Chapter Text
“Tell me — Why are you going to the Mountains? You must be mad.”
Professor Zheng shot a glance over his shoulder with enough collective fury it would have killed a City Official from one hundred paces. But these village peoples were made of stronger stuff. The man who had spoke up — the chief or leader, something or other — stood over the Professor, face leathery from prolonged exposure to the merciless high altitude sunlight. A pale, wispy beard clung to his narrow chin like moss on a rock. He, Zheng sneered, had the appearance of a humanised Lion–Turtle.
“Or desperate,” The Chief finished.
He readjusted the heavy cloak of Musk Ox fibres draped around his shoulders, watching intently as the Professor and his undergraduates finished with their packing. The undergraduates were... much more wary of him. They kept their distance as subtly as they could. Shifting and muttering, the students gave side-eyes to the village occupants around them ; this was a far cry from Ba Sing Se — no streets of clean marble, no lodgings with hot soup or finely roasted meat.
“Haven’t you heard? Spirits are a'stirring! Ever since – “ He stopped short, gums clapping closed with a harsh pop. The air throughout the village — which was situated in a natural basin — dropped like winter had reared its head, all too sudden and all to ferociously. Dark clouds overhead threatened of an impending storm, there was an increase in those ... which was peculiar, and not to mention Professor Qin wouldn’t stop yammering about this cloud and that. Did Zheng's head in, quite frankly. He was a Senior Professor of Geology — not Meteorology.
Dirt and dust rose around Zheng as he kicked away tobacco that had fallen from his pipe. It smouldered as it flew, coming to rest within the shadow of a hut, but did nothing else. Fortunately. The Chief folded his hands together and mumbled a quick prayer to the Guardian of his village.
His village and its inhabitants were ... uncivilised, Zheng sneered. Unclean. Ramshackle. Zheng muttered many insults along those lines beneath his smoke clogged breath. They ( the simple village folk ) were clothed in materials scarred from manual labour, too uncaring to replace. Zheng‘s lips curled.
He always had a bias for the silks and imported wools and furs — expensive and bright. Gaudy, some would call it. A sign of taste, he insisted. But in the village, he was starting to feel out of place. Their eyes were staring and wide and taking in every detail of him. He brushed back a wayward black hair and googled them back. They didn’t care. Not one bit. So he wouldn’t either.
Walls that had been long ago Earthbent up from the basin floor were crumbling away beneath racks of fibres, meat and thatch roofs. A student swung his pack around, to boost it upon his back, but had the unfortunate of catching a long, poorly constructed rack of Fire Ferret skins ; the lot crashed to the loose earth at his feet.
“ Oh,” he muttered simply and completely void of worry. He readjusted his wire-framed glasses by poking them up his nose. The Chief’s lips audibly parted — cracking like wood on a firepit — as he sighed.
“For Goodness– Be careful, Child. And all of you,“ he breathed and swept his eyes over the group of fifteen, “ Beware the Spirits. Beware The Guardian. ”
Zheng bit down on the end of his pipe — the whole thing carved in the shape of an extinct Sky Bison, purchased from a mountain village — before yanking it from his mouth and spitting, “You are so idiotic. There are no Curses, or Spirits, or Dead People up there –“ he jabbed the end that had been in his mouth, spraying a few droplets of saliva onto the dry earth — the crowd of villagers hissed, cringing back, as if it hurt — at the twin peaks of the mountains Ulaan and Budaa “– and if you don’t mind us, we are leaving!”
His students fell quiet. They were split between cheering and running for their Ostrich Horse mounts, which were braying at the edge of the village impatiently. The Chief cast them back a look, equal in intensity to Zheng’s worst glare and radiating withering patience. City People. Ugh.
“Just ... watch your backs. “
Zheng snorted, hitched his pack, and caught the stem of his pipe back between his teeth, “Go suck a lemon.”
And that was that. Zheng called his undergraduates to his side with one broad sweep of his elbow, thundering across the village towards his mount. They followed — but shyly, ducking back from ever growing rage. They could feel it. The red heat of a three dozen pairs of eyes. Zheng muttered profanities as he swept a shelf of assorted pelts away in a fit of pure spite. It broke into splinters and shards, strips of hide and dark, heavy fur.
“He ... is going to die,” The Chief tutted, turning away and wobbling towards his hut in the centre of the village, washing himself mentally of the Professor and his doomed students. His villagers did the same. They had seen it before — maybe one too many times.
He felt at home between the thin veils of air and clouds, high between the mountain peaks, under the relentless sun. Aang was an Air Nomad — it was in his blood to be within the thin air. Appa seemed to agree, bellowing yawn and catching an air thermal to float ever higher.
A crystal blue sky — as blue as Katara’s eyes — was split by the towering stilts of limestone with vegetation wound about it. Aang recognised such mountains from both his youth, and the ancient paintings in Earth Kingdom palaces. They were truly things of wonder, he hitched in a lungful of air. He could spend his entire life up–
“Are we there yet? Toph is cutting of circulation to my hand.”
Toph snorted and squeezed harder on Sokka’s bicep, “Well if twinkle toes hadn’t insisted on racing over a tonne of air currents and doing a flip–“
“Yeah, I actually agree with Toph here,“ Suki gagged, hand clasped over her mouth like a clamp, “That was . . . a wild ride.”
Zuko leant back with his hands behind his head, staring up at Momo, who was soaring about between tufts of clouds. He hummed in agreement with Suki. Sat at the horn of Appa’s saddle, Katara was the only one there than Aang who was seemingly uninfected by the turbulence. She chuckled and threaded a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Nearly there . . . “ Aang tugged on the worn leather reins.
With a grimace, Toph spoke up again, “How nearly?”
“Uh–“
Two horn–like mountains jutted up ahead to signal their entrance into the Northern Range of Ulaanai — a place where the steppe below rutted up to form exadurated shapes of horns, teeth and claws. Powdery white snow dusted the ridges of the highest mountains, as well as a glacier they glittered off in the far north. Yet further north, if they kept gluing, they would reach the Air Temple, than the Water Tribe. But Aang had business closer to the southern extent of the range.
Aang pursed his lips. Mabye after this was dealt with . . . the six of them needed a vacation. Yeah. Mabye.
“Should be . . . “ Katara leant over the edge, squinting.
“I see it!”
“What– ? Where– ?“
“There, look!” Suki jabbed her finger towards a shallow break in the mountains.
As they rolled in, the clouds parted more, allowing better view of the area. It was— run down, was how Aang would describe it. Houses were stained with mud and Musk Oxen pens were nothing more than stakes with twine strung at an awkward level.
Appa descended towards the village at a steady pace. He groaned and landed in the centre of the village. Clouds of damp dirt rose about them, causing all six of them to cough and cack up. Aang swept his arms about to clear the space — revealing a swarm of furious villagers in clumps learning out of the doorways of the huts.
“You,” An elderly man with toothless gums shuddered foward, shoulders hunched over with the weight of life he carried, “I suppose, are the Avatar . . . “ He glanced at the others leaning over the edge of the saddle, “And compatriots.“
Aang beamed, chuckling nervously, “That’s me!”
Katara shrugged, “And I’m compatriot number one.”
The old man stared — his gaze narrowed right through her, causing Katara to squirm, ”Good. Come — we have much to talk about.”
Zuko, Sokka and Suki glanced feverishly at each other before hopping off ( Momo swooped down, causing the crowd too ooh, and plopped on Sokka’s head ), following Aang and Katara as they slid down. Toph leapt off, bringing a pillar of earth up to soften her fall. They re–grouped at Appa’s head, where Aang dug his fingers into the bison’s fur, promising to return, then set off after the most peculiar elderly man.
As they entered the tent, they coughed. More than coughed — wheezed.
It was so thick with scents and smoke that tears welled in thier eyes. Opium, burning meat, smoldering hair and other indescribable things melded together in one big stink. The man was seemingly uninfected. He toddled in and sat down at a stool beside a large pit of embers, then gestured for the other six young adults to accompany him. They sidled in unwillingly. Upon Sokka’s head, Momo shrieked.
“Sit. Sit. Not there!”
Sokka’s behind hovered over a thing that rather resembled a stool but was obviously not, seen as the man screeched and waved his arms erratically. Grumbling, Sokka slumped onto his knees andseelkd the fire with his eyes. Zuko snickered and hunched beside Sokka, with Toph beside him and Suki to Sokka’s other side. They formed a semi–circle around the deep red embers. Katara took Aang’s hand as they sat. She had a feeling that creeped up her neck — hot and sticky and–
“Now you are all here,” The man wheezed, “I want to tell you, you shouldn’t have come.”
Toph made to stand. Zuko tugged her back down. ( “What?” She thumped his arm. The Fire Lord pouted. Toph grunted back.)
“This place is cursed and you are a last resort.”
Suki raised a brow.
“But I have full faith in you.”
He turned to Aang and clasped his hands as if in prayer to this divine being sitting before him. The Avatar’s back snapped straight as he met eyes with the Chief. His eyes — through the smoke and haze — were tumbling and tumultuous. Grey, but deeper then that.
“I beg of you, my people have done no wrong but we are persecuted so horrifically!”
Katara hummed, “Excuse me, but what exactly is going on. We got the message about you need help but . . . We, err, kinda need more information. “
“Y– yeah, what she said!” Aang squeaked.
The elderly man smacked his gums together — everyone cringed in various ways.
“Over the last few months,“ He traced his foot in the dirt, a thick layer that coated every surface of the place, “a man– Spirit has been taunting us. People have disappeared and returned scared witless! They speak of the Spirit seeking revenge for past wrongs, as well as present ones. I’m at the end of my tether here, Avatar. Help us. “
Aang considered it, turning the information over in his mind. He pinched his chin and sighed, then coughed as a great cloud of dust rose about him.
“Where was the last sighting?”
“Past Wrongs?” Zuko pressed his lips so firmly together they formed a pale line. He had an idea what the Chief meant and didn’t like it one bit.
If he had learnt anything from the ( almost ) constant scouring over maps since his accession to the throne, this land was close to the Northern Air Temple. Spiritual disturbances . . . this probably wasn’t the best place for him. Chills crept up his neck.
“Over there,” The Chief, who was shockingly fit for his age, poked his staff at an area of mountain–side a few miles from the village. The seven of them had lined up at the edge of the basin that overlooked the surrounding area.
If it wasn’t for Spirit chasing reasons, it was beautiful. The land sprawled out and rose in peaks about them. On thermals, birds floated most lazily. Greens, greys, blues, blacks, pinks. Wind rustled leaves below them. Peace, except—
“Do be careful — you never know what might happen out there . . .”
“Right,” Aang bowed, “Thank you.”
There was a tug in his gut which roughly translated as ‘Why did we come here?’