But inside their caldera, the residents of North Chung-Ling had opted to build in wedges. Houses and market stalls angled their way toward the cente
r, separated by streets that resembled the spokes of a wheel. Without Earthbenders to raise walls and roofs, the buildings had been hewn from logs dragged down from the slopes of the mountain. The relentless humidity warped much of the wood construction, making the town slightly tilted and confusing to look at.
And no one was rich. Not in the way of the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom capitals, or self-sufficient cities like Omashu and Gaoling. As they walked through the outskirts, passing haggard stallkeepers, peddlers selling rusted tools, staring mothers holding children at their hips, Kyoshi recognized the same symptoms in North Chung-Ling as in Yokoya. Trying to scrabble against unyielding soil wore down on a person in a particular way.
Kyoshi realized the vaunted Fire Nation prosperity that other countries sometimes envied was a bit of a stage trick. Whether it was intentional or not, the capital took up most of what outsiders imagined as “the Fire Nation,” due to its smaller size compared to the Earth Kingdom. And the capital would always look fine as a point of pride, hiding weaknesses, never lacking for anything.
“Let’s do some reconnaissance and explore the fairgrounds,” Hei-Ran said. “The man we’re looking for is named Nyahitha. He’s of the Bhanti tribe, though he prefers not to make that known. Out of respect we should feign ignorance of his background.”
“Who are the Bhanti tribe?” Kyoshi asked.
“Exactly,” Hei-Ran said, giving her a pointed stare.
They walked farther into town, in the direction of the sea. Rangi’s irritation grew with every step. A stranger might have assumed that the haughty-looking girl was turning her nose up at the hardships of the commonfolk on display, but Kyoshi knew her better than that.
“What’s your issue with this place?” she whispered. “You’ve been against coming here from the start.”
“It’s a carnival town,” Rangi muttered. “A glorified gambling den. North ChungLing used to be known as a place where spiritual experiences were common and anyone could see a vision of the other world, not just the enlightened. But instead of maintaining its hallowed ground, the village cashed in on its reputation. People come here to pay for a ‘spiritual encounter,’ and once they’re bored of that, cheap entertainment.”
Kyoshi hadn’t known such options existed. If she could pay to talk to Yangchen, she would. She’d empty any one of the numerous accounts Jianzhu had bequeathed her.
“It’s not real,” Rangi said, knowing exactly what Kyoshi was thinking. “The success stories are from tourists unwilling to admit they wasted their money. And it sullies the very nature of the spirits. If I were the Avatar and the only way I could make a profound leap was to grease the palm of a stage medium, I’d bury my head in shame.”
They’d have to agree to disagree on that front. Rangi trudged on a few paces, before her expression softened. “Still, the town shouldn’t be this run-down,” she said. “There must have been as much trouble with the harvests as Lord Zoryu said. It’s as bad as—”
“As the Earth Kingdom?” Kyoshi said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, Kyoshi,” Rangi said, as unflinching as always. “As bad as some places we’ve been to in the Earth Kingdom.” She kicked at the dust. “I don’t know what’s happening in my own country anymore. Maybe I’ve been away for too long. I feel like an outsider.”
Kyoshi looked up at the second floors of the buildings and read the weathered signage hanging from the windows. There were a disproportionate number of inns for a town this size, which made sense if lots of visitors came and went. But there were also fresh banners draped from poles and awnings, displaying winged peonies, the sigil of the clan Zoryu’s late mother belonged to. Their pristine state made Kyoshi think of quilts that spent most of the year in the closet, used only during special occasions.
“Is this Keohso clan territory?” she asked Rangi.
“The Keohso traditionally have the strongest influence on Shuhon Island, yes,” Rangi said. “Though a lot of those flags are locals trying to win business. I’d bet they have a banner for every major clan stashed somewhere, waiting to be used.”
“You know, I’ve never asked what clan you’re from.” Throughout the entire time they’d known each other, Kyoshi had failed to learn such a basic fact about her friend.
Rangi laughed. There was a roughness to the sound. “Sei’naka. Our symbol is a stylized whetstone. We come from a teeny-tiny little island to the south of the capital. Sometimes it doesn’t get included on maps made in the Earth Kingdom.”
She purposely let a coarse up-and-down rhythm into her accent to let Kyoshi know how great the social distance was from the royal palace, if not physical. “It has no resources to speak of, so my clan exports the talent and skills of its members. We’re teachers, bodyguards, and soldiers because we have little else to fall back on. If we’re not the best at what we do, then we’re nothing.”
Nothing. The word echoed with bitterness and dread in Rangi’s throat, and through it Kyoshi saw deeper into the fires of her glowing girl than she ever had before.
It was the fear of being nothing that put the steel in Rangi’s words and actions. It made her unwilling to compromise—except, apparently, on the way she talked, even though Kyoshi would fistfight anyone who thought there was any part of Rangi that warranted hiding. It explained the tension between her and her mother, two perfectionists under the same pressure, locked in the same cage.
“I’d like to see your home,” Kyoshi said. “Your own little island. It sounds lovely.”
Rangi smiled sadly. “I was going to take you there during the festival, but then this happened.”
Kyoshi brushed the backs of their hands together. “Someday,” she said.
They slowed down so the rest of the group could catch up, walking as five the rest of the way. The town parted to let the view of the sea in. Between the caldera and the shore, the fairgrounds of North Chung-Ling spread over the hard-packed sand. There was no ordered arrangement to the brightly colored tents and stalls. They made a forest of amusements to get lost in. Judging from the signs for games and betting and overpriced food and liquor, a heavy trail of money would be needed to navigate the maze.
It was still morning, and this town lacked the penchant for earliness associated with the rest of the Fire Nation, so the barkers and dice-dealers were still setting up. Once the fairground workers noticed the party arriving, a great hurrah rose into the air. The loud welcome was not for the Avatar or two Fire Nation nobles, but for Jinpa. The workers shouted, trying to get his attention.
“Master! Give me a blessing!”
“Master Airbender! Master Baldy! Over here!”