Chapter 13 - Omashu
"Wake up, kahasi. We're almost there."
A boot in the shoulder interrupted the most peaceful dream Hikoshu had had in nearly a week. One that didn't involve hunger, or cold, or being on the back of a bison. But even before he opened his eyes, it had started to fade. All he could remember as he blinked at the harsh blue sky was a blur of orange and grass.
"Kahasi?" That was Miyo's voice. Stretching his aching neck from where he rested on his pack, Hikoshu glanced around the saddle to spy her seated beside Natquik, just across from him. In the beginning of the trip, she had stuck reclusively to Tehsa's neck, choosing typical airbender stoicism over conversation. Yet somehow in the last few days, Natquik had broken down her usual reservations, and now Hikoshu inevitably awoke to find them both chatting, their backs propped against the bamboo slats.
"It's from a Water Tribe tale." Natquik used his teeth in order to yank a dried fish off its string, which he then offered to Hikoshu. He waved it away with a grimace as he pushed himself up from the saddle. Dried fish didn't sound too appetizing, but Miyo's tsampa actually did, much to his surprise. He never thought he'd crave tsampa again.
"What's it about?" Miyo said curiously, chewing a corner of the doughy bread. The question made Natquik grin over his respective fish meal, and he dusted his hands as he set it down.
"Well, it's the story of a Water Tribe man who was so lazy, he wouldn't even wake up in the mornings."
Hikoshu rolled his eyes at the tale, dragging his pack into his lap. Miyo loved stories and Natquik loved sharing them, so they'd probably be distracted for a while. Hikoshu, however, had heard this story several times and hadn't much cared for it even on the original telling. So as Natquik regaled a fascinated Miyo, he dug out a clean hide and his water skin in order to wash up.
The week had passed in relative peace. While they were still in the South Pole, the storms had prevented them from landing, and while crossing the Southern Ocean, there wasn't anything to land on. So that by the time they'd reached the continent, Hikoshu was grateful to see ground again.
And what ground it was! The further they traveled north, the closer the landscape resembled autumn. Such that the first rocky shores of the southern coast eventually changed into barren trees, and then to trees with a healthy coat of red-and-gold leaves. Unfortunately, Miyo would stop in the late afternoon, then leave at dawn the next morning. Most of the earth he saw only at dusk, the red sunlight setting the trees on fire. In order to cope with it, Hikoshu had taken to sleeping on Tehsa and staying awake during part of the evening. True, he was a little lonely because of it, but at least he was growing less and less airsick by the day.
When Hikoshu had finished scrubbing his face, hands, and any other part of his exposed body that could stand the freezing water, Natquik was in the middle of his story. "And the third time, the cave spirit presented him with a comb, telling him to brush her hair but not to pull a single strand." They'd forgotten about their food, so Hikoshu reached across the saddle and stole Miyo's tsampa from her lap. It earned him a reproving glance, but she was so engrossed that she didn't protest.
Plus the story reminded him that he probably needed a good grooming himself. So he stuck the tsampa between his teeth and fished a comb out of his pack, fighting with his tangle of black hair as he half-listened to Natquik.
He'd managed to subdue the wind-blown mop by nearly the end of the tale. "When the cave spirit discovered Kahasi had stolen her wolf-yak of bone," Natquik continued, his hands dancing through the air in time to his words, "she transformed back into a polar-dog and gave chase. Only when she left the cave did she also discover that he had stolen her sled that was never lost."
"Speaking of which, where are we?" Hikoshu's rude interruption resulted in yet another frown from Miyo, and even Natquik arched an eyebrow at him. But he did stop long enough in his oration to lift himself up from the saddle, peering over Tehsa's head.
"I'd say thirty leagues outside of nowhere," he said casually, settling back down.
"Tehsa's following the Persimmon Trail," Miyo said with some impatience. "Omashu's not far ahead."
"Well, I'm glad you woke me up for the scenery." Hikoshu assumed there were mountains, but he wasn't going to look to find out, and they flew too high for him to see anything but sky over the saddle edge. So he also didn't hide his sarcasm, pulling at his newly-formed topknot as he gnawed at the tsampa.
"Actually, you were snoring too loud to hear anything."
By the time Hikoshu mustered a snide look in retaliation, she'd already turned back to Natquik, anticipating the end of the story. Distracted, though, Natquik had begun to retie his string of dried fish to put back in his satchel, his mind now elsewhere. When it became obvious that he didn't intend to finish, Miyo gave a disappointed sigh and climbed over the saddle, returning to Tehsa's neck.
"What were you two discussing before I woke up?" Hikoshu started organizing his pack, cramming away the various objects he'd pulled out earlier that morning. If they were almost to Omashu, then he would need to clean up his scattered possessions, anyway.
Natquik answered swiftly, without looking at him. "Eloping." He was now cleaning his bag as well, a thick stack of tied seal jerky in one hand. He sniffed at it with a curious frown, then shoved it back in a fur wrapping. "I think that last rainstorm ruined some food."
"For a waterbender, you did a poor job keeping your stuff dry." The accusation wasn't fair, as Natquik had spent most of the last storm trying to keep the rain out of Tehsa's face. In reality, it was probably more Hikoshu's fault for not watching his gear closely. "And forgive me for saying, but you're not really the marrying kind."
Natquik grinned at both gests. "Well, I would've been fine just skipping the wedding, but Miyo insisted on a ceremony, and you know how she is." Then, sniffing at a small pouch, he added, "Smell this and tell me what you think."
He looked prepared to toss it, so Hikoshu leaned across the saddle quickly to grab it from his hand. Throwing anything into the air while on a bison was usually a bad idea, and more mindful of plummeting objects, Hikoshu seemed to remember that while Natquik never did.
The contents were pungent—probably tundra sedge, though he couldn't tell without tasting it. Shrugging, he handed it back.
"All Water Tribe food smells rotten to me."
Natquik laughed as he shoved it in his pack. "Weak-stomach lava-swimmer."
"Skin-wearing snow-sucker."
"Fire-breathing warmonger."
"Nature-loving ice-savage."
The insults probably could have continued quite pleasantly, but Miyo took the opportunity to look over the saddle with an unhappy glower. "You're both horrible! Stop saying those things."
They stared innocently back.
"We're just having fun," said Natquik, chastised. Miyo didn't seem to buy the excuse.
"Omashu's up ahead. Just cut it out until we get there."
Silence set in after that. His satchel now lodged behind his back, Hikoshu didn't have much to do other than watch Natquik finish up his own inventory, wrapping and rewrapping various bone, leather, and stone tools, checking string and blades. Honestly, he'd packed like they would be stuck in the wilderness for weeks: fishing hooks, a hammer stone, a hand ax—everything he could possibly need. The result was a heavy pack which Hikoshu wondered how anyone could carry, let alone the lean waterbender.
He was still admiring Natquik's artful packing abilities when the air changed. Or, rather, something about the air changed. It wasn't a physical difference—the sky was still clear, interrupted with the occasional thin cloud, and the wind still whistled between Tehsa's legs. But there was something that made the hair on his neck rise, and suspiciously, he crawled toward the front of the saddle.
Hikoshu had to force himself to look over the lip, where he saw Miyo's back, superimposed on an immense mountain range made golden by the afternoon sun. The jarring scene almost made him recoil, but he swallowed and cleared his throat.
"Everything all right, Miyo?" He couldn't really explain how he knew it wasn't. Just one of the Avatar things, he supposed. But the gentle drop in her shoulders and the bend of her head told him his instincts were right. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not really, no." She never wanted to talk about what was bothering her. Not unless she thought it should be bothering him, too. "Omashu's just ahead."
He didn't see anything but yellow mountains. Large, yellow mountains, whose sharp peaks stuck in the sky like spikes. It was a harsh landscape, hardly something anyone would want to make a home.
"Can you find the bison point?" They were landing platforms designed specifically for air bison and present in nearly every major city of the world. Surely Omashu had one.
"No." The somber note immediately hinted at what was on her mind. "I'm looking." She hadn't turned toward him the entire time, her robes nearly hidden under a blanket of brown hair that stirred with the wind.
"You don't know where it is?" Hikoshu asked. Miyo didn't say anything, which was enough of an answer for him. "You've never been here before."
"No, I've been here." She was defensive, her shoulders abruptly straightening. "Just not in a very long time."
"Why not?" Another unhappy pause, and he scanned his memory for a possible reason. "Is it the relocation efforts?" Still silence. Hikoshu figured he'd just stumbled on the truth.
Omashu had been trying for years to relocate the plains Nomads—the Air Nomads who could not bend and who therefore did not live in the temples. Still nomadic, they inhabited the steppes of the southeastern Earth continent with their herds, having as little to do with the city-states as the sand tribes. Yet the land they used was rich with resources, and of exceptional value to a large city like Omashu.
"They stopped all talks on the matter last year," Miyo finally said, her voice low enough that he almost lost it in the wind. "The Southern Air Temple's been trying to make them listen. They keep proposing peaceful resolutions—maybe move the bands further east. But Omashu just wants more land, and the bands are now fighting amongst themselves over range."
"So no Air Nomads are going to Omashu now?" He made his voice gentler, as well, and she finally glanced back at him. Her brow was worried, dark with troubled thoughts.
"It's a bad sign when even the Air Nomads won't go somewhere, Hikoshu."
He would've reached forward to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but any movement out of the saddle made him dizzy. So he managed the most encouraging smile he could.
"The bison point's still there."
She returned the smile wanly, then pointed toward one of the cone-shaped mountains. "That's Omashu."
It was hard to focus on the horizon without his head spinning. But after a few unsettling moments, he realized there were features on the mountainside that could hardly be natural. Sharp angles and green tiles and expansive arches. It then dawned on him the city was the mountain.
The city blended so seamlessly with the range that he would have missed it had he not been searching. Yet even knowing where to look, Hikoshu had some difficulty distinguishing its fine details. Narrow buildings were stacked neatly one on top of the other, staggered such that the city itself rose like an enormous pyramid complex. There were four distinct peaks of varying heights within its confines, and running across them, long, sweeping chutes lined the city from its highest point to the immense wall that surrounded its base.
The city was impenetrable, standing above a bottomless chasm shrouded in mist and fed by only one, slender land bridge. There was no way to enter the city—and no way to leave, as even beyond the chasm, miles of jagged mountains blocked passage to the plains.
"How does it sustain itself?" He asked the question almost breathlessly, as the sight was rather breathtaking.
Natquik sidled up next to him and shrugged. "Rob surrounding lands of their resources and subjugate the native people?" Miyo shot him an unhappy frown of agreement. "Wow." He gave a short whistle. "That's quite a sight."
Certainly nothing like what they had in the Fire Nation, where the capital sprawled across most of the island. Or the North Pole, where the city was a natural part of the tundra. In fact, it more closely resembled the Air Temples to him, though the towers of the Temples were far more inviting and graceful. Omashu, on the other hand, seemed like it wanted to shut everything out.
It now loomed in front of them like a gargantuan monster, and a thousand misty tendrils of smoke wrapped around the arches that supported the chutes. Even from that distance, Hikoshu could smell smelting fires and blacksmith shops. Scents that reminded him longingly of home.
"I think there's a bison point behind the palace," Miyo finally said. "You might want to hide, Hikoshu. We'll be going down soon."
Sighing, he retreated to the back of the saddle.
When they landed soon afterward, the city had morphed into a single massive building, so large that it consumed the whole of the tallest peak. Hikoshu knew that somewhere below them was the rest of the city, and as he tumbled onto the stone platform, he made sure to keep Tehsa between him and the outlook.
He couldn't really save himself from the view, however, as the bison point was open to air on every side except the one just in front of him. Marked with the Air Nomads sigil, the platform stuck out over space, while sky and mountains framed the horizon like an elaborate mural. Beyond the steep drop-off, the carefully-stacked, green-roofed buildings swept toward the chasm, and he knew with certainty that if he tried to look, he might very well fall from the vertigo.
Miyo prevented that, though, by firmly grabbing his arm and directing him back toward the building. On the way, she spared Tehsa a reassuring pat, murmuring for her to wait, and propped her staff against her neck.
The gate in front of them actually formed a wall of the palace complex itself, rather than a separate protection wall. As they moved toward the cream-colored stone, marked with two sentry windows, Hikoshu realized that they must already be within the compound of the palace, the bison point placed in a protective nook away from the city below.
They stopped before the stretch of stone, and a head appeared in one of the windows. The man's face was lost under the rim of his wide green helm.
"Who's with you, airbender?"
"The Avatar and a representative of the Southern Water Tribe," she said forcefully. Movement to the left caught his eye, where he noticed the window on the other side of the gate. There'd been someone standing in it, though the flash of green was now gone.
If Hikoshu and Natquik had been alone, he was pretty sure the guard would've asked him to prove their identities. But the word of an airbender was always taken as truth, no matter the claim, and the man vanished so quickly that he wondered if he'd even heard Miyo.
A moment later, the man returned to the window. "Wait here while His Majesty is informed."
"I don't have a good feeling," Hikoshu murmured, his stomach suddenly sinking. The last time he had visited a strange place and waited while the proper authority was informed, that proper authority had nearly killed him.
Miyo shushed him, though, and he looked to Natquik miserably for some sort of support. Yet the waterbender was thoroughly occupied with the vista behind them, paying no attention to the foreboding palace in front of them.
They were alone for quite some time, while Hikoshu's anxiety grew worse and his heightened instincts demanded they be heard. Unfortunately, neither companion seemed to share his concerns, and they didn't jump when the stone groaned open, cracking down the center.
Before them yawned a dark hole—a gaping maw that led into oblivion. Miyo marched resolutely in, staff held at her side, and Natquik followed, his eyes sweeping along the ceiling. Hikoshu trailed behind as he scanned the dark for hidden enemies.
As the door slid shut, he slowly acclimated to the ambient light. The hole was actually a corridor, wide and long and empty of all ornamentation, even decorative molding. Everything about it was green. The walls, unlike the outside, were made of a green stone, and the floor was a black marble veined with green, covered in a lighter green, velvety rug. Periodically along the walls, metal brackets held jade-colored lanterns that gave off a hazy green light, which in turn somehow made everything else seem greener.
On the whole, the palace had a disconcerting effect, as if Hikoshu had been swallowed by a large emerald. Noting the strange echoes of his footsteps on the walls versus the silent footfalls of the men behind them, Hikoshu followed his friends down the hallway.
They eventually came to an intersection, at which point more guards appeared to show them the way. Wordlessly, they joined the three similarly-uniformed men. Their wide, conical helms of gold and green lacquered metal sat almost flat on their heads, with leather caps underneath that covered their ears. Over heavy wool robes, dyed the same green as the hallway, they wore lamellar cuirasses and leather belts which held no weapons. Hikoshu supposed they didn't need to, as below the green shin guards, their feet were bare, and the stiff leather gloves were missing the fingers. Though their eyes were hidden under the rims of their helms, they all looked tensed and ready to fight.
The corridor eventually grew wider and taller, with latticed windows set high in its wall. Daylight poured in through the flowery designs, though it didn't do much to change the overwhelmingly verdant atmosphere. Instead, it highlighted dust motes, which broke the green with shades of gold, and threw shadows over the anonymous corners of the hallway.
People then began to appear. Ones that weren't guards, who wore shimmering silk robes as the only distinguishing feature of their sex. The ones whose robes reached their knees had to be men, despite two loose braids that hung down their backs. The women's soft green robes trailed just above the carpet, their hair done up in buns and wide silk ribbon.
As they went by, each of these individuals stopped to stare before rushing away at the guards' frowns. Hikoshu didn't know if they were nobility or courtiers or just extravagantly dressed servants; they all looked the same, no matter their age, and eventually, they were just another blur in the endless world of green.
He felt they had traveled into the very bowels of the palace before they reached the end of the corridors. The court they entered had alcoves in the walls, bearing statues of regally-posed kings far above. They stared down emptily, their expressions lost by distance and darkness.
Directly in front of them were three doors. Two of them, framing the third, stood small and unimpressive, obviously meant for less important people. Yet the third door towered above them, nearly as tall as the corridor they had just left. Hikoshu hadn't seen a portal so large since his days in the Western Air Temple, its wood inlaid with a golden circle, a smaller silver square set in the center. By the time they reached the entryway, some unseen force was tugging the heavy wooden planks open, revealing the room beyond.
This had to be the throne room. Above them, more elaborate latticed windows let in light, which at this time of day left most of the chamber in shadow. To either side, the walls held heavy banners, hanging from ceiling to floor, which bore the symbols of Omashu and the ruling family—the circle-and-square, as well as a shepherd's crook. Between the banners were breaks in the walls, which likely led to the wings where people waited to be seen. Despite the presence of the wings, at least a hundred people still milled around the throne room. They were dressed like the people in the hallways, though Hikoshu thought he saw one or two robed in the plain tunics of commoners.
As they made their way down the heavily embroidered carpet, Hikoshu looked ahead. The wall before them was dominated by the symbol of Omashu, the circle embossed in gold, the square in the center made of silver. Lines engraved in the green stone ran from either side of the circle to the floor, where a dais held by two steps stood. On it was a stone throne, tall-backed and made of hard angles—as uncomfortable-looking as the man who sat on it.
He was middle-aged and rather diminutive, his face wreathed with a glower. His robes were richly embroidered and sewn with thick folds, made of several shades of green silks and a brown mantle that enveloped his shoulders. Yet it didn't cover the leather cuirass he wore, similar to those of his guards, and the combination of finery with simple armor created a strange pairing. Long sleeves of light green draped carelessly over the arms of his chair as he propped his elbows against the throne, one ring-encrusted hand running gently over his head.
His bald head. It was perhaps not the most notable thing about him, but it was the detail that Hikoshu kept returning to. The man's head shone with the muted light of the high-set lanterns, not even tufts above his ears to distract from the glaring fact that he was as bald as an Air Monk. In contrast, he wore a black goatee that hung to his chest, knotted at the bottom around a thin, golden bar. From his throne, he watched them with dull eyes, deep purple outlining the lids either in fatigue or illness.
All of the room's occupants had stopped talking the moment they entered the room, and when they realized how unique this particular group was, all movement stopped, too. Yet as soon as they passed by, each one of the silk-laden courtiers began whispering. By the time they'd reached the other end of the room, the entire hall echoed with the murmuring.
"Sir," said one of their escorts, going to both knees before the man on the throne as he bowed his head, "the Avatar has come to see you."
The reaction in the room was instantaneous with this declaration. The murmuring stopped, replaced with the sound of rustling silk and the collective knocking of knees. When Hikoshu turned to see what had happened, there was no one standing—every man and woman was now on the floor, their heads to the marble.
Natquik was as equally stunned as he, circling on his heel with apparent intimidation. When he caught Hikoshu's eyes, he flashed him an uncertain frown, mirroring his feelings. Though Hikoshu had been a recipient of mass genuflection in the past, no one had bowed before him in years. It simply wasn't done in the Water Tribes.
"Master Avatar." The booming voice of King Du Gong was far more powerful than he actually looked, and the short man roused himself enough to stand, his silks spilling out onto the stone. "It is an honor to meet you. Omashu welcomes you with open arms." Then he was also on the floor, his head bent to the dais in the same reverent fashion.
Hikoshu had to work hard to swallow back a laugh. The absurdity of the scene was too much for him, and again, he saw Natquik struggle with the same emotions, his mouth twitching toward a smile. He knew, though, that if his friend broke, he would too, so he turned in desperation to Miyo. As always, she was the most level-headed of the three.
Miyo hadn't turned to take in the room like they had. Instead, she stood before the throne with as much majesty as any king, her staff planted in front of her, and Hikoshu thought for a moment the Omashu people could all be bowing for her. "The Avatar is honored by your invitation and is pleased to see the King in such good health." Her voice rang out like iron, as commanding as any great leader. Hikoshu knew it was simply the voice of a well-trained Air Nun.
Along with the crowd, Du Gong stood. He then returned to his seat with a friendly smile. "I am in better health than I was ten years ago, Mistress Nun, and I feel stronger everyday." Hikoshu found that hard to believe; though he didn't move like a sick man, his face still seemed haggard, as if he hadn't slept in days. Looking to Natquik, Du Gong continued. "I see that we have a representative from the Water Tribes."
Natquik was a little more versed in politics than he, and he turned back to the throne with a curt nod. "My name is Natquik, nephew of former Lesser Chief Tinnoq, future consort of the Princess of the Northern Water Tribe." He probably should have bowed at that point, but the waterbender just wasn't used to doing that. "And this is Miyo, Nun of the Western Air Temple."
Natquik quite obviously didn't appreciate the fact that Du Gong hadn't yet asked Miyo for her name, waiting until everyone else was introduced first. The slight was small but telling, and Natquik looked ready to engage in an argument if Du Gong was prepared to do the same. Utterly stoic, Miyo didn't react to the now-tense air, and the King merely let his smile fade a bit.
"We are delighted to have representatives from the Air and Water nations alike, and we invite you to stay with us." He lifted a hand, which signaled one of their escorts to step forward. "We'll also arrange a feast in your honor, Avatar."
"While we are flattered by your offer," Miyo began swiftly, before the escort could usher them away, "we can only stay a short while. Master Natquik and I have business to attend to elsewhere." She made no effort to hide how eager she was to leave. "In addition, the Avatar has important issues to discuss with you, as I'm sure you with him."
Du Gong's smile faltered into an unpleasant line. "Of course. But, please, stay for an evening to honor your host. We shall discuss 'important issues' once you are well rested."
Was this how introductions to royalty were supposed to happen? A couple of words of greeting, only to be whisked off to some uninhabited part of the building? Hikoshu had no experience with politics, let alone politicians, so he looked to Miyo for guidance. She was clearly irritated by the King's insistence, but gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty."
Hikoshu hadn't spoken for the length of the audience, but no one seemed to notice. Perhaps he wasn't meant to speak, as their escorts began to lead them toward the still-open doors. Much to his surprise, the guards—two both in front and behind—walked backwards from the throne, their heads still bowed. Though the same custom was used when in the presence of the Fire Lord, Hikoshu hadn't suspected that such a practice would extend beyond the boundaries of his home.
Automatically, he started to do the same, only to be stopped by Miyo's hand on his elbow. "Just walk forward," she whispered, her fingers wrapped gently around his arm. "You're the Avatar."
Perhaps he was, but that didn't make him feel any more comfortable. Now shoved back into a position of prestige and power, Hikoshu suddenly realized how much he'd taken for granted the Water Tribes' disinterest in titles. And how much he regretted not learning how to deal with international politics sooner. Forcing himself not to hunch his shoulders, he stuck close to Miyo and tried hard to look like he belonged.
Yet there was something far more disturbing about those emerald hallways they re-entered than the feel of garish pomp or shallow rituals. Hikoshu supposed it was his instincts, as usual, telling him to keep on his guard. And though he couldn't guess what dangers Omashu could hold when it seemed the worst was over, he still regarded the shadows closely.
He still waited for unseen enemies.