Chapter 3 - Unsettling Words

In the Water Tribes, legend had that the world was born of two colors: the blue of the sky, and the white of the snow. Which seemed pretty self-explanatory, as there were few other colors to their environment. Even today, which was a brilliant day by comparison to most others, sparkled with hues that ranged only from blinding white to dark gray. The mounds of ice huts dappled the landscape in shadow, and men and women lingered in the packed-ice thoroughfares that served as roads, their slate-colored coats breaking the monotony of the snow. Still, despite the lack of variation in color, Hikoshu considered this day to be a quite magnificent day. The sun was warm, the air whispered with a sharp breeze, and he could almost taste the salt of a far-off ocean. The sensation was kind of freeing, giving his mind release as he worked through a particularly difficult bending routine. And it seemed nothing—not even the distant voices of onlookers—could break him from his spell.

He was, unfortunately, wrong.

"No, not good at all."

Kinu came to a stop in front of Hikoshu, who drew back, confused, the water between his hands coalescing and then collapsing on the snow. The old Shaman closed his eyes and shook his head of white hair, his brow furrowing as if pained. Such a look made the paper-thin wrinkles of his face appear even more pronounced, conveying an expression both of wisdom as well as fatigue. Then again, those were the two words that most accurately described Kinu, who could move so deliberately that one wasn't sure if he was thinking out his next step, or if he was debating whether or not he'd make it.

He seemed far from old right then, as piercing blue eyes admonished Hikoshu before he spoke again. "How many times do we have to go through this step?"

Hikoshu could feel the others around him cease their practice, turning to watch the rebuke. Situated as he was near the center of the wide practice yard, Hikoshu provided a good view to every one of the twelve students. Each dropped his stance and shifted his gaze, such that a sea of identical blue apprentice coats now faced him.

Without looking, Kinu swung a hand to his left. A wave of snow hit the nearest student hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground. "Keep working on your right ward, Kigo."

At that signal, every student returned to his routine.

"Watch your left arm." Kinu bent his knees, moving through the form that Hikoshu had just blundered, his eyebrows, nearly as long as his lips, fluttering around his ears. Suddenly, it was as if he'd shed twenty years, and his feet slid smoothly along the snow-dusted ice of the practice yard. This was why everyone had stopped to watch. Hikoshu ruining a step was nothing new. But Kinu rarely ever demonstrated the proper technique, which was a job relegated to the highest-ranking apprentices.

"See what I'm doing here?" he continued. "You push with your right, pull with your left." His right hand moved out toward Hikoshu's neck while the left swung high near his head, straight and away. "What happens to the water if you don't pull, Hikoshu?"

"It'll collapse." They'd gone through this quite a few times. And he was becoming tired of the reminders. But for some reason, this one particular step repeatedly eluded him, no matter how often he practiced the sequence.

Kinu must've heard the impatience in his voice, his eyebrows jerking downward, darkly hooding his eyes as he frowned. Then swiftly, he turned on his heel and marched ten paces away, only to stop near one of the totems that marked the boundary of the court. Hikoshu couldn't guess what he intended to do until he wheeled about to face him again, knees bent and arms twisted at ready.

"I want you to attack me. We'll use nothing but the Water Riposte, understood?"

Despite Kinu's earlier warning, all activity in the practice yard stopped and every eye turned on them. Suddenly, the village outside the court seemed deathly still, the ice huts as frozen as the students who stood inside the totem-marked square. Even Hikoshu felt stuck in place, his feet rooted to the spot.

He really didn't want to attack Kinu. It would end badly, and he knew it. They all knew it. At the same time, he felt eager to lash out at a man who'd been riding him particularly hard for the last few months. And now that he'd been challenged in front of twelve men, all younger than he, Hikoshu would certainly be called a coward if he refused.

So he bended a globe of water from the cistern in the center of the square, and turned it under his hands before he drew back to launch it at his master.

Kinu stepped more gracefully through the technique than Hikoshu ever had, each step fluidly shifting into the other. And as he snapped his right hand forward, the left arm away, the water responded by curving back on itself, then shooting straight at Hikoshu.

Hikoshu tried to answer with the same move—tried to remember to pull his left arm. But he simply hadn't mastered the technique yet, and he yanked his hand too fast. Slowing in front of him, the water folded on itself, but uncertain of the command, it quivered.

Then slammed directly into Hikoshu's chest, knocking him back several feet.

He caught himself with air before he hit the ground, and airbended back to a stand as Kinu approached him.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you," the Shaman said, his hands folded behind him, "as I know many of you are also failing to watch this most important step." Carefully, Kinu bended the water out of Hikoshu's coat and cupped it above one hand. "The essence of waterbending is the ability to change. To take what is given to you and make it your own. To use your opponent's power against him. If you fail to take full command, your enemy still has power. If you do not dominate the attack, you leave yourself open to be attacked again."

Then, lowering his voice to a normal volume as he turned back to Hikoshu, Kinu added, "Left arm pulls. If you don't pull, the water doesn't respond, and your opponent still has control of it. Remember that." He dropped the water on the ground as he walked away.

Hikoshu didn't know what was more frustrating. Being treated in such a way after he'd already mastered two bending arts, or knowing he probably deserved it. It was true that waterbending was not nearly as difficult to learn as airbending, and he was having to make up for all the years he'd trained in the other arts. But Hikoshu was still unnerved by the fact that men four years younger than he were at his level or better. He supposed when he finally got to earthbending, the age gap would be even worse.

"You know, I don't think Kinu likes you much."

Hikoshu turned at the sound of Natquik's voice. The waterbender stood just behind him, outside the slightly raised ice platform of the practice yard. Though 'stood' wasn't the proper term—he'd bended himself a support from the snow, which he now leaned against with both elbows, his head propped in one hand. Flippantly, he thrummed his fingers along his cheek. "But he was right about the Riposte."

"I suppose you can do better, Master Healer?" Hikoshu's frustration found outlet in ridiculing Natquik's mediocrity at sparring. Natquik wasn't fazed, though, shrugging as he straightened.

"I don't need to do better. Already a Shaman." He waggled the length of tiger-seal fur to make his point. Then, bending his ice podium back into the ground, he arched his eyebrows in good humor. "Just about done there?"

"Well, I am one 'Crust upon the Cornice' form away from being a fully realized Avatar, but if ice-fishing calls…"

"What are you doing here, Master Natquik?" said a young, knobby-nosed student to Hikoshu's left. "It's the girls' healing lesson today." Natquik looked to the student—Akaino—with a frown, just as his sparring partner Sura snickered.

"He must be desperate to see some real men's bending."

"Sura!" Kinu snapped sharply, and Sura nearly threw his water onto him as he approached. "Back to your stance!"

"They just don't respect the Shaman coat like they used to," Natquik said with a sigh, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Chief Atua wants to see us both. And you, too, Master Kinu," he called past Hikoshu's shoulder.

Kinu grunted as he came to a stop, merely glancing at Natquik. "Chief Atua knows I'm in the middle of a training session."

"And I was in the middle of a healing lesson. I guess it's pretty important."

Again, Kinu grunted, starting toward the other end of the practice yard. "Let Chief Atua know I will attend at my earliest convenience. Master Avatar, you're free to leave."

Yet another confusing cultural difference was Kinu's ability to refuse his leader's orders. It was as if Atua's position were merely a formality, with no real power behind it. Hikoshu knew, though, that was exactly what it was. The Southern Water Tribe prided autonomy over authority. People listened to Atua because they wanted to. And when they didn't want to…

He didn't fully understand it, nor did he try to. Bending the remnant water from his coat, Hikoshu gave Kinu a final bow that he never saw and stepped out of the square to follow Natquik to the kashiq.

The 'kashiq' was merely a Water Tribe word for 'fancy meeting hall.' Or at least as well as Hikoshu could determine. In the North, it was an enormous ice palace, dominating the landscape and towering over every aspect of tribal life. In the South, it was merely a gathering place—a large ice rotunda at the center of each village. This being the village of the chief, its kashiq was particularly extravagant, with carved fish and masked-dholes surrounding the windows, and colonnades designed to resemble waterfalls guarding its entrance. It was also quite a bit larger than other kashiqs, too. But by the end of the winter, they would leave it for land further north, switching to tents instead. Just another aspect of Water Tribe impermanence.

Hikoshu straightened his coat, smoothing his hands over the thin, white-fur strips that were sewn from each shoulder to his waist—the markings of an apprentice coat. "His messenger didn't say why the chief wanted us?"

Natquik shrugged, walking several steps in front of him. "I didn't ask. We're about to find out, anyway, aren't we?" They came to a stop before the enormous ice doors, and two apprentices stepped forward to bend them open. Natquik nodded to them, but Hikoshu skipped the pleasantries, his eyes and thoughts on the dark interior.

Though there were dozens of ice sheet windows high in the thick walls, the round room still seemed wreathed in shadow. As a meeting hall, it was mostly just open space. Sometimes they would bend benches for everyone to eat together, perhaps during a festival, or they would hold gatherings under the fanciful Southern Water Tribe seal carved into the arched ceiling. Right then, the room was far emptier than usual, the faces commonly seen around the kashiq now missing.

At the opposite end of the chamber, sitting on an ice shelf that followed the kashiq wall, was Atua. To Hikoshu, he was the epitome of the Water Tribes. Everything about him described "strength"—the square cut of his jaw, the way his graying hair still clung to its youthful black in some places. And even though he was small in stature compared to other tribesmen, Atua made up for his height with presence. He sat with his shoulders thrown back, an elbow resting on his knee, the thick white collar of his heavy coat obscured by layers of bone pendants. Each item he wore was something he caught, and fashioned, himself. Even the stiff leather boots that he'd set at the foot of the shelf.

Currently, he was engaged in quiet conversation with a strange Shaman who hung low beside his shoulder. On occasion, Atua would nod thoughtfully as the man whispered at his ear. It had to be someone from a neighboring village, Hikoshu supposed, though the nearest village was a three days' journey even by polar dog sled.

At their approach, Atua looked up with a smile that barely softened his face, made hard by years of cold. Signaling for the Shaman to hold off on the conversation, he stood and walked toward them, his arm outstretched.

"I'm glad you could join me, Avatar." They seized each other's elbows, holding firmly through their coats. Behind him, the unknown tribesman departed wordlessly for the door, while Atua moved to grasp Natquik's arm. "Master Shaman. Where is Shaman Kinu?"

"He'll be here once his lessons finish," Natquik said. Atua merely nodded, unsurprised and unoffended by the action.

"Then come sit with me and we'll eat while we wait."

It was dishonorable to refuse a host's offer of food. So Hikoshu had to eat, despite having no desire to. Water Tribe food consisted of any variety of meat. In fact, they'd even cook their vegetables to taste like meat. The result was that Hikoshu's sensitive stomach, which never quite recovered from the strict vegetarian lifestyle of the Western Air Temple, was under constant assault by an overly rich diet. He'd figured out a few foods that were more or less compatible with his digestion, and his foster clan, laughing at his weak stomach, had grown accustomed to providing them.

But Chief Atua was not aware of this particular arrangement. So, seated cross-legged on the leopard-yak rug spread along the floor, Hikoshu forced himself to eat the proffered brine-pickled penguin gizzards, or the kelp-broiled snow mice. Luckily, Natquik held up the conversation with Atua, because Hikoshu wasn't sure if he could do both at the same time.

The discussion ran along the lines of Natquik's students. How they were doing, or if any had shown any proficiency in healing. Natquik tried to sound positive, but it was obvious he was less than impressed with their skill. Hikoshu knew he wasn't very impressed with his. But honestly, healing wasn't that common of a talent. And even the Avatar couldn't be expected to master everything.

Healing wasn't the only way in which Natquik provided a stark contrast to him. Sitting next to each other, they were pretty much as opposite as their respective elements. Though Hikoshu had tanned from his years at the Pole, Natquik was still three shades darker than him, and even seated, he was about two inches shorter. Mayami had always described Hikoshu as a walrus-bear with no claws. His features were quite pronounced, severe and imposing when he was upset, and his frame was more muscular than the tribesmen's. He easily towered over most of the villagers, and even his eyes—Fire Nation eyes, Mayami would say—had the same copper color as a walrus-bear's. But for all of the intimidation built into his solid shoulders, he was perpetually teased for his lack of fortitude in so many things, such as in eating this horrible meal.

Natquik, however, was much thinner, the fluid lines of his body more resembling water. Unlike Hikoshu, who was quick to offend, Natquik was always quick to diffuse, his face invariably set on the edge of a mollifying grin. Though where that grin was now, he couldn't guess; Natquik's expression had taken on an unpleasant hue that closely mirrored his.

"You'll need to find a replacement soon," Atua said as he pushed a long braid behind his shoulder to keep it out of his bowl of cod-oil beat broth. "We need a Shaman to take over as healer after you leave for the North." Natquik and Hikoshu both grimaced, though Hikoshu was mostly from the same terrible broth.

"There are some who might be satisfactory," Natquik said. But not very good. Hikoshu could easily read into his words. "I'll choose before the next full moon."

The fact was, as Hikoshu had told him countless times, Natquik's standards were far too high. Natquik was, by general consensus, the most powerful healer either Tribe had seen in centuries. He had no false modesty on the subject, nor was he hesitant to explain that however powerful a bender he was when it came to healing, none of it carried over to actual waterbending. He was only a mediocre fighter, impressive only in his ability to avoid fighting altogether for that very same reason.

Though how healing and how physical waterbending were different, Hikoshu could barely grasp. It had something to do with seeing paths of chi, and knowing how to tweak them, and a lot of other things Hikoshu didn't get because he was horrible at healing. It still didn't change the fact that if Natquik was only going to accept his equal, he was never going to find someone to replace him.

Hikoshu figured, though, he knew why his standards were so high. Somewhere, buried within his mind, Natquik really didn't want to find a replacement. Because it would be one more note of finality in his life as a Shaman—another sign that his peaceful, idyllic existence was about to end. So Hikoshu thought he understood his feet-dragging. It still didn't mean he could avoid it.

They were still discussing Natquik's future successor when the doors opened again, a cold breeze sifting through the large room. Kinu strode in with purpose, his bearing demanding respect, at odds with the almost casual attitude of Atua. When he approached the fur where they all three sat, the meal spread out between them, Atua gestured for him to join.

"Shaman Kinu, please have some food."

He waved it off with thin fingers, though he did sit next to Natquik, folding his legs under him. "I have little time, Chief Atua. Could we pause in eating long enough to discuss the matter at hand?"

Much to Hikoshu's relief, Atua assented, laying down his bowl.

"I hate to ruin your meals with ill-tidings, but I also hate to delay in the news." Closing his eyes briefly, Atua then said with a sigh, "Shaman Hota is dead."

Which—of course—didn't surprise Hikoshu. The man was easily in his nineties. And while he could've lived longer, his death in this harsh climate was nothing of note. If Kinu and Natquik had the same idea, they didn't show it, their eyes trained on Atua.

"His death was unexpected." Again, a deep breath, and the chief laced his hands in his lap as if drawing on inner-strength. "Brought about by unnatural means."

It was a Water Tribe way of saying murder. Both Kinu and Natquik understood immediately, their eyes widening, and Hikoshu wondered if perhaps they understood more than he did.

"Have they caught the responsible person?" Kinu asked. Despite the barely perceptible change in his expression, his voice was as calm as if he were asking Atua to pass the beat broth.

"There is no responsible person." Something then passed across Atua's face—a shadow of emotion that Hikoshu would've guessed was fear, had he not known that Tribesmen felt no fear. "The stone-frog clan is not entirely sure how it happened."

"What exactly did happen, Chief Atua?" Kinu didn't sound nearly so indifferent now.

Atua gave a glance around the kashiq, which was empty except for them. Still, he lowered his voice as if to keep prying ears from overhearing, his expression stricken. "Burned to death. Little remained of him."

The concept was far more horrific to the two waterbenders than it was to Hikoshu. Perhaps because he'd heard enough horror stories of firebenders losing control. Perhaps because there was very little worse than burning alive to someone from the Water Tribe. So while Kinu and Natquik considered the news in stunned silence, Hikoshu merely shrugged uncomfortably and continued the questioning for them.

"Was he alone in the tundras?" He couldn't imagine anyone choosing to go alone into the wilds of the Pole, but there was no other explanation. It would take days to burn a person so thoroughly without a source of wood. Someone would have noticed him gone before then.

Atua's brow darkened as he shook his head. "Shaman Hota was in his tent, for no more than a few minutes."

Now even Hikoshu was left speechless. That was beyond horrific—it was literally impossible. It would have required temperatures far hotter than any human, firebender or otherwise, could produce. And the size of the fire would have easily engulfed the tent as well as anyone close by. So he didn't feel alarmed or appalled so much as disbelieving.

"There has to be a mistake," he uttered. But how could there be? Atua's morbid gaze said the same thing. No one could be that mistaken. If Atua had heard the information from a reliable source—and as chief, he surely had—then there was no doubting the story. Hota was burned alive by someone. Or something.

"No damage to the tent, I presume?" Kinu had regained his composure, assuming his casual tone once more. "Talismans untouched?"

"Nothing was touched," Atua agreed somberly. "Except a buffalo-yak's head, which was found beside his remains."

"That's used in the late fall ceremonies to hide from spirits." It was Natquik's first words in the conversation, as he tried—and failed—to mimic Kinu's disinterested posture. Instead, he leaned forward unconsciously. "He thought he was going to be attacked by a spirit?"

"It seems possible. And it's the reason I've called you three." Now to the point of business, Atua seemed to turn more comfortable, as he folded a leg toward his chest so that he could balance his arm on his knee. "Hota's death is so bizarre, so unnatural, that clan leader Elu is uncertain how to calm the concerns of his clan. There are growing rumors of a curse on the village, and they've already buried Hota's tent to ward off whatever attacked him."

Atua paused, then, rubbing his hand across his cheek, as if confronting a fitful thought. "Elu has asked me to give a decision on Hota's death, hoping perhaps that my words may reassure his people before they become scared enough to abandon the village during the storms."

"And what do you plan to tell them?" Kinu seemed to rethink his decision not to eat, taking a piece of tiger-seal tongue. Yet to Hikoshu's confusion, he simply rubbed the meat along his fingers, greasing his knuckles.

"Whatever you can find out for me."

"You want us to investigate his death?" Natquik said, drawing Hikoshu's attention away from Kinu's ministrations with the meat. "How can we?"

"We need to know his exact manner of death, which I leave up to you, Natquik." Atua had turned authoritarian, his blue-gray eyes not only demanding but expecting to be obeyed. "As our eminent healer, I imagine that won't be too difficult." Natquik's expression said otherwise. "Kinu, I need you to find out why the wards in his tent didn't work, as well as why he was targeted. And Hikoshu,"—now Atua looked to him—"I need you to find out who or what this spirit was."

"I…I suppose I can." Caught offguard, Hikoshu could only come up with a half-hearted response that seemed to satisfy Atua, anyway. What exactly did the chief expect him to do? So startled was he at the assignment, Hikoshu didn't even hear as Atua continued his instruction, his mind dwelling on the request. Did he want him to speak to the spirits, or confront the murderous spirit directly? Not that it made much difference; Hikoshu wasn't sure if he could do either. As Avatar, his responsibilities seemed limited to two things: learn how to bend, eventually save the world. And up until that point, no one had really asked him to do much else. Sure, the occasional task—like saving Water Tribe Princesses—would arise, but he'd never had to convene with spirits.

He felt poorly prepared for the job.

Hikoshu was brought back to the meeting as Natquik once more spoke beside him. "The body's gone by now, Chief Atua, the tent buried, and the spirit most likely moved on. There's simply nothing that we can determine at this point."

Interrupted from his careful instruction, Atua frowned, the dark look adding a certain ferocity to his expression. "I understand there is nothing that can be done with Hota. However, that does not mean there is nothing that can be done about the situation." Looking up, he caught the eye of someone else, and Hikoshu turned to see that strange Shaman from earlier now standing at the door.

As the Shaman approached, Atua once more addressed them. "I've spoken to you about Hota's death, but there has been another attack, brought to my attention moments before your arrival. I'll let Shaman Utt explain what has happened."

Utt didn't even seat himself next to Atua, simply tugging his hood back to reveal a head of gray-speckled hair pulled tight into a caribou tail, his jowls loose with old age and wrinkles. His coat, marked with the tiger-seal fringe of a Shaman, also had a row of teeth sewn into its white mantel, though Hikoshu couldn't tell what kind of animal they came from. Squinting at them despite the rather dark room, Utt folded his hands into thick sleeves.

"Kiruk of the snow ocelot clan has died."

He paused to let them take in that news. And Hikoshu, despite his best attempts at a shocked reaction, found himself unimpressed. He didn't know most of the famous Southern Water Tribesmen, so the death meant nothing to him. Still, he tried to fake the same reserved horror and mournful respect that Kinu and Natquik had long ago mastered.

Satisfied, Utt continued. "He was sixty-years-old, long past the age of a great warrior but not so far past the age of a great leader." Another pause, as Utt savored the dramatic tension. "And his death was…abrupt."

"Come, Utt, just tell us how," Kinu said with some impatience, which obviously aggravated the other Shaman. Hiking up his shoulders proudly, he added extra gravity to his voice.

"Flayed alive while hunting."

A chilling silence followed the pronouncement. Burning to death did not scare Hikoshu; having one's skin physically removed, however, did. Suddenly, the penguin gizzards weren't entirely agreeing with him.

Next to him, Natquik was pressing for information. "Why was he alone?"

"He wasn't. He stepped away to relieve himself behind a snow bank. His hunting party found him shortly after."

"Any sign of who might have attacked him?" Kinu sounded just as casual as earlier, and Hikoshu began to wonder if anything ever made that detached façade crack.

"Nothing." Utt seemed to think this should garner the most horror, as he lowered his voice. "There were only his set of footprints. No struggle evident in the snow."

Atua interrupted before they could properly react, much to Utt's apparent irritation. "You now have two incidents of unexplained deaths. There has to be a pattern here, and I want you to find out what. Natquik, they still have the body; they've refused to bring it back into the village until a Shaman of this village cleanses it, and I want that to be you. Kinu, I need you to claim Kiruk's talismans and compare them to ones from Hota's tent. And yes"—he quickly cut off Kinu's forming question—"I want you to exhume the tent. Take five warriors with you."

Now that the frightening news was broken, Atua was assuming charge of the situation, his voice swift and efficient. "Hikoshu." Here, though, he hesitated, and it was obvious that Atua was slightly uncomfortable with commanding the Avatar. But the chief took it in stride, just as he took all of the other hundreds of tiny, daily affronts to his authority. "I can't really instruct you on what to do here. This is territory in which only Avatars are proficient."

"I can handle it," Hikoshu lied. Sure, he'd just stumble through it like he did everything else connected with Avatar powers. It'd work out. Probably.

Again, though, Atua seemed content with the answer. "Kinu, Natquik, you will have to leave soon in order to avoid the storms. Gather together what you need." After that, Atua continued to give instructions, including suggestions for what they would have to do once they arrived at the stone-frog village. They listened closely, Kinu offering his own suggestions, until each agenda seemed to be thoroughly planned. The meeting eventually ended on a somber note, with the chief wishing them luck on their tasks.

Natquik was still grumbling about his own task when they finally left the kashiq, his hands shoved into his pockets as he glowered at the well-tread snow below them.

"How can he possibly expect me to do this? I have lessons, and I haven't even chosen a successor. By the time I come back from the snow-ocelot village, it'll be time for me to leave." That, Hikoshu realized, was probably what was bothering him the most. "It's not like I can figure out much from a dead body, anyway. They don't have chi."

Hikoshu refrained from reminding him that this wouldn't be his first experience in working with the deceased. In fact, Natquik had done plenty to bring Hikoshu himself back from the dead. Quickly, he shoved the memory away. That had been many years ago, and just the thought of his past murder, as well as his bizarre resurrection, sent shudders through him. Yet always at moments like these, when he was confronted with death, those thoughts came unwillingly to the forefront of his mind.

"You don't have to figure out anything. Just cleanse the body." Hikoshu suppressed a shiver at the renewed wind and huddled deeper into his coat. "I imagine once I finally use my Avatar abilities to find the spirit, the matter will be cleared up in short order."

Natquik threw him a sidelong glance, roused from his brooding just long enough to look doubtful. "Can you honestly do that?"

"Chief Atua seems to think I can." The joke would have normally returned Natquik to his generally good humor, but he was intent on being moody today. "Doesn't any of this intimidate you just a little?"

"What?" Natquik asked, distracted.

"Two gruesome deaths, unexplainable by any natural means?" Hikoshu didn't bother to check his voice; it was well past midday, the sun sinking below the horizon, and no sane person would be out in the encroaching night. They had the wide tracks between the ice huts to themselves. Around them, the faint glow of lamplights and fires reflected off icy doorsills, adding to their isolation in the chilly dusk. "I don't know about you, but that makes me a little nervous." Of course, he had first-hand experience with spirits, and he fought back another shiver that was not entirely due to the cold.

"We are surrounded by spirits," Natquik said, as his eyes remained on the dusty snow blowing around his boots. "Why should I be nervous about them?"

Because they don't leave footprints.

Hikoshu kept the thought to himself, choosing instead to change the subject. "Are you going to pick someone to replace you before we leave?"

"I guess I might have to." Natquik came to a stop in the snow, and Hikoshu realized they had reached his own hut. Natquik's was further on the edge of the village, as befitting a Shaman's demand for privacy. "You're planning to come with me?"

Hikoshu gave him a lopsided grin from below the fur edge of his parka. "If I don't leave this village soon, I'm going to go crazy. So I thought I'd join you, yes."

"Better tell Mayami this was your idea, or she'll blame me." His temper somewhat improved, Natquik returned the grin and waved as he started away. "Two days, Hikoshu. Pack warmly."

"I'm a firebender!" he retorted, though Natquik didn't respond, his back growing dark against the snow. In a moment, Hikoshu was alone, surrounded by the deep blue of a polar night.

The wind picked up around him, whispering with flurries as he glanced along the huts. Not a soul in sight, everyone hidden in their respective homes against the impending dark. And though the glow of firelight and the smell of smoke plumes filled the air, Hikoshu felt briefly that there was no one in the world but him.

So it seemed odd to him, as he glanced past his shoulder toward the empty thoroughfare, that he had the distinct impression he wasn't alone. Shaking his head, Hikoshu ducked to crawl through the door of his hut. The earlier conversation with Atua must have really gotten to him. Already, his mind was starting to play tricks, imagining things that weren't really there.

But still, while out in the road, he could've been certain he heard something like the faint crunching of snow, echoing below his own footsteps.

A/N: Thanks again to my beta, Inazuma Akai, for looking over this chapter, and thanks to you all for reading it!