CHAPTER THREE

"Bumi!"

"It's him! It's Bumi!"

"It's really him!"

I squint and see a wooden table set up in front of a large board displaying a red banner bearing the word "Equality," but I can't get more than a glance because within seconds the crowd around the table manages to surround me, effectively blocking my view of the table as well as my view of the man behind it.

"I can't believe it! It's Bumi!"

I squeeze my arms against my sides in an attempt to avoid being touched by the dozens of hands that are outstretched towards me.

"He's got one of the flyers!"

Spirits, I swear silently, grimacing as the shrieks coming from the crowd surrounding me stab my brain.

"Bumi!"

I scan the crowd, curious. I'm not used to being the center of strangers' attention. I don't garner a lot of attention when I go out alone or with friends, and I all but don't exist when I go out with my family. When strangers flock to my family, it's usually to get my parents' attention or to fawn over Tenzin. Sometimes someone will approach us to utter some kind words to Kya, but no one — and I quite literally mean no one — ever talks to me. I'm usually not even spared a glance — and on the rare occasion that I am, it's always a pitying one.

I loathe it. I don't want anyone's pity — but that's all I seem to ever get.

I understand why all I ever get is a quick, pitying glance, though. It's quite obvious to everyone — and especially to me — that I got the short end of that damned, proverbial stick. I'm the only nonbending child of the Avatar and the world's greatest waterbender — the son who, through no fault of his own, cannot help his father restore his almost-extinct race or live up to his parents' legacies.

I understand why I get pity. I just don't want it.

Since pity is all I've ever gotten, though, I don't really know how to handle being surrounded by a horde of admirers.

"Are you going to go give Headmaster Ogawa a piece of your mind?"

"Bumi!"

"Are you going to join us? Are you going to join the Equalists?"

"I can't believe he's here…"

"Can you sign my flyer?"

"What did you do with the petition?"

"Can I get your autograph?"

"Why do you think the headmaster rejected you?"

"You're a hero!"

I attempt to answer the dozens of people surrounding me, but my mouth is as dry as the frigid air around us and not a single syllable escapes my lips.

When, after a couple of minutes, I manage to spit out the words "excuse me", the people, without any hesitation, part so as to leave me a clear path to the table. I give the people a nod of appreciation, then walk up to the table. I don't recognize the man standing behind it, and I'm left all but speechless when he bows respectfully before me.

"It is an honor to have you here at our table, Bumi," he declares.

It is an honor to have you here at our table, Bumi, I repeat silently. It's an honor to have me here. He didn't say it's an honor to have "the Avatar's son" here. He said it's an honor to have me here.

I like this man already.

"Th—thank you," I stammer, still pleasantly surprised that he addressed me by my name, rather than by my relationship to Avatar Aang. "I… uh…" I gesture towards the stacks of flyers sitting on the table. "Are you the one who made these?"

"Yes. Do you like them?"

"Where did you get the information about the petition and Headmaster Ogawa?" I ask, ignoring the man's question because I don't have an answer to it.

"There are a lot of Equalists in Republic City, Bumi, and we are constantly scouring the city, looking for nonbenders whose actions and stories we can relay to the public to inspire others to get up, get out, and fight for equality," he answers. "We hand out new flyers — stories — every couple of weeks."

"Yeah, well, I—." I think back to what Dad said about telling whoever I found behind the pro-Equalist table that I don't appreciate the details of my personal life being printed onto flyers and distributed to the public, then decide against saying exactly that — because the truth is that I don't really mind. It's a little strange, but not in a bad way — and besides, I've got nothing to hide. What's the big deal? Why does Dad think that being associated with the Equalists is so terrible?

"Are you all Equalists?" I ask, changing my response and gesturing to the crowd behind me.

"Yes, but many of the people here only joined recently," the man answers.

"Oh." I glance over my shoulder at the dozens of people behind me, all of whom are watching our exchange with interest, then turn back towards the Equalist protestor. "Are you one of the higher-ups, then?"

"Oh, the Equalists don't have an official leader… yet," he informs me, chuckling. "We only have people who take a more active role in advocating for equality between benders and nonbenders."

"Are you all nonbenders?" I inquire.

"Yes." The Equalist protester nods solemnly. "It's an unfortunate fact that benders tend to… take offense to our message. We're domestic terrorists, in their eyes — but if you read between the lines, Bumi, you'll see that benders are just afraid that we'll treat them the same way they've treated us for centuries."

You're an "unwitting hero" for those wannabe revolutionaries that call themselves "the Equalists."

I scan the crowd surrounding me, searching for some sign that the individuals here could be a threat to peace. I don't see even a single individual with a hostile expression on their face or weapons on their person, but I've never known Dad to be judgmental — so there has to be something about the Equalists that warrants him calling the group "fanatical" and "militant."

"What do you do?"

"What do you mean?" the Equalist protestor asks, clearly confused.

"What do you do?" I repeat. I gesture towards the crowd around us. "You want to… to ease the tension between benders and nonbenders by equalizing us somehow, but all you seem to really be doing is standing around, talking about people who — in your opinion, at least — are actually doing something to promote equality. Do you do anything besides complain?"

"You're observant… and honest. I like that," the Equalist protester chuckles. "We do several things — protesting inequality is just one of them." He gestures towards the flyers on the table and smiles at me. "We spread awareness about smart, talented nonbenders who are doing amazing things via these flyers and other forms of literature. We just recently published a book on the late legendary sword master, Piandao, in fact." He stares at me for a moment, and his chocolate-colored eyes seem to be able to touch my soul. "We also advocate for the appointment of nonbenders to leadership positions. We were some of Councilman Sokka's loudest supporters, and we like to believe that we helped him get appointed Chairman of the Council."

If the Equalists campaigned for Uncle Sokka, how bad could they really be? I wonder.

"You want equality, right?" I query.

"Yes."

"Well, what specifically do you want to change?" I ask. "I mean, with the exception of a couple of minor things — like that stupid weapons ban in the RCP academies — benders and nonbenders are pretty equal… at least from what I've seen."

"You don't spend a lot of time outside of the downtown district, do you, Bumi?"

I shrug. "I don't have a lot of reasons to wander too far outside of the downtown district."

"I'd like to think that seeing the rest of the city is reason enough," the protester replies, "but fine. Do you know which gang controls the downtown district?"

"The Triple Threat Triad," I answer.

"Yes. Did you ever run into them?"

"Yeah, once. I was out with Unc—uh, Councilman Sokka and my mom one afternoon, and while Mom was checking out some clothes someone was selling, Councilman Sokka and I went to another shop, looking at clocks — mine had stopped working a few days before.

"While we were there," I continue, "a couple of Triple Threats approached us, demanding money. We were just about to get into a fight in the middle of the store when Mom found us, but the gang members left shortly after she came back, so nothing happened."

"They left when the waterbender returned… typical," the protester mumbles.

"What do you mean?"

"The Triple Threats target nonbenders — just like all the other triads. The police spend a lot of time in neighborhoods where the majority of the residents are nonbenders under the pretense that those neighborhoods are home to a large number of dangerous political dissidents, but the overwhelming majority of criminals are benders. The bending triads are the most obvious example of bending criminals… but there are dozens of others that I can think of," he explains.

"Okay, but it was… it was just a coincidence that they left when Mom showed up."

"Do you really believe that, Bumi?"

"Yes."

No?

"I don't kn—," I start to admit.

"Of course he believes that! The kid's got sense, unlike the rest of you!"

I turn around to look in the direction of the voice, but I don't recognize the man I see standing amidst the crowd, glaring at the Equalists around me. He seems to be of Earth Kingdom origin, considering his hair is styled into a braided queue and his eyes are green, but his skin is darker than the average Earth Kingdom citizen's, and a lot of United Republic natives come from multicultural families, so it's hard to tell for sure.

"I'm gonna take a shot in the dark here and guess you're a bender?" the Equalist protester retorts sardonically.

"Yup."

I watch as the man narrows his eyes and, as a smirk appears on his face, stomps the ground, turning the ground beneath the table into a short, stout column that, as it rises, flips the table over and disrupts the protester's balance.

"Hey!"

"You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can," the earthbender responds, sneering at the indignant crowd. "You're all fools!" he continues. "You can't get rid of bending! You can kill us all, but nonbenders can still have bending children! What are you going to do — kill everyone in the world? You can't! Give it up. Some people are benders and some aren't. It's just the way the world works."

"Well, it's unfair!" the protester retorts as he rises to his feet once again. "We will not stop fighting for equality!"

"Oh, shut up. You sound like a child!" the earthbender snarls. "Go home and complain to your mother, you whiny brat!" He lifts a block of earth up, then launches it at the protester.

I slide my sword out of its scabbard and use it to split the block of earth in two before it gets too close to the protester. As the pieces of the block fall to the ground, I turn back towards the earthbender. I get into a basic stance, ready and willing to defend… or attack.

I watch the earthbender raise his hand, but I don't realize until it's too late that he's no longer earthbending, but metalbending; and as he balls his raised hand into a fist, my sword curls into itself and drops with a slight clang onto the snow-dusted ground.

I take a second to glance at my now-useless sword before narrowing my eyes and returning my attention to the aggressive earthbender. "You're a metalbender, eh?" I say. I hate metalbenders! "Okay, I guess I can kick your ass the old-fashioned way."

He slams his fist against the ground, but before the narrow fissure he created can knock me off my feet I jump up and grab onto the top of the nearby display board. I do a backflip over it, and as I push against it I shove it in the direction of the earthbender. He doesn't create an earth shield, but rather ducks — which gives me the opportunity to send two knives flying towards one of his sleeves and one of the hems of his pants. "You can't bend what you don't see coming!" I cry gleefully as the right side of his body is pinned to the ground.

He growls in what I assume is frustration, then sends another block of earth towards me. It's smaller than the previous one, though, suggesting that he's weaker with his left. Good, I think as I dodge the rock and sprint towards him, I pinned his stronger side to the ground.

I approach his left side, dancing around the rocks he aims at me as I undo the belt around my waist. As soon as I get it free, I wrap it around the earthbender's neck. I dance around him as I tighten the makeshift noose so as to thwart his attempts at encasing my ankles in rocks, and after a minute or two I hear the change in his breathing. I don't want to strangle him, but I'm not dumb enough to release him while he's still acting belligerently.

"You're in for it now, kid," the earthbender growls. He presses his palm against the ground, and before I even figure out what he's doing the ground beneath us turns to quicksand, causing the knives pinning his right arm and right leg to the ground to fall down. He compacts the sand beneath him so that he's no longer in danger, then closes his fist, which results in the ground swallowing me up.

Okay, don't panic, I command myself, covering my nose and mouth with one hand so as to avoid inhaling sand. He's got to let me out sooner or later… right?

I can't help but growl upon realizing that I'm completely at the earthbender's mercy.

"You can relax, kid," I hear as the earth opens up and spits me out. "I wouldn't dare hurt the Avatar's son. I don't want to have to face the wrath of the most powerful man in the world."

I don't want anyone to go easy on me just because they're afraid of my father! I grumble silently. I can take whatever they can dish out!

I scramble to my feet, then glare at the earthbender as I return my belt to its place around my waist. "These people have the right to assemble in protest," I say, conjuring up what little dignity I have left. "If you don't agree with them, ignore them! You don't have to start a fight."

"I take back what I said earlier," the earthbender responds, looking not at me, but at the dozens of people surrounding us. "The Avatar's eldest son has as little sense as the rest of you." He turns to face me, then continues. "You're defending terrorists, kid," he says. "Your father would be ashamed."

He's already ashamed of me… even if he won't admit it, I reply silently as I watch the earthbender turn around and walk away.

"You've got courage, kid — and skill!" the Equalist protester says, interrupting my self-denigrating thoughts. "I'm sorry about your sword, though," he adds after glancing at the jian.

"Thanks." What am I supposed to do with it now? It won't fit into the scabbard anymore. "I'll forge a new one, though." I shouldn't have to forge a new sword! "It's too bad we can't make weapons out of platinum. I mean, even Aunt To—uh, Chief Beifong can't bend platinum."

"We might be able to… one day," the protester responds. He rights the table, then walks over to me and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Anyway, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… you live a sheltered life, Bumi."

I shoot him a look that makes it clear I don't appreciate that comment.

"Oh, it's not your fault," he continues, shrugging. "You're the Avatar's son. I'd be surprised if you weren't sheltered." He adjusts one of the sleeves of his maroon tangzhuang jacket, then gestures towards the crowd around us. "We do not have that privilege," he adds. "You don't see how much inequality there really is in Republic City because you don't typically venture too far outside of the wealthier areas, where discrimination against and oppression of nonbenders is less glaring. While social stratification between benders and nonbenders still exists in the upper class, one's inability to bend is often disregarded if one comes from a respected family. Chief Beifong's parents, Lao and Poppy Beifong, are excellent examples of this."

Does being a member of the nobility really negate being a nonbender? I wonder.

"You challenge what inequality and injustice you see, and that's admirable," the protester continues. "As a member of the nobility — and as someone with strong ties to some of the bending establishment's most influential figures — you have power that none of us have. You have connections and a sphere of influence that extends far beyond that of the average person's. You would be a great asset if you were to join us in our fight to bring equality to Republic City and, eventually, to the world." He gestures to the flyers with my picture on them, which are now strewn about the area. "You readily fight inequality and injustice. You have a good heart, Bumi," he asserts. "You see only a small fraction of the inequality that threatens the rights of nonbenders throughout the city, though.

"You should visit the Dragon Flats borough sometime," the protester suggests. "I'm sure your parents have warned you against venturing into that neighborhood, but please, Bumi, spend an hour or two there, just talking to some of the people who live there and walking around. You owe it to yourself to see what is happening to your own kind — so please, go there and see what you see, then come back to me. We can talk again then."

"I'm sure you can get the book in one of the bookstores around here, so look. If you can't find it, tell me, and I'll go to the Dragon Flats borough and get it for you."

"What? I'm perfectly capable of going to the Dragon Flats borough by myself, Mom!"

"I know you are, Bumi, but I don't want you going there. It's dangerous. The Dragon Flats borough is controlled almost entirely by the Agni Kai Triad, and you have no means of protecting yourself from them."

I didn't notice her implication… until now.

You have no means of protecting yourself from them.

Well, I do now, Mom, I think rebelliously.

"Okay," I agree.

"Okay," the protester smiles. "I will respect your wishes if you still don't want to join the Equalists after walking through the Dragon Flats borough… but I have faith that you will not turn your back on your own kind." He bends down to pick up some flyers, then stands up again and shoots me another smile. "You've defended us twice now, Bumi, whether you meant to or not — and we thank you," he says. "We'd also like to remind you that we stand behind you."

The Equalists stand behind you!

"What's your name?"

Smooth, Bumi… real smooth…

He chuckles. "My name is Da Zan," he answers.

I nod, then bend down and pick up my now-bent sword.

I hate metalbenders, I grouse silently. The vast majority of my weapons are made of metal, so they can just bend them and leave me defenseless. It's not fair!

"Bumi?"

I shift slightly to look at Da Zan.

"Did anyone ever teach you the art of chi blocking?" he inquires.

Chi blocking?

I don't know much about chi blocking. I know that Ty Lee had to teach it to all of the Kyoshi Warriors before Suki would let her join the group, and that the technique has been a staple of the group's fighting style ever since. I also know that chi blocking a bender causes them to lose their ability to bend, and that master chi blockers can [supposedly] control the damage done by the technique.

I have no idea how to do it, though, so I shake my head no.

"Do you want to learn how to chi block people?"

It's sort of like going completely blind.

I don't know how I could, in good conscience, take someone's bending ability away if what Dad said when I suggested doing so about two weeks ago is true… but the thought of being able to force a bender to have to fight on equal ground as me — at least temporarily — is tempting.

It's very tempting.

"This might be one of your last chances to learn it, you know," Da Zan warns.

What? What's that supposed to mean? "What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard?" Da Zan asks, his eyebrows raised in what looks like genuine surprise. "The Council is considering making chi blocking illegal — just like bloodbending. 'It's too much power for someone to have,' they said. Personally, I think they're just scared that benders will be brought down to the level of nonbenders if the art of chi blocking becomes widespread." He rolls his eyes. "They're afraid of equality."

What do they mean, it's too much power for someone to have? I wonder. You can't kill someone with chi blocking, and a master chi blocker still has less power than the average bender…

"No."

"No?"

Oh, crud, did I say that out loud?

"Go. I, uh… I've got to go," I stammer in an attempt to save myself. "It's been… um… great meeting you, Da Zan. I'll, uh… see you around?" I add before I turn around and walk away as quickly as I can without coming across as suspicious.

It's all propaganda. He's just trying to propagandize me.

He does have a point, though. He has several valid points, actually.

No!

Yes!

I don't realize that I never told Da Zan to stop handing out those flyers until I've got one foot on the ferry heading to Air Temple Island.

Oh boy.