Gates of Stone

Chapter I

Liên

Omashu: the second largest city within the Earth Kingdom (by most metrics, at least), and one of the few neutral states left—but most importantly to those who had their eyes on it, the only other state that held more power than that of the great mountain city was Ba Sing Se itself. Liên stood before the massive stone gate, waiting patiently as her group’s travel papers were being examined; of course, she could have opened the way herself, but—new to diplomacy as she was—she knew full well that it would not exactly be taken in stride. Her piercing green eyes surveyed all there was to see, like a hunter seeking out hidden prey…of which, there was none; despite the kingdom bordering on all-out civil war, Omashu had remained peaceful—that was half the reason it was valuable.

It took only a few minutes for the small unit to be processed, the triple-layered earthen doors smoothly sliding open. Naturally, as head of the delegate, Liên strode forward first, the deep rumbling of stone against stone sounding out once again from a short distance behind her last guards. After passing through the entrance, she stood overlooking what seemed to be the main street, packed full of market stalls and far too many people to count—a good portion of them refugees, due to King Shri’s policy on accepting anyone who needs help: commendable, but hardly sustainable. Far off down the street was something coloured a vibrant red, accompanied by a procession of sorts. Curious. Readying herself to vault over the railing, a hand on her shoulder stopped Liên: her uncle (and primary diplomat on the mission), Ngiêm.

“It would be wise to avoid drawing more attention to ourselves than strictly necessary; we should take what you would consider the slow route.”

Silently cursing the extraneous rules placed upon her, the young earthbender resigned herself to the needlessly sluggish descent down the stairs. Though this was her first time in Omashu, she was far from a stranger to urban environments—still, crowds never were her favoured habitat; she had always struggled to see much through them, and few people took kindly to being shoved aside (even if they were in the way).

“How long until the meeting?”

A few beats went by with no response—upon turning to examine the scene, Liên realised her uncle was no longer nearby. His voice rose from nearby in the crowd, asking someone something about the tea they were selling.

Before she could make her way over to prevent a delay, Xīn Yí spoke up, “Leave him be; we arrived ahead of schedule, so there’s plenty of time to spare.”

Forced yet again to take a slower course of action, Liên was not all so fond of diplomacy so far. Still, she refused to be entirely idle—even when doing nothing else, a warrior observes; in a city of thousands, there’s always something going on. The many merchants lining the street were all selling different things, some with a focussed theme and some (most) without; the greatest culprits of disorderly theming were a few stalls manned by children, seemingly peddling whatever wares they could get their hands on: stale bread next to shiny rocks, carved ornaments, and a couple of scrolls. Some took pity on the kids, buying a few trinkets they’d never have a need for…needless to say, Liên was not one of those people.

A few minutes of observation later, the first truly interesting thing in Omashu drew close enough to discern its nature; heralded by a messy drumbeat, a twelve-segmented dragon puppet grew ever nearer, the crowd parting ways to let it pass through.

Carrying a bowl for donations, a girl a bit taller than Liên led the procession, dressed in what some may describe as finery, “Welcome to Omashu’s annual winter dragon parade festival! We appreciate any contributions, which all go to improving the lives of local children!”

Curiously, Liên had no recollection of such a festival from her research into the city; perhaps it was new, brought through the gates by refugees? Regardless of her musings, she stayed clear of the puppet and the children who accompanied it. Though clearly rehearsed to some degree, the movements of those carrying the puppet’s poles were amateurish, frequently causing the dragon to separate and occasionally bump into people. Overall, however, the crowd seemed to enjoy the spectacle…but it didn’t take long for sentiment to shift, as an uproar started some distance back, gradually making its way to the parade’s most recent location, featuring all kinds of cries:

“My purse!”

“My jewellery!”

“My cabbages!”

But most of all, “Where’s my money gone?!”

It seemed that, not all unsurprisingly, the ‘festival’ was a scam of sorts. Oh well, it hardly affected Liên personally—she wasn’t exactly an easy mark, due to a combination of her guards, her alertness, and her lack of easily accessible valuables in the first place. As the uproar continued to grow the puppet sped up, though not enough to avoid being surrounded—there were enraged civilians all around it, demanding an explanation, their money, or whatever else they wanted…none of them got anything from the sham parade, as a cloud of smoke quickly enveloped the puppet. By the time it cleared, there was nothing to be seen but the confused crowd. Even peaceful cities have their own strife, albeit much lesser than the war other places faced. Lagging far behind the commotion, a pair of guards covered head-to-toe in drying clay (seemingly from some kind of pitfall trap, given the pattern of accumulation).

Approaching from a nearby stall, Ngiêm finally rejoined the group, shaking his head in disapproval, “Using charity as a cover for personal gain…how devious,” he carried with him a variety of baubles, handing them off to one of the guards before reaching into a pocket; a moment later, he started to pat himself down, eventually producing an empty purse, “Strange, I didn’t think I had spent everything I had on me…”

Grabbing hold of the cloth bag, Liên poked a finger through the top of the bag, the appendage emerging from a hole in the other side, “You didn’t spend everything: your purse was cut.”

“Well, that’s rather nasty,” he frowned, “Oh well.”

Glancing around, Liên was quick to reiterate the question that had initially gone unheard some minutes ago, “How long is it until the meeting?”

“Around about an hour. Why?”

Already climbing up the nearest wall, the young heir responded matter-of-factly, “It won’t hurt to improve the city’s image of us.”

By the time Ngiêm had clambered up the handholds she’d bent out of the wall, Liên had already spotted a couple of targets: both travelling through alleys (each heading in opposite directions) were two of the dragon puppet’s segments, one of them the tail—likely operated by a pair of children as opposed to just one.

Ready to attack, Liên thought to ask a question she already knew the answer to, pointing at the two puppet segments, “Ngiêm, how much force are we permitted to use?”

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“Well, none, really—we don’t want to harm Omashu’s civilians.”

With a tut she dropped her arm back to her side, “Me, Xīn Yí, and a couple of my guards will pursue the tail. You and the rest of the guards will go after the other segment.”

“As you wish,” Ngiêm got to work at once, relaying the orders; if nothing else, her uncle was reliable.

Liên was far from slow to act herself, having started running as soon as the commands left her mouth. The puppet tail never left her sight for more than a few seconds, always tracked and—just in case—in her line of fire. Sprinting across the rooftops was hardly exercise for the athletic young girl, but at least it was something. There was even the slightest bit of challenge in the form of wider streets, requiring the use of earthbending to launch herself swiftly over the gaps, without stopping for even a moment. It didn’t take long for the city guard to notice her, and she couldn’t blame them for considering her suspicious…but it wasn’t like they were a threat, so she simply dodged or blocked any of the stone projectiles thrown at her from below. All that combined with coordinating her guards was hardly combat, but Liên had to settle for what she could—after all, there wasn’t anything else even remotely engaging going on.

A couple minutes of pursuit later, the miscreants were ready to be cornered: they were approaching an intersection, the red tassels on the tail swaying to and fro, with Liên above and her guards prepared to ambush—the moment the guards stepped out the faux dragon realised it was cornered, and attempted to run. Futile. She came crashing down on it from above, the paper and fabric crumpling beneath her, before rolling and casting aside the puppet covering to reveal a pair of children—perhaps eleven and nine, probably siblings. There was fear in their eyes, and they were silent.

Liên’s first question was simple: “Are you in possession of the stolen goods?”

“Only some of them,” the older child responded. Liên put out her hand, and with a deflated sigh the two perpetrators handed over their small (yet respectable) haul: a small bag of coins, a chunk of stale bread, and a somewhat plain bracelet.

“Do you intend to remeet with the others?”

“Oka-” the bigger one started to speak, before being punched in the arm by the smaller one, “No.”

“So that’s a yes. If I give you back the bread, will you take me to them?”

“No,” the younger one replied again, shaking her head, “we’ll just have to rot in prison.”

Before she could get about to interrogating the children more, a pair of city guards (one caked in clay) rounded the corner, yelling, “Desist your resistance, in the name of King Shri!”

Even though Liên was always ready to fight, it really wasn’t the time. A few fist-sized rocks came flying at her and the children, intercepted by chunks of the wall as Liên slammed her fists together. Her targets were already taking their opportunity to run, exploiting the shocked city guards (who were clearly not expecting to meet capable opposition), sliding under their legs—a foolish decision, as they were not capable of evading her in the long run.

Facing the guards, she squared up, speaking loud and clear, “I am sorry for interfering with your process. I am Liên Ruan, delegate to Omashu, and I am not your foe.”

For a moment they stumbled, before pulling themselves together and dropping their fighting stances, “Apologies for the inconvenience, my, uh, lady. Should we take chase?”

She held up a palm, “No need; I shall trail them alone. Follow my guards and you will reach their hiding place, along with the rest of their gang.”

After a small bow, one of the guards (the clean one) approached, “These children are especially…slippery. They appear and disappear as if from nowhere; we suspect they have tunnels or passages of some kind beneath the city, likely accessed through various buildings.”

“Then we had better not delay.”

Without waiting to see the response of the city guards, Liên’s pursuit began again, launching herself up to a rooftop once more. The children were entirely oblivious, just as before, none the wiser that they were being followed. This second half of the chase was quicker, with the street rats stopping to help one another through a window, the older child clambering up the sill after giving the shorter one a leg up. Pricking her ears, Liên listened as there was a rhythmic knock against wood, then the same wood scraping against the stone floor, the kids quietly celebrating their escape before their voices became muffled by too much material in the way.

In a single swift movement Liên dropped from the roof, swinging from the eaves and straight through the window, landing smoothly on the cool tiled floor. Somewhere in the crate-filled room was a trapdoor…and she couldn’t be bothered to find it, instead searching for the tunnel it led to. Faint voices came from an ajar door, showing the tea house that the storage room belonged to—no doubt unaware of the secret tunnel in their establishment. Continuing to feel the surface below her, Liên finally found it: a cavity below, easily wide enough to accommodate her. With a stomp and a slide of her foot a vertical tunnel of her own opened up, and down she leapt.

The subterranean passage was pretty much as expected—hewn into the stone of the mountain, like the city itself only rougher; essentially, it was made by an earthbender, albeit one with far less ability than Liên. Many small feet had travelled that path in recent days, but the newest traces were all that mattered: a trio of children, heading along the downwards route in quite a hurry—the pitter-patter of their makeshift shoes was still just about audible, scrambling confidently despite the darkness. Content to catch up once they reached their inevitable destination, Liên took a more measured approach, memorising the various tunnels and intersections just in case. Her journey passed several shoddy stone ladders, none of which the urchins took—they were going ever deeper, to someplace with a particular smell Liên couldn’t identify.

After what many would consider a harsh trek, the kids’ destination was just ahead, a wide open cave given the reverberation. By the time the hunter reached the tunnel’s mouth, her targets were already out in the open (unlike Liên, who remained hidden) and gasping for breath; they were used to running, but the brief altercation had clearly shaken them, urging them on to a pace beyond what they could healthily sustain. Not too much could be seen from Liên’s sheltered position; the cave was lit by torchlight, littered with assorted furniture, rugs, banners, and seemingly whatever else the many children that called the place home could find—there was even a poorly crafted pond, lined with shiny rocks and gems, within which a juvenile turtle duck (with what looked like a golden necklace as a collar) swam about.

It took well over two minutes for the street rats to start talking, the larger one over the worst of their panting, at which point Liên noticed something approaching from behind her—a slowly moving person, clearly unaccustomed to the tunnel; she guessed they had been following her for a while, just adept enough to keep up but too unskilled to get closer until now: an unintentionally perfect sweet spot for them to avoid notice for so long. Her intuition told her they weren’t a direct threat, so Liên merely kept an ear trained on their still distant motions, ready to act if need be. For the meantime she remained focussed, listening in on the conversation (or rather report) that was ongoing in the cavern ahead:

“We’re sorry,” the older of the pair spoke, still occasionally gasping for breath, “we don’t really have anything…there was a crazy earthbender…she attacked us!”

The younger one picked up the report, “She had an army! There were, like, fifty of them. Yeah.”

At that point Liên’s pursuer finally got close enough to see, a small warm light rounding the corner; it was a hunched over boy (taller than average) from one of the water tribes, carrying a short aflame stick. With a narrowing of her eyes she analysed what was in front of her, quickly coming to the conclusion that he didn’t really know what was going on, nor what he was doing; he was covered in dust, and opened his mouth to speak, only for Liên’s hand to be put up as a warning—something was happening in the cave, a commotion as far more street rats (totalling about thirty) arrived, mostly from different tunnels.

“So-”

Liên put down one finger.

“I’m Massak-”

One more finger went down.

“And-”

Three digits remained up.

“Oh, I’m from-”

Two.

“The Southern-”

One.

“Water Tribe.”

Zero. Before Liên got the chance to do anything, however, the tiny light in the boy’s hand fizzled out, and he stepped forward—bumping directly into the young earthbender. She pushed him back to where he had been, and wondered internally what exactly she had done to deserve having to deal with this.