Chapter Text
“Just admit that you’re cold.”
Yangchen tucked her chin deep into her collar and gazed over the side of the boat. Just like the climate shifted across the four nations, so did the ocean. Around the Air Temples it was crisp and bright, with pale crests under wind. The Earth Kingdom waters stayed cool even in summer due to thick clots of algae and green kelp. The Fire Nation saw extremes: the balmiest, clearest seas could churn and spit if the clouds darkened, could even rise up and gulp down the coastlines. And at the North and South Poles? Inky tides, shards of ice, and a cold that made Yangchen’s ribs ache.
Not that she’d admit it to Kavik, who stood at the bow of the boat with his hands outstretched, one palm working the water and the other one gesturing to the Avatar. Well?
“Don’t you have Fire Breath, or whatever it’s called?” Kavik asked.
“Breath of Fire.”
“So use it, then. Or you’re getting my parka, whether you like it or not.”
Right. Breath of Fire. Somehow in this journey to Long Stretch—which already proved much colder than Agna Qel’a—Yangchen forgot she was a firebender. She rolled her eyes at Kavik, but before he could return such affection, he whipped his head starboard. His thighs sank parallel to the deck and his arms curved in tandem, guiding their little boat away from a chunk of ice that had just bobbed to the surface. Yangchen watched how the water answered to his body.
It had been a week or so since their time in the Spirit Oasis. Only that long? Maybe it felt longer because of how often Yangchen replayed her meeting with Jetsun. How her older sister cradled anguished spirits and folded them to rest at her feet. Maybe this is where I’m supposed to be, Jetsun had told her. Did she sound resigned? Content? With each reset of the memory, Yangchen was less certain. She felt itchy in her flesh for days afterward, like her spirit wanted to climb back into that fog of turmoil and make sure. Sometimes she felt the throb of a past life—centuries ago, an addiction to the spirit world so profound that her incarnation had to be dragged from the oasis, the memory of warm grass ripped up under fingernails—
“Where are we?” Kavik said, breaking the silence.
Yangchen sighed warmth into her hands.
“Approaching Long Stretch. Cold, but getting better.” She turned her head and counted. “Three icebergs to the left…otter-gull on the largest…a smooth boat ride…” She took a deeper breath, making sure to heat the inhale so the frigid air didn’t shock her lungs. Kavik looked at her with familiar concern.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” Yangchen waved away his gaze but he just kept staring. “Really. Thank you,” she insisted.
He nodded slowly and turned toward the bow. The Avatar’s collapses into her past lives had become more frequent since their moment in the Spirit Oasis. Kavik had gotten good at noticing the starts of the spirals, or so he thought. Just as he could feel all the sources of water in a new room, he could feel when Yangchen’s words had longer spaces. When her tone softened. When she forgot about blinking. Usually, if he caught the signs early enough, he could intercede. And when the opportunity came to visit home, he suggested she might benefit from a change of scenery altogether.
“Do your parents know you’re coming?” Yangchen asked. She was much calmer now. A bead had broken off of her waist sash and she bobbed it in the air.
“Yes,” Kavik said. That part wasn’t a lie. Yangchen hummed in response, and they drifted onward.
Entering Agna Oel’a was majestic, busy, opulent, overwhelming. Entering Long Stretch was a humbler ordeal. First other boats drifted into view, some with passengers, some heaving nets of fish onto their decks. Did Kavik recognize anyone? Suddenly, two tiny crafts sped so close that they skimmed ice off the water directly into Kavik’s boots.
“Watch it!” Kavik shouted, nearly transforming into an elder shaking his fist at the sky. He stamped his feet on the deck, which only shook the snow deeper. Spirits. All right, one hand to steer, the other to work drops of moisture from his socks—what was that behind him? He stole a quick glance over his shoulder. It was Yangchen stifling laughter.
“Did you forget you’re a water bender, too?” Kavik said. Still laughing, Yangchen propelled herself beside him with a gust of air and shrugged. Together, they worked the little boat around the increasing traffic, and then a smudge on the horizon sharpened into the bustle of a town. Aside from a few ice piers lined with driftwood planks, Long Stretch had no permanent docks. Kavik spotted an empty patch of water where it met the snow, and when their boat drew near, he froze the boat in place and then a pathway to the shore.
“It’s slippery, so you can take my—oh.” Kavik watched Yangchen float herself and a woven satchel over the water, landing gracefully on the shore. Right. He quickly looped his open arm into the other packs and walked across the ice.
His parents’ home was a lot cozier than their lodging in Bin-Er. Inside, there were no edges to be found: snow-packed walls sloped right into floors and ceilings, and sometimes little alcoves filled with decor. Arches (that anybody but children had to bend through) led to other rooms, but Yangchen hadn’t been given the full tour yet. Instead she sat on a pelt under a whale-walrus lamp, her hands folded over her knees, listening to the muffled voices from what was presumably the kitchen. She couldn’t catch full sentences—the snow and ice and layers of fur insulated too well—but if she really focused she could make out some exasperated tones.
Should have told—
—assumed you knew—
—would’ve cleaned up around here—
—anything vegetarian—
Just then, Kavik’s mother Tapeesa shuffled into the room where she had parked Yangchen. Her arms held two bundles hastily wrapped in blue fabric, no doubt offcuts from sewing. Kavik’s father Ujurak appeared next, holding a large dish of berries and sugar yanked from their fate of being mixed with whipped puffin-seal oil. And then Kavik, eyes cast downward, came with a tray of wild-foraged tea.
“Please, there’s no need,” Yangchen said gently when Kavik’s parents placed the offerings at the center of the room and sunk into low bows. She almost offered her hand to help them up, but a direct touch from The Avatar might overwhelm them further. Instead, she lifted her palm in a gesture of gratitude.
“It is an honor to welcome The Avatar to our home once again,” Tapeesa said. She extended the blue parcels toward Yangchen’s knees.
“It is equally an honor to visit you again,” Yangchen smiled. “I am heartened to see you both safe and well in your homeland after the attacks at Bin-Er.”
Tapeesa ducked her head again, this time to hide an expression of excited shock—The Avatar not only remembered them, she was worried about them.
Kavik set the tray of tea nearby and sat across from Yangchen. That way, he could give her glances whenever his parents said anything too embarrassing. Yangchen wasn’t looking at him, though. She lifted the parcels into her lap and Kavik watched her slender fingers untie the gifts. By now, he was used to the expressions Yangchen made when accepting offerings, all gentle blinks and nods of appreciation. But here, when she uncovered the last layer of fabric on the first token, her brows lifted and her eyes widened. She brought the finely-crafted sash closer to her face, enough to see the pattern of triangles and lines repeat.
“Woven by my wife,” Ujurak beamed.
The second bundle was lighter despite being bigger. Kavik watched Yangchen unfold the covering, and then watched her mouth part in surprise. When she lifted the object up to the lamplight, Kavik all but died of embarrassment.
“Carved by my son,” Tapeesa smiled, and then assured: “It’s driftwood, not bone.”
If Yangchen looked at Kavik, he didn’t notice, because his face was fully buried in his hands.
“You didn’t tell me you were an artist!”
“I’m not,” he insisted. That wasn’t even his best one.
“It’s beautiful. Genuinely.” Yangchen traced the whorls of etching with her fingertip. It was a buffalo yak, head toward the sky, one leg poised as if to step. She wondered how long it took him to make. Maybe he chipped away at it while sprawled on the deck of his little boat, under a midday sun that warmed him enough to remove his mittens. She bit down a smile at the thought.
Stew was served with profuse apology—if our artist son had only told us The Avatar would be joining him home—and Kavik scooped the meat from Yangchen’s bowl into his own. Afterward, he asked Yangchen into the kitchen. It was so warm inside that she almost shed another layer, but Kavik told her to keep it on, she’d need it soon. There was a fresh beluga-eel catch on a tarp in the center. Kavik took a semicircle blade from the wall and sliced off a few generous portions. He scored the fat like the grid of a Pai Sho board, and then heaved the meat into satchels with ungloved hands. He bent ribbons of dark sauce from a large urn into smaller jars, tucked them next to the food, and then tied the satchels with ends long enough to carry. Toward the back of the room was a large basin made of ice. Kavik melted a layer. Before he dipped his hands to wash off oily blubber, Yangchen heated the water, and he hummed in appreciation.
He led her outside and the snow was squeaky underfoot until they reached a walkway of driftwood planks. Despite Kavik’s protests, Yangchen grabbed a few satchels to carry—it’s not like she’s touching the meat directly—and followed him toward his neighbors. She considered leaving her head uncovered, but in all honesty, she was too tired for a flock of awestruck devotees. She kept a navy scarf tied neatly around her head.
When Kavik entered the first igloo to drop off some beluga-eel, Yangchen was surprised to find the neighbors didn’t give much fanfare or profuse thanks.
“It’s expected to share food,” Kavik explained. “Any gratitude should go to the beluga-eel, not me.”
Instead, the conversation from the neighbors was mostly relief at seeing Kavik at all after all this time, comments on his height, his hair length, his stature. And his lady friend, of course.
“Coming back after all this time with such a beauty!” grinned one of the neighbors, a plump old woman with freckled cheeks. She poked Kavik in the ribs. “I bet your brother’s jealous, eh? When’s he coming back?”
Kavik blinked. His stomach soured and he glanced at the ceiling.
“He moved somewhere warmer.”
“Really! And didn’t even stop by to see…” The woman pulled her lips into her mouth. The air felt stale and thin. “Well, I’m happy for your visit, Kavik. And happy your parents are back for good.”
Yangchen was silent during the walk around the neighborhood. Since leaving Taku, she held ample space around Kavik whenever his brother was mentioned. She wondered if he felt as she did toward Jetsun. An ache so constant it was barely noticeable—until one wrong twist and the pain came flooding back. A chronic companion.
“It’d be a bad idea to go looking for them, but I still…” Kavik started. He punctuated by kicking a chip of wood into a snowdrift.
“It would be unsafe for you both,” she replied, not as a command but as a somber reminder.
“Yeah.” Another kick in the path. “Wonder what the kid’ll be like.”
More silence. No, you know what—Kavik brought Yangchen with him for a change of scenery, to get away from all the cares of the past year before embarking on whatever came next. And while a warm meal with his parents and a distribution of food might’ve satisfied Yangchen’s Avatar side, Kavik wanted to see a Yangchen stripped of earthly duties.
“C’mon,” Kavik said suddenly, gripping Yangchen by the hand. “I want to show you somewhere I used to sneak into all the time.”