The Face of Tradition
The time had come. The moon was full to bursting. It spilled its light over the fields surrounding Te’s palace, sharpening corners and altering colors in ghostly detail. Mok knew enough to schedule his raid when his men could see what they were doing.
The Flying Opera Company picked its way down the rocky hillside. “Does everyone know the plan?” Rangi said.
She was asking as a formality. Rangi had drilled each step into their skulls. It had been satisfying to see the others get a measure of Fire Nation discipline as revenge for what they’d put Kyoshi through.
Going to see Mok before the assault was part of the operation. If he let them move as they pleased, and did not let his temperament and vanity reign, then with luck on their side they would deliver him exactly what he wanted. One prisoner, unharmed.
Te’s foolishness was on full display as they approached Mok’s encampment south of the palace. Kyoshi counted at least five hundred daofei preparing for battle, sharpening their swords and honing their spear thrusts. Had none of Te’s household guard noticed this many armed men converging on his location? Jianzhu would have smothered this miniature uprising before it—
She shook her head. For one night, and one night only, Jianzhu was immaterial.
They tiptoed by a large group of bare-chested men arranged in neat rows, deep in Horse stance, chanting gibberish in unison. Their captain walked among them holding a bundle of lit incense sticks in his hand. He ritualistically swept the smoking ends over their torsos, leaving trails of ash on their skin. Kyoshi looked closer and saw that each man had the characters for “impervious” inked on their forehead.
“Who are they?” she whispered to her companions.
“Those are members of the Kang Shen sect,” Kirima said. “They’re nonbenders who believe that performing secret purification ceremonies will make them immune to the elements. Mok must have recruited a bunch to serve as his front line.”
“That’s madness!” Kyoshi said. “If they charge straight into a formation of Earthbenders, they’re going to be slaughtered!” The men she saw had no armor, no shields. Many of them seemed to be empty-handed fighters, lacking a weapon entirely.
“It’s amazing what the mind can be led to believe,” Lao Ge said.
“Especially if you’re desperate,” Lek muttered. “They say that people turn to the Kang Shen sect after seeing a friend or loved one killed by a bender. Be made to feel powerless that way, and you’ll do anything that gives you courage.”
They approached the center of camp. Mok was easy to spot. He’d set up a fancy wooden desk in the middle of the outdoors that served no purpose other than to show he could. He sat behind it with his fingers tented, as if he were the governor of these parts and not Te. Wai stood next to him, a nightmarish imitation of a secretary.
“My beloved associates,” Mok said after they bowed. “Come closer.”
They glanced at each other nervously and shuffled toward the desk.
“Closer still,” Mok said. They crowded around him. Kyoshi noticed Lek was on the flank, in the most danger. His head was low and still. She regretted not standing between him and the daofei leader.
“I didn’t get the chance to bid you farewell in Hujiang,” Mok said. “You missed the excitement.” He stared pointedly at Rangi and Kyoshi. There was no evidence to link them to the shirshu attack, but a man like him wouldn’t need it. They were the pieces that didn’t fit, and that was enough.
“A great beast came on the morning you left,” he continued. “It killed several of my best men. What do the two of you have to say about that?”
Wai drew his knife before Kyoshi could answer. It was Lek, brave, stupid Lek, who either never learned or was too selfless for his own good, who spoke up for her again. “We don’t know anything about that, Uncle. Kyoshi and Rangi aren’t to blame.”
Wai lunged.
Certainty lent Kyoshi a speed she never knew she had. In one swift motion she caught Wai’s knife hand before it reached Lek, pinned it to the desk by his wrist, and drew her fan with her other hand. She kept the heavy weapon closed as she smashed it like a hammer on Wai’s fingers, breaking them in a single blow.
The knife clattered to the ground. The eyes of the Flying Opera Company were as big and wide as the moon overhead. Everyone was shocked into silence, including Wai, who seemed numbed by sheer disbelief from the pain coursing up his arm.
“Forgive me, Uncles,” Kyoshi said, finding it supremely easy to speak now. “I saw a poisonous insect and thought to save your lives.”
Wai clutched his broken hand and bared his teeth at Kyoshi, a vine cobra about to spit.
She was still calm. “But if Uncle Wai believes my actions inappropriate, he can always teach me the meaning of discipline on the lei tai, after our mission is over.”
Mok leaned back in his chair and crowed with laughter. “So much progress in only a few weeks! This is the influence I have on people. Come, Kyoshi. Since your brothers and sisters have had their tongues stolen by a spirit, tell me what plans you’ve come up with since we last saw each other.”
She carried on as if nothing had happened, ignoring the surprise of her friends and the fury of Wai. She’d heard the strategizing between Rangi and Kirima enough times to be convincing. “We believe the prison where your—our—sworn brother is being held is below the northeast courtyard. Assuming it was constructed at the same time as the oldest part of the palace, we should be able to defeat the security.”
He noticed her pause. “But?”
“Provided we have enough time. If Te’s guards choose to defend the prison, our group alone may never be able to spring our man. There’s also a chance that if we show our hand too early, they realize what we’re doing and preemptively kill the hostage.”
“Then it’s as I anticipated,” Mok said, stroking his chin like a wise man. “We’ll need a direct attack in concert with your clandestine efforts.” Kyoshi had to give him some measure of credit. He did foresee this outcome back in Hujiang.
Mok reached inside the desk and pulled out two sticks of timing incense. Kyoshi watched him pluck Wai’s knife off the ground and carefully cut them to the same length before handing them to Rangi. “If you would, my lovely.”
She lit both tips with one finger and handed one back to Mok.
“Get to your positions,” he said. “We attack in one hour.”
The Flying Opera Company bowed and got out of there as fast as they could. Step one had been passed. Rangi cradled the timing incense as they left the camp, trying to shield it from breezes that might accelerate the burn and throw them off schedule.
One hour, Kyoshi thought. In the distance a few bright lights from the palace could be seen, the fires lit by servants like her for cooking and warmth, lanterns carried by guards like the watchmen who always greeted her kindly at the gates of Jianzhu’s mansion. She looked at the Kang Shen acolytes working themselves into a frenzy, vulnerable and naked but for their faith. One hour until blood was spilled.
“Steady on,” Lao Ge whispered to her.
His words, meant to be comfort, only reminded her. One hour until she became the killer she was trying to be.
Lek, Kirima, and Wong hustled them back to camp. “What’s the rush?” Rangi said, covering the dwindling stick of incense. “There’s no reason to be hasty at this point.” She and Kyoshi were already wearing their armor.
“We have to put on our faces,” Kirima said. She rummaged around her limited belongings. “It’s tradition before a job.”
Lek failed to find what he was looking for and grunted. “I forgot we left Chameleon Bay in a hurry,” he said. “I’m out. Does anyone else have some makeup they can spare?”
Kyoshi blinked, having difficulty comprehending. “I ... do? I think there was some in my mother’s trunk, along with the fans?”
Wong helped himself to Kyoshi’s rucksack until he found the large kit of makeup that had been completely neglected until now. “It would be a disgrace for an opera troupe to perform barefaced. And stupid for thieves not to hide their identities.”
Kyoshi remembered. Classical opera was performed by actors wearing certain patterns of makeup that corresponded with stock characters. The tiger-monkey spirit, a popular trickster hero, always had a black cleft of paint running down his orange face. Purple meant sophistication and culture, and often appeared on wise-mentor types. Her mother’s journal had mentioned the makeup, but she’d overlooked it in favor of the more practical fans. And the headdress. Didn’t she have a headdress too?
Wong brought the kit to her and opened it. “It looks like the good stuff, from Ba Sing Se, so it hasn’t dried out,” he said. “I’ll do yours first. It takes practice to put on your own face correctly.”
Kyoshi shuddered at the thought of the oily paste on her skin but decided not to complain. “Wait a second,” she said. “There’s nothing in here but red and white.” The indentations that should have held an assortment of colors had been filled multiple times over with deep crimson and an eggshell-colored pigment. There was a small amount of black kohl as well, but not enough to cover the whole face.
“Those are our colors,” Wong said as he dipped his thumb and began to gently apply the paint to her cheeks. “White symbolizes treachery, a sinister nature, suspicion of others, and the willingness to visit evil deeds upon them.”
Kyoshi could hear Rangi snort so loudly Te might have heard it in his palace.
“But,” Wong said, scooping into the other side of the case with his forefinger. “Red symbolizes honor. Loyalty. Heroism. This is the face that we show our sworn brothers and sisters. The red is the trust we have for each other, buried in the field of white but always showing through in our gaze.”
Kyoshi closed her eyes and let him put more paint on.
“Done,” Wong said. He smoothed the last of the black eyeliner on her brow and stepped back to examine his handiwork. “I can’t promise it’ll stop a sharp rock or an arrow, but I can guarantee you’ll feel braver. It always does that for me.”
“Lean down,” Kirima said. She’d pilfered the headdress out of Kyoshi’s bag while her eyes were closed. “You’re wearing your mother’s face, so you should wear her crown as well.”
Kyoshi lowered her head so that Kirima could place the band around it. She’d never tried on the headdress before. It fit like it had been made for her.
She rose to her full height. “How do I look?” she asked.
Wong held up a tiny mirror that had been nestled in the lid of the makeup kit while Rangi angled the glow of the incense so she could see. The glass wasn’t wide enough to display her entire face, just a slash of reflection running down the arc of gold atop her brow, across her flaring eye, and over the corner of her reddened mouth.
The narrow mirror resembled a tear in the veil of the universe, and from the land that lay beyond the other side, a powerful, imperturbable, eternal being stared back at Kyoshi. A being that could pass as an Avatar someday. “I’m not thrilled you’re wearing daofei colors,” Rangi said, biting her lip as she smiled. “But you look beautiful.”
“You look terrifying,” Lek added.
A lifetime ago, Kyoshi had never thought she would be either of those things. “Then it’s perfect.”