have that day, as Gyatso and Makittuq had not yet arrived. He’d written several more letters to Gyatso to pass along everything he learned from Agna Q’ela’s healers regarding a potential remedy. At their suggestion—and with the chief’s permission—he’d even sent a few pouches of water from the Spirit Oasis via courier since it was supposed to have powerful healing properties. Gyatso replied that Makittuq was close to crafting a full cure thanks to Roku’s information and the spirit water. However, she believed that the poison’s fatal ingredient was necessary to complete the remedy. A few days had passed since that last update. Roku only hoped his friends were already on the way and that the message informing him of such had simply been lost. On stage, the song rose to its climax, pulling Roku’s attention back to the present. The singers voices soon faded, the drummer struck the drum one final time, and the Waterbender corked his water. The people broke out in a thunderous round of applause muffled by their mitts as the performers bowed, then descended the steps. Chief Tiguaa stepped forward. “Fellow tribesman,” he said, his voice as resonant as the drum that had filled the cold air only moments before. “Welcome to the Festival of First Light.” He paused for another round of applause. “And this year’s festival is unlike any other in recent memory.” The chief motioned to Roku and smiled proudly. “Avatar Roku is here in our great capital to master waterbending—and he is here tonight to celebrate with us after enduring his first Polar Night.” Roku bowed, and there was another round of applause. Chief Tiguaa stepped aside and gestured with a flourish for Roku to take his place. Roku—who had only been half listening as he continued to watch the crowd for Atka and check the sky for Lola—now turned his full attention to
the chief. Nobody had told Roku to prepare a speech. “Just say a few words,” Chief Tiguaa whispered to Roku. Heart suddenly pounding, Roku swallowed, stepped forward, and cleared his throat. He could do this. Speaking in front of large crowds still wasn’t his favorite of the tasks expected of the Avatar, but he had delivered enough speeches over the last few years that he was no longer clueless. Sister Disha had even taught him a simple formula: grab their attention, identify a problem, propose a solution, and deliver a call to action. “Snowy-o, coldmen!” Roku began. The crowd chuckled, their attention grabbed. Roku made a mental note to thank Gyatso for that one later. He waited for the laughter to subside. “It’s an honor to be your guest. Nonetheless, I’ll admit that these last few weeks have been difficult for me.” Roku’s eyes went to his team with spyglasses on the rooftops before returning to the people. “That probably doesn’t surprise many of you, given that I was raised in the tropics. But it wasn’t only the cold and the darkness that has made it so challenging.” Roku paused for dramatic effect—another tip from Sister Disha. “It’s been difficult because I had to start over. I had to leave behind the place I’d called home for the last few years. I had to leave behind my teachers and friends who had become family. I had to move on from the accomplishment of mastering a second element to embrace the title of novice with the next. All this while knowing that the world is waiting for me to be ready, to be the Avatar that it needs. So, I suppose in many ways, the extended darkness of the Polar Night seems to mirror what I’ve been feeling within. Perhaps some of you might be facing your own difficulties and may feel this way too.” Roku knew he was leaning on the easy metaphor, but he was making this up on the spot. Even so, several people in the audience nodded. Having identified a problem, Roku moved on to the solution, eyes still scanning the crowd as he began to pace across the stage. “But even in these brief weeks I’ve been in the North, you all—and the land—have already taught me much about how to survive the coldest, darkest times. Yes, I’m referring to how I’ve learned to properly layer my furs. To waterbend a sled across glaciers. To build an ice shelter that won’t collapse on me as I sleep. To connect with the water beneath the ice and use the currents to catch fish. To watch the sky, since the weather can shift in an instant. But I’m also
referring to how I’ve learned that our survival truly depends on each other.” Roku paused again, thinking of Makittuq and Kuruk and Chief Tiguaa and all the healers he’d been speaking to. “I’ve learned that the more people you have in your shelter, the warmer it will be,” he continued. “That many problems can only be solved by using the knowledge and skills of the many —and by sharing our own. That we must learn to trust others even as we continue trusting ourselves.” Roku looked at Chief Tiguaa—who signaled to Roku to wrap it up. So much for the call to action. He stopped pacing and turned back to the crowd. “And as we mark the beginning of the Festival of First Light, I’ve learned to remember that even when it feels otherwise, the darkness will not last forever. The sun will—” Roku stopped mid-sentence as his gaze landed on a tall woman standing only a few rows behind the front of the crowd. She looked back at Roku from within her fur-lined hood with taunting lavender eyes. Atka. Or was it? After so much time searching for that face, perhaps he was imagining it once again, like he had in that apothecary shop or that alleyway or that kitchen or so many other places. Chief Tiguaa pointedly cleared his throat. “Rise again,” Roku hurriedly concluded. As people began to clap and Chief Tiguaa stepped forward, Roku tried to catch the attention of the Waterbenders monitoring from the rooftops. Failing that, he rushed down the steps and into the crowd. The woman had already turned around and was starting to leave. Eyes fixed on the back of her hood, Roku rushed to reach her before she got away. But the crowd was so packed it was like treading water. He glanced at the Waterbender on the nearest rooftop and tried to flag him down, but the man’s spyglass was pointed elsewhere. Roku briefly considered shouting out for everyone’s help in stopping the woman but realized the resulting confusion or panic might give Atka the perfect chance to slip away. Roku kept on with the slow pursuit, squeezing between bodies and mumbling apologies as he kept his eyes fixed on the back of her hood. Measure by measure, he closed the distance. Soon he was only twenty or so paces away. Then about ten. Then a handful. Then only at arm’s length. He started to reach for her, when Chief Tiguaa’s voice rang out. “Enjoy
the festival!” There was one more round of thunderous, muffled applause. The two people Roku was reaching between turned and embraced each other, shutting the already narrow passage to Atka. He swam around as the crowd began to disperse. He scrambled to find her again amid the sudden commotion, but there were too many people moving in too many directions. She was gone.
ANTICIPATION “She was standing right in front of us, listening to my speech,” Roku told Chief Tiguaa when he’d finally caught up to the old man who was on his way to preside over the festival’s opening games. Chief Tiguaa didn’t slow down. “Are you certain?” “Certain enough that we need to tell everyone to stop eating or drinking anything,” Roku said. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” the chief said, gesturing to the rows of stalls they were currently walking between that were already dishing out fish balls, seaweed soup, kelp tea, steamed dumplings, arctic char, caribou-bear jerky, and more—all at the Royal Palace’s expense. “Even if we did, they wouldn’t.” “At least put more guards back on duty,” Roku urged. Chief Tiguaa stopped and turned to face Roku. He adjusted his antlered headdress, then put his mitts on the young Avatar’s shoulders and looked Roku in the eyes, as sympathetically as a grandfather about to gently correct his overeager grandson. “You’ve been searching for Atka for several weeks straight, Avatar Roku. Sometimes when we look so hard for a thing, the mind begins to see it everywhere.” Was Chief Tiguaa right? Roku had the same thought when he first spotted the tall woman with the lavender eyes. But then he recalled the taunting way she’d looked at him, as if wanting him to know that she knew he’d been desperately searching for her. And if that woman he’d pursued wasn’t Atka, why would she have been in such a hurry to slip away the moment Roku began to approach? No, Roku decided, the chief was either mistaken or in denial. Either way, he wasn’t about to help.
“You’re probably right,” Roku said to cut the conversation short. The chief smiled broadly and patted Roku’s shoulders. “When I told everyone to enjoy the festival, that included you, Avatar Roku.” Chief Tiguaa pulled his arms away and continued walking, but Roku hung back. He found a relatively uncrowded corner and sent up a blast of flame, his signal for the Waterbenders at his service to gather. One by one they arrived, launched by suddenly sprouting pillars of ice, surfing upon short- lived waves, or descending icy steps that melted as suddenly as they formed underfoot. Taqukaq still hadn’t returned from abroad, but the half-dozen men assembled before him were an impressive group of warriors. Strong-jawed. Barrel-chested. Steely-eyed. If Roku were limited only to his waterbending, any one of them could wipe the ice with him in a fight. Wasting no time, Roku told them about spotting Atka during his speech and described the direction she’d been heading when he’d lost track of her. He left it up to the Waterbenders—who knew the capital much better than he did—to formulate a plan. It didn’t take them long to decide to split up, encircle the section of the city where they suspected she might now be, and close that circle like a tightening net. Each man carried a firework they were to shoot into the sky to alert the others the moment they spotted her. As solid as the plan seemed, though, there must have been a hole in that net. It tightened—and caught nobody. At a loss for how she might have escaped or what else to do, Roku sent the Waterbenders back to the rooftops to resume their search from above, while he patrolled the city from below, guided only by his instinct. The entire first day of the festival passed without incident. As did the second. Roku hadn’t caught another glimpse of Atka, but he still couldn’t relax and enjoy the games or dancing or music or rituals or ice sculpting or waterbending demonstrations happening throughout the capital like everyone else. He refrained from eating or drinking anything that wasn’t from the satchel or water skin he carried everywhere, and he directed his Waterbenders to do the same. He was certain she was still out there somewhere. And since his friends hadn’t shown up with a working remedy, it was crucial that they find her before she made her move.
Roku remained vigilant through the final day as the games crowned their champions, the final songs were played, the closing rituals were performed, and the food vendors shuttered their stalls. The city emptied as everyone began to make their way to the top of the eastern cliffs for the festival’s culminating moment. Some climbed the winding footpaths, while others rode icy platforms raised by Waterbenders. Roku’s team remained behind at his orders, but with staff in hand, he joined the exodus ascending by foot. As people reached the top, they gathered under the lightening sky in small groups, chattering excitedly about the last three eventful days. Roku, however, roamed alone, still scanning faces, still determined to find Atka. The sky paled. The stars faded. A golden glow rose from behind the distant eastern mountains. Everyone shifted to watch—even Roku. Conversations died down, and a sacred silence settled over the clifftop. The only sound was the wind blowing across the tundra; the only movement, the loose snow sweeping over the ice in spiraling, crystalline clouds. Roku forgot the search, lost in the sublime moment of communal anticipation. Dawn broke. Golden sunlight spilled over the horizon, illuminating the sky, the clouds, the mountains, the tundra, the outskirts, the faces open with hope. All at once, the Northern Water Tribe broke out into applause and cheers. The sun rose higher between the mountains. A joyous smile stretched across Roku’s face. He shifted his staff into the crook of his elbow and brought his mitts together. He whooped and hollered with the tribe. The celebration continued for several minutes as the sun reached its abbreviated zenith, barely showing itself in its entirety. The clapping and cheering faded as the sun already began to set. Within minutes, the light receded. The hushed darkness returned. The stars reappeared, and conversations restarted. The mood was more subdued now. Not unpleasant or somber, but satisfied. The sun would linger longer tomorrow, and longer the day after that, and even longer the day after that. The festival was over. The Polar Night had ended. And nothing had happened. Those who lived in the outskirts headed back toward their homes, while those who lived in the capital proper began to make their way back down the
cliffs. Roku joined the latter group, peering over the edge at the city of ice below. He’d been wrong about Atka. At least, that’s what he was thinking when he heard the distinct, high- pitched whistle of a firework shooting into the sky. Roku—and everyone else —turned toward the sound. With a thunderous pop, it burst into a fountain of red light that showered over the palace, shattering the post-festival peace. Everyone gasped at the odd sight, the meaning of which only Roku and his team knew. Someone had found Atka.
ARCTIC WOLVES ALL OVER AGAIN Roku landed into a run, flicked his glider closed, and dashed through the already open palace doors. It made perfect sense—poison the food in the royal kitchens while the entire city was on the cliffs watching the first sunrise in weeks. Guess Atka hadn’t counted on Roku leaving his team of Waterbenders behind. His footsteps echoed as he raced through empty hallways into the kitchens —but found nobody. He checked the pantries—also empty. Roku listened, but all was silent. Where were the Waterbenders? They should have converged on the signal as soon as they saw it. A sudden realization struck. He hadn’t seen Chief Tiguaa or any of his advisors on the clifftops. Even though the entire city was up there, Roku would certainly have spotted the royal entourage. And shouldn’t there have been some official speech or closing rituals beyond everyone simply cheering at the sight of the sun? He had been so focused on searching for Atka and then so enthralled by the sunrise that he hadn’t even thought to wonder. Filled with dread, Roku rushed to the throne room. He turned into the entrance hall to find the doors unguarded and already open, letting out the sound of rushing water. It was dark within, so Roku slowed to a stop as he entered and lit a few of the braziers. As their glow grew, five figures took shape in the iceberg-shaped thrones that sprouted from the dais in front of the waterfall and beneath the ornate façade-like structure. Chief Tiguaa in the center. His advisors on either side. Roku’s veins turned to ice. They were slumped over in their seats, eerily still. Their eyes were open
and unseeing, and spittle flecked with dark bits of blood dribbled from their lips. Atka had gotten to them. A low grinding sound rumbled behind Roku. He spun around as the thick ice doors clapped shut with a heavy thud that reverberated through the hall. Roku’s team of Waterbenders stepped from where they’d been waiting unnoticed in the shadows along the walls and into the light. Purple sores marred the skin of their faces. Foam frothed at their mouths. A vacant wildness lit up their eyes. Great. Roku raised his staff and lowered into a defensive airbending stance as he turned in a slow circle to assess the situation. It was the arctic wolves all over again—a trap into which he’d cluelessly waltzed. Except this time, these weren’t only wolves, and Gyatso and Makittuq weren’t here to help. Roku was completely on his own.
REVENGE As the corrupted Waterbenders closed in on the Avatar, Atka watched safely from the earthen perch she’d constructed above the waterfall’s opening. She couldn’t help but smile. Her patience had paid off, and everything— nearly everything—had gone according to plan. Trailing the Avatar had been a gamble, but it had helped her refine both the poison’s recipe and her strategy for dispensing it. He’d come closer to stopping her than she would have liked—she still wasn’t sure how he’d escaped being entrapped in solid rock—but ultimately it hadn’t mattered. Remaining underground for weeks after she’d reached the capital had lulled the chief and everyone else into complacency. Dressed as a servant, she easily managed to slip a bit of the undiluted poison into the Spirit Oasis tea it was tradition for the chief and his advisors to drink before the sunrise. Gleefully, she watched as the poison took hold. As their eyes widened in terror then began to dart about madly. As they tore into their guards and each other. After the poison ran its course and they began choking out their final breaths, she dragged them over to the dais and tossed them into their chairs. The last thing they saw before they died was Atka standing below—exactly as she had the day they denied her request for the Northern Pox remedy to save her village. Except this time, she wasn’t begging. She was grinning. That was revenge. Justice was on its way. All it had taken with Roku’s team of Waterbenders was a bit of the Lambak poison in their flagons as they toasted to the end of the Polar Night. Atka’s full attention returned below as Roku spun away and swung his staff. Wind gusted in all directions. Some of the Waterbenders hit the walls.
Others pulled shields of ice from the floor and blocked the wind. The air settled. Then the Waterbenders attacked from all directions. Roku ducked under whipping water. Sidestepped an ice spear. Sidestepped another. Evaporated a crashing wave with a blast of flames. Melted a barrage of flying ice shards by breathing fire. Leapt away from an iceberg that sprouted underfoot. Tugged the wind to pull a whirling, serrated-edged disc of ice off course. Atka’s smile faltered. How had he not been hit even once yet? A moment later, a spear of ice shattered against the Avatar’s chest. He stumbled back to the foot of the dais. The Waterbenders closed in. A jet of water knocked him one way. A chunk of ice bashed him the other way. Atka’s grin returned. But instead of falling, Roku used the momentum to spin into a low sweeping kick. A wide swath of air shot out—but in the opposite direction from the Waterbenders. The blast sent the iceberg-shaped thrones flying backward. They knocked out the base of the ornate structure that towered over the dais. As it tipped forward, the Waterbenders moved to escape. But Roku tugged at the ice beneath their feet with a similar motion Atka had seen tribesmen use to yank fish from the water. They fell. The structure crashed on top of them, shaking the room as it shattered into fragments. Wasting no time, Roku thrust his palms toward the rear wall. Wind slipped behind the waterfall, pushing the stream forward. It splashed onto the floor in front of the pool, cascaded past the dais, and streamed over the Waterbenders who were still climbing to their feet among the rubble. Roku whipped around as he swung both arms forward. A frigid gale swept outward and froze the entire layer, trapping all the infected Waterbenders within. Atka scowled and clenched her fists. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. No matter. She had killed those who were directly responsible for dooming her village, and by now, Agna Qel’a must already be descending into chaos outside the palace walls. She hadn’t yet sent the recipe for the poison to Minister Huaji—but, oh well. The Northern Water Tribe had been her true target all along. Making the deal with the minister in exchange for access to
the Lambak mineral had merely been the means to an end. As Roku caught his breath below, Atka made a decision. There was nothing left to do but stop the Avatar from somehow saving the city. Justice must prevail. She pulled a vial of the undiluted poison from her pocket. Uncorked it. And drank.
THE EXECUTIONER’S BLADE The water crackled as it froze, trapping the Waterbenders. Chest heaving, Roku turned away and rushed over to Chief Tiguaa. The old man’s body had tumbled out of the throne when Roku’s wind pitched it at the base of the structure. Now it lay in front of the pool at the back of the throne room. “Don’t bother,” said a woman’s voice from behind Roku. “He’s dead. And so are the others.” Roku whipped around. The young raven-haired woman stood tall in front of the sealed doors, hood down. Where had she come from? “Atka,” he said as he rose. He had gotten the best of a half-dozen infected waterbending masters, so he could certainly handle one Earthbender whose skill set mostly seemed to involve sneaking around to poison people. “This ends here.” Laughing, she began to limp toward Roku over the Waterbenders trapped beneath the ice. Her face looked pale, and dark shadows sat below the lavender eyes he’d been seeking for weeks. After only a few steps, the laughter turned into a coughing fit. She clearly wasn’t well—in more ways than one. “Agna Qel’a is a grand city, isn’t it?” she asked. Roku said nothing. He simply watched and waited for the attack. She stepped onto the dais and looked down at Roku. “It was founded centuries ago, of course. But for most of its history, it was little more than a glorified backwater shipping outpost. A place for hunters to trade their furs or meat and slurp down a bowl of kelp noodles. For zealots to gather around their little Spirit Oasis. For Waterbenders or Water Healers to train. For the tribal leaders to convene and engage in endless debate.” She paused—another coughing fit racked her body. Then she wiped her mouth and continued. “It’s
only in the last few decades that it’s population truly exploded.” Her gaze lost focus, then sharpened as it fell upon to the bearded chief’s body behind Roku. “Thanks in large part to the great Chief Tiguaa and his father before him.” “He should have given your village the remedy,” Roku conceded. Atka’s face hardened. “But he didn’t.” She coughed again, this time not bothering to wipe the spittle from her chin. “For the leader of the great Northern Water Tribe—who so value the push-pull balance of the world—he was surprisingly shortsighted. He failed to anticipate the consequences of ignoring those in need.” “Leaders of nations always have to make difficult decisions,” Roku said. “He didn’t have to die for that.” “You think my village was the only one harmed by his single- mindedness? Have you already forgotten the complaints of that destitute tribe on the outskirts of the North that first night we met?” “I remember,” Roku said. “But this isn’t the way to solve such issues. This isn’t justice.” Atka laughed. “Why? Because it isn’t the Avatar holding the executioner’s blade?” “See it how you will,” Roku said. “Either way, they’re dead. It’s over.” Atka coughed. Spat. “It’s only just beginning.” Roku tensed. “What do you mean?” She limped forward to the back edge of the dais. “I almost killed you that first night in our encampment. Thankfully, I didn’t. This poison only became what it is thanks to your help. Remember that when you step outside to find the city tearing itself apart.” Atka’s gaze grew unfocused again. She shook her head. Her focus returned. “I spent the day poisoning food and drink throughout the capital.” Roku clenched his jaw. He glanced at the walls as if he could see through them, hoping she was bluffing but fearing she wasn’t. “It’s true.” She cackled. Coughed. Blinked as if to fight back tears. “I used to be a healer. After I returned from Agna Qel’a without the remedy, I couldn’t heal anyone. I watched—utterly helpless—as everyone I loved fell ill and died horrible, slow, painful deaths. My neighbors. My mother. My little brother.” Atka hopped down from the dais so they were on the same level. As she stumbled closer, Roku saw a patch of purple peeking above her collar.
She’d poisoned herself. “For some reason,” Atka continued, “despite tending to the ill all day, every day, I was spared from the sickness. I was the sole survivor. The single fish that slipped through the net then turned around and found itself in an empty sea.” “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Roku said. “And I’m sorry for their lost lives.” Atka stepped forward. “Have you ever buried a body, Avatar Roku? Physically put it into the earth, that is? I know your people and the Air Nomads burn the dead.” “No,” he said, thinking how the water had carried Yasu away into the night and never gave him back. “Difficult work. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Especially when you come from a village like mine that does it the old way instead of with Earthbending.” She coughed. Scratched furiously at the purple patch on her neck until it bled. “Digging deep enough graves by hand. Tucking each body gently into the soil. Saying a little something to honor their life, then pausing to wonder where your own grave should go. Next to the mother who raised you? Beside the boy you loved and planned to marry? Or maybe even with your little brother, so you might rest with him forever like when he used to climb into your bed after a nightmare?” Roku glanced around. Nearly everything in the room—as well as the palace itself—was cut from ice. There must be solid earth under the building and behind the icy cliffs that surrounded the city. Most Earthbenders probably wouldn’t be strong enough to yank the rocks through such thick ice, but the corruption might lend her enough power to do so, just as it had strengthened Gyatso’s airbending. Even so, this couldn’t be about overpowering and ending Atka. Gyatso’s last message had said they needed the fatal ingredient from the poison to craft a permanent cure. Roku could think of nobody except for Atka would be able to provide that. Roku took a step closer. They were only a few paces apart now. He opened his arms. “Chief Tiguaa and his advisors are dead. If you’re telling the truth about what you’ve done today, then the city must already be in ruins. This has gone far enough.” Atka narrowed her eyes. “It’s not enough until this place falls as silent as
my village.” “You’re a healer,” Roku tried. “It’s not in your nature to let the innocent suffer like this.” “I was a healer,” Atka snapped. “But when everything is taken from you, you become something new.” “Tell me how to stop this,” Roku pleaded. “How we can cure it. I can’t bring back your dead, but we can stop others from dying, from feeling the same pain and sorrow.” “Pain?” Atka said. “I stopped feeling pain years after I buried the last body. Now all I feel is purpose. I wasn’t spared out of luck or mercy, but so that I could pursue justice for—” Another coughing fit racked her body. Roku swung his staff down, cracking it hard on the ice between them. The surge of wind sent Atka flying. Her body crashed to the ground in the middle of the throne room with a sickening thud and slid until it hit the doors. Roku leapt forward, tugging on a draft to carry him swiftly across the room. He landed a few paces in front of her body. Raising his staff, he cautiously approached. In just a few minutes, the purple sores had crept farther up Atka’s neck, and foam now leaked from her mouth. Yet her eyes were shut, her face slack. Roku froze—the image of Ulo’s scorched body flashed in his mind. He had done it yet again—he had broken his vow and taken another life unnecessarily. When he reached the end of his own, how long would the trail of dead stretch in his wake? But then Atka’s lavender eyes snapped open, as wild as they were vacant. She flung an arm upward. A spike of earth erupted from the floor beneath Roku’s feet. He stumbled backward, and it grazed the front of his furs. The corrupted Earthbender rose. Swung the other arm up. And then swung again. And again. Roku sidestepped, spun, and jumped back from the jagged rocks that sprouted underfoot in quick succession. The next time he landed, he whirled around with his staff. Wind dashed the jutting rocks to pieces and sent the chunks hurtling toward Atka. She raised a wall and blocked the debris, pivoted, and mule-kicked the wall at Roku. He jumped over it and dashed forward. Atka stomped on the ground. A column of rock rose under Roku’s next step and rocketed him
upward. He tugged on the air to push himself off the rising pillar just before it smashed into the ceiling. He flicked his glider open as he fell, sailed toward Atka, and dropped it as he landed. Fire and wind erupted from Roku’s jabbing, arcing, sweeping fists and feet as he pressed the attack. Atka blocked and dodged as best as she could, but soon she’d backed herself into a corner. Roku was working out the best way to subdue her when Atka ducked under a flaming kick and hammered her fists into the floor as she dropped. The ground began to quake, making the entire room tremble. Roku lost his footing and stumbled backward as the palace groaned and creaked and cracked. A fissure formed in front of Atka’s fist and spread like a jagged line scribbled across the room, passing between Roku’s feet. He jumped as the ground pulled apart, ripping the ice open at the seam. As Roku rose, he guided a surge of wind into the corner behind Atka. It pushed her forward—and she tipped into the crevasse she’d created. Roku landed and swept his arm across his body as if he were constructing a shelter. The ice on either side snapped shut, trapping Atka in place with her arms pinned to her side. She snarled and screamed and writhed, but she wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was she about to divulge the poison’s recipe in this state. Roku doubled over, hands on his knees, chest heaving. Around him, the throne room was in near ruins. The walls were cracked. The ornate structure that had stood over the dais for centuries had been reduced to rubble. The bodies of Chief Tiguaa and his advisors lay scattered about, while the corrupted Waterbenders were blurry smudges, stuck in the ice. Without Makittuq or a cure, Roku had no idea how to help any of them. And if Atka had been telling the truth about how she’d distributed the poison all throughout the day, there wasn’t time. He wiped his brow, took one more deep breath, then ran out of the throne room, through the palace, and into the dark, unraveling city.
A RAGING RIVER The frigid air was smoky and thick with cries for help and screams of fear. Boots trampled the hardpacked snow as the people ran in all directions to escape the attacking corrupted. Everywhere Roku looked, water splashed and whipped, ice crackled and shattered and crumbled, flames hissed and billowed. Atka hadn’t been bluffing. Roku leapt down the palace steps. He sensed something cleaving the air as he landed. He ducked. A harpoon skimmed overhead. The infected warrior who’d thrown it drew a club, raised it, and rushed at Roku. Roku swept the man aside with a gust of wind and dove into the fray, heart pounding and mind racing for a way to stop the madness. If only he were a good enough Waterbender to flash-freeze every corrupted person he came across. With no plan beyond helping those in danger, Roku made his way through the city. He melted an ice wall that was about to slam into a man. He blew aside a spear sailing toward an old woman. He blasted a boulder of ice into bits before it smashed into a packed bridge. He doused a fire that had been consuming a house full of screaming children. Whenever he crossed paths with one of the wild-eyed infected, he harnessed wind and fire to interrupt their attacks and knock them against a wall or push them aside or fling them into the canal. Roku’s lungs burned, his muscles ached, his energy waned. As many people as he helped, the chaos sprawled to the cliffs. There could be hundreds—if not thousands—whose corrupted chi compelled them to destroy, destroy, destroy. Each one he didn’t knock unconscious would get right back up and resume their relentless assault. What could he do alone? His efforts were a few drops in a raging river.
Roku had just sidestepped an icy spear when a sword-wielding infected tribesman popped around the corner. He slashed at Roku’s neck. Roku dipped, and the metal bit into the thick ice above his head. Roku struck his attacker in the center of the chest as he rose, knocking the man back. Mid- stumble, an iceberg suddenly formed around the man, freezing him in place. “You’re welcome,” said a clear-eyed, bearded Waterbender as he surfed past on a wave to help someone else. As Roku caught his breath, he looked around. There were more Waterbenders out there, fighting and freezing the infected. There were men and women extinguishing fires and reinforcing structures on the brink of collapse. There were tribespeople carrying the wounded and ushering each other to safety. Once again, Roku was reminded that he wasn’t alone. They could save the city yet. Heartened, Roku plunged back into the chaos. He swept aside rubble that was about to crush a young woman, summoned an updraft to catch a boy who’d fallen off a bridge, and raised a wall of flames to melt a barrage of ice shards before they sailed into an unsuspecting crowd. He was running across a small courtyard when a pair of infected cornered him. Roku dropped into a low stance and raised an arm to reach for a current to sweep them both aside—but a roar thundered through the air, startling Roku. A polar bear–dog pounced from around the corner and clamped its jaws around the torso of one of Roku’s attackers. Eyes frenzied and white fur mottled with purple sores, it whipped the screaming man off his feet and violently shook him back and forth several times before chucking him aside. As the infected polar bear–dog lunged at another of Roku’s attackers, Roku raised an ice sled beneath the tribesman and shot him out of harm’s way. The beast turned on Roku. Roaring, it reared up onto its hind legs. The Avatar spun away as it brought the full brunt of its weight down, cracking the ice. Before it could turn, Roku hopped forward and thrust his hands in a double-palm strike. A powerful blast of wind spiraled forth, slamming the polar bear–dog against the wall. The creature found its footing, shook itself off, and bared its teeth at Roku again. Roku was bracing to go another round when something suddenly swooped low overhead. Whatever it was, a dark cloud trailed in its wake. The haze
quickly drifted down and blanketed Roku in a thick darkness that blotted out the world beyond even a few steps. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, Roku jumped, stirring an updraft that boosted him out of the fog and atop a nearby building. From within the cloud that had settled upon the small courtyard below, Roku heard the polar bear–dog coughing uncontrollably. Whatever that haze was, the beast had inhaled a lungful. Gradually, the cloud dissipated. The polar bear–dog stumbled about, disoriented. After a few moments, its eyes fluttered closed, and it collapsed with a grumbling huff. Had it breathed in a different poison? Was this yet another part of Atka’s plan? No—the beast was still alive, breathing evenly, deep in sleep. Roku lifted his gaze. Squinted. A sky bison was weaving back and forth over the city. Each time it swept low, that dark smoke puffed out from behind like a steamboat’s smoggy exhaust. Wherever the smoke settled, the turmoil halted and people broke out in coughing fits. And as the haze cleared and the coughing passed, calm prevailed. The sky bison wheeled around and made another pass, this time in the middle distance. Roku spotted its broken left horn and smiled. Three people were riding upon Lola’s saddle. He knew two of them must be Gyatso and Makittuq, but he couldn’t recognize the last person from that far. Regardless, his friends had come just in time. And somehow, they’d crafted a cure—or, at least a fast-acting sedative—that Gyatso was distributing over Agna Qel’a with his Airbending. Roku smiled and sent up a burst of flames. All three looked over and waved excitedly. Gyatso blew a kiss in Roku’s direction, and a moment later, a stream of wind hit Roku in the face, sweeping his hair back. Lola wheeled around for a closer pass. This time, Roku got a good look at the third rider—a beautiful young woman with a mole at the corner of her eye who was holding the reins. He had no idea what Ta Min was doing in Agna Qel’a with Gyatso and Makittuq, but his heart soared at the sudden luminous sight. His smile stretched even wider, and laughter spilled from his lips like sunlight over the horizon. Now, it truly felt like the Polar Night had ended.