Published June 3, 2017

Mako: Secrets

It may be that we have lost our ability to hold a blazing coal, to move unfettered through time, to walk on water, because we have been taught that such things have to be earned; we should deserve them; we must be qualified. We are suspicious of grace. We are afraid of the very lavishness of the gift.

But a child rejoices in presents!

~ Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water

The Equalist guards send me into a parlor to wait for visitors. I feel like I'm recovering from a dizzy spell after a workout.

I think back to all the conversations Bolin and I had over the years, about the Bending Games. More than once, Bolin brought up the possibility of leaving civilization and living in the wilderness, in order to avoid being chosen in the lottery.

"We could do it, you know. Run away, live in the mountains. Ooh, ooh—I could earthbend our own tunnel system."

I always countered him with realism. "Even if we didn't freeze, we'd starve to death. Unless they found us first. Then they'd take our bending and work us to death. Or they'd kill us and call it a mercy killing."

"I'm not so sure. No one really counts on us being anywhere. No one would call the cops if we went missing. No one would be interrogated about where we might be—except maybe our landlord—"

"Or Toza," I point out. He was the one who mentored us and arranged our living situation. We owe him a lot more than we can ever repay; the least we can do is refrain from causing him trouble.

We argued about whether or not to put our names into the lottery in order to get more ration coupons. I insisted that if we ever gave in to that option, I would be the one to increase my odds of getting picked. At first Bolin seemed okay with this—at least, he didn't argue with it—but as more years passed while he was qualified, he started to act resentful about it whenever it came up. He argued that it was only fair for him to increase his chances as well. I refused to let him.

"You don't think I could do it, do you?" he asked me, sounding indignant.

"I think you could win, but … even if you did, you wouldn't be the same afterwards. It would destroy you inside."

"What about you?"

"I'm already a hardened cynic." I said it jokingly, but it was only a slight exaggeration. I'll admit, Bolin is the more likeable of the two of us. I'm more suspicious, less eager to make friends, whereas he acts like everyone's best friend.

Now I'm starting to wish we had left when we had the chance. Then we wouldn't be facing this situation.

I hear heavy footsteps in the hallway outside the door. I look up, trying to put on a calm face, just before the door opens. I expect Bolin to enter, but instead, the girl I saw earlier today enters.

"Asami?"

"Hey." Her greeting is gentle, almost casual. "Are you okay?"

"Um … depends on how you look at it."

"I know we're not best friends or anything, but I wanted to wish you good luck."

"Thanks." In the silence between us, a thought crosses my mind. "I don't suppose you're able to sponsor people, are you?"

Asami nods. "Oh, yes. We always sponsor our tributes, and any who seem like they need help."

Sponsoring the home team makes sense, but I have a hard time picturing the decision-making process for others. Everyone feels bad for the really young tributes, but where is the cutoff? None of them deserve to die, at least not initially.

Asami comes up close to me, then puts her arms around my neck. I feel awkward hugging her back. "Take care of yourself," she says. She kisses my cheek, smiles at me one last time, and then knocks on the door, so the guard knows to show her out.

I'm not what to make of this visit. It was fast. And unexpected. And … nice. I guess. Did Asami like me all along? I never thought much of her, except, well, that she's beautiful, and smart, and kind.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, groaning. Good grief, I'm an idiot.

Toza comes in next. His presence reminds me that I have more important things to be thinking about than girls. I actually manage a smile that's grateful if not happy. I guess Bolin's not the only friend I have after all. Toza has been a great mentor to us, and helped us both survive and maintain our honesty.

"You made the smart play," Toza tells me. "You'll be remembered for that, no matter what happens from now on."

"Thanks, Toza." I hesitate, but I have to ask: "You'll look out for Bolin, won't you?"

"'Course I will. You think I'd let him go hungry?"

"No; just … make sure he's holding himself up. I don't want him freeloading off of people, wearing out his welcome or anything."

Toza nods, understanding and agreeing.

"I never really thanked you, for helping us out."

"Don't mention it."

We sit in silence for a moment. Then he says, "That Korra—she's a fighter. You be careful about her, got it?"

"I got it."

He looks thoughtfully at the frosted glass window. "I think the United Republic might finally have a winner this year."

I'm pretty sure he does not mean me.

We don't really have anything else to say, but Toza stays until our allotted three minutes are up. He shakes my hand and claps me on the shoulder with a final, "Good luck."

Finally, inevitably, Bolin comes in. He all but throws himself at me, already crying. I hug him tightly, feeling tears come to my own eyes. I wish we'd hugged more often. That I'd told him the things siblings close in age don't usually say out loud. I love you. I'm proud of you. You're my best and only friend. I'm glad you're my brother.

Bolin says something against my shoulder. "What?" I ask.

He lets go of me and blows his nose into his sleeve before repeating what he said. "It's my fault."

Great: irrational self-blame is already kicking in. "No, it's not—"

"I put my name in more times," Bolin blurts out.

I stare at him. "You what?"

He sits next to me on the couch, but he looks down at the carpet instead of at me. "I made the deals to get more food."

"After I told you not to?" I can't stop my voice from rising, both incredulous and angry. We talked about it lots of times. I always told him he was not to do that.

"Once in a while … on days when I wasn't able to sell anything … and when you were sick and couldn't work at the power plant … I knew you would've done the same for me, while you could, so I figured it was only fair … I never thought you'd … without knowing …" His words dissolve into sobs.

I guess there is no point in being angry now. I squeeze his shoulder and say, "It doesn't matter. I wouldn't have acted any differently if I'd known. That doesn't change anything. I couldn't watch and let you go through that."

He looks at me now, glaring. "And you think I can watch you do this?"

"You have to." For a moment we're both silent, trying to think of what to say in the short amount of time we have left together. "Did something happen, on your way here? I wondered when you didn't come right away."

Bolin folds his arms, looking guilty again, the way he would if he were caught doing something wrong. "I just went to see Korra. I'm sorry."

I look at him. "You don't have to apologize."

"Yeah, I do. I should've gone to you first. I could've asked."

I don't know why he thinks so—if it's out of respect for me as a brother, or the authority I've had as the elder sibling. I don't like thinking of myself as a surrogate parent. Even Bolin has admitted that he likes me better as a brother than as a dad.

I can't remember a time when I was away from my brother for more than a few hours. We've never spent a night apart. And now we're being separated, probably forever.

I take a deep breath, getting ready to play the parent one last time. "Listen, Bo. Don't do anything for the Triads—it's not worth getting caught and punished. And don't take any extra rations, from now on. If anyone helps you, find a way to pay them back. Stay out of trouble … don't get carried away with your fangirls … and remember to feed Pabu." That's all the instruction I can think of. I know a real parent would have some more insightful or universal advice, but those are all I can remember reminding Bolin to do in the past.

Bolin's expression is dark, listening to me. I can't tell if it's anger—that's an unusual emotion for Bolin. Finally he nods, not taking his eyes off me, and then raises a finger at me and gives an admonition of his own. "Just promise me one thing. Try to win."

I'm not really surprised to hear him say this. Bolin was the one who really believed in our team's chances of success at Pro-Bending. I have perseverance, but Bolin has something else—faith, I guess, or hope.

Hope. That's supposed to be one of the themes of the Games, the idea that hope can help a tribute become a victor. But hope alone isn't enough; a hundred other factors—endurance, determination, and sometimes sheer luck—determine the difference between victory and death.

Of course there is a statistical chance that I could win. I've just never really thought about it. But the way Bolin is looking at me, I realize that I'll have to try, really try, to stay alive to the end. That will mean fighting as well as surviving. I don't point out that I'll probably have to kill people in order to come home to him.

"I will try," I tell him. "I promise."

He nods, as though gauging my sincerity, though usually he's quick to trust people. "I'm counting on that." He fingers the end of Dad's scarf, and then pauses, looking down at it, before unwrapping it. "Take this with you."

"That's okay—"

"That's an order," he says, trying to act stern. He forces the scarf into my hand and points at it. "That's the one thing they're not allowed to take from you. So guard it with your life."

His words sound ridiculous in these circumstances. But maybe it's not just the scarf; maybe he means what it represents: the memory of our family, the promise of warmth and safety. We shared it when nights were cold, and made each other wear it when one of us fell sick.

If we had more time, I'd try to get us both to remember all the good times we've had—with each other, with our parents—memories we need to hold on to. But an Equalist guard knocks on the door, signaling we have less than a minute to say goodbye.

"We'll be okay," I tell Bolin. "I know it." He nods, and I offer him my hand, pulling him into a hug again. "I love you, little bro."

"Love you back, big bro."

We're still hugging when the guard comes to escort Bolin out. I try to smile at him, but he doesn't smile back; there's too much fear in his eyes. That's my last glimpse of him before the door separates us. "Goodbye," I whisper; I couldn't say it in front of him, because I know he doesn't want to have to say it to me. There's something too final about saying goodbye. If Bolin wants to hold on to hope, I won't be the one to diminish it.

Surprisingly, my visitors don't end with Bolin. Next comes a huge Water Tribe man—the one I took to be Korra's father. It's weird that the Bending Games are causing our families to mingle this way. He doesn't look as though he's been crying. He looks sad, and tired too. I feel the same way, except that he has nothing left that he can do, while I have to do everything I'm capable of doing.

"We've never really met," he says, sitting on the couch across from me. "I'm Tonraq. Korra's father." His voice is surprisingly soft on those last words—not just low volume soft, but gentle, tender soft.

I nod, not sure what to say, because he already heard my name and knows who I am.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Tonraq says.

"I'm sorry too," I say slowly, looking at him with uncertainty. "For you, and Korra, I mean."

Tonraq nods in acceptance. He glances a the frosted windows, which barely let in any sunlight. We can faintly hear those who have remained in the crowd, waiting for the moment when the tributes will leave.

He speaks up suddenly. "I'll keep an eye on your brother. Make sure he's eating."

I feel almost embarrassed, but more grateful than anything. I try to smile. "Thanks. That means a lot, to both of us."

Tonraq gives me a sorry look. "Take care of yourself, Mako." Then he stands up and leaves. I'm almost sorry to see him go. I wouldn't have minded some advice from a parent, even if it's not my parent. But I know Tonraq even less than I know his daughter, and I don't know her well at all.

And yet, I know more about her than most people.

Thinking about her only increases my anxiety; my headache is threatening to overwhelm/dull my focus. I don't want to think about having to interact with Korra these next several days, or weeks.

But I can't stop myself from remembering our first interaction (if you can call it that), the one that's stood out in my memory for so long. It's the only secret I've ever deliberately kept.

It was a few weeks after our parents died. Those first weeks were the hardest, when we were mourning our parents and trying to find our way on our own. We couldn't find a permanent place to stay, but most nights we slept in alleys. Bolin could earthbend a lean-to structure, which could hide us even if it couldn't keep us warm. I was reluctant to firebend, but at Bolin's request I conjured small fires to keep us from getting frostbite.

We figured once the weather warmed up, it would be easier for us, not having to worry about freezing to death. But in the meantime we had another problem to face: hunger. We tried begging, but hardly anyone even spared us a glance. Too many street kids were known to beg and then have a friend pick their benefactor's pocket.

One day we were hanging out in the park. Bolin went off looking for a place to relieve himself. Even though there was almost no one in the park, he didn't want to do it out in the open. I by the pond, and thought about trying to catch one of the fish. I wouldn't know how to prepare it, but I could probably cook it with firebending.

I decided to walk around to stay warm. That was how I came across a small girl and a large animal. I recognized the girl from school. I knew her name was Korra, and that she was a waterbender, and that she had a tame polar-bear dog. That was pretty much all I knew about her. I didn't see her out as often as other kids. She must have been taking her pet out for exercise. Now, though, she was taking a pack off of the animal's back. She sat in the snow and started taking out containers of food.

I ducked behind some public garbage cans and watched her eat, feeling unspeakably jealous. Not just in the way kids envy one another, but in the way adults feel when they see something they think they must have. This girl was rich compared me. There she was, enjoying a private, homemade picnic lunch, while I was scrounging in trash recepticles for scraps of mass-produced food. I felt torn between maintaining my pride as a provider, and begging her for food to bring back to Bolin.

One of the containers Korra took out was a thermos. She unscrewed it, took a sip, and made a face. I didn't know if it was a bad flavor, or if it had gone cold, or was still too hot. She cupped her hands around it and held it up to her mouth, as though gulping it down, or breathing on it to cool it. But I saw her hands glow, the way mine sometimes did when I warmed them with firebending through my mouth and hands. And a moment later, she took another sip, smiled in satisfaction, and lowered her cup. I could see steam rising from the heated beverage.

It took me a few seconds to realize that I had just seen a waterbender use firebending, and how that could be possible. As far as I knew, Korra's heritage was pure Water Tribe, and even people with mixed racial backgrounds could never bend more than one element. Only the Avatar could do that.

My hand slipped as I tried to lean forward to see better. I lost my balance and stumbled behind the trash cans, causing a metallic racket. Korra was startled, and spilled some of her tea, which stained the snow green before causing it to melt. She stepped through the snow to where I lay, sprawled on my hands and feet.

Now, I felt afraid. What if she tried firebending at me? If she was the Avatar, she might be able to take me in a fight. But she looked almost as scared as I did.

"What are you doing?"

I clumsily got to my feet. "Nothing—I was just—looking—for food—"

Then she really looked at me. I can only guess what my physical state was at the time. I know I hadn't washed properly for weeks, and I hadn't eaten much since then. Her suspicion didn't disappear, but there was something else in her expression too, something soft that I couldn't name. "You hungry?"

I nodded, too scared and tired to be anything but truthful.

Korra glanced back at her polar-bear dog and the picnic basket she'd dropped. As I stood rooted to the ground, she went back to her spot, picked up the remains of her lunch, and carried the basket over to me. "Look." She held it out to me, with the lid open so I could see its contents. There were custard tarts, dried fruits, raw vegetables, sweet rolls, rice balls, and dumplings. There were even napkins and spark rocks and a set of chopsticks. To me, it was a feast.

"Take it. Just don't tell anyone." She pushed it into my arms, and I fumbled to get a secure hold on it. She all but slammed the lid closed, then continued to hold on to it and leaned in toward me, her expression so intense I thought she might be angry. "You never saw me today. Got it?"

I nodded. With nothing else to say, she roused the polar-bear dog to its feet, climbed up on the saddle, and rode her away. I stood staring dumbly for a minute, still processing what had happened, but then I remembered Bolin would be looking for me where he had left me. I carried the basket like a treasure chest, afraid of dropping it or having it stolen. When Bolin found me, I told him I wouldn't open it until we were in a private place, so we found an alley and he bent up a few walls to shelter us from onlookers.

I'll never forget Bolin's look of awe, incredulity, and ecstasy when we opened the basket. "Whoa! Jackpot!" He wasted no time stuffing his mouth, and only stopped chewing long enough to ask in awe, "Where'd you get all this?"

Some part of me wanted to say, A friend. But that wasn't technically true; she was a stranger. So instead I said, "Someone gave it to me. I didn't even ask for anything."

Bolin didn't care much about the explanation; he was already busy stuffing his face. I slowed him down, and figured out how to ration the food. We split the dumplings right away, since they were warm and would spoil sooner than the rest of the food. We each had a rice ball and two pieces of dried moon peaches. We saved the rest of the food to eat for later meals. The thermos turned out to be filled with tea; we passed it back and forth to wash the food down our dry throats. The basket itself gave us a sense of ownership, of being able to accumulate possessions, since we could use it to carry and store things.

I only let myself think hard about my interaction with Korra after Bolin and I had gone to sleep for the night. I replayed the whole episode over and over again in my mind. I had seen steam rise from the cup, and it melted the snow when she spilled it. But maybe all the stress and fatigue had been getting to me. It might have even been a trick of the light in the winter sky, reflecting off the snow and clouds. Maybe I just imagined that I saw her firebending. But Korra's nervousness made me even more certain that I had seen her bend an element other than water.

"Don't tell anyone." Had she meant about the food, or about the bending? Maybe both. Maybe she was giving me the chance to pretend I really hadn't seen anything, that our secret was no more than a gift of food.

At one point, it occurred to me that I might be rewarded for turning her in. Or maybe I could set conditions before telling the Equalists who the Avatar was. Maybe they would feed us, or set us up with a real home, or exempt us from the Bending Games. But then again, my evidence was pretty flimsy, and if it turned out I was wrong, they might punish me.

I never told anyone, not even Bolin. I didn't want to speak it aloud, and risk someone overhearing and turning in not only Korra for being the Avatar, but also me for not reporting it. I felt responsible for her secret.

In the ten years that have passed, I've only ever caught glimpses of Korra, mostly in the underground arena. She came to watch a lot of pro-bending matches, including my own when Bolin and I started. But she never approached us, and never stayed long enough for either of us to approach her (Bolin wanted to greet her along with our other "fangirls"). Sometimes she caught me studying her, or I noticed her watching me. Sometimes we simply looked away, keeping a blank expression; other times we conveyed and received mutual distrust or annoyance. I could tell I set her off, made her wary. She seemed just as suspicious of me as I was of her.

I never felt ashamed of accepting the food. It wasn't begged or stolen. I hadn't asked for it; it had been a gift. I still don't know whether Korra gave it out of charity, or as a bribe to keep me quiet. It didn't matter to me at the time; food was food, which Bolin and I desperately needed. Whatever her intentions were, the fact is we're alive because of her. And I'm not sure what that means for us now, when she and I are about to compete against each other in a fight to the death. Should I cut her a break, to return the favor (if that's what it was)? If she really is the Avatar, she might be harder to beat than anyone else, so I ought to give it my all if I want to make it back to Bolin. But then … what will that mean for the world, if the Avatar dies so young in this incarnation?

The guards escort us to a limousine that will take us to Central City Station. Korra glances at me only briefly as we go around the opposite sides of the vehicle. We sit in the same row, with an empty seat between us. Tenzin, Tarrlok, and Varrick sit in the row in front of us. Zhu Li sits in the driver's seat.

Korra is the first of us to break the silence between us—the first time she has spoken to me in a decade. "You'll probably hear this a lot, in the next few days, but … that was really brave, what you did back there."

I don't know how to respond to that. Somehow "Thank you" doesn't seem quite appropriate. I wonder if Korra would have done the same thing, if she had a sibling. She was kind enough to give food to a starving stranger, but that didn't require much sacrifice on her part. Does she have what it takes to risk her life for another person, even someone she loves?

I promised Bolin I would try to win. I mean to keep that promise. But Korra is a wild pai sho tile: I have no idea how she'll impact my game plan, or how I should respond when she inevitably does.