“The beautiful thing about lei tai is that anyone can issue a challenge,” Mok said. “Simply by doing what she’s doing.”
Kyoshi had to look at the empty ladder again to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that Rangi hadn’t followed right behind her as usual. To confirm that she could have gone so long without noticing her friend’s presence.
The champion, still sitting in the opposite corner, cocked his head in interest. Rangi met his gaze as she stripped off her bracers and shoulder pieces, throwing her heirloom armor to the ground like a fruit peel. Ignoring howls and whistles from the crowd, she disrobed until she was in the sleeveless white tunic she wore beneath her outer layers.
Rangi was above the average height for a girl. The muscles in her arms and back were well-formed and strong from years of training. But her opponent was taller and outweighed her by a third, if not more. She looked so tiny and vulnerable on the canvas, a small flower in the corner of a painting.
Kyoshi nearly jumped down from the hayloft to throw herself between the combatants. But Kirima and Wong gave her the same glance and imperceptible headshake from when Lek was cut. Don’t. You’ll make it worse.
The champion ran a hand down his braided queue and squinted at Rangi with beady eyes. He dabbed himself with a towel and flung it behind him. As he rose, his attendant plucked the stool off the platform. He’d rested enough. The man raised his chin and said a few words that Kyoshi couldn’t hear, but she guessed their meaning well enough.
No firebending.
Rangi nodded in agreement.
A lance went through Kyoshi’s heart as the two of them approached each other. The champion didn’t take a stance immediately. If he took the challenge of a young girl too seriously, he’d lose face.
Rangi let him know how wise that decision was by whirling a kick at the knee he was about to put his weight on. Only pure reflex saved him. He snatched his leg back before it snapped in half, and stumbled awkwardly around the platform, a drunk that had lost his footing. The crowd jeered.
“This girl,” Mok said with a tone of appreciation that sent fresh loathing down Kyoshi’s throat.
The champion righted himself and took up a deep stance. The disciplined movement in his lower body was at odds with the wrath coursing through his face.
As if to taunt him further, Rangi slid forward fearlessly until she was within his striking distance. Her expression was cool, impassive. It didn’t change when the man launched a flurry of blows. She read his limbs like the lines of a book, letting his momentum pass right by her as she made pivots so small and sharp that her feet squeaked against the canvas.
After he missed a straight punch that hung over her neck like a yoke, she bumped him in the armpit with her shoulder, timing it with his retraction. He went flying back, worse than before, his feet making a clownish attempt to support him. Kyoshi’s hope rose, forcing her to her tiptoes as he neared the edge. If he fell off the platform then this bad dream would end.
He managed to catch himself. Kyoshi heard a swear come from someone other than her. Rangi followed her opponent to the boundary but seemed unconcerned about pushing him over. She could have ended it with a nudge.
The man saw this and lost his composure. He lashed out with a wild punch devoid of technique. It was so telegraphed that Kyoshi could have ducked under it.
But in that instant, Rangi looked upward and locked eyes with Kyoshi. The blow struck her squarely in the face. She let it happen.
She tumbled across the platform and landed in the center, a lifeless heap. The weight difference had done its work. Kyoshi’s cry was drowned out by roar of the crowd.
The champion wiped his mouth as he sauntered over to Rangi’s body. The girl had humiliated him. He was going to take his time destroying her.
Kyoshi screamed to the rafters, invisible and unheard in the frenzy. Nothing mattered anymore but Rangi. She couldn’t lose the center of her being like this. She would have obliterated the world to undo what was happening.
Only Wong’s hands clamping down on Kyoshi’s shoulders held her in place as the man raised his foot high above Rangi’s skull. There was a blur of motion and the sound of muffled snapping.
Kyoshi’s mind caught up with her eyes. Her comprehension played out like a series of pictures, changed between blinks.
Rangi had spun out from under the man’s foot, rotating on her shoulders like a top, and wrapped her body around his standing leg. She’d made a subtle twist, and his limb shattered along every plane it could. The champion lay out on the canvas, writhing in pain, his leg reduced to an understuffed stocking attached to his body. Rangi stood over him, bleeding from the mouth. Other than the single punch she’d taken, she was fine. She hadn’t broken a sweat.
The spectators were silent. Her footsteps bounced off the canvas like drumbeats. She hopped lightly off the platform and gathered up her armor.
A single person clapping broke the pall. It was Mok, applauding furiously. It gave the crowd permission to react. They whooped and hollered for their new champion, surging toward her. A single glare made them hold off on slapping her back or lifting her onto their shoulders, but they got as close as they could, forming a little ring of appreciation around her.
Rangi made her way
over to the ladder and climbed up with one hand, her gear bundled under the other arm. Her head peeked up over the edge of the hayloft, and then the rest of her body. She tossed the armor into the corner and bowed.
No one responded. They all waited on her next move, Mok and Wai included.
Rangi shrugged at the unasked question. “It seemed like fun,” she said calmly.
Kyoshi knew that was complete and utter bull pig. There was no reason for her to have such a lapse in judgment, to commit such a mind-bogglingly stupid act. Kyoshi wanted to punch Rangi so hard that she’d land on her rear end back in Yokoya. She was going to throttle the Firebender until flame came out of her ears.