by F. C. Yee
“Welcome to Hujiang,” Kirima said. “One of the few remaining places in the world where Followers of the Code gather freely.”
“Is everyone down there a daofei?” Kyoshi said.
“Yes,” Wong said. He frowned at the crowds below. “Though it seems more busy than usual.”
They’d approached with the sun behind them out of caution. Lek pointed Rangi toward a cave farther away where Kyoshi’s mother used to hide Longyan. They landed Pengpeng there, camouflaged her with fallen branches and shrubs, and suffered the lengthy hike to town.
The longtime members of the Flying Opera Company were prepared for the fine silt that rose from the winding, narrow path, stirred by their footsteps. They pulled close-woven neckerchiefs over their noses and mouths and smirked underneath when Kyoshi and Rangi looked askance at them with reddened eyes. The group was still figuring out what courtesies to share. Apparently spare dust masks fell by the wayside.
Rounding the mountain, they entered Hujiang from above, carefully picking their way down crudely carved steps that were oversized to cut down on the number needed. Kyoshi wondered why they weren’t earthbent into shape.
They came to one of the large streets and lowered their scarves. “You should probably keep your head down this time,” Rangi said to Kyoshi. “Instead of barging in like you own the place.” The debacle in Chameleon Bay still weighed on her mind.
“No!” Kirima hissed. “You act meek in this town, and everyone will think you’re weak! Follow our lead.”
As they joined the flow of traffic, the Waterbender seemed to grow in stature, expanding her presence. Kirima normally retained a certain amount of elegance to her movements, but now she stepped through the crowd with exaggerated purpose and delicacy. She gazed through lidded eyes down the length of her chin as she walked, a picture of sophistication, a swords-woman moving through a form with a live blade. Interrupting her flow would mean getting cut to shreds.
“Gotta look like you’re ready to take someone’s head off at any moment, for any reason,” Wong said. “Or else you’ll get challenged.” He followed Kirima with angry stomps, abandoning the agility Kyoshi knew he possessed. His feet sent seismic thuds through the ground.
“Topknot’s got it,” Lek said, pointing at Rangi. “Look at her, boiling away with Firebender rage. See if you can pull that off.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Rangi protested. “This is my normal face.”
“You could also try to be like me!” Lao Ge said. He hunched inside his threadbare clothes, hiding his muscles, and flashed his manic, gap-toothed smile. He looked like the group’s shameful grandfather who’d escaped from the attic.
“Picking a fight with you would be a disgrace,” Lek said.
“Exactly!”
They made their way toward the bazaar in the center of town. It was slow going, trying to look tough. And not just for them. The other outlaws swaggered along the avenues, chests thrust out, elbows wide. A few favored Kirima’s approach of razor-edged refinement, carrying narrow jians instead of broadswords to complete the image.
Practically everyone was armed to the teeth. Most with swords and spears, but more exotic weapons like three-section staves, deer-horn blades, and meteor hammers were surprisingly common as well. Kyoshi spotted a few people wielding arms that should have been flat-out impossible to fight with. One man had a basket with knives lining the edge and a tether trailing off it.
“Is that guy carrying a muck rake?” Rangi whispered, tilting her head at a pug-nosed man waddling by.
“That’s Moon-Seizing Zhu, and don’t stare at the rake,” Lek said. “I’ve seen him puncture the skulls of two men at once with it.”
The Flying Opera Company had by far the least amount of metal on their persons. “Most of these people don’t seem like benders,” Kyoshi said.
“What, are you looking to trade us in for better teachers?” Kirima said. “Because you’re right—they’re not benders. Most outlaws live and die by the weapons in their hands. Our crew is a rarity.”
“Honestly, I think you should appreciate us more,” Wong said.
Kyoshi was distracted by a clatter of metal to the side. Two men, both carrying swords, had bumped into each other as they rounded a corner in opposite directions. The street slowed around them. Kyoshi’s stomach churned as she anticipated a surge of violence, gore running through the gutters.
It never came. Blades stayed in their scabbards while the men apologized profusely to each other, acting as friendly as two merchants who were planning a marriage between their children. There were promises to buy cups of tea and wine for each other before they parted ways. The happy smiles stayed on their faces long after the encounter.
“They’ll meet on the challenge platform tonight,” Lek said. “Probably during the weapons portion of the evening.” He made a bloody, strangled noise that made it obvious what the outcome would be.
“What?” Kyoshi said. “That wasn’t a big deal!”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “In this world, the only currency you have is your name and your willingness to defend it. If either of those men showed fear or poor self-control, they’d never get taken on by an outfit again. They had no other options.”
“They could stop being daofei,” Rangi muttered.
“Like it’s so easy to do whatever you want!” Lek’s face was full of bitterness. “You think honest work rains down from the sky? This is why the two of you are the worst! No one takes up this life on purpose!”
“Lek,” Kirima warned.
His shouting had drawn attention. Eyes watched them from the windows and porches of houses, anticipating a second act to tonight’s performance.
Lek calmed down. “Keep walking,” he said to Rangi and Kyoshi. “Show them we’re together, and it’ll be fine.”
Kyoshi had no objection to following his lead this time. She controlled her posture with renewed seriousness. They resumed picking their way through the town.
“There’s an expression in these parts,” Wong said, his low grumble giving the argument a close. “When the Law gives you nothing to eat, you turn to the Code. Then at least you can feast on your pride.”
The Hujiang bazaar was . . . a bazaar. Not much different from the one in Qinchao Village, which neighbored Yokoya. Vendors sat cross-legged next to piles of their wares on tarps laid over the ground, scowling at passersby who kicked up too much dust or lingered without buying. The sounds of haggling rang out in the air. Here, it was safe to let loose with aggression. There seemed to be a distinction between the warriors and the black marketeers who supplied them.
Kyoshi noticed that most of the peddlers specialized in traveling food: dried and smoked meats, beans and lentils. Rice was expensive: produce more so. The “fresh” vegetables were brown and wilted, and the rare pieces of shriveled fruit looked more like decorative antiques.
“How did this stuff travel up here?” she asked. “For that matter, how did the people?”
“There’re unmarked passageways through the mountains,” Kirima said. “More trade secrets. The royal surveyors in Ba Sing Se don’t have a clue.”
That must have been a big part of why daofei were so hard to stamp out for good. Kyoshi reflected on what Jianzhu had told her, about the Earth Kingdom being too big to police. If underground networks like this one could thrive so near the capital, then the rot must be worse throughout the far reaches of the continent. A whole other community existed below the surface of the Earth Kingdom.
The moniker of the Fifth Nation pirate fleet suddenly took on a defiant meaning. We’re here, Kyoshi imagined their formidable leader saying with an ice-blue stare. We’ve always been here. Ignore us at your peril.
Wong’s foot caught on a brass oil lamp. The vendor it belonged to cursed before looking upward and silencing himself willingly. With his size, the Flitting Sparrowkeet didn’t need name recognition. First glances were enough.
“It’s crowded,” Wong repeated. He’d been f
ixated on that since they’d arrived.
Kirima and Lek took his complaint seriously. They lifted their heads higher, scanning the bazaar. Kyoshi tried to help, but she had no idea what to look for.
“East by northeast,” Rangi said. “They’re listening to someone speak.”
Sure enough, the people gathered in that corner of the bazaar had their backs turned, showing dao broadswords or other weapons strapped to their torsos. They nodded intently, absorbing whatever message was being preached to them. Someone found the leader a stool or a crate, because he stepped upward to reveal an ugly face bisected by a leather strap.
Lek and Kirima both swore loudly. “We’ve got to get out of here,” Lek said. “Now.”
“What’s the problem?” Rangi said.
“The problem is we shouldn’t have come here,” Kirima said. “We’ve got to leave town. As fast as possible.”
“Don’t make eye contact!” Lek said as Kyoshi tried to get one last glance at the man. The strap looked like it was holding his nose in place. His speech had reached a fever pitch, his jaws working up and down like he had a chunk of meat between them. Strangely, he had a moon peach blossom tucked into his collar.
She didn’t have time to see any more details. They hustled back the way they came. Only to run into someone in the exact same spot as the earlier encounter they’d witnessed. That blind spot was a death trap.
Lek’s face fell in despair. He backed up a few steps and bowed sharply using the same fist-over-hand salute from when he’d greeted Kyoshi for the first time. So did Kirima and Wong.
“Uncle Mok,” they said in chorus, keeping their heads lowered.
The man they waited on for a response was dressed in plain merchant’s robes. His spotlessness stood out in the dusty filth of the town. He was strikingly handsome, with narrow eyes resting over fine cheekbones. And there was a moon peach blossom tucked into his lapel.
He couldn’t have been older than Kirima. Kyoshi didn’t understand why they were calling him “Uncle.”
“Bullet Lek,” Uncle Mok said. “And friends. You made the long journey from Chameleon Bay.”
“It had been too long since we felt the embrace of our brethren,” Lek said, trembling. In the short time she’d known him, Kyoshi had never heard the boy speak with such deference. Or fear.
“And you brought extra bodies?” Mok eyed the two new members of the group.
Rangi had already matched the bows of the others, calculating that sometimes it was better to keep quiet and play along. Kyoshi tried to do the same, but not without Mok catching her using the wrong hands at first.
“Fresh fish,” Kirima explained, raising her head only slightly. “We’re still beating respect and tradition into them. Kyoshi, Rangi, this is our elder, Mok the Accountant.”
There was no mention of an “elder” Mok in the journal. As far as Kyoshi knew, her parents were the elders of the group.
“See that you do,” Mok said with what he deemed a warm smile. “Without our codes, we are nothing but animals, begging for fences. It’s fortuitous that you’re here, for I have business to discuss with you.”
“How lucky we are,” Wong said. If it rankled him, bowing to a younger man, he kept it to himself. Kyoshi noticed that Lao Ge had managed to disappear yet again. She wondered if it was solely so he didn’t have to call Mok “Uncle.”
“Let’s discuss it tonight,” Mok said. “Why don’t you join me as my guests at the challenge platform? When there’s this many people in town, blood runs high. Should be fun!”
“It would be our distinguished honor, Uncle,” Rangi said, beating the others to the punch. “Our gratitude for the invitation.”
Mok beamed. “Fire Nation. It’s wonderful how respect comes so naturally to them.” He reached out and knocked Lek’s headwrap to the ground so he could tousle the boy’s hair.
“I remember when I first met this one,” he said as he fixed Kyoshi with his slitted gaze. His fingers gripped Lek’s scalp, yanking and twisting his head around, making sure it hurt. “He was such a mouthy little brat. But he learned how to act.”
Lek put up with the manhandling without a noise. Mok cast him to the side like an apple core. “I hope you’re an equally quick study,” he said to Kyoshi, making a clicking noise with his teeth.
After Mok left, no one spoke. They waited for Lek to pick up his hat off the ground and smooth his hair. His eyes were red from more than dust.
Kyoshi had questions, but she was afraid of saying them out loud in the street. She knew exactly what kind of man the Accountant was.
Jianzhu had once implemented a policy that any member of the staff, no matter how lowly, could talk to him personally about any household concern. Kyoshi saw the gesture of kindness devolve into some of the servants ratting each other out over minor grievances, hoping to curry favor. She knew now that had been his intent all along.
The longhouse-lined streets of Hujiang felt like the walls of the mansion during the worst of the paranoia. She had no doubt that a careless word risked making it to Mok’s ears. She followed her group to a termite-eaten inn that hadn’t been painted since Yangchen was alive. Many of the outlaws they passed along the way had moon peach blossoms in various states of freshness placed somewhere on their person. She couldn’t believe how dumb she was not to have noticed before.
They paid for a single room and tromped up the stairs, a funeral procession. Inside their lodgings, the bare planks of the floor had been oiled by the touch of human skin. There weren’t enough beds if they were planning to sleep here tonight.
“This is one of the tighter-built houses,” Kirima said after she shut the door and slumped against a wall. “It’ll be safe to talk as long as you don’t shout.”
Wong stuck his head out the window and did a full sweep of the street below, craning his head upward to check the roof. He pulled himself back in and latched the shutters closed. “I suppose you want an explanation,” he said.
“Those hard times we mentioned back in Chameleon Bay,” Kirima said. “They were pretty hard. After your parents died, Jesa’s bison escaped, and we never saw him again.”
Kyoshi understood that much. The link between Air Nomads and their flying companions was so strong that the animals would normally run away and rejoin wild herds if they lost their Airbender. It was a complete miracle that Pengpeng had stuck around to help her.
“We were trapped in the wrong city with too many debts to the wrong people,” Kirima continued, ignoring the irony that by most standards they were the wrong people. “We were desperate. So we accepted the Autumn Bloom Society as our elders in exchange for some favors and cash.”
“The peach flower guys,” Wong said.
Moon peaches normally bloomed in spring, but then again these were daofei, not farmers. “I take it this group is now beholden to the Autumn Bloom?” Rangi said.
“It seemed like a safe move at the time,” Kirima said. “After the Yellow Necks scattered, there were so many smaller societies grubbing for the scraps. Mok and the Autumn Bloom started off as nothing special. But then they began to squeeze the other outfits.”
“And by squeeze we mean crush them to a pulp and suck on the bloodstains,” Wong said.
“They were barely concerned with turning a profit,” Kirima said, shaking her head at the greatest outrage of all. “The law hasn’t caught wind of them yet because they’ve yet to make any big plays aboveground.”
“Well, I can guarantee you that’s about to change,” Rangi said. “What we saw in the bazaar was a campaign muster. A recruitment drive. Mok has big plans ahead.”
“And we’re signed up now,” Kirima said. “If we disobey a summons by our sworn elders, our name will be worth less than mud. We’ll be worse off than before we met the Autumn Bloom.”
“Plus he’ll, you know, kill us,” Wong said.
Lek thumped the back of his head against the wall. “Mok owns us now,” he said. He sounded like he was speaking through an empty gourd. �
�Our independence was Jesa and Hark’s pride. And we threw it away. Because of me.”
“Lek,” Kirima said sharply. “You were injured and would have died without treatment. We’ve been over this.”
“Stung by a buzzard wasp,” Lek said to Kyoshi and Rangi. He laughed with a bitterness that had to have been developed over many nights of reflection. “Can you believe it? Like I was fated to be this group’s downfall.”
“Jesa and Hark would have made the same decision in a heartbeat,” Kirima said.
Kyoshi’s breath rushed in and out through her nose. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, until her lungs felt like they’d escape through the holes in her skull.
She remembered scraping her head against the frozen ground when she was little, trying to seek relief for the fever blazing within her body. She remembered trying to walk again after untreated sickness sapped her muscles, not being certain if the shaking would ever go away.
Was it possible to enter the Avatar State through sheer contempt? She stared at the daofei, lost in their own histories. What did they know, huh? What did they know? They’d had each other. Family willing to make sacrifices. She had no doubt that Jesa and Hark would have done anything for their gang. Just not their daughter. Sworn ties trumped blood ties. Wasn’t that the lesson that needed to be etched into her bones?
“Oh, boo-hoo,” Kyoshi snapped. “How pathetic of you.”
They turned their heads toward her. She refused to look at any one of them, instead staring at a blank spot on the wall where a knot had fallen out of the wood, leaving a dent in the plank.
“So your choices had consequences,” Kyoshi said. “That’s not the definition of a raw deal. That’s life. You made your bed with Mok’s, and I made mine with yours. I should be the one complaining.”
She wished she had a spitting habit so she could add the appropriate color to what she was saying. “If he wants us to show up tonight, then we show up tonight. We do whatever he wants us to do. And then we all can get what we came here for.”
She ended her statement a hair’s breadth from shouting. A long silence followed.